Segment 5: The Jefferson Account (1998)

written and produced by Viktor Devonne for 2 Night Stay
recorded and performed by Essence Revealed




gilman-logo-new-transparentIt was unreasonably warm in the room.  She could not tell the last time the bed had been turned down, but the musk in the air would have given the impression of someone having done aerobics while smoking cigars and then bathing a cat.

The windows looked bolted shut but with minimal amount of fuss, she was able to shake one open.  Her view of the courtyard and laxly cultivated garden was idyllic in comparisons to the rest of her surroundings.

The hotel had fallen into neglect, but certainly not recently.  She chose to stay there for the rate, and the proximity to the convention.

She had long been the only mind of money matters at her firm.  She knew where the clients liked to throw their dollar bills, and where the administrators vacationed on the company card.  Years ago, she’d proven her worth to several partners when she 1099’d the mistresses as something more palatable for the IRS.

She herself was three years married.  Margaret Mumford-Sachs.  Margie, please, but it was her decision to hyphenate.  She was tough in the board room, but without those hushed “what a bitch” whispers that her feminine colleagues seemed to always get.  She knew her job, frankly better than anyone else, but knew to file away, mentally, where the bodies were buried rather than act on it now.

Four years with Hopkins Vernon Skipp, the trials she was deposed for, the schmoozing cocktail parties, and the creative tax deductions did not prepare her for marriage to a would-be perfect man.

He was insistently perfect.  Underfoot.  Inquisitive.  Dying to please.  She has decided at six years old that she was not a dog person.  She still wasn’t.

It was almost 4pm.  The room was already airing out and her rose-scented body splash managed to overpower whatever Dutch Master  failed to die in there weeks ago.

Margie took off her lanyard and hung it on the lamp.  Glancing at the mirror, she was relieved her hair had stayed mostly intact from the morning’s styling.  Her manicured nails—violet—traced her neck to clavicle, over her jacket buttons.  The suit was a good choice.  She looked amazing in navy.  She stripped off the blazer somewhat reluctantly, exposing her white blouse.  Both were soon draped over the only chair in the room.

It was a matter-of-fact undressing for a woman who failed to find herself erotic for these many years.  Within moments, she was already in the shower, letting the heat provide much-needed permission for her mind to drift to the hours ahead.

She was an efficient shower-taker at home, but here, she allowed herself to linger.  It was time to switch gears and prepare herself to be something for someone else. Those unchecked emails would wait for Tuesday.  The steam filled her mind, as she caressed her unloved body.

She shuddered at that thought.  Jesus Christ, yes, she was loved.  She had a family she grew up with and supported her.  The collie of a convenience at home in the shape of a college sweetheart.  The single mothers who knew she had their back, and almost foreclosed that got the extra week to pay.  People are complicated, she thought.  It was as good an excuse as any to allow herself to sink into a momentary feeling of abandonment.

The flip phone in the other room made its familiar midi chime.  She caught herself postponing again, even when it served her.  Especially when it served her.

The towels were surprisingly luxurious all things considered; large enough to wrap herself once and a half, and to effectively soak up her skin.  No bathmat; her foot prints betrayed the otherwise naked floor.

Patting her chest and thighs, Margie stumbled into the now dim bedroom area, and to her second carry-on bag.  Her Chicago address tag came loose off the handle and dropped to the floor, as she slipped her hand to the bottom of the bag, past the nasal spray and tissues.  Removing the silk camisole and panty set, she dropped the towel and immediately slid the loose fabric over her still moistened skin.

She wondered if it was still too conservative for the weekend.  She thought black lace would be severe, and hard to explain at home, so she opted for the light silver.  She was afraid of looking like a mom on the Friday night lineup, so she had left her usual nightwear at home.

The phone—there’s a phone?—quietly rang, predictably distorted, on the end table, predictably stained with glass marks.

“Ms., uh, Williams?” the voice said, clearly suspicious of the last name.  They had seen her credit card after all.  “Your guest is here.  I’m sending them up as you requested.”

