Dorothy Parker Drank Here (19 page)

Norah hesitated. Saying good-bye to her friend—the only person who knew her secret—felt like yet another loss.

“Right now?” she said.

“We can take our time saying good-bye,” Mrs. Parker said. “But since you're checking out—”

“I'll return it tonight,” Norah said, and ordered another drink.

1977

W
hen a cloud of coal-black dust particles emerged from the Algonquin guest book and shot from one end of the bar to the other—dragging with it the distinct smell of cigar smoke—Dorothy Parker had a pretty good idea who was about to emerge.

The particles pulled together quickly, and there he was, sporting an authentic mustache where his greasepaint used to be.

“Where am I? How did I get here? What's the meaning of this? And where are the girls?”

“Groucho Marx,” said Dorothy Parker. “It's good to see you, my dear. But I'm afraid to tell you you're dead.”

“Dead? Why, that's an outrage! I paid for my room at Cedars-Sinai through the end of the week. How dare they! Where's my lawyer? Busy shedding his skin, that's where. And he has the nerve to send me the bill? The snake! Of course, it adders up, even if he works for scale. And why would he work for scale anyway? Has he no backbone? Well, I won't pay it, I tell you.”

“I was just about to have a drink,” Dorothy Parker said. “Will you join me?”

“Why, are you coming apart?”

“Sit down, Groucho.”

“Don't mind if I do. You're paying, right? Say, how did I get here, anyway?”

“You remember that guest book you signed for Percy Coates?”

“Are you saying I traveled all the way from Beverly Hills by signature? Have the Wright Brothers heard about this? And do you know that two wrongs don't make a right, but two Wrights make an airplane? That's an old joke. Speaking of old jokes, what are you doing here, Dorothy Parker? Shouldn't you be trading quips with Beelzebub in the fiery pits of hell? That's just south of Fourteenth Street, in case you didn't know.”

“Somehow even the worst of us gets a pardon,” she said.

“That's the most ridiculous thing I
ever
heard.”

“Sir, what can I get for you?” asked the bartender.

Groucho looked up, surprised. “Where did he come from? He doesn't look dead.”

“He's not dead, he's the bartender.”

“A likely story. Where was he when Lincoln was shot? No alibi, eh? Well, no matter. Alibi anything you got that's on sale.”

“Just make two gin and tonics, Lawrence,” Dorothy Parker said, and then looked at Groucho. “Now, dearest, I hope you're planning on staying awhile.”

“It depends.”

“On what?”

“On how long it takes him to make those drinks. Once I'm done, it's sayonara.”

“Lawrence,” she said, “take your time with those drinks.”

“You don't really want me to hang around, do you? I'm no more fun than a stick in the mud. If you don't have any sticks, send in the stones. If you don't have any stones, send in the cavalry. If you don't have any cavalry, what kind of army is this?”

“I really do wish you would stay,” she said. “I haven't been entertained like this in a very long time.”

The bartender served the two drinks and Groucho picked up his glass. “Well, cheers,” he said, and polished off the contents in three quick gulps.

“And now, my sweet,” he said, taking her hands, “I'm sorry, but I must be going.”

“You're not serious.”

“For once, I am.” Groucho looked up overhead. “I'm coming, boys!” he said, and then he was gone.

A
ngel Ruiz carried the guest book back to the Blue Bar, grateful that the pretty young woman had returned it at last. Now he could stop avoiding the hotel's night manager, Mr. Beeman. All week he had been ducking into corners, desperately afraid he would be questioned about the book's disappearance. He could not afford to lose this job.

After she apologized for taking it, saying, “It couldn't be helped,” the young woman made him promise to put it right back where it belonged.

She needn't have worried. Angel didn't like being near the thing one second longer than was absolutely necessary.

He entered the bar just as Walter the busboy was finishing up with the glasses. There was no one else around.

“Are you leaving now?” Angel asked. Once the book was opened, he didn't want to be alone in the bar.

“Pretty soon,” Walter said.

