PEEPHOLE PATTY

In the better parts of Hell’s Kitchen, long time residents still tell tales of a young woman from the “actor’s hood” who justifiably earned the nickname: Peephole Patty. Patricia Spenders endured the quintessential actor’s life in the good old city that never sleeps. Between stage and television gigs, which have never paid the bills, she was on a perpetual struggle-cycle to make ends meet or even wave at each other. As a result this cunning and determined thespian trouper cultivated the subtle art of being a New York City hustler. In a single week Patty would harvest the rent money by “pimping myself” as a cocktail waitress, dog walker, fit-model, bike messenger, and of course, a union-scale movie extra. Occasionally she did voice over-work for cartoon characters. A soupçon of irony here since she was, shapefully buxom and possessed impressive mounds of flaming red hair. She was Jessica Rabbit incarnated. This ultimately became her professional name at the gentleman’s club she occasionally danced at. Yes, she was also a part time stripper. Hey, New York is a criminally expensive city and a girl’s gotta do what a girl’s gotta do.

Despite the amount of thespian work she managed to secure, as exciting and interesting as the projects were, nothing in her personal or professional life could compared with what she saw threw the peephole of her first floor one-bedroom flat on west 43^rd street.

Her impromptu voyeurism started shortly after she moved on to the ‘actors block’ six years before. This was her first apartment in New York City. Patty knew from that moment her Kate Spade patent leather stilettos stepped on the hardwood floors, she would never move out. Patty loved her home more than anything in God’s creation. Her rent-stabilized flat was on the ground floor at the end of a long violet colored hallway extending from the foyer. The front door peep-hole, she one day discovered, offered a birds-eye view of every soul who dared cross the well-lit entrance of the building. Offering further snooping temptation; the manually operated elevator was just outside her front door making it effortless to unearth outrageousness gossip. This is how she came to know her neighbors intimately, long before she met them face to face.

To Patty, each tenet in the building appeared to have a life shrouded in adventure and mystery. Mrs. Pillsbury was a 68-year-old retired dental assistant who appeared to have a little too many gentlemen callers. If not for her age, Patty would have sworn she was a hooker. An expensive one if that. Though Mrs. P. was generally encased with threads from Carolina Herrera and Comme des Garcon, her hair could frighten Bin Laden out of hiding. It was an honest work of art in terrifying hair design.

Three striking, blonde, full-time, real strippers shared Apartment 4B. Patty discovered within the first week that all three graduated from law school but kept stripping because it pays more than practicing law. Nonetheless Trixy, Dixie, and Joan were the sweetest girls on the block, and by far the most responsible tenants in the building. Julio, the super, treasured them even more than his four dozen hydroponic marijuana plants growing in the boiler room.

“It’s like an ocean of titties in their house.” He once let out to Patty. He loved only one thing more than their mammary miracles; the girls essentially did his job for him. They faithfully disposed of all the trash and recycling, swept the hallways everyday, cleaned the windows, planted flowers in front of the building, painted the foyer and three times fixed Patty’s garbage deposal. Everybody in The Venom Arms loved the trio of brain-bo’s. Yet, the most mysterious resident by far, was Wandi Robinsing, a racially mixed transsexual dog groomer. Though she was responsible for getting Patty started in the dog walking business in the first place, Patty still didn’t know much about this big-hearted shemale. That was until the day she began ‘innocently’, spying on her threw her peephole. This is how she learned Wandi used to be P. Walker Dooley the once famous calypso singer turned prizefighter turned,…well, we’ll see what happens.

Adding to Patty’s insatiable eavesdropping capabilities was the ever-trusty intercom system. Despite being an antiquated piece of technology, it miraculously and faithfully still worked like a nosey charm. By simply picking up the receiver, Patty was able to listen in on gossip-riddled conversations before anyone dared set foot in the building. In time, Patty came to see her world threw her neighbors dramas. They were far more to her than personal soap-opera characters, they were her very life. Yet it was a secret life. She never obliged a mortal soul about her covert obsession. She became very involved in and concerned about their troubles to the point where she nearly slipped up a few times offering advice on a problem she was never told about.

