Going Bonkers
November 10
“Hey…Viv, I’m going on vacation.”
That is the message Ms. Bransdale has sent Viv(her new assistant) today, from her telephone at her house. Viv, at the time, didn’t answer the phone, and Ms. Bransdale doesn’t want to wait.
Right now, she’s packing some papers into her briefcase. She’s in a hurry, and accidentally swallows the olive at the bottom of her martini glass.
She’s checking her plane tickets to see what terminal she should enter. To Switzerland.
That’s where she’s going. To check up on someone who’s ruined her marriage, her son’s life, and her company when she was employed. Jannet.
“Jesus Christ Pem, you can’t just go over there and kill someone” Mr. Coodrinson had told her over the phone a week earlier. She had told him about why she hadn’t been to the office as early or often as she had in the past. “But that isn’t half as bad as MURDER!” he had yelled. And he would have known. That scare with the gun, at Mr. Bransdale’s office, was pretty close. “Well, that’s fucking great, just don’t forget that you were with me that day” she had told him.
She had hung up, drinking some more scotch.
Burt had called, but she hadn’t answered. She couldn’t forgive him for that night. All those months ago. At the dinner.
At the dinner, May 25, 8:25:
“OH MY GOD, BURT!” Ms. Bransdale screamed.
“Burt?” Mr. Bransdale asked, sarcastically.
“ ’About right” Gary grumbled taking a drink of water.
Mary and Jannet hadn’t said anything. No one knew about them and Burt yet.
“I do,” the maid said, walking up to the table. She was dressed in all black, skin-tight pants and a leather jacket, with a beanie. “I know about Mary, Jannet, and Gary.”
[Ms. Bransdale grabs up her suitcase and leaves her countryhouse, entering the taxi outside]
November 11
“Don’t ask me that another time Janet!” Mr. Bransdale yells.
His phone calls with her, have gotten steadily worse over the months. Their complicated prenuptial agreement hasn’t been dismantling as fast as either of them would hope. They’re not married, but ever since that night, it’s felt like they’ve gotten a divorce.
Right now, Mr. Bransdale is taking a cab to work. Janet has just called him, to ask that he not try to rekindle the relationship, which is what she thinks he's trying to do; why it's taken them so long to split. His reply isn’t one she wants to hear.
“What a girl” his cab driver, a woman, has yelled over the beating rain. He doesn’t say anything, except, looks into the rearview mirror, at her. She looks back at him, a car honking at her as she barely avoids a crash.
“What are you thinking about,” he asks. “
“I’m thinking about what I would do, if you let me.”
If he let her is the keyword. The former Bransdale Estate maid, Ms. Rayburn is now his cab driver.
Ever since that night.
At the dinner, May 25, 8:30:
“Ms. Rayburn, th-that’s an atrocious lie!” Ms. Bransdale had abruptly stood up and said, knocking over Jannet's Rum and Coke(which was finished).
“No James, it’s not. I caught you and Jannet driving together, the other day. You didn’t see me, but I was on the commuter rail, when I heard screaming, and a slapping sound. Also, I caught you walking with Mary on more than one occasion, during my weekend routines.”
“Purely coincidence! I happen to drive random people to work.”
“That’s not the truth James. You and Jannet, specifically, were arguing, about how much money you'd lost, during the robbery. The one Ms. Bransdale carried out.”
“How did yo-... Pem, that was you!?”
“That’s right you son of a bitch,” Ms. Bransdale replied cooly, putting out her cigarette.
“Motherfucker" he had mumbled angrily to himself. “PEM! DO YOU KNOW HOW MUCH MONEY YOU STOLE? THE COMPANIE’S BANKRUPT!”
That had marked the last time they had seen each other( Ms. Rayburn and him), until last week, November 5, he had called her, giving her a chance to make real cash. Similarly, she had thought, to the time, six years earlier, when he had paid her to install security cameras in the Bransdale Estate, that he had control of, after the breakup. One look at the money and it was a yes. The same had applied for now; he had money, to give her. And he was going to get the rest of his back.
November 12
“Well, run FUCKING faster Mary!” a man yelled on the other side of the phone.