She nodded sheepishly, and it was quiet for just a few seconds too long; “Ms. Williams?”

“Oh!” she stuttered, “Yes, thank you.”  What the hell was this, 8th grade formal?  Wake up, Margie.  She put the down the receiver, and went to sit on the bed.  She should’ve checked the sheets when she came in.  Relieved to see that while the hideous Anne Geddes reject comforter looked crunchy, the sheets and pillows were bleach white, and seemed at least somewhat new.

Margie sat down on the open bed, and attempted a few poses.  No, “I don’t have to do all that,” she reminded herself.

The quiet of the room, and the distance from the lobby to the elevator to the fifth floor, made her nervous.  She flipped on the TV to yet another news analyst discussing that fucking blue dress.  Switching to Weather, unlicensed muzak put her in the mood of a court lobby, and was oddly soothing.

The door’s lock deactivated from the outside, and Margie saw her new guest for the first time.  “It’s okay to use the key, right?  The desk said—”

Margie smiled, “Yes.  Hi.”

Her guest put the keycard down on the small table  by the door.  “I’m Erica.”

“Hi.  I—” Margie thought for a second.  Fuck it.   “I’m Margie.”

“Hi Margie,” Erica smiled warmly.  She walked toward her slowly, her faux leather jack catching the dim light from the lamp.  “We can do whatever you’d like tonight.  I’m here til about 8.  Is that alright?”

Margie exhaled.  “Yes, that’s totally fine.”

Erica put down her knock-off bag, which hit the carpet with a minor thump.  “Good,” said Erica.  She was soft, but comforting, as she tussled her messy-style bob and pursed her bubblegum pink lips in a knowing “so what you wanna do” stance.  She put her hands on her waist, her jacket rising and the bottom revealing a dress about four inches shorter than Margie would ever feel comfortable wearing at the office.

“You look nice, Margie,” Erica said, not moving.  She smelled like vanilla sugar.  “Really sexy.”

Margie’s eyes stung for half a second, as she lay back.  “Lie down with me?”

Erica pulled off her jacket and kicked off the clunky boots.  “Do you want me to leave this on?”  Erica pointed to her satin minidress.  She looked amazing in navy.

Margie smiled, “I’ll do it.”

Erica would end up leaving promptly at 8:05.  Margie was a little sad to see her go, although she knew she would fall asleep by 8:30 at this rate.  She plugged Erica’s number into her phone, as “Jefferson Account,” and kissed her goodbye at the door, without touching her own stomach to hide it with her hand, or reaching for a robe.

The door closed, and Margie stood there naked for a few moments, before returning her wallet to her purse, and seeking a return to the comfort of the now slightly damp, tumbled sheets.


Segment 4: Voicemail/Music Video News Demo (1989)

written and produced by Viktor Devonne for 2 Night Stay
recorded and performed by Matt Storm



viktor sketches 1 color
Requiem sketch by Fishy Business

Hi, this is Ramona Malone from the Gilman Legacy Foundation.  I’m calling in reference to the advance copy I received regarding the passing of Requiem that is set to air tomorrow evening. 

I’m afraid I’m going to need Mr. Ludding and the producers of Music Video News Break to give me a call back.  Nothing serious, but there are a few items that I’m going to need to address.  I believe we sent Mr. Benson the original release that I authorized, and Mr. Ludding certainly took a few liberties.  I would hate to bring anyone from our legal department have to get involved. 

Specifically we’re going to need you adjust the quotes from the band members to reflect their latest statement that I have already faxed over.  And I need you to remove any insinuation the hotel has anything to do with his passing.  Oh and if you’re able to remove that comment about the band recording their demo here that would be great.   Finally, I see no reason to include Mr. Cobin in this story and we at the foundation don’t appreciate that implication.

I’m afraid I have about a dozen or so other notes and I suggest you give me a call back by 6 tonight.  Thank you so much.  The number you can reach me at 555-9424 and my extension is 7.  You have a wonderful evening, now.