One spring day, Patty made a painful discovery. “Mrs. Peabody is a complete and total psycho-bitch.” In the past, the woman was always reasonably pleasant with Patty. This was not one of those days. With no surprise at all, the whole matter began with Mrs. Peabody‘s hair. It has been whispered that she has worn her impossibly frizzy, day-glow orange hair, in a beehive hairdo since birth. On this particular spring morning, Patty made the ill-fated mistake of innocuously uttering: “another hairstyle might look very cute on you.” Words that she would come to regret speaking for the rest of her days on earth.

“What do you mean change my hair style?” Mrs. Peabody screamed at her in the hallway. “What are you saying? That I look like some kind of freak. Is that what you’re saying?

“Oh, no, no, no Mrs. Peabody. The beehive is quite becoming to you. It always has been. I just thought, ya know, it might be fun to try a different look now and then.”

“So my look isn’t fun? It that it? What do you want me to do? Get a Mohawk? Dread locks. On the other hand, maybe I should shave my head bald.”

“I’m sorry Mrs. Peabody, I only…”

“Maybe you want me to get cancer so I’d have to have chemo and loose all my hair”.

“Oh now Mrs. Peabody…”

“I bet you’d love that wouldn’t you? Because then I’d have to wear a wig. But I’m sure you know all about cute and fun wigs to wear too don’t you?”

“Dammit, I didn’t mean to offend you. Alright? If you do have to wear a wig, buy a bloody beehive for all I care”.

“Yeah, you wouldn’t care if I got cancer and died. You’d love that wouldn’t you Jessica.”

“No! And my name is Patricia. Dammit, you know that!”

“You look like Jessica Rabbit. And she was a slut too.”

“And you look like Kate Pierson.”

“Who is she?”

“Wait. Why am I even talking to you?”

“Well excuse me for not being good enough to be spoken to.” Mrs. Peabody said grabbing Patty’s arm as she attempted to walk away. Patty flipped out and employed white girl ghetto to make her point.

“Bitch! Are you out of your fucking mind? I don’t care if you are a little old lady, you put your nasty hands on me again, and they’ll be carrying your sorry, wrinkled-up, ugly ass out of this place in a body bag.” Patty shook herself free, opened the door to her apartment, and started to step inside. Mrs. Peabody however, stopped her with a peculiar and haunting statement.

“A psychic told me I was going to die right around now either peacefully in my own bed or brutally murdered by someone I know but don’t like. I know which one you want.”

Patty was pissed to the point of speechlessness. She went inside simply dismissing her. The nerve of that pathetic bitch she thought. For years, they had gotten along relatively well. Now it turns out the woman is a complte psychopath.

Two nights later Patty was propped-up on her trusty peephole-stool and picked up the intercom. She could see outside Mrs. Peabody talking to Wandi.

“That Jessica girl wants me dead Wandi”. Mrs. Peabody said gesturing by pantomiming being hung.

“Girl what you been smoking?” Wandi laughed giving her a playful slap on the arm with her spanking new Fratelli Rossetti black leather driving gloves.

“She thinks she’s better than we are. Cause she’s been on Broadway.”

“Naw, she not like that. She’s a cool chick. You just got to get to know her.”

“Get to know the woman who is plotting to kill me? Yeah that makes a lot of sense Wandi.” Mrs. Peabody huffed as she walked away. Wandi entered the building and ran into Trixie.

“Hey Wandi. Did you hear about the big fight between Mrs. Peabody and Patty?”

“Only what Mrs. Peabody told me but then she buys Depends for her cat.”

“You don’t think Patty would try to kill her?”

“No.”

“Well Mrs. Peabody sure does.”

Patty nearly fell off her bar stool from the shock and awe of what just passed before her ears. She considered going into the hall, yet feared her eavesdropping would be exposed. But, she didn’t have to worry because suddenly Wandi knocked on the door.

“Wandi! What a pleasant surprise. Come in, come in” she said eagerly.

“ I’m not trying to be nosy,” Wandi began, “but there is a rumor going around that you want Mrs. Peabody dead.”

“Wandi you know that’s ridiculous.”

“Of course it is. But girl, you gotta watch you’re back with her cause she’s a little batty if you know what I mean”

“I’ll say”.

“Can you keep a secret?” Wandi whispered. Patty looked over her shoulder then back at Wandi and nodded yes. “Mrs. Peabody is a prostitute”.

