The producers of Haunted California rented out the entire ninth floor in the hopes of catching a glimpse of the ghost of Montgomery Clift. Blake decided to sleep in room number 928, said to be where Clift stayed back in 1953 while preparing for his role in the movie From Here to Eternity. The countless reports of activity in the room ranged from a shadowy specter sitting in a chair in the corner to loud bugle blasts in the hall, reminiscent of Clift’s stay there when, in preparation for his role, he practiced playing the bugle. Many of the hotel’s staff flatly refused to work on the ninth floor, citing a “weird energy.” That was the official story, anyway.
Blake opened the door to the room slowly because he didn’t want to displace any energy by barging in. Melody, whose room was directly across the hall, stood behind him watching.
Blake looked at the nondescript room, almost disappointed. It was hard to believe that this room, now updated to look like any other hotel room in any other city in the world, had ever been used by a great actor like Montgomery Clift. The new floral bedspread, the upholstered chair, the whole thing shouted to Blake that it was anything but 1953. The furnishings—flat, sterile, plain—were almost an insult to the room where the great actor had slept. Even the white walls seemed to say to Blake, “Who cares?”
“See anything?” Melody whispered, after a moment’s hesitation.
“No, at least not right now.”
He tossed his bag onto the bed and beckoned for Melody to enter. “Do you sense anything?”
Melody stepped hesitantly into the room and peered from side to side. She closed her eyes and slowly shook her head. “No. It feels a little creepy in here, though. I don’t know.” She plopped down on the bed next to Blake. “Maybe we’ll get something later, when it gets dark.”
“I hope so. I’d really love to talk to Monty. What a handsome guy.”
“Really?” Melody had a smile on her face. “Didn’t he have a funny eye or something?”
“He was in a car accident! But, yeah, I think he was very handsome.”
The star of movies like From Here to Eternity, The Young Lions, and The Misfits, Montgomery Clift had been involved in a car accident in 1956 during the filming of Raintree County. As a result of his injuries, including a broken nose, broken jaw, and lacerations, he began to drink heavily, which adversely affected his career.
“Well, I’m on the lookout for Marilyn.” Melody rose from the bed. “And I think I’ll go change into something a little more presentable in case we bump into her.”
“I wouldn’t mind bumping into Marilyn, either,” Blake replied, “although for entirely different reasons from your own.”
“You gay boys love your Hollywood starlets. Meet me in the lobby in fifteen minutes?”
Blake quickly changed shirts and checked his cell phone for a missed call from Brian. He sighed and put his bag into the closet.
Perhaps Melody was right. At least they hadn’t invested too much time in their relationship. Still, if it was over, Blake wanted to hear it from Brian.
Blake closed and locked his door. The network had hired security guards to cordon off the ninth floor from the public, but, he figured, it was better safe than sorry. Downstairs in the lobby, he strode across the tiled floor to the gurgling fountain in the middle of the room. As he looked at the people around him, some with suitcases, most with cameras, he wondered which of them might really be a ghost. Sometimes it was impossible to tell the difference. He was just about to turn and walk to a staircase leading to the basement when the voice of a child stopped him. He turned, and standing before him was a little girl in a pink sweater and blue jeans. She appeared to be no more than five or six years old and had her brown hair pulled back in a ponytail. She looked as if she had been crying.
“Hello,” Blake said, crouching down in front of her. “Where’s your mommy?”
“I don’t know. I can’t find her.”
“Don’t worry, we’ll find her.”
He stood up and held out his hand but, instead of taking it, the little girl vanished in midair.
*
That afternoon, while Blake, Melody, and the show’s producer, Marty, met with the hotel manager, Blake mentioned the little girl.
“That was Caroline,” the manager replied. “She’s one of our regular spirits and has been seen around the hotel for years now.”
Blake laughed and shook his head. “No matter how many times I encounter ghosts, I still have trouble identifying them right away.”
