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33
Kaira listened to Gilligan’s Island in the shower through a special speaker connected to the TV. She would have to leave for the concert in a little over an hour.
Not all the moisture on her face came from the shower nozzle. Some of it came from thinking that nobody would ever like her for who she was, only for what she was.
She’d be glad when the concert started and she could lose herself in the songs. Singing about heartbreak and betrayal would come easy. She’d have to conjure up an imaginary person again for the love songs.
Jerome Paisley knocked on the door to her suite, waited a moment, the slipped a key card into the lock. He opened the door and stuck his large head inside.
“Kaira,” he said, but not too loudly. He held the baseball bat. His hands were sweating inside the latex gloves.
He entered and pulled the door gently shut behind him. He could hear the shower running and the sound of the television.
Kaira’s suite was bigger than his, with three rooms and a working fireplace. It always bugged him that she got the best room.
The Skipper was yelling at Gilligan.
As Jerome Paisley made his way through the suite, he could feel his blood pounding inside his head. His eyes blurred momentarily, and he stopped to take a breath. So far it had just been a plan, an intellectual exercise by El Genius, but there was a big difference between the planning and the doing.
He gathered his courage and continued into the bedroom. He grabbed hold of a bedpost to steady himself, then waited just outside the bathroom door. The shower was still running.
He heard a rattling noise, then realized that his hand was shaking so much, the bat was knocking against the wall. He hoped Kaira hadn’t heard it.
Armpit was winded when returned to the hotel. He had always thought the hills in Austin were steep, but they were nothing compared to where he’d just been. One of the streets was so steep the sidewalk had been shaped to form stairs.
The orange message lights were blinking on his telephones—all five of them. He splashed his face with cold water and watched the phone in the bathroom mirror blink on and off rapidly.
He returned to his bedroom, sat on the edge of the bed, then picked up the phone. He pressed the button for messages.
“I don’t hate you. I’m just sick and tired of being used by everyone. Why should you be any different? Just go ahead and sell the letter. I don’t care. I really don’t. Everyone else makes money off me, why not you? Besides, how can I be embarrassed? I’m not a real person! I don’t have feelings! I’m just a— Just go away. I never want to see you again! You’re right. I don’t have a clue. But neither do you.”
Well, he could have told her that.
A new voice came on.
“That was your final message. To hear the message again, press three. To save it, press six. To erase—”
Armpit hung up.
Kaira put on a hotel robe. The volume control for the bathroom speaker was to the side of the sink. She turned it down now that it didn’t have to compete with the shower.
She towel-dried her hair. Rosemary would come fix it later. She dropped the towel on the floor, opened the bathroom door, and took one step into the bedroom.
Jerome Paisley closed his eyes as he swung.
The bat caromed off her shoulder, then slammed against her throat.
Kaira fell against the bedpost, and before she could even figure out what was happening, she was struck again, this time across her chest.
She found herself on the floor. She tried to crawl under the bed but was only able to partially protect her head. The area under the bed had been blocked off so guests wouldn’t lose their keys and underwear.
The bat smashed against the back of her neck just below the base of her skull.
She was only vaguely aware of what was happening as Jerome Paisley grabbed her by the ankle and dragged her away from the safety of the bed. She saw the eerie image of her business manager/stepfather split into two people, each holding a baseball bat high above his head.
There was a noise from out in the sitting area, and then a shout.
It sounded like the Doofus!