“I pretty much figured that out on my own.”

“Yeah, but, it’s one of her so-called clients that really wants her dead.”

“Who? The guy who comes in with the broken massage table every Thursday afternoon.”

“No, have you ever seen a guy who looks like Dick Cheney, walks like Colombo and reeks of Halibut?”

“That guy? Oh man is he gross!”

“He’s been coming to Mrs. Peabody for two years. What he didn’t know was, so was his wife. But here’s the thing, she and Mrs. Peabody are lovers. The guy only recently starting getting suspicious about the whole affair but he’s furious because he thinks his wife is going to leave him for Mrs. Peabody. I think he’s just waiting to before he makes his move.”

“How did you find out all of this?”

“Come on Patty, Mrs. Peabody lives right next to me. You know how paper thin these walls are. But girl, I can see them threw my peephole in the hallway arguing sometimes. You know what I mean? He’s having fights with a woman he’s only supposed to be having for sex. There’s something fishy about it all if you ask me.”

“You watch them threw your peephole?” Patty asked with a careful sigh of reprieve.

“Sure, why not? I mean I personally don’t care about the prostitution. Half the chicks in this building are turning tricks. But ya know, murder is against the law and shit. And I don’t care what anyone says, even if the person deserves to be killed. It still doesn’t make it right to do it.”

“Wandi I told you I don’t want to kill Mrs. Peabody. For that matter I don’t even want her dead.”

“I sure do. I’m only nice to her because I know she's a fruitcake. I couldn’t blame anyone for wanting to slit her throat.”

Patty couldn’t believe what she was hearing. The sense of relief that came over her was staggering. I’m not so crazy after all, she thought. Nevertheless, she decided to play it cool.

“Maybe I should try…ya know, spying on people threw my peephole.” She said with a cautious chuckle.

“Shit girl, you‘d find out everything. And frankly, I think you should. You could possibly save Mrs. Peabody’s life.”

“Wouldn’t that be funny? It’s the only way she’ll ever believe I don’t want her dead.”

“Oh don’t worry about that, I’ll smooth it over with her for you. Nice shoes by the way.”

Patty sat on her couch eating cold leftover General Tso’s chicken and gazing at a small painting by Jean Michel Basquiat. he did for one night as they ate Chinese food. She damned herself into a world of hazardous inner dialog. I am so goddamn ashamed of myself. Missing auditions because of this depraved addiction to other peoples stupid lives. And now i’m the number one suspect in the murder of somebody who hasn’t even been killed yet. Goddam. how the hell do I find out if this guy really is trying to off Mrs. Peabody? and why does she think it’s me who wants her dead? .

She thought about what this senor citizen’s pitiful life must be like having to turn to prostitution because social security isn’t enough to live on. Patty came to feel so sorry for Mrs. P. she almost shed a tear.

For a week Patty literally camped out at the peephole. Work and call-backs weren’t even in the realm of consideration. She ordered in every meal and sat at her post like a G-man staking-out a brothel. The gossip about their fight subsided to confessions by other tenets that they too had recently been verbally berated by Mrs. Peabody. Still, none mentioned being accused of wanting to kill her.

Curiosity, pity and guilt promoted Patty to brave an encounter with the senior call-girl late one night in the hallway.

“Mrs. Peabody I want to apologize for loosing my temper the other day.” She muttered humbly. But to Patty’s total surprise Mrs. Peabody forgave her. In fact she apologized for her behavior as well. Wandi must have worked some kind of magic with her because Mrs. Peabody was now pleasant and effortlessly making small talk.

“I’m going to make some cookies tonight but I forgot to pick up baking soda.” She said looking pathetic and somewhat helpless.

“Oh my gosh Mrs. Peabody.”

“Call me Hazel dear.”

“Uh, okay, Hazel. I happen to have a can i only used once. I’ll go get it.” Patty dashed into her apartment. how peculiar life is the thought. Only days before Mrs. Peabody had single-handedly tainted her reputation with everyone in the building. But now she could reverse her depreciated image by circulating news of their peace talk. She handed the baking aide to her new girlfriend. Hazel promised Patty a dozen cookies and they said goodnight.