Ken Ludding with a Music Video News Break.

Requiem, lead vocalist for the Last Boys, was found dead by authorities at abandoned hotel The Gilman on Monday. While details were not made immediately available to the press, Requiem (born Henry Jane Fullton, 10/2/1960) age 27, was discovered by unidentified witnesses early in the morning of February 15th.

Fullton, who legally changed his name to Requiem in 1985 after a meteoric rise to fame with his industrial-synth rock band, made headlines this past Christmas when the fall tour Tear the Flesh ’89 was cancelled and the singer went into what was described as “hiding,” by his bandmates, who released a separate statement indicating the cancellation came as a surprise to them. This seclusion brought Fullton to multiple cities, ending at the famed and notorious hotel The Gilman, which closed doors due to health code violations in 1986.

Requiem was discovered in an abandoned, unfurnished room on the third floor, with what can be described as stripped bed quarters and unsanitary conditions. It is unclear when Requiem entered the establishment, or precisely how he entered, however documents indicate he may have been there at least a week before his death, and that indeed he was found within hours of his actual death, despite his seclusion for up to that time. It would be the last of several visitations Requiem would make to the once bustling hotel, having been one of his frequent haunts when the Last Boys became successful in 1984. Indeed, it is legend that at least half the album, Rage In Favor, was written there and the demo sent to the label BioLumina was indeed postmarked from Gilman Street. Requiem would later joke that he made a pact with the devil for the album to be a hit while in a hotel room, which would later be revealed as the Gilman.

Alas, in summer of 1986, after a rash of complaints, the hotel was shut down while the Last Boys were on tour in Scandinavia. The hotel, recently famous for it being the final inhabitance of serial murderer Edgar Corbin n 1982, and something of a tourist attraction therefore, shut its doors by autumn 1986.

Requiem’s final years have seem to have culminated in a frenzy of usual-for-him behavior, from proclamations of vampirism in Rolling Stone in 1987, and forward and frank discussions of the occult during what was intended as a relatively light-hearted evening chat show in the UK, leading the host to sit motionless for several minutes while Requiem discussed Satan.

A fan vigil was organized Monday night outside the Gilman Hotel, which shut its doors to the public and provided private entrances and exits to its existing patrons and longterm stays. Fan club president Melora Debbenski organized the event through word of mouth, appearing in a near identical wine-red leather suit and cape ensemble that Requiem wore in the “Virgin Sacrifice” music video, which premiered on music video networks only this past Halloween. Requiem appeared in the same attire for promotional photos declaring the Tear Your Flesh ’89 world tour, which was scheduled to start in Helsinki in May.

Requiem and the Last Boys were riding a wave of six hit 12” singles and their latest, “Drown Your Face,” was set to premiere Tuesday, the 23rd of this month It is anticipated the single will move as expected, although radio stations have been playing on near loop, the now classic first single of the Last Boys, “Die Die Die (Darling)” and its award-winning follow-up, “Spit Dust.”

Last Boys lead guitarist Kurtis Mock called the news of Requiem’s passing, “on time,” and drummer Harvey Goode said “Req never should have gone back there.” Bassist Malcolm Binge commented “He’s not dead; he can’t die.” While the band’s manager, Jervis Capshaw, did not elaborate on any of these statements, he requested privacy for the band and their families at this time. It is not known if Requeim had any living family at the time of his death, considered one of the great loners of his field, and not connected to any romantic relationships during the band’s success.

Requiem, called the atomic accident mutation lovechild of Wendy O. Williams and Alice Cooper, was last noted to declare “I’m going home, ya bleeders.” on the now legendary Height of Hits countdown in December. It would be his last public appearance, as the band struggled three times to get through a fourteen minute version of their hit single “Voice Inside the Wall.”


Catch some backstory on one of the characters of 2 Night Stay:

viktor sketches 1 color
Requiem sketch by Fishy