Room 702 (8 page)

Turning around, she seems to finally notice her surroundings.
 
The sun has set.
 
On the luggage stand sits her Louis Vuitton duffle and matching purse.
 
The contents – the sum total of what she has in this world, do not amount to much.
 
Some clothes, no pictures and all the jewelry he’s given over the years.
 
These gems were meant as his misguided apologies.
 
In her bag, scrimped and saved over months, she’s managed to hoard close to two thousand dollars from the weekly ‘allowance’ he gave her.

She’s been in denial for years, maybe even since the beginning of their relationship.
 
What had started as a fairy tale is now ending in tragedy.
 
He was rich, handsome and through it all she believed she didn’t deserve him.
 
Until recently, the verbal attacks and physical abuse all came from the fact he was somehow better than she was.
 
Feeling rather like a terrible cliché, she always believed domestic abuse to be some trait associated with lower economic classes.
 
Prior to meeting him, she believed once your net income was over six figures that problems became different – more complicated and not as shallow as domestic abuse.
 
And yet, their problems were as real as anyone else’s.
 
She thinks back to a few hours ago – already it feels like weeks.
 

Tonight was supposed to be a new start, something special.

 
Betsy had booked the room as a surprise for him.
 
Having gone to school with Dawn, the day shift manager, she had been able to negotiate a good deal on a night that was, by definition, guaranteed to be more expensive than others.
 
With limited access to funds, it was only a forgotten credit card she had left over from her student days that she had been able to secretly secure the room.
 

He had come home from work.
 
She already had her bag packed for the night.
 
She knew from his lack of calls and short texts during the day that he was going to be in a bad mood.
 
She had come to recognize the signs.
 
He was under stress.
 
It was someone else’s fault.
 
Always.

She had a drink waiting for him, gripped in trembling hands.
 
An offering to appease him.
 
Whiskey, neat.
 
Waterford crystal.
 
No ice.

 
“How was your day?”

 
“Gupta fucked up the reports again.” The response is spat out as he grabs the drink out of her hands.
 
He does not thank her.

 
“I’m so sorry to hear that.” She knows from previous incidents that trying to reason or side with the person in question will only lead to a painful experience and horrible accusations.
 
It is best she keeps her answers limited, submissive and as apathetic as possible.

On his way to the immaculate den, he trips on a rug.
 
Looking down at the slightly askew piece of fabric, he shouts, “This place is a mess!”

 
She takes a deep breath and physically prepares herself for the inevitable follow up.
 
The backhand, with his signet ring no less, whips across her face, drawing blood.
 
Amber liquid swells out of the glass and spills onto the pristine white carpet.

 
It was rare he hit her in the face.

 
She put a hand on her mouth, already swelling and filling with blood.
 
For reasons she can not explain, at this exact moment, she decides she is going to leave him forever.
 
 
But how to get away without suspicion?

Choosing not to comment on his action – he wants a reaction – she says, “I planned something special for us tonight.”

She tenses again.
 
He didn’t like surprises.

“For Valentine’s Day.
 
Maybe I could meet you at the hotel?
 
Or, I can always cancel our plans if you’re not feeling well.
 
We can rebook for our anniversary if you prefer.”
 
She knows he likes to feel in control, but prays he will want to go out this evening.

 
He considers her request and then answers gruffly, “Fine.
 
I have a few e-mails to finish up first.”
 
Cringing internally, she wraps her arms around his neck and murmurs, “Let me call a cab, so you can take the car.
 
How does that sound?”
 
“All right.”
 
Forcing her voice to be bright, she says, “I’ll get checked in so all you have to do is come straight to the room.”

He hates dealing with people, so she prays he will agree to her suggestion.

He sighs loudly, then loosens his tie and asked, “Where are we staying?”
 
In a flash, the lie comes to her.
 
“They had a good deal at the W in West Hollywood.
 
I remember you liked it from that party we went to last November.
 
I can text you the room number.”

And he’d agreed.

After a nervous ride over, she had given the driver a considerable tip to have him tell anyone who asked she had been dropped off at the W Hotel.
 
When she had checked in downstairs, she had asked them to keep her room reservation under a different name.
 
Against all hope and pessimistic thoughts, she believed he wouldn’t be able to find her.
 
Betsy had long ago gotten wise at deleting all of the history on her computer and out of paranoia, constantly changed passwords on the desktop at home.
 
Her cell phone was purposely left in the taxi.
 
She will not use the credit card again.
 
She will pawn the jewelry and try to start a new life where he will not be able to find her.

 
She thinks of who might take her in, who might be her port in storm.

 
Shaking her head, she decides to worry about that later.
 

For the first time in forever, she feels at peace.

She walks into the bathroom, removing the rest of her clothing and looks at herself in the mirror.

The bruises are still there, fading in the light.
 
There are scars that won’t ever heal.
 

She looks at the various pots of toiletries and selects a lavender bath gel, and begins filling the bathtub with the hottest water she can stand.
 
Stepping in, she feels her concerns drift away.
 
Rocking in the water, she imagines herself safe, reborn.

Some time later, wrapped in terrycloth, she walks over to the desk and drafts a letter.
 
In this world of texting and typing, it has been years since she had handwritten anything, so the pen feels strange in her hand.
 