The next day Patty was preparing to exit her house when she stopped and peered threw her peephole. Right in front of her eyes was Mrs. Peabody and the man who Wandi says wants to murder her. Patty was easily able to hear ever word clearly.

“Harold, I’ve told you a million times, I don’t know your wife.”

“Then why is your number in her cell phone?”

“How should I know? Why don’t you ask her?”

“I did and she said it’s none of my business.”

“So what do you want me to do about it?”

“Tell me the truth Hazel.”

“I’m telling you the truth and that’s not good enough for you so I think you should leave.”

“Leave? We have an appointment.”

“Not anymore. I’m canceling on you...”

“You can’t do that. I’m already here and I’ve got cash money. And…”

“Schhh!… do you think I want everyone in the building to know my business?”

“Hazel be reasonable. Doris won’t give me any cause she thinks I’m going to a prostitute.”

“You are going to a prostitute.”

“But she doesn’t know that.”

“Apparently she does.”

“Look, I’m sorry for accusing you.”

“No you’re not. You’re lying, ya bum.”

“I am lying. You’re right. But ya better be careful Hazel. People have been known to have accidents at some unexpected times.”

“All accidents are unexpected you idiot. And just because you’re a big hit man don’t think I’m afraid of you. Now beat it before I shoot you.”

Harold stood there with a defiant stare in front of Mrs. Peabody who was holding the elevator door open with her foot. After a second, she began reaching into her purse. Whatever Harold saw frighten him back. He turned and started to walk way but stopped, turned around and told Mrs. Peabody she hasn’t seen the last of him. To which she responded by saying: “Go have a heart attack and die.”

The guy is a hit man? Mrs. Peabody is a bi-sexual, prostitute having an affair with a hit man’s wife? How can she do this? Patty thought. She was dumfounded because she had been spying on this woman for years and had no idea she was seeing gangsters too.

The following afternoon Patty was getting her bills out of the mailbox when Dixie walked up next to her. She looked bewildered and distracted. She stood right beside Patty, but was far too lost in thought to speak.

“Hey Dixie… what’s wrong?”

“Huh? Oh! Hi Patty. Did you hear the news?”

“What news?”

“Mrs. Peabody.”

“What about her?”

“Last night she was found dead in her apartment.”

“What?”

“Yeah, they think she was murdered.”

“Oh my gosh! How was she, uh, killed?”

“That’s the weird part. She was shot in the heart but the police said that’s not what killed her. I overheard this detective say he thinks she was poisoned.”

“You mean she was killed twice?”

“Face it Patty, she had a lot of enemies, and she didn’t like many people.”

“She liked me though. Last night we made up and had a nice talk. I loaned her a can of baking soda to bake cookies.”

“No kidding?”

“Yeah we were laughing and joking. It was really quite a relief to not have her hate me.”

“No, I mean you really loaned her a can of baking soda?”

“Yes, why?”

“Uh,…that’s one of the things the police took away as evidence.”

“You can’t be serious Dixie? You don’t think they are going to think that I killed Mrs. Peabody do you?”

“I know they’ll defiantly want to talk to you.”

“What?”

“Patty, it’s a homicide. Get it? A murder investigation, duh! They are going to want to talk to all of us.”

“I guess that’s true.”

“Exactly. And if you didn’t do it, there’s nothing to worry about.”

“What do you mean, if I didn’t do it?”

“Personally I don’t think you did. But everybody knows she thought you were trying to kill her. and it’s just a routine part of an investigation to ask the question, ‘can you think of anybody who would want to kill her?’ But like I said, if you didn’t do it you have nothing to sweat over.”

Dixie’s sympathetic words of wisdom had Patty on edge all afternoon. She cancelled an audition and boxing lesson and stayed home to do some good old-fashioned nail biting. They can’t possibly think I killed her, she thought. But what if the baking soda was somehow contaminated? There is no way to prove I didn’t knowingly give it to her. She was completely consumed with fear, desperately questioning every angle, and chain smoking to hang onto her sanity. A unexpected knock on the door just about caused her to jump out of her skin.

“Who is it?” she asked nervously while staring threw the peephole at a handsome man in his thirties…holding up a badge.

“Ms Spencerod? My name is detective Sketch, could I have a word with you?”