“Okay,” Angel said. “I'll walk out with you.”

Angel approached the display case, which had been left open. He blew inside to clean out the dust, wiped it with his sleeve, and gently
lay down the book. He opened it to a random page and decided it looked just as it had when he first set eyes on it. He closed the display lid, grateful that he would never have to worry about it again.

“Okay,” he said, turning around. “Ready to go?” The bar was empty. “Walter?” he called, looking from corner to corner.

“He's gone,” said a woman's voice. It seemed to come from the pitch-blackness at the end of the long, narrow space.

Angel stopped and stared as a form emerged from the shadows. It was the same lady phantom who had terrified him earlier.

“You!” he said.
“Dios mio
.
”

“You disappoint me, Angel. I thought we were friends.”

“What do you want from me?”

She walked to the bar and took a seat. “Make me a drink, dear. I'm positively parched.”

“No, miss. I cannot help you.”

“Don't be silly. Of course you can.”

“I . . . I think Walter is coming back.”

She smoothed her skirt. “The more the merrier.”

“Please,” he said, “go back in the book. I've never hurt you. I've never hurt no one.”

“Anyone,”
she said.

“Miss?”

“You never hurt
anyone
. If you never hurt
no one
, it means you did hurt someone.”

“No! Not me. I swear. I'm a good man. I work hard.”

“Yes, dear, of course you do. And I'm quite certain you like this job and don't wish to lose it.”

“Yes, miss. It's a good job.”

“Very well then, make me a drink and no one ever has to know you were the one who removed the book and delivered it to Mr. Shriver's room.”

“I . . . I can't do that.”

“Of course you can.”

“The liquor is locked up. I don't have a key.”

“It so happens,” Dorothy Parker said, “that Walter accidentally dropped this.” She opened her hand and there it was. “Now be a dear. I'd like an appletini, if you don't mind.”

“Appletini?”

“Vodka and schnapps, I believe. You'll have to figure out the rest on your own.”

“Find another man,” he said. “Please.”

“If I could find another man,” she said, “I might not need a drink in the first place. In the meantime, here.” She put the key on the bar.

He looked down at it. “I have to leave, miss.”

“Understand, my dear, that while it's true I can't exit this room on my own, I can still use that house phone behind the bar. Now do as I say. I don't wish to get you in trouble.”

Angel swallowed hard. He didn't want to make a drink for the phantom, but he was terrified she would call his boss. What choice did he have?

“Just one,” he said. “Then I'm leaving.”

He went behind the bar and found the booklet of cocktail recipes. Then he unlocked the liquor cabinet and made the drink she requested.

“Now I go,” he said, pushing it toward her.

“Just one more thing,” she said.

“No more things, please.”

“I'll never make another request of you again, but once I finish this, you must bring the guest book up to Mr. Shriver's room again.”

“Ay, no! I can't!”

“Dearest, no one even knows the book was returned, so no one will suspect you have taken it.”

“Walter knows. He just saw me.”

“Let me worry about Walter,” she said.

“I must go. Good luck, miss.”

“Very well, I'll just have to make that call to the manager and tell him you were the one who removed the book in the first place.”

“You want me to lose this job?”

“I
don't
want you to lose your job, Angel, that's the whole point. Now be a lamb and wait for me to finish my drink.”

“But, miss—”

“My dear man,” she said, raising her voice, “have you ever seen what happens when you anger a spirit?”

Angel felt a terrible chill. What did she mean by that? What would the angry visitor do to him?

“Well, have you?” she repeated.

He swallowed hard. “No, miss.”

“Good,” she said, picking up her drink.

Shaking, he stood by and waited while she finished it.

“Okay,” she finally said. “Let's go.”

Resigned, Angel approached the display case and picked up the book. “Can I close it?”

“No, dear. Carry it open.”

He placed the open book on the palms of his hands as if he were carrying a wedding cake.

“I'll be right here next to you,” the phantom said, and then she disappeared from view. He could feel her hovering nearby.

