Insane City (7 page)

bring ’em back here.”

“You would do that?” said Seth. The guilty thought occurred to him that if the situation were

reversed, he probably wouldn’t do the same for Duane.

“Sure,” said Duane.

“Lemme give you some money for the cab,” said Seth, getting unsteadily to his feet. He opened his

wallet and handed two fifties to Duane. He noticed he had very little cash left. He’d scraped together

$1,200 in carry-around money for his big wedding weekend and he’d managed to blow through almost all

of it before he checked in.

Duane headed toward the wary doorman to see about a taxi. Seth, walking on legs he felt only a

vague connection with, wobbled toward the hotel.

6

I have to drown my children.

The unthinkable thought seized Laurette’s mind as the little boat, now too full of water to ride over

the waves, was nearly flipped over by one. Laurette grabbed the side of the steeply tipping boat with one

hand while she tried to cling to Stephane and the baby with the other. The next wave would almost surely

throw them all into the water, and then there would be nothing for her to hold on to.

She made her mind up. When the time came, she would hold her children underwater and end this

horror for them. She would not run the risk that she would lose them or be taken first and leave them alone

in the cruel, indifferent sea. She would give her children the only comfort she could give them now, the

comfort of death.

The boat leveled off in a trough between waves. She could see the next one coming, bigger than the

last. She felt the boat lifting, then tilting wildly. She heard Stephane cry out to her as they tumbled into the

sea. She clung to him, clung to the baby, determined to carry out her merciful plan.

But she could not. For years her reason for existing had been to protect her babies, and she could not

overpower that instinct now. She grabbed each child with one hand and thrust them upward, trying to keep

her head above water by kicking her feet. It was all she could do. She knew, as she felt the next wave

coming, that it would not be enough.

7

Seth wobbled over to the hotel reception desk, behind which stood a clean-cut man whose

name tag read ROBERT. He shot a concerned glance at Seth’s oozing forehead but recovered quickly and

welcomed Seth to the Ritz-Carlton with an expression conveying sincerely feigned warmth.

“I’m checking in,” said Seth. “To the hotel.”

“Excellent!” exclaimed Robert, smiling to show how delighted he was by this turn of events. “May I

have a name, please?”

“You already have one,” said Seth, pointing a wobbly finger at Robert’s name tag. This struck him as

a hilarious witticism, and as he laughed he attempted to pound the counter in mirth, missing by a good six

inches.

Seth heard a giggle behind him and turned to see Cyndi.

“You’re here,” he said.

“Just making sure you get checked in OK,” she said, hastily adding, “It was Duane’s idea. Once

you’re set, I’ll wait outside for him to come back.”

“OK,” said Seth.

“So,” said Robert, getting back to business. “May I have
your
name, please?”

“I think you’re better off with yours,” said Seth, “seeing as how you already have the tag.” This drew

another giggle from Cyndi, and Seth was pleased that this time he was able to successfully hit the counter

with his fist-pound of mirth.

Robert produced a polite nanosmile, then said, “But seriously, may I have the name on your

reservation?”

“Weinstein,” said Seth. “Seth Weinstein. I’m here for the Weinstein–Clark wedding, of which I am

the groom.”

“Congratulations,” said Robert, shooting a glance at Cyndi.

“Oh no,” said Cyndi. “I’m not her. I’m just here as a friend.”

“She has another friend,” added Seth. “Wayne.”

“Duane,”
said Cyndi.

“Right, Duane,” said Seth. “What’s the snake’s name again?”

“Blossom,” said Cyndi.

“Right, Blossom,” Seth told Robert. “She’s Duane’s snake.”

“I see,” said Robert. “Do you need assistance with your luggage?”

“Yes!” said Seth.

“Fine,” said Robert. “Where is it?”

“Exactly.”

“I’m sorry?”

“Where is it? That’s what I need assistance with,” said Seth.

“You need assistance
locating
your luggage?”

“Right. I don’t know where it is.”

“Ah,” said Robert. “I’m afraid I don’t, either.”

“Shit,” said Seth.

“All right, then,” Robert said briskly, tapping on his computer. “I see we have a nice suite reserved

for you, all expenses taken care of by Mr. Clark.”

“I’m supposed to call him Mike, but I always forget,” said Seth.

“I see.”

“He has two helicopters, you believe that?”

“Huh,” said Robert. “Here’s your room key, Mr. Weinstein. I certainly hope you enjoy your stay.”

He handed Seth a folder containing the key card. Seth regarded it the way a dog might examine a quadratic

equation.

“I’ll give you a hand,” said Cyndi, taking the card. “Which way to the elevators?”

“That way,” said Robert, pointing and giving Cyndi a look that pissed her off. She took Seth’s arm

and led him to the elevators. They entered one; the doors closed. The ascent began in awkward silence.

“I’m really sorry about your head,” said Cyndi.

“My head?” said Seth.

“Kicking it,” said Cyndi.

“Oh, that’s OK,” said Seth, patting her arm, his hand touching her bare skin, a sensation they were

both suddenly very aware of. He dropped his hand, and they moved a half step farther apart.

The doors opened. Cyndi led the way, checking the door numbers, Seth weaving behind. “Here we

are,” she said, handing the key card to Seth. He fumbled with it, trying to get it the right way into the door

slot. She took the card back, their hands touching again just for a second. She unlocked the door and

pushed it open.