“Uh, I’m kind of in the middle of something at the moment.” She said thinking it was not a complete lie. She was dreadfully busy… worrying herself sick. Caving in, she unlocked the door and opened it to a man who was way too good-looking to be a cop. A dead ringer for John Kennedy Jr. with shoulder length jet black hair. He wore a charcoal Brooks Brothers double breasted suit, Crockett & Jones loafers, an army green London Fog trench coat and sported a TAG Hueer wristwatch. Patty invited him in and smoked a Rothman nervously as he smoothly pulled out a notebook and began asking questions.

“How well did you know Mrs. Peabody?”

“Honestly, I didn’t know her at all. I mean we have spoken to each other before, but we never socialized or anything.”

“I see, I see,” sketch said rather admirably noticing patty’s shapely legs. “Would you say you ever saw any suspicious looking people visiting her?”

“Detective, i’m a single white female living in Manhattan, everybody is suspicious looking to me.”

“Do you mind if I ask you a rather bold question?” This is it, she thought. The moment she sweated over for hours. And what a question, did you kill someone? She braced herself and took a gulp.

“No, go right ahead.”

“Can you think of any reason why anyone would want her dead?”

“Dead? My God, that’s not a bold question. That’s darn right gruesome.” She began sweating thinking he was just toying with her before he nails her. “Look, I really didn’t know the lady or any of her people. She was rather standoffish if you know what I mean.” Patty lied. She knew everything about her but she sure wasn’t offering it up.

“I’m sorry Ms Spenders,” Sketch said handing her his card. “if you have any questions, or can think of anything, just call me…anytime.” he said with a wink.

“Hey Sketch, I have a question. How did she die?”

“I’m not supposed to be telling you this, but you seem trustworthy and you are pretty cute.” He said smiling with feigned -innocence.

“I won’t mention it to a soul.”

“Okay, at first we thought she was killed by a gunblast threw the heart. But, the corner determined that she died of poisoning three hours before she was shot.” Patty stared at him with wide worried eyes.

“It was something in the cookie dough she made. Anyway, if you can think of anything, gimmie a call.” Sketch then made his exit to a now mesmerized Patty.

She sat in the dark for three hours imaging every possible horrible detail of what could happen to her. The doorbell began ringing and once again sends her heart racing. This time, thank God, it was Wandi.

“Girl can I talk to you a second?” she asked. Patty ushered her in and they sat down on the floor.

“Did a detective come around asking you a bunch of questions?” She queried.

“Yeah, did he talk to you?”

“He made me nervous as hell. He wanted to know if I knew anybody who wanted her dead.” Wandi said firing up a joint the size of a miniaturized baseball bat.

“That is weird. When he asked me I told him I didn’t know her that well.”

“I said the same thing, but what I didn’t tell him was, I saw the guy that shot her leave the apartment.”

“Threw your peephole?” Patty asked feeling a pang of jealousy.

“Yeah. He obviously used a silencer.”

“But that’s not how she died Wandi.”

“Wait, rewind for me.”

“Listen, you got to swear you won’t breathe a word of this to a living or a dead soul, … Mrs. Peabody died of poisoning from some cookie dough.”

“The detective told me the same thing. But I still think it was from being shot.”

“He told me about the poisoning in secrecy.”

“Maybe it is. The only reason he told me is because he was trying to get in my pants.”

“He was kinds hitting on me too.”

“I told him what I was and what I still, ya know, had. And this nut still didn’t care. I swear I’ll never understand men, and I used to be one”

“There’s something suspicious about that guy. I don’t trust him.”

“That’s why I’m telling you this.”

“He is good looking though.”

“Yeah, that’s true.”

Patty was up all-night, unable to sleep for worrying about the impending investigation. As much as she tried to accept Wandi’s rationalization, she could not get it out of her head that Mrs. Peabody was poisoned. No matter how she figured it, she would look guilty. At midnight, she was struck with the impulse to call detective sketch. She had to get it off her mind.

“Detective, I need to tell you something.” she began.

“Why don’t you meet me for a drink?”

“It’s about the case.”

“So, we can’t discuss an investigation over a little drink. Seems to me like the best way to discuss a murder.” He said with a laughed.

A half hour later Patty was at Dorian’s with the urbane detective. She knocked back three straight shots of gin and looked Sketch square in the eye.