When he got to the door, Angel glanced into the lobby to be sure Mr. Beeman was not in sight. There were just a few guests, engrossed in conversation, and a woman sound asleep in a big armchair. The problem was Maria at the front desk. Angel waited until she turned to look at the computer, then he tiptoed quickly across the lobby. He got to the elevator without being noticed, and sighed, relieved.

As he pressed the button for the elevator, Angel heard authoritative footsteps marching across the lobby. He pressed the button again.

The footsteps closed in on him just as the elevator arrived, and Angel positioned himself right in front so he could slip in quickly. The doors opened and Angel stepped in, nearly crashing into a tall, suited figure who was stepping out.

“Mr. Beeman!” Angel said, looking up. He thought his heart might stop.

“Where are you going with that book, Angel? It belongs in the bar.”

“Please, don't fire me. She made me do it. I didn't want to. She insisted. What could I say to her?”

“Slow down. Who made you?”

“That woman. The phantom. She took the key from Walter and asked for a drink. I didn't want to give it to her, Mr. Beeman. Then she said she would haunt me if I don't bring the book to Mr. Shriver on the twelfth floor. I told her no, but she wouldn't listen.”

Mr. Beeman shook his head.

“I'm telling the truth,” Angel said.

The manager put a hand on his shoulder. “Relax, Angel. I know you're telling the truth.” He looked around. “Mrs. Parker, are you threatening my employees again?”

The phantom appeared beside Angel. “You're looking well, Barry,” she said.

He tsked. “What's going on here, Mrs. Parker?”

“I need to see Ted Shriver,” she said. “It's urgent.”

“You know I can't have you bothering the guests.”

“Teddy and I go way back,” she said.

Mr. Beeman turned to his employee. “Let me have the guest book,” he said, gently taking it from Angel's hands.

“You are not going to close that book, young man,” she said. “Or you'll be very, very sorry.”

“Please don't get her angry,” Angel said.

“Trust me,” said Mr. Beeman, “her bark is worse than her bite.” At that, he closed the book and the phantom disappeared. “Now,” he said to Angel, “let's put this back where it belongs, and first thing tomorrow morning I'll have someone from maintenance nail down the lid to the display case. It won't go missing again anytime soon.”

E
die Coates was determined. She simply had to get her hands on that Algonquin guest book again. Only, this time she wouldn't rip out a page and run away. She needed to bring the whole book home. When she peered into the Blue Bar and saw two hotel employees, she decided to wait it out. She took a comfortable chair in the lobby and watched. It didn't take long before one of the men came out, but the other was taking his sweet time.

At last she saw him peek his head out of the room and glance furtively around the lobby. Damn. He must have been warned to be on the lookout for her. Edie turned her face away and pretended to doze, hoping he wouldn't notice her. When she heard footsteps she opened her eyes a crack, and realized he had just walked right by her with the book. She had to stop him.

She rushed across the lobby, trying to reach him before he got onto the elevator. When the doors opened, she thought she'd lose him, but he was waylaid by an important-looking man in a suit. Edie backed into the shadows and then there it was—the ghost! She had to cover her mouth to keep from screaming. But why weren't these
men terrified? Didn't they understand? Nothing was more dangerous than a spirit who refused to cross into the light!

Still, she couldn't warn them. No one could know she was here.

She leaned against the wall and watched, realizing the dark-haired man looked alarmed. She hoped that meant he understood. But the other man was as calm as could be. Edie wished she could shake some sense into him. Her heart pounded a quick, hard beat, and she knew her blood pressure was soaring.

She saw the suited man take the book and slam it shut. The ghost disappeared instantly. So that was how it worked—the spirit could only emerge when the book was open.

A trickle of sweat dripped down the side of Edie's face. She took a deep breath to steady her nerves and stayed quiet.

The men walked right past her, across the lobby, and into the Blue Bar. When they came out, they no longer had the book.

Thank God
, she thought.
The book is there and no one is watching it
.