The manager, a handsome, well-dressed man in his early forties named Donald, smiled. “You’ll have plenty of opportunities to see ghosts here.”
He explained that in addition to Caroline, Marilyn, and Montgomery, ghostly encounters had been reported in the boiler room, the Academy Room, and the Blossom Room, site of the first Academy Awards banquet, among others.
“We’ll set up cameras in all those rooms,” Marty, the show’s producer, suggested.
Already famous for the scores of shows he had produced in the past, Marty was pure Hollywood. A corpulent man of only five-eight, Marty wore flashy suits with Italian labels and drove a shiny sports car. He was most often recognized for his hair, however, a curly mass of thick gray pushed back to conceal an obvious bald spot. He seemed to take everything in good humor and always be relaxed, no matter the situation.
“That’s fine,” Donald said. “I’ve instructed my staff to do everything necessary to accommodate your needs.”
Blake expressed his appreciation, then said, “Would it be possible to have a tour of the hotel before we begin taping?”
“Of course. I’ll have my assistant, Kyle, show you around.”
Kyle met Blake and Melody in the lobby ten minutes later. He was tall, around six-one, with a head full of dark, curly hair and penetrating blue eyes. His skin was unblemished and pale as alabaster. He grasped Blake’s hand enthusiastically as he introduced himself to them.
“Mr. Danzig,” he said warmly, “I’m a huge fan of your show…a huge fan.”
“Thanks. But, please, call me Blake.”
He led them to the elevator and pressed a button. “I’m taking you to the penthouse first, where Clark Gable and Carole Lombard stayed when they were here.”
As the elevator carried them to the top of the hotel, Kyle addressed Blake. “So, I hear you’re staying in Monty’s room.”
“That’s correct. I hear there have been a lot of odd occurrences in that room.”
“You name it. Telephones left off of the hook when the room was empty, calls to the front desk when nobody was staying in that room, apparitions, and even one guest who claimed something lay on top of him while he was in the bed.”
“Have you ever seen Monty’s ghost?”
“No. I wish.”
Melody sighed loudly and Blake playfully nudged her.
The penthouse suite was an opulent affair, with high beamed ceilings and its own kitchenette. The living room alone was bigger than Blake’s entire apartment, and the room’s decorations were decidedly masculine, befitting Clark Gable. Kyle pointed to a door and explained it led to a neighboring room where Ms. Lombard “officially” stayed, since she was having an affair with the very married Mr. Gable. “At that time,” he said, “this room ran for about five dollars per night.”
From the penthouse, they rode the elevator back to the lobby, where Kyle pointed out the tiled stairs where Shirley Temple learned to tap dance. He then took them into the Blossom Room where the first Academy Awards banquet was held. As they entered, a gust of cold air escaped and goose bumps covered Blake’s whole body. Although the room wasn’t without its surviving Art Deco touches, it still had the overall appearance of almost any hotel conference room, complete with standard folding tables and uncomfortable chairs. But the air in the room buzzed with paranormal energy.
Kyle said, “The first awards ceremony—”
“Wait.” Blake lifted a hand to silence him. “Sorry,” he explained. “This room is full of spirits.”
Unseen to all but him was a ghostly long table in the middle of the room, surrounded by fifteen spirits, all dressed in 1920s fashion. The spirits looked up at them as if they had just interrupted a very important meeting.
“Excuse us,” Blake said, and turned back to his companions, excitement building in him. “We definitely have to record in this room tonight.”
As Kyle led them out to the poolside suites, Blake explained what he had seen.
“I sensed great anxiety in the room,” Melody said, “maybe even anger.”
“I wonder if I was seeing the spirits relive the first Academy Awards banquet?”
“Could be. Maybe I was picking up on the anxiety of one of the actors awaiting the envelope?”
Blake and Kyle both laughed at Melody’s unintentional joke, then they suddenly stopped in front of one of the poolside bungalows. “The painting on the bottom of the pool was done by Hockney,” Kyle said, gesturing to the swimming pool.