“Okay detective, here’s the deal.”

“I’ll bet you get complimented on your eyes all the time. Don’t you?”

“Usually it’s my breast. Listen! I could be in a lot of trouble here.”

“Don’t tell me you killed Mrs. Peabody? Because I’m really starting to dig you.”

“I may have killed her accidentally. I loaned her a can of baking soda which she obviously used to make the cookies that killed her.”

“Wow, that’s something.”

“So can you see why I’m worried?”

“Sure, but listen angel-face, you don’t even know if the baking soda she used was the one she got from you, if she used it at all.”

“Of course she used it, she told me that she was fresh out and forgot to buy more.”

“So why did we find two cans of baking soda in her apartment?”

“Huh?”

“We found two cans of baking soda, one wasn’t even open yet.”

“Then I’m in big trouble because the one I gave her was opened.”

“Oh stop your worrying; we won’t even know if she even used baking soda in the recipe until morning.”

“What happens then?”

“The results come back from the lab and we’ll know everything that was in the dough. But I still wouldn’t fret over it. Judging by the taste of them it seems like she forgot to add something.”

“You tasted them?”

“Like biting into fossilized corrugated cardboard. Either she didn’t use baking soda or else she’s a bad cook.

“She was a really bad cook.” She said realizing that she is not supposed to know even that much about her. Nevertheless Sketch was too distracted checking Patty out to notice the slight. He gave her a wink as he left.

Now alone Patty was free to worry more than ever. Had she made a mistake confessing to a man who only hours before she swore she didn’t trust? How did she know he really tasted the cookies? She played every scenario in her head as she tossed and turned threw the night. Around four, she past out.

She was sleeping soundly, still in her cloths when the phone rang at nine thirty. It was sketch.

“Patty, the results are back and you were right, she was a really bad cook.”

“What does this mean?”

“It means you’re being arraigned for her murder.”

“Are you serious?”

“Do you have an attorney?”

“Yes.”

“You’d better call him. I’ll come by, pick you up, and bring you to the station. There’s no point of sending a squad car and going threw the embarrassment of being handcuffed in front of your neighbors.”

“But I didn’t kill her!” Patty said with tears streaming down her face.

“Too bad it’s the weekend. You won’t even see a judge until Monday morning.”

“I don’t believe this is happening.”

“Now patty, you be strong. If you’re innocent than you have nothing to worry about. See you in a half hour.”

“If i’m innocent?” she asked but he had hung up.

Patty called her attorney and arranged to meet her at the detention center. She spent the next half hour imagining the trial, the verdict, and life in prison. How much time would she get? Where would she wind up? She wiped her nose and was about to pour another cup of coffee when the doorbell rang. She looked out of her peephole thinking she may never look threw it ever again, and saw detective sketch. She opened the door.

But instead of it being the good-looking cop, it was Mrs. Peabody.

“You thought you could kill me didn’t you? But I’m back! Back from the grave Jessica Rabbit! Ha, ha, ha.” she laughed at Patty and a second later everyone else in the building was standing behind her laughing as well.

“You, girlfriend have been collectively punked!” Mrs. Peabody said opening a glass of champagne.

“You have been spying on us for years putting your nose in our business and you honestly think we didn’t know?” Trixe said.

“What? You knew I could see you?”

“Just were do you get off watching, listening and eavesdropping on everybody all the time?” Joan said getting up in her face. Then Wandi stepped up and explained it quite simply to her.

“Patricia, we don’t hate you. All we wanted to do was teach you a lesson.”

What a lesson it was. And Patty learned from it. She survived that day. But within a month, she was gone. The atmosphere and the embarrassment was more than she could bear. Patty left New York and show business altogether. She settled in Bethany Oklahoma and got a job as a bookkeeper at Pistol Pete’s used car dealership. She never made friends and rarely goes out. She lives alone in a new condominium complex, complete with a tennis court, gymnasium, all new appliances, and central air. But there is one thing, her new apartment does not have … a peephole!

The End

Peephole Patty and all contents in the collection titled You Always Hurt the One You Love is protected by the United States Copyright office. Any publication, public performance, duplication or recording is prohibited without the written permission of the author Gaz O’Connor. Copyright 2005

This is am uncorrected proof.