Remember Me, Irene

33

UNLOCK THE DOORS,” I said as we turned a corner. “Unlock them now.”

“Why?” he said, glancing over at me. I reached for the button on my side, hit it. The door unlocked. No problem. I was still staring at the button, wondering why I had expected it to remain locked, when Keene pulled the car over to a curb.

“Here we are,” he said. “You’re right. Probably silly for such a short trip-probably silly not to walk. But you mentioned rats and there are lots of two-legged ones around here. You wouldn’t believe the character my security man kicked out of here earlier. I told the guard we’d be coming back here, and he promised to run off any other weirdos. The place should be safe enough now.”

We were at the Angelus.

It looked different. The sagging fence had been replaced, as had the broken windows on the bottom floor. I glanced up and heard him say, “We started on the lower floors. The window your friend broke hasn’t been replaced yet.”

“I’ll pay for it,” I said.

“Don’t be silly. I wasn’t dropping hints.”

“You’ve done a lot in two or three days,” I said. “When I was here on Sunday, it looked different.”

“When the police called and told me what had happened here, I had my kids do some work.”

“So you knew? You knew when I called you on Monday?”

“No! They called up my kids-the police called my son-and-Wait. Let me back up a minute.”

He exhaled, long and slow.

“The building is owned by my company. It’s a family business in every sense of the word. I’ve got five boys and two girls.”

“I didn’t know you had so many children.”

“Yep, seven. One of the girls and one of the boys didn’t give a damn about the business, which is fine, and they’re happy doing other things. But the others-they run the business here in town.”

“While you stay in Fallbrook?”

“I’m down there most of the time. So Monday morning, the kids get a call from the police. Later, my youngest son lets me know about it, but I don’t get the details.”

“What did he tell you?”

“‘Dad,’” he mimicked, holding his thumb and little finger to his face like a phone, “‘the police called to say a homeless guy climbed up to the upper floors of the Sad Angels Hotel-’”

“Sad Angels?”

“That’s what my kids call the hotel. Anyway, he called to say this bum climbed up and had himself a heart attack.” He went back to his imaginary phone. “‘Poor guy was in there dead for days, Dad. Some women were looking for him and found him-one of ’em broke a window so she could call the police.’”

“And did the police ask any questions?”

“Yeah, they asked him if we gave permission to a transient to sleep in the Sad Angels. He told them no, which was the truth. Then he called me to ask if I wanted him to start the work on the place, get it cleaned up.”

He paused, looking out at the fence. “‘Yeah,’ I told him. ‘Start getting that place cleaned up. New fence, new locks. Get a security company to cruise by the place. I don’t want any more people dying in my old angel hotel. Those angels are sad enough.’”

“And that’s all you knew when I called?”

He nodded. “That’s all I knew. I didn’t know it was Lucas Monroe. I didn’t even know Lucas was dead. I didn’t know that you and your friend were the women-I found all that out late Monday, when one of the older boys called. He had called the police to find out if it was okay to do some work around the place, and found out more than his brother.”

“This has all been done in one day?”

“You teach seven kids to work as a team, they can get anything done! But to be honest, we were already making plans when this happened. The windows were already ordered. Fence wasn’t a problem for a construction company. Same with the general cleanup of the grounds, and the first floor. They probably called in some favors. The kids are fond of the place, believe it or not. Talked me into buying it so Roland wouldn’t level it.”

“Roland Hill?”

He nodded.

“Why the attachment?”

He smiled. “See those angels on the corners? Well, we used to live not far from here when the kids were little. I was just starting to make my way. My wife was alive then, of course. We were driving past the place one day-a day when the kids had been giving my wife fits. The youngest looks up and asks his mother why those angels are so sad. ‘Why, those must be your guardian angels,’ she said. ‘And who could blame them for being sad?’

“Well, my oldest girl pipes up and says, ‘There are seven of us and eight angels.’ Without missing a beat, my wife says, ‘The saddest angel up there is your father’s.’”

I smiled, but when I looked back at him, his face was full of regret.

“She was right,” he said. “Back then, I used to drink pretty heavy. Left her with so much work, I sent her to an early grave.” He opened his car door. “Come on, I’m getting tired of sitting in here.”

I got out, taking my envelopes with me. I watched him take out a separate set of keys and unlock the gate in the fence. He looked back at me, and said, “We won’t go upstairs, if that’s what you’re worried about. I know that’s where he was. But how about the lobby? Have you been in the lobby?”

“No, I haven’t.”

“Oh, you’re in for a treat. You’re go

A security company cruiser stopped by just then. Keene talked to the guard for a moment, then motioned me to follow him through the gate. He locked it behind us, and seeing my face said, “You want to hold the keys?”

“Yes.”

He handed them to me, but didn’t make a move toward the hotel. He was waiting for an explanation.

“I had a bad time once,” I said. “Being locked in a place.”

He nodded, opened his mouth as if to say something, then closed it again. He started walking toward the hotel, across grounds that were now swept clean.

I followed him to the top of the steps, where he stood looking up at the sad angels, then smiled at me. “One night,” he said, “while my wife and I were out, my second-youngest son was shoved into a broom closet by his older brothers, who thought all his screaming and carrying on was fu

I think my face went white.

“They didn’t let him out for over an hour,” he said, not smiling now. “Kid had nightmares for years after that. To this day, he can’t sleep in a tent, won’t go into a phone booth. Has to know where the doors are. Hates being in any closed place. One day, I had an idea. I let him carry my keys. As long as he had the keys in his hand, he was okay. Discovered it made life a little easier for everyone.”

“I guess there’s not much that raising seven kids won’t let you experience.”

“Not much. In some ways, we’re all kids, I suppose. So, would you please unlock the front door?”

I did as he asked. The glass-and-brass doors were almost as shiny now as they must have been in the 1920s. Keene stepped inside.

“They’ve done good,” he said with pride.

I followed him into the lobby of what must have been a grand hotel in its day. It wasn’t perfectly restored by any means, and it was empty and devoid of furniture, but it was also clean and smelled of wax and polish.

We stood on a large mosaic entry depicting Botticelli-like celestial beings. There were angels everywhere. A dry fountain in the entry was graced with carvings of embracing seraphim. Behind it, a grand staircase ascended to a wide balcony on the next level. Except for the angels and the elaborate woodwork, the Angelus seemed an entirely different hotel than the one I had been in on Sunday.

The room was open and the ceiling a full story above us. Marble columns rose to meet it. It was painted a twilight blue with gold stars, and all around its edges bemused cherubs looked down on us. Several walls were painted with murals; there was wood paneling elsewhere; the windows were tall and their casings ornate. Afternoon sunlight streamed in.