“Wow,” she said.

Seth stepped past her into the room. “Wow,” he agreed.

They were in the foyer of a huge suite. To the right was a bar, with a bottle of champagne in a bucket

of melting ice. Ahead was a darkened living room with sofas arrayed in front of a big-screen TV, which

was showing an episode of
House Hunters
on the Home and Garden channel. In the distance was a dining

area with table and chairs. To the left was a hallway leading to a bedroom.

“This is awesome,” said Cyndi.

“Yeah,” said Seth. “Tina told me they got me the Groom Suite, but I didn’t know it was gonna be,

like, a
house
.”

Several seconds passed, then Cyndi said, “I guess I should go down and wait for Duane.”

“You can wait here,” said Seth. “I mean, it’s huge.”

“You think that . . . I mean, I don’t want to cause any trouble.”

“Nah,” said Seth, waving away her concern, “I don’t think I can get in any more trouble tonight.”

Suddenly the suite filled with the harsh blatting sound of an extended high-decibel fart, which

erupted from the direction of the sofas. Seth and Cyndi turned to look. A head appeared over the back of

the center sofa.

“’Scuse me,” said a deep-pitched woman’s voice. “I fell asleep.”

The woman rose, rubbing her eyes. She was African-American, light-skinned, pretty, quite large,

wearing a tentlike garment. She yawned, looked at Seth and said, “You the groom?”

“Yeah,” said Seth. “Who’re you?”

“LaDawne,” she said. “With an
e
.”

“Um, how’d you get in here?”

“Oh, I know people here,” she said. “They let me in.”

“OK, but . . . why are you in my room?”

LaDawne, with a dramatic gesture, flung off her garment. Beneath it, she was wearing a fake-jewel-

encrusted bikini, which was straining to hold in her massive, curve-a-licious womanliness.

“Honey,” she said, “I’m the stripper.”

“Wow,” said Cyndi.

Seth sat on the floor, put his face in his hands. “No,” he said.

“What?” said LaDawne.

Seth looked up. “I told Marty, no stripper.”

“Well,” said LaDawne, “that’s not what Marty told
me
. He told me be here at nine and I was here at

nine. So I been here a
lotta
hours, and I
am
going to get paid my money.”

Seth pressed his face back into his hands. “How much?” he said through his fingers.

“Two hundred dollars,” said LaDawne. “Plus usually I get a tip, because, honey, if you saw me

dance, you would
want
to give me a tip.”

“I don’t have two hundred dollars,” said Seth.

“Seriously?” said LaDawne. “Groom in a fancy suite, ain’t got two hundred dollars? You sure you

don’t have the money and just promised it to this little girl here?”

“Hey,” said Cyndi. “I’m not—”

“Honey, I don’t care what you are,” said LaDawne. “All I care about is, I want my money.”

Seth pulled out his wallet. “I have, like, fifty. That’s it. You can have that. I’m sorry.”

LaDawne shook her head, setting off a wave of flesh movement that flowed down her body like a

seismic event. “Unh-
unh
. I had an agreement with Marty and I showed up, and I want my money. So if you

ain’t got it, I suggest you get Marty over here right now with my money or I’m going to have to call

Wesley.”

“Wesley?” said Seth.

“My manager-slash-boyfriend,” said LaDawne. “Believe me, you do
not
want me to call Wesley.”

“No,” agreed Seth. He shook his head. “
Marty.
Jesus.”

“Maybe you could try calling him again,” suggested Cyndi.

“Yeah,” said Seth, getting the phone out of his pocket. He hit the speed dial for Marty, fearing he

would again get voice mail. To his great relief, the phone was answered after a few rings.

By a woman.

“Hello?” she said.

“Is Marty there?” said Seth.

“He is busy,” said the woman. She had an accent, not Spanish. Maybe Russian.

“Listen,” said Seth. “This is important. I’m his best man. I mean, he’s my best man. I’m the groom.”

“The who?”

“Groom. I’m the groom. Just tell Marty I need to talk to him
right now
, OK? This is
really, really

important.”

After a pause, the woman said, “OK, I ask.”

Seth heard the phone being
clunk
ed down. LaDawne moved her massiveness over to the bar and

pointed at the champagne. “You gonna drink this?”

Seth shook his head.

“You mind?” said LaDawne.

Seth made a
Be my guest
gesture. LaDawne lifted the bottle out of the melting ice. Seth heard

somebody pick up the phone.

“Hello?” said Marty.

“Marty, this is Seth. Where the—”

“Seth! Where the fuck are you?”

“I’m at the—”

“We looked all
over
for you, man. You shouldn’t just wander off like that.”

“I didn’t. I was under the—”

“Anyway, you gotta come to this place, man. This is
incredible
.”

“What place?”

“It’s a private club. We met these women at Meat Patrol—Seth, you would not
believe
these women.

They make Tina look like Rosie O’Donnell, no offense. They invited us to a private party with them, so

here we are.”

“But where?”

“The something Hotel. Sea Monkey.”

“The Sea Monkey Hotel?” said Seth.

“Yeah,” said Marty.

“Uh-oh,” said LaDawne.

Seth looked at LaDawne. “Uh-oh what?” he said.

“Your friends at the Sea Monkey?”

Seth nodded.

“With some girls speaking with a Russian accent?”

Seth nodded again.