The 9 Story Hotel was opened in 1920 (closed in 1929)
This scene is to establish the ritual and capture details of the process. I sit at the bar in a simple set built inside the hotel, although everyone whispers about a speakeasy with secret passages back to guests’ rooms.Â
A lovely glass and metal fountain of ice cold water, condensation forming outside, stands on the wooden countertop next to a flattened, slotted spoon and a bowl of sugar cubes. The actor playing the role of bartender brings me a special glass with a bubble at the bottom that holds a pale green sphere of the doubly prohibited spirit absinthe. I balance the spoon on the glass’s rim before I place a sugar cube atop it and drip water from a small spigot until it saturates the cube. Once the sugar starts to dissolve, I drizzle more water. One must be patient but will be rewarded with the mesmerizing milky sea green louche that slowly forms. As water sinks to the bottom tendrils then wisps of liquid smoke swirl and rise. Like a world being born.
—Chester, are you getting the shot?
—Yes, madam.
—Now, Miss Saint Clair, stir the remaining sugar into the drink. Yes. Gorgeous. Chester, do you have everything you need?
—Yes, madam.Â
—Very well, ten minute break, everybody. —Theodora Razner snatches the glass from the bar top. —I’ll be damned if a single drop of my last bottle of legal booze goes to waste. Rebecca, darling, would you like a taste?— She sits on the stool next to me.
—No, thank you, ma’am. I promised Mother. She’s always said lips that touch wine will never touch mine.Â
—Ah, a woman ahead of her time. And she lives by those words?
—Oh, yes. I have never once seen her kiss Father.
Theodora laughs. —Aren’t you a delight?
Emboldened, I take the glass and drink. And, oh, it’s disgusting. I want to spit it out but don’t. The aftertaste is not bad, though. I eye the glass. She laughs even more then pushes it closer to me.
The 9 Story Hotel was opened in 1962 (closed in 1968)
I made a lunch date in the hotel’s dining room with my former agent, who was once the biggest name in Hollywood thanks to me. I’d sent him new headshots and lured him here as a test of my appeal as Genevieve Harland. There was no doubt in my mind this venal and lecherous excuse for a human being would come. You should’ve seen his repugnant toad face gasping for air when the host delivered him to my table. He saw a young, desperate hayseed who could make him rich and famous again. Sitting in the same room as the pack of beatniks who’d infested the hotel only enhanced my deceit. Besides, I’d practically taken up residence here since my initial surgery. The doctor is a perfectionist, dare I say artist, and who am I to argue when he wants to refine his work?
The agent sat across from me then removed the balled up handkerchief from his suit pocket to wipe the sweat from his forehead.Â
—Baby, you’re stunning but next time you travel to me. Got it?— He paused to gulp a few more breaths. —Tell me, just how close are we to Timbuktu?
—You said you were in the area.
—Yeah, well, I lied. What is this place?
—Lost, are you?— I opened my silver cigarette case gifted to me by Gloria Swanson ages ago. Or was it that department store heiress?
The depraved parasite at my table had ignited his handsome lighter before I placed my cigarette on my lips then set it near me on the table in a failed attempt to hold one of my hands. —Forget all that. Listen, sweetheart, I can make you the biggest star Hollywood’s ever seen.
—Is that so?— I exhaled smoke into his face and steeled myself for what I knew to be coming.Â
—Yeah, doll.— He coughed and reached underneath the table to stroke a knee. —Why don’t we go upstairs and order room service?— His ham handed approach to unseemly seduction had not changed in decades.
I laughed then regarded my manicure for drama. —My most sincere apologies, but I have another engagement.— I grabbed his lighter, stood, turned to walk out, and fluttered my business card over my shoulder as a souvenir for him to blubber over later while I strutted away to use the powder room.Â
The vermin scurried after me and begged me to sign a contract, lowering his percentage with each step I took.Â
After I freshened up and no longer heard his piteous sobs through the door, I returned to the newly set table for my next appointment with the most powerful agent in the business.Â
This man behaved like a gentleman and was, of course, immediately smitten with me. A few days later we brought in our respective lawyers and signed a contract after my first screen test as Genevieve Harland. The camera loved me more than ever. Thanks to the doctor’s ability to rejuvenate my face and body, I wouldn’t be thrown out like yesterday’s trash again any time soon.
The 9 Story Hotel was opened in 1920 (closed in 1929)
We film the first bar scene. As I trickle water over a melting sugar cube, a fashionable man and woman about my age sit next to my right side on the crowded set of merrymakers.
The man, who is sitting closest to me, touches my arm. —May we join the party?
I nod. —Bartender, two more glasses, please.— I stir the remaining sugar into the absinthe drink and push it to my left. —Allow me to prepare yours so you can witness the magic.—
While the couple watches the bartender pour the absinthe into two glasses, I switch the bowl of sugar cubes with my own that I tainted with a tincture in the previous scene. Once I begin the ritual, the two lean in and watch intently. The swirling cloud inside the glass’s basal orb draws them closer and closer as it hypnotizes them. Then I stir the concoction and hand them their drinks.Â
I invite the couple to my room where they walk directly to the full length mirror opposite the door. They pull on their faces, elastic and distorted, until their reflected images are of my face and they collapse onto the floor. With the passing of night, their facial muscles relax and the man and woman look like themselves once again.
As the sun rises so do they, emotionless and mechanical. I hand them their room keys on their way out then sit at a small table and remove the black velvet fabric concealing a crystal ball. It clouds like the absinthe orbs then reveals the couple screaming and clawing from inside. This wakes the others trapped with them. I place my hands on the crystal ball to soothe my captives.Â
I gaze lovingly into the ball. —My poor, poor little bunnies.— As soon as my line has passed my lips, I see my face. Not a reflection, but a physical manifestation of myself inside except my mouth and ears and nose are gone. I become so desperate for air I claw at my face.
Theodora screams, her mouth twisted, her arms waving. I hear nothing but the silence between dead stars. Chester leaves his camera and carries me to the bed. He props me up on pillows then sits and looks into my eyes, breathing deeply. Eventually I breathe too.Â
Theodora stands over me mouthing words that I soon hear. —suffering from exhaustion. Chester, escort Rebecca to her room.
—No, I’m fine. Truly. I got too caught up in the scene.
—I’ll say. You’re bleeding, darling.Â
—It doesn’t hurt. I want to keep working.
Theodora evaluates me for a moment then kisses my cheeks. —That’s my girl. Let’s get Miss Saint Clair cleaned up and move onto the next scene. Busy, busy, busy bees. Bzzzzzzzz.
The 9 Story Hotel was opened in 1962 (closed in 1968)
Back when I joined the cult I didn’t believe in the rituals I participated in. I was there to mingle with the elite and reap the opportunities to my career they offered. Besides, it was just sex.
My first film as Genevieve Harland quickly became the highest grossing moving picture in history. I acted my heart out, personified allure, and won countless awards for best actress. My second film under my new identity brought more. And the third earned me not only accolades but everlasting respect and prestige. In the end, all three movies were said to be cursed. From drivers to actors, producers, and directors, I was eventually the only person involved who remained alive. Although a couple of deaths occurred within the first years of the films’ releases, most took more than a decade coming to fruition. A considerable amount of living and dying can happen in long stretches of years but still, the films earned a reputation. One that added to their dark, forbidden appeal. And to my bank account. Ultimately rumors circulated that the act of watching them also cursed viewers. Despite the outlandish claims every other person on the street continued to ask for my autograph and inquire about my next film.
The production was an amateur affair meant to chronicle rituals for the secret society’s present and future study. I must admit the quality was quite good given our budget. Then again, this was one motion picture that didn’t depend upon the amount of money poured into it. Besides we were able to get old washed up Theodora Razner to direct for a song. Poor creature had been labeled as difficult and tried to stay in the industry in any possible capacity but she couldn’t even get pity roles from friends as background extras. To be frank, she had always been a mousy, unremarkable woman who could only work behind the camera.
Although our project was a documentary, few would believe that if anyone besides myself were to ever see it. I, myself, had a difficult time distinguishing reality from fantasy captured on those reels, which recorded images and events I didn’t recall until I witnessed the footage on the screen. We needed no tricks of the camera, no enhancements, no tension building music to convey the story. From the light of the projector, the images imprinted themselves into the emulsion of the film and my mind, forever seared.
The 9 Story Hotel was opened in 1920 (closed in 1929)
In this scene the bartender has double crossed my character. He poisoned her with her own medicine and imprisoned her in the crystal ball. He leaves the hotel with the ball wrapped in its black velvet cover and a trail of empty bodies, automaton husks of victims, with my character rounding out the procession.
to be continued in the finale Diva Pt. 3