Mary is at the office right now. Not Ms. Bransdale’s. The angry president of STAB, a vegan meats company, has just slammed the door on her nose.
She’s running fast, but not fast enough. Or too fast, because as she’s running, the faster she goes, the more blood sprays out.
“Damnit Mary, what’s going on?” The man on the end is screaming. It’s her husband Woodrow Levinson.
“I - I can’t feel my nose!” Mary screams.
This conversation, taking place, wouldn’t have been possible, if it weren’t for that night. They hadn’t just exchanged yells, ever since that night.
At dinner, May 25,8:22:
[Mary gets up to go over to the bar for a drink. No one knows about her and Mr. Bransdale yet, but she’s nervous it will come up]
“What will it be?” the bartender asks.
“A…anything…the strongest drink you have.” Her mind at that time was on other things. The things she had left at Mr. Bransdales office, the night before. She had hidden them, but still, it was bugging her.
Mr. Bransdale gets up from table 13, and makes his way over to the bar, eyeing the bartender suspiciously.
“What were you talking to him about Mary?” He’s breathing hard.
“A drink, James, that what I was talking to him about!”
“You’re sure…that’s all? Mary, Mary, tell me the truth!” Sweat is forming on his brow.
“James, James! You don’t have the right! You don’t have the right. YOU’RE the one who was stupid enough to get caught!”
“Alright, calm down! I wasn’t yelling, was I?"
“No James, you were screaming SAVE ME, SAVE ME! Not this time. I’m leaving James.”
[Mary runs down the stairs, heading towards the bathroom, crashing into a co-worker]
November 13
“Blah, blah, blah, blah, blah!” Those were the three words Burt has just spoken, as he skis down the snowy, Swiss mountains, in the Jungfrau region. “Every time you call, it’s about her. And I’m TIRED of hearing it!”
“But Burt, something’s wrong. She hasn’t called in the last thirty-six minutes and three secon-”
“Jan, this is insane. We came up here to get away from her….but the whole time you’ve been talking about her-”
“I know, I know, but you know how she gets. I mean, she hasn’t sent a single cryptic note, like she should-”
“I’ve got to go Jan…I’m gonna crash if I don’t hang up.”
“Okay, but somethi-”
[“Click”, Burt Bransdale hangs up.]
Jannet’s at the Grindelwald resort. This is a vacation. It was supposed to be a vacation. But ever since that day, when the first letter came, they knew that this was an escape.
November 6:
[It’s morning, Jannet and Burt have just woken up]
BAM!BAM!BAM!BAM!
“Good…heavens…oh man, what was that?” Burt asks yawning.
“You last night,” Jannet says, from under the sheets.
“Uh ha ha ha, ha ha ha, ha ha ha-”
“A bit too much-”
“I-I-I’m just trying to stop laughing.”
[Burt gets up out of the bed, leaving his robe hung up on the bathroom door.]
“This is kind of early for breakfast” he yells back to Jannet.
“Yes, well, it’s not early for a brandy”.
“For you it’s not” Burt mumbles to himself, as he opens the bedroom’s door.
[Entering the living room area, where he sees, on the floor, a letter, with the Bransdale stamp]
November 14
Gary wasn’t having it at the office today.
“I feel like I’m about to PASS OUT!” he’s yelled just now.
“Mr. Christener, while you do own Christener Incorp., you can’t just yell any time you w-”
“Ohhhh JEN, JEN, JEN, JEN! You didn’t pay for any of this! You are my assistant! I don’t need assistance right now.”
“So, then, can I take the day off?”
“NO, NO NOOOOOOOO. No no, SARA, YOOOU TAKE A DAY OOOF WHEN I SAY YOU DO!”
“And when has that been…yeah, yeah, not for the last month!”
“Well, maybe you haven’t been working for the last month!”
“Maybe you’ve been drinking too much for the last mont-”
“That’s better than eating as much as you do-”
“I have a gym membership!”
“Which you don’t use!”
“And who’s fault is that, huh?”
“It’s yours of course!”
