The Big Bamboo (24 page)

Serge set a tall stack of flat plastic cases on top of the television.

Coleman cracked a beer. “What’s all that?”

“My L.A. collection.” Serge opened one of the DVD cases and slipped a disk into the player. He pressed play. Val Kilmer came on the screen.

“What about my trainer?” said Ally.

“Quiet!” said Serge. “I’m studying.”

Coleman began rolling a joint of Hawaiian red bud and turquoise Burlington. “What are we watching?”

“Wonderland,
” said Serge. “The John Holmes murders. Actual events as well as location shoots took place all around here.”

The door opened. Serge hit pause. He ran out in the hall and dragged Ally back in.

“Let go of me!”

Serge grabbed the .45 from his suitcase and stuck it between her eyes. “Try that again and I’ll…”

“You’ll what!”

Serge tossed the gun aside. “…I’ll…make you drink tap water.”

“I want my trainer! I’m going to lose tone!”

“You’re in luck,” said Serge. “
I’m
a personal trainer.”

“You are not!”

Serge nodded emphatically. “That’s my main field. I just do this other on the side…Let’s get started.” He took Ally by the arm and walked her into the bathroom. “Begin jogging in place.” Ally began jogging.

“Faster!” said Serge.

She went faster.

“Faster!”

She went even faster.

“That’s great!” said Serge. “I’ve never had a student learn so fast!”

“Really?”

“Keep doing that and don’t stop until I say.”

“Okay.”

Serge came back in the room and sat down on the foot of the bed. He restarted the movie and hit ultra-slo-mo. “Coleman, look!”

“What?”

“Our hotel is coming up. You think I chose room two-twenty-two by accident?”

A voice echoed out of the bathroom. “How long do I have to do this?”

“Until my movie’s over,” said Serge.

The sound of her footsteps dropped off. “Are you messing with me?”

“Don’t slow down,” said Serge. “An uneven pace actually makes you fatter.”

Ally speeded back up.

Serge pointed with the remote. “This is the aerial montage of Kilmer leaving the Wonderland drug den and making a coke-crazed, pinball drive all over Hollywood…Steadyyyyy, steadyyyyy,
now
!” He froze the screen and zoomed in. “There’s our room! There’s our room! See?”

“Where?”

“Right here!” Serge grabbed a Magic Marker off the dresser and made a circle on the TV screen. “That’s ours. Think about it! Like a hall of mirrors. Our room is in the movie…that’s playing in our room…that’s in the movie…that’s playing in our room!…I try to dwell on it until it starts screwing with my head. Like the first time I grasped I was a self-aware organism, conscious of the universe, hurtling toward the black abyss of death, and then I had to go read a comic book.” Serge rubbed the circle on the TV with his palm. “It won’t come off.” He looked at his pen. “Whoops, used a permanent marker…. Oh, well. Inherent risks of being an innkeeper.”

Another bathroom echo: “What’s the name of the program you have me on?”

“The ‘Stop Fucking with Serge Workout.’”

Coleman leaned toward the TV. “It
is
our room.”

The door to the hall opened.

Serge dashed and pulled Ally back inside.

“You’re no trainer!”

“What did I tell you about opening that door?”

She pooched out her lower lip. “I’m all smelly now. I have to take a shower.”

“Knock yourself out.”

“I’m not getting in that shower.”

“Why not?”

“Your friend peed on his feet in there.”

“How do you know?”

“I could hear it. He wasn’t running the shower.”

“Coleman! Run the shower!”

“I did after she told me. That’s why my dope’s wet.”

Serge restarted his DVD. “If we weren’t such good friends, I’d vote you off the island.” He grabbed a notebook and began writing with a pencil. A tap on his shoulder.

“I need my water.”

The pencil snapped.

Tori and the Glicks sat quietly in the brothers’ spacious office. They smiled nervously at the detectives. The detectives smiled back.

Tori’s cell phone rang. She smiled again and looked at the display. She got up, walked across the room and faced the corner. “Hello?…”

The detectives exchanged glances. They strained to hear but couldn’t.