Blake and Melody admired the underwater mural, made up of hundreds of blue crescents that created a dazzling effect under the blue water. Although the artwork wasn’t exactly to Blake’s taste, he nodded appreciatively.
“Marilyn Monroe’s first advertising gig was a photography session here.” Kyle pointed to the diving board. “And this bungalow was where she stayed.”
Melody’s face brightened. “Have people seen her ghost in there?”
Kyle laughed at her obvious enthusiasm and unlocked the door, which led into a very spacious and tastefully decorated room. A four-poster bed, draped with white fabric, sat in the middle of the room. Sunlight poured in from the windows and played across the carpeted floor, seeming to reach for the stuffed chair that sat in a corner. Being in there somehow made Blake feel like he was at the ocean.
“There have been some things that couldn’t be explained,” Kyle replied, “but her ghost is said to appear in a mirror that used to hang in this room.”
“Where’s the mirror now?” Melody asked.
Blake chuckled. Was she honestly hoping for a tryst with a spirit? Was that even possible?
“The mirror is in the lower lobby,” Kyle said, “beside the elevator. I planned to show that to you next, on the way to the boiler room.”
Melody stared at her surroundings for a moment, apparently waiting for a reading.
“Anything?” Blake asked.
“Happiness. I sense happiness in this room.”
“Me, too. But I don’t see her.”
“Maybe in the mirror,” Kyle suggested.
Back inside the hotel Kyle led the way down a short flight of stairs, stopping beside an elevator. On the wall beside the doors hung a large colonial-style, wood-framed mirror.
“This is it?” Melody sounded disappointed.
Blake, however, smiled and said, “Hello, Marilyn.”
The familiar blonde reflected in the glass smiled coquettishly back at him.
*
All the episodes of Haunted California were filmed using simple handheld cameras and, unlike similar shows, they kept the overhead lights on instead of filming the scenes in night vision. The one bit of gadgetry they did use was sensitive recording equipment, for picking up EVPs, or Electronic Voice Phenomena. The taping went very well, capturing a shadowy image of a man in the swimming pool invisible to the naked eye, the ghostly image of a man in a white suit in the lobby, a dark vortex in the Blossom Room, strange orbs in the boiler room, and an eerie gold light emanating from the “Marilyn mirror.” Unfortunately, no spirit materialized in the Montgomery Clift room.
As the crew wrapped up taping for the night and stowed away the equipment, Melody approached Blake, yawning. “I’m beat,” she said. “Are you going up to your room?”
“No. We got a lot of good stuff tonight. I’m going to have a celebratory drink in the bar.”
“Good night, then. I’ll see you in the morning.”
“Good night.”
Blake walked to the entrance to a bar just off the lobby. The vaulted ceilings danced with the light of candles placed at various intervals, and he took a seat at the nearly empty bar. He ordered a glass of wine from the bartender and had just taken his first sip when he was surprised by a voice behind him.
“Mind if I join you?”
He turned to see Kyle standing behind him, his untied necktie hanging around his neck.
“No, please.” Blake motioned to the empty bar stool next to his.
Kyle ordered a glass of wine for himself and turned to Blake. “So,” he said, raising his glass for a toast, “it sounds like you had a good show tonight.”
“We did. But I was disappointed that Monty never showed up.”
“Maybe he’s shy. Besides, you’ll be sleeping in that room all night, and the night’s still young.”
Blake nodded and took a sip of his wine.
“You want some company?” Kyle lightly rubbed his leg against Blake’s.
“Um, Kyle, I don’t know if that’s a good idea.”
“I’m sorry. I thought…”
He cleared his throat. “Really. I’m sorry. So…are you in a relationship?”
Blake thought for a moment. Brian still hadn’t returned his call from that morning. “No.” He rose from the bar stool and tossed back the remains of his wine. “Come on. I’d love some company.”