“WHO’S IN CHARGE OF THIS COMPANY GARY?”
“You KNOW WHAT?”
“WHAT GARY!?”
“I NEED A DRINK. A DRINK! YOU… TERMAGANT!” Gary says, beads of sweat on his neck, trickling down onto his dress shirts’ collars, him turning to face his office.
“YEAH, that’s right Gary, just ONE MORE DRINK! THAT’S WHAT MY FATHER SAID BEFORE HE DIIIED!” she pauses for a moment, pulling out her vanity mirror, slicking back her hair. “Oh, uh…mm mmm, and when do you need those emails sent out?”
“Tomorrow Jen…tomorrow,” Gary says, walking back towards his office.
[Gary enters his office, and closes the door behind him]
He glances at the picture of his assistant on his desk. He had wanted a person with spunk, cheer, attitude, affection, truth, and admiration all rolled into one. But she?; well, she was something he couldn’t identify.
[He goes over to his phone, and dials a number …]
“Jen…I uh, I want you to make a reservation…for a hotel, somewhere, in Switzerland”
November 15
[The Lady Is A Tramp plays in the background, it’s night, as Janet, pours herself a Scotch]
“Out on the slopes again” she whispers to herself. “More like trying to fall off one.” Nothing is moderate and responsible about how much she’s drinking, and how fast, the steady sound of whiskey flowing into a glass, frequently being heard.
[The phone rings…]
“That, man. He calls me when I’m drinking, but not when I’m sober! What does he want… a drunken lover, I- I- I can’t give him that. I’m better than that.” Jannet’s drunk.
[The phone rings again…]
“Oh for fuck’s sake! Give up, GIVE UP ALREADY!”
[Phone rings again…]
“What the FUCK is that important! Die BURT! DIE!”
[Phone rings, again…]
Jannet gets up slowly.
“Who needs a vote, that badly, this far up!”
She walks over to the phone - (bottle, on table wobbles, wobbles some more, more…falls to the ground… CRASH!!) “Wh-OW, OH, OOOOOH MOTHERFUCKER!” She’s stepped on glass. Blood is gushing out of her feet, and onto the floor, several thick shards of the broken bottle being stuck in them.
[Phones rings, again…]
“OH GOD, IT HURTS!” Jannet screams. “OH, HOLD ON, I’M…COMING!”
Really, she’s crawling. She’s collapsed onto her stomach, slipping on her own blood. Her hands are covered in red, as they climb up one of the table’s legs the phone rests on. She picks up the phone. “Uh…um, who a…a… who is it?”
“Jannet, this is Pem. I’m going to kill you tonight. Open the door so I can come in.”
November 16
[It’s night time, 7:10]
“Jan, Jan, Jan, just…open the door,” the voice on the other end comes again.
“Oh, no, no, no. I CAN’T DO THAT PEM!” Jan screams back, looking around the room for exits.
“Jan…listen to me. Everything is going to be just fine. Open the door Jan.”
“NO, NO, NOW GO AWAY! YOU’VE COME A LONG WAY FOR NOTHING…THE SHOW…IT’S OVER!”
“Jan? Now why would you lie to me, Jan. Ha ha, the show’s not over………….you’re the show.”
BANG! BANG! BANG! [Door rattles]
“OOOH HO HO, NOOO MOTHER….FUCKER... SOMEBODY, ANYBODY, HELP!”
[The front door has started shaking, and the messages on the message machine start playing]
“You have three messages…first message: “Jannet” Burt’s voice comes, “I’ve been trying to reach you all day. I’m worried. A phone call came…that my mothers trying to kill you. There’s a storm up here, so I can’t come down and be with you. Hope everything’s fine though.”
“W- WHAT!? OH MY GO…FUCK YOU BURT….YOU FUCKING FUCK!”
“Second message: “Hey Jannet, I- I- I’m going to try to make it down back to the hotel…sorry if I’m not coming through clearly… the snow is picking up here!”
“YOU HEAR THAT PEM! HE’S COMING BACK, HA HAAA! YOU’RE FUCKED!”