“Slow down,” Tori whispered. “You’re talking too fast…I know she’s a piece of work…You’re just going to have to be patient…Look, I can’t really talk now…”

Ian’s cell phone rang. He checked the display. International prefix from Japan. He went to another corner. “Hello?…I was just about to call…I’m whispering because the police are here…Oh, you already heard about that?…Yeah, I guess we had a little kidnapping…Listen, I can’t talk now, but it’s all part of this great plan…”

The detectives looked at each other again.

“…No! Don’t leave the room under any circumstances!…” said Tori.

“…What was that? ‘Don’t pay a single dime in ransom’?” said Ian. “What do you mean, ‘Or else’?…Oh, I see…”

Tori came back from one corner of the room. Ian returned from another. They sat down and smiled again.

“Anything the matter?” asked Detective Babcock.

“No,” said Tori. “Why? Something look the matter?”

A honeymooning couple in dripping bathing suits walked down a second-floor corridor. They heard yelling as they passed room 222.

“No!” screamed Ally. “I won’t do it!”

Serge’s right hand had her neck in a stranglehold. His left held a glass to her mouth.

“Drink the fuckin’ tap water!”

“No!…”

Serge gripped her throat harder. Then gurgling. Fluid streamed down her chin. She spit the rest in Serge’s face. “Fuck you!”

Coleman swayed against the balcony railing, staring down at the pool. “Everyone’s skinny.”

Serge wiped his face and grabbed the .45. He jammed it between her eyes.

“What are you going to do?” said Ally. “Shoot me?”

“If you keep pushing!”

“It’ll make too much noise. And what would Tori think?”

Damn this woman. Always a valid comeback! Serge put the gun away, retreated to the foot of the bed and turned on the TV. Ally had been giving Serge the silent treatment until she realized that it helped him watch his movies. So she reversed field.

“…This is ridiculous!” said Ally. “I can’t take it anymore!…”

“Shut up!”

“…We’re living animals. No, animals have it better!…”

“Shut up!”

She stepped in front of the television. “…I will not shut up! I will not stop talking!…”

Coleman staggered across the room, spilling a tall glass of bourbon. He squeezed between Ally and the TV. “I think I’ll take a shower.”

“…Maybe you’re used to pigsties!…”

Serge rocked violently on the edge of the bed, covering his ears. “Shut up! Shut up! Shut up!…”

Ally turned around and pressed the TV’s power button. The screen went black.

Serge dropped his hands from his head. “What just happened?”

“We haven’t had a maid for three days!”

“You turned off the TV.”

“I need new shoes!”

“You turned off the TV.”

“Do I have your attention?”

The shower began running. Coleman: “I think I’ll take a nap now.”

“What are you doing?” shouted Ally. “Put me down! Put me down this instant!”

He did. She hit the bed and bounced two feet. “You’re mean!”

“Just getting warmed up.” He advanced like a panther.

Sniffles.

Serge pulled up short. “Don’t you dare.”

Trembling mouth, tears welling.

“No, not that! Anything else!”

Sobs began.

Serge sat on the side of the bed. “Please don’t cry…. Please stop…”

It only grew louder.

“C’mon, I can’t take it,” said Serge. “Women and children crying, it rips me up. Men crying, I kick ’em in the balls, because I can’t take that either, but in a different way.”

Full blubbering now. “I need my acting coach!”

“But the police are looking for us.”

“My instrument will get rusty.”

“Instrument? You’ve been in this town too long.”

A protracted, pitiful wail.

“Okay, okay,” said Serge. “I’ll get you an acting coach…Actually,
I’m
an acting coach.”

“You are not.”

“I swear.”

“This is just like when you said you were a trainer.”

“I’ve taught some of the best.”

“Liar!”

“Honest.” Serge narrowed his eyes and formed his mouth into a straight line.
“‘Go ahead. Make my day!’”

Ally raised her head with streaked mascara. “Clint?”

“Confidentiality clauses prevent me.”

“I don’t know. I still think you’re lying.”

“Come on. You want your instrument to get rusty?”

“No.”

“What were you working on with your regular coach?”

“Femme fatale.”

“Perfect,” said Serge. “We’ll start with
Body Heat
. A Florida classic.”

“You’re kidding, right?”

“What’s the matter? It’s a great movie.”

“I know,” said Ally. “I loved
Body Heat
! Especially Kathleen Turner. It’s what got me into acting in the first place.”

“My theory proven again,” said Serge. “Movies connect people.”