It was time. Edie wiped her damp palms on her slacks and walked quietly into the deserted bar, repeating the same prayer over and over: “Please let the book be closed. Please let the book be closed.”

From a distance, it was impossible to tell if it was or wasn't. Slowly and carefully, she inched closer to get a glimpse.

“Please let the book be closed. Please let the book be closed.”

The light above the display case was on, creating a glare that bounced off the glass. She hesitated, trying to work up the courage to get close enough to discover the truth.

Suddenly, someone behind her cleared their throat and Edie jumped. She whirled around and there it was, staring straight at her! The ghost looked exactly as she had that day by the elevator—as real as a flesh-and-blood human, just like Gavin.

“Please don't hurt me!” Edie said. “I come in peace.” She squeezed her legs together to keep from wetting herself.

“Nonsense,” said the spirit. “You're here to steal the book.”

“No! I'm not. I promise. Please understand, I didn't know that book was possessed when . . . when . . .”

“My dear, you've been trying to claim ownership of the book since you read that article.”

“That was before . . . before I knew about you. I'll drop the lawsuit. I don't want the book anymore. Honest!”

“And I suppose you just strolled in here to get a closer look. Is that it?”

“No! Yes! I can't answer you! Please don't ask me anything else.”

“You know you're going to have to pay the price for this,” the spirit said.

Edie curled herself up in a ball on the floor. “I never meant to hurt you!”

“Get up, you imbecile.”

Edie rose. “What do you want? I'll do anything. Please don't hurt me.”

“I have a task for you. If you fail, there will be terrible consequences.”

Oh, God. This was exactly what she had feared. “What do you want me to do?”

“I want you to open that case, take out the book, and bring it upstairs to room 1207. You must deliver it into the hands of the man in that room. Is that clear?”

“What are you going to do to him?”

“That's not your concern.”

“No, no, of course not.”

“Now do as I say and don't ask any more questions.”

Edie nodded, terrified. She needed to do whatever it took to prevent the ghost from unleashing her fury. With more courage than
she had ever been able to summon, Edie approached the display case and carefully removed the book.

“Room 1207,” the ghost repeated.

Edie nodded. She carried the book on her hands just as the man had done. When she reached the door between the bar and the lobby, she hesitated. A group of German tourists had just entered the hotel and were at the front desk, talking and laughing, as if they were still enjoying a raucous night out. Edie couldn't risk passing them; there was just too great a chance she would get stopped before completing the ghost's mission.

“What are you waiting for?” the spirit asked.

“There's a big crowd checking in. I'll cross the lobby as soon as they leave.”

The ghost tsked. “Very well. You haven't got a cigarette, have you?”

“A cigarette?”

“Why does everyone act as if I'm asking for uranium? Yes, a cigarette.”

“Hardly anyone smokes anymore,” Edie said.

“Fools.”

“We're just . . . trying to live longer.”

“Like I said.”

After the tourists got into the elevator, Edie waited a few more minutes to make sure the coast was clear, and then crossed the lobby. The ghost disappeared from view, and didn't even reappear when Edie got into an empty elevator. She rode up to the twelfth floor in silence, and when she found the room number, she spoke aloud.

“Am I supposed to knock? It's the middle of the night.”

“Trust me, he's not sleeping,” the ghost said as she reappeared.

Edie knocked on the door of room 1207. “Hello?”

“Go away!” a man shouted.

“Teddy, dear,” said the spirit, “I have a vital message for you.”

“Not interested.”

“Tell him you have something for him,” the spirit whispered to Edie.

“I have something for you!” Edie called.

“Who the hell is that?” the man said.

“Tell him you brought a bottle of gin,” said the ghost.

“My name is Edie Coates, sir. I brought a bottle of gin.”

She heard some movement inside the room and then the door opened. “Where's my gin?” he said.

“Hold this and I'll get it,” Edie said, then she put the book in his hands, pushed him into the room with all her might, and slammed the door.