Chapter 3: Weekend at Bernie's, Part 3?

written by: Linda Sharp (appearing courtesy of Sanity Central)

"Call Housekeeping?! He’s not a soiled spot on the carpet Jane!"

"Fine. He’s a dead soiled spot on the carpet! Call them and get rid of him!"

"Julia, Housekeeping will call Management, Management will call Security and Security will call the Police. You know what will happen?"

Julia, despite the seriousness of this situation, began to smirk. "We’ll end up spending our vacation in some goddamned hot police station, answering questions that we don’t know the answers to?"

"That’s right. They're gonna take our fat heads to jail."

And with that, they both burst out laughing. They had seen each of the Weekend At Bernie’s movies at least twenty-five times apiece and could obviously quote dialogue verbatim. "You‘re not thinking what I’m thinking are you, Jules?"

Julie stood up as straight as her inebriated musculature could support her and said, in her best Andrew McCarthy voice, "All’s I’m saying, is why don’t we just pretend he didn’t die?"

She then laughed so hard she rained spittle down upon the expired form of Mr. Edmonds.

They both stopped laughing after a moment and sat down hard on each of the queen beds. Jet lag, alcohol, intrigue and death suddenly proved to be too much for them. Sleep sounded like a much better idea. "I cannot move a muscle," said Jane. "I am so, so wasted. Can’t we sleep some of this off and then figure out what we are going to do with Bernie...er, I mean Anthony?"

"Absolutely," agreed Julia, "but we can’t just leave him in the middle of the floor, can we? Don’t dead people start to stink fairly quickly?"

"Yeah, I watch Six Feet Under and they decompose pretty easy unless they are refrigerated. "

And with that, they burst out laughing again. "Let’s stuff ol’ Bern in the mini-bar till morning, ok? You empty it out and I’ll drag his heavy ass over."

"Ok Jules. Think he’ll fit?"

"Sure, he’s still floppy, no rigor mortis yet."

It took some doing, but luckily the mini-bar was of the larger variety, capable of holding massive quantities of liquor, peanuts and Snicker bars. It also didn’t hurt that Julia had taken Origami classes at the community college several years back, when she had a mad crush on a waiter at Wun Hung Lo’s House of Hunan.

With Berndrew, as they had christened him, safely stowed away, they decided a pre-sleep nerve relaxer was in order. And since one writer has already been warned off of sex related rompage, Julia and Jane settled for a small bottle of Stoli and several candy bars.

As they chewed their way through three days worth of carbohydrates, Julia suddenly remembered the package Berndrew had given them before he checked into the Heaven Hilton.

Picking it up from the floor, she unsteadily made her way back to her bed. The package was not large, but was fairly heavy. Wrapped in what looked like yellowing, filthy newspaper and twine, she cast a glance at an almost slumbering Jane. Should they peek? After all - if they were going to have their lives and vacation jeopardized over this parcel, didn’t they deserve to know it’s contents?

"Jane...Janie...are you asleep?"

"Mun hmmm, whasup?"

"JANE, WAKE UP. I think we should open this and see what’s inside."

"Youf kin urfle doob, shoo nep..." And with that, Jane began to snore.

Julia’s own eyes were loudly demanding the shade of her eyelids, but much like a cat, curiosity got the best of her. Stumbling to the door, she opened it just enough to place the ‘Do Not Disturb’ sign outside, and then closed it, locking the trio safely in for the night.

Finding some manicure scissors in her vanity case, she snipped the twine and began to carefully unwrap the contents of the package. One layer of newspaper, then two, then three. She felt like she was peeling a goddamn banana.

With each removed layer of newsprint, the package got smaller and smaller, till it was not much larger than a can of Alpo. What could possibly be this small, yet still so heavy?

As she pondered the miniature mystery, still covered in more newspaper, her eyes gave way and she fell hard against the pillows. Screw it, she thought, and with Snickers wrappers and old newspapers scattered around her, she too drifted off into a deep, alcoholic stupor.

The only sounds in the room were the comforting drone of the air conditioner and the whir of the mini-bar fan, keeping all three occupants cool and mortis-free. (Although Julia’s and Jane’s bender-breath would surely rival any aroma Berndrew may have cultivated by morning.)

Continue on to the next chapter...