On the Winchester letterhead paper, she begins to write:

February 14

Philip,

I should have written this the first time you hurt me.

I didn’t.

You can have everything I’ve left behind.
 
I don’t want it.
 
It reminds me of my time with you.

 
Please, don’t try and find me.
 
I don’t want to be found.

Please, get help from someone.
 
You have anger issues.
 
You need to face them.

With nothing more to add or say, Betsy precisely folds the letter and put it into an envelope, then clearly addresses the letter.
 
Rising from the desk, she opens the mini bar and pulls out a small bottle of champagne.
 
Draining the bottle, she walks back into the bathroom and looks again at her reflection.
 
Fingering her limp blonde hair, she feels the sudden urge to make a permanent change.
 
Fumbling through her toiletries bag she finds a small pair of scissors.
 
With calm hands, she tentatively snips an inch off near the back.
 
Then, emboldened, she begins hacking at her hair.
 
Slivers of blonde locks tumble into the sink, filling up the white porcelain.
 
Breathing heavily, she finishes the last trim and steps back to look at her handiwork.
 
She looks younger.
 
Friends might not even recognize her.
 
The new bob frames her face and looks good against her delicate features.
 
He always liked her as a blonde, so she thinks she will probably invest in a new color shortly.
 
With her heart rate returning to normal, she steps out onto the balcony to enjoy the sunset – the first day in a promising new life.
 

While the rest of the world gets ready to see and judge and laugh at celebrities on their big night, another set of individuals have equal reason to be nervous and get dressed to the nines.
 
While they might not be interviewed by Ryan Seacrest or have their outfits picked apart by the fashion police, this evening is still a night where there is the potential to be recognized by their peers.
 
By dawn the next morning, the words “Oscar award winner” could forever be tagged onto their credentials.

Tonight is such a night for Katie “Kat” Alberti.
 
She is nominated for her work in sound editing.
 
It’s taken her years, but she is recognized as one of the premiere Supervising Sound Editors in the industry.
 
Although she’s accomplished many of her professional goals – the nomination is the icing on the cake.
 
When she was first starting in the entertainment business, Kat never dreamed she would be nominated for an Academy Award, let alone in a position to win one.
 
After graduating with her shiny new BFA, Kat had settled into a number of jobs before finally finding her love of sound.
 
Her feelings were difficult to put into words to most other people, but from the first time she had worked foley, to her first official credit as a sound supervisor she knew she had found her calling.
 
She could spend hours perfecting the different levels of sound that went into a film.

The film she’s been nominated for,
Momento Mori
, is a period piece, with a great ensemble cast.
 
The film has also been nominated for Best Picture, Best Editing, Best Directing and Best Actor.
 
As a whole, they’ve done well this awards season, but having grown bored with all of the effort of going out and dressed up, Kat is grateful things will end tonight and she can go back to her regular life.

Although much of the cast and crew were out the night before to celebrate some of the wins for the Independent Spirit Awards, Kat gave herself the day to relax in preparation of the Oscars this afternoon.
 
Although she’s been attached to an assignment later this year, the latest Brendan Sullivan picture, entitled
The Unusual Vendetta
, a gritty picture with chops she hopes the actor still has, Kat is looking forward to her first real vacation in five years – a Mediterranean cruise with her mother.
Knocking on the bathroom door, Kat asks, “Almost ready, Mom?”

Given her nomination, Kat was allowed an extra ticket to the Kodak Theater.
 
She could think of no one else she would like to invite more than her mother.
 
Patricia Alberti, single mother and retired librarian has been on top of the world since her daughter’s nomination was announced.
 
Flown in from the Garden State for the occasion, the elder Alberti is very excited to be in attendance.
 
With some help from her friends back home, Patricia searched everywhere and found a lovely lavender gown.
 
The garment was intended to be a mother of the bride dress, but Patricia had long ago given up on that dream.
 
Many years ago Patty realized her daughter was married to her career and although that choice would not bring grandchildren into her life, Mrs. Alberti has been content to know her only child was more happy than most.
 
She knew contentment can take all forms, it doesn’t always take kids or a house in the suburbs.
 
In the case of her Kat, Patricia can take pride in her daughter’s professional accomplishments.
 

“How do I look?” Kat asks nervously as her mother exits the bathroom.
 
With a few extra pounds on her five foot nine inch frame, she feels lucky enough to find a shimmering floor length DKNY gown that suits her body type.
 
Not bothering to be concerned the cost is the equivalent of two months mortgage payments, Kat bought the dress.
 
Armed with Spanx and weeks of strict dieting, she feels confident.
 
If it is her name that is called, she will walk to the podium knowing she’s looking her best.
 
She’ll never be mistaken for an actress, but she can clean up nicely when she puts her mind to it.
 

“Fabulous!” her mother answers with pride, then asks, “How about me?”

Kat kisses her mother’s cheek and says, “Wonderful.”

 
“You won’t forget to thank me, will you?”

“Of course not, Ma.
 
How could I?”

Her mother, now shorter with age, reaches up and pinches her daughter’s cheek and says, “You know I’m proud of you no matter what happens tonight, right?”

“Yes, Ma.”

“No, look at me Katherine…” Kat dips her head so she is looking into her mother’s made up eyes as the older woman continues, “I need you to understand, whether the Academy recognizes you or not, I still think you’ve done the best.”