[There is no sound from Pem]
“Third message: “Hey Jannet, doesn’t look like I’m going to be able to make it down…tonight-”
“WHAT?... WHAT?... NO! NO BURT! YOU NEED TO COME DOWN HERE TONIGHT!”
“- the snow. It’s coming down too hard. I don’t really know what you’re going to do, but I’m staying up here. Good luck…I guess.”
Messages have stopped, and Jannet has smeared blood all the way back to the bedroom door. A tear is trickling down her right cheek right now. She’s breathing harder than before, and a shock of hair is matted against her forehead, which is lightly covered in sweat.
This is reminding her a lot of her days in Bay City as a child.
The year had been 1965. She had been in school.
Her teacher had taken a phone call, one of those slow ones. Speaking in the same slow way she always did, with the same heated, southern accent that infected the rest of the town. The type of an accent that said “I’m proud to be one racist son of a bitch”. And she hadn’t spared any curse words in that call; perhaps what Jannet remembers most. Ms. Knobblebottom, or Ms. Small Apples(as the kids called her) was the woman who had told Jannet she had small brains, small braids, and a small personality, which would get her nowhere.
She would have known too.
Born the second daughter of the third wife of her father, Ms. Knobblebottom had felt as though the attention she received wasn’t enough. This feeling of being second to third had been somewhat of a distraction from her daily life, to the point where even when she was sleeping, she would think about it.
Her father would frequently bring up the subject at the dinner table if she made an “uneducated” statement, or asked an off-topic question.
Mother made it no better, either. The first mother that is. The first wife of her father. She had been married to him; when they divorced, and he went on to marry two other women, who both died in two separate, unfortunate, car accidents. That’s what the Hoolar Town Globe had reported. The newspaper her father owned.
Anyway, and because of their deaths, Mr. Hoolar had sent a letter to his wife from fifteen years prior, stating that her return would be “most appreciated” and that it would be a “paid return”, a “non-physical relationship”, and a “hard one”.
She had agreed, sending back a letter, asking for a sixty-thousand dollar advancement. It took him no time to respond to her letter, and the two were married five days after he sent the money. Ms. Knobblebottom had been in her bed, when her father had gone off to officiate the wedding, in the afternoon, only inviting family members, and some of his newspapermen.
In the classroom though, the day Ms. Knobblebottom got the call, it was a hot day. Her scalp was red with heat, and one would have been able to tell, because her red hair was thinning a little, and would show her even redder scalp.
The telephone had shaken while she made that call.
She had tapped her flat velvet topped, leather-bottomed shoes on the wooden floorboards steadily.
Her back was turned to the class, and her eyes had peeked over her left shoulder a number of times, at no one specifically.
She had shaken her hair up, before putting the telephone’s handset back down onto its switch hook.
Her feet completed a one-hundred-eighty-degree angle turn, and faced the classroom.
Her face was covered in hair, which she moved to the left side of her head, with her weather-beaten left hand, revealing a tired expression, but there was a glint of hope in her eye.
“Jannet” she began, “your father…he’s……well….he’s…he’s um…-”
“Ms. Knobblebottom, what is it?” Jannet had asked, her heart beating.
“Jannet…oh Jannet! It’s too horrible.”
“Oh no no no no No! NO MS. KNOBLEBOTTOM, NO!”
“YES JANNET-”
“OH NO HO HO!”
“YES!”
“NO!”
“YES!”
“NO!”
“YES, YES, YES!”
“OH NO, NO, NO!”
“JANNET…listen to me-”
“Oh Ms. Knobblebottom…please, tell me… tell me it’s not true.”
“But it is Jannet. Your father…….. HE’S-COMING-HERE-TO-PICK-YOU-UP, AT TWO-THIRTY… and it’s two-twenty-five.”
[Back at the lodge, 7:55]
Jannet has been out, unconscious for the last twenty minutes. She made it inside the bedroom, and is leaning against the right side of the bed, sitting on the floor.
[A creaking sound is heard coming from the living room, getting quieter, but there’s a cold gust of wind that enters the bedroom]
“J…Jannet? Is that you?......................... There’s nothing to be afraid of.”