“Remember when she meets William Hurt by the bandshell.”

“Remember it? I’ve
been
there!…
‘You can stand with me but you’ll have to agree not to talk about the heat!’”

“‘You’re not too smart, are you?’”
said Ally.
“‘I like that in a man.’”

“Then Hurt buys her a cherry snow cone that she drops on her chest, and he offers to get some paper towels…
‘I’ll even wipe it off for you.’”

Ally’s eyes beckoned.
“‘You don’t want to lick it?’”

She and Serge slammed together in a sexual froth. Ally tore at his pants. He ripped her shirt. She bit his neck. He cracked his knuckles…

A massive penthouse took up the entire top floor of a high-rise beachfront condo. It was paid for by a string of new car dealerships in Alabama and eastern Mississippi that led all their respective markets because of promotional tie-ins with college football.

The building’s other units completed the stair-like architecture down to the beach and were filled with radiant sunlight from a cloudless view over the Gulf of Mexico.

Not the penthouse.

The living room had dark paneling, made even darker by the thick curtains that were drawn tight. A framed parchment certificate hung on the wall: HONORARY DEGREE. A big-screen TV was replaying the 1978 Crimson Tide championship game.

A diminutive man who looked like Rick Moranis sat on the couch, mouthing along with the play-by-play that he knew by heart. He was wearing a dark red football helmet that was too big for his head. He had wood.

The phone rang.

“Damn.” The game was paused. “Hello?…You’ll have to speak up…Louder…Because I’m wearing the helmet…Screw it! Hold on…” He took the helmet off. “This better be good. I was in the middle of the Sugar Bowl…What do you mean they’re dead?…What kind of accident?…Flew through a guardrail? What the hell am I paying you for?…No, I will not calm down! You guaranteed they could handle anything, and they can’t even drive!…You’re damn right you’re going to try again…I want you to send in The Fullback…I know he’s the last resort…I know he gets messy. That’s the whole point. This mess
needs
a mess…Okay, one more chance, but that’s it. If you can’t wrap this up soon, I want The Fullback!”

The phone slammed.

The helmet went back on. The game resumed. The man mouthed along with the announcers. He reached without looking for the petroleum jelly.

Coleman felt warm water raining on his face. “Where am I?” He opened his eyes and struggled to pull himself up in the shower. “Whoa. That soap dish came right off.”

Wet feet stepped on a bath mat. Coleman’s brain was splitting. He reached inside the mini-fridge and grabbed a can of the dog that bit him. Down she went in one long, frosty guzzle. He adjusted his eyes. Natural light streamed from the bedroom, so it was still day. He smiled at his luck. Another double shift of partying. He opened the fridge again.

The rest of room 222 had a palpably cheery vibe when Coleman came around the corner. He walked to the dresser, where Serge was making some kind of list on a notepad.

Coleman pointed at the bed. “What’s she doing?”

Serge glanced over his shoulder at Ally, cross-legged and humming. “Getting her chakras centered.”

“What’s the list for?”

Serge thought a second and wrote something else. “Since we had sex, I figured we could take the next step and go shopping together.”

“I thought you said we couldn’t leave the room.”

“I know, but she was incredible—weakened me by using Florida movie lines. Besides, I’ve been going bonkers in here myself. We’re surrounded by all these historic spots, and I haven’t been able to hit a single one. Figured we’d alternate, her stores and my movie sites.” Serge began talking to himself as he proofread the list: “…Tofu, mega-vitamins, dermal-abrasion body mud, herbal supplements frowned on by the FDA, ice tea brewed to support oppressed peoples, chemical strips that pull the shit out of your nose pores, pesticide-free vegetables where they instead disorient the insects with ultrasonic transmitters, two cases of Demi’s Ambivalence Spring Water…Honey, am I forgetting anything?”

“Did you remember the ionizer?” said Ally.

“Why do we need an ionizer?”

“You have any idea what’s in the air in this room?”

“No.”

“For one thing, Coleman.”

“Huh?”

“The studies. More than half of all dust and airborne particles is exfoliation.”

“Dead skin?”

“You clean yourself pretty good, but your friend…” Ally glanced toward Coleman. “If I’m going to stay cooped up in this room, I can’t be breathing him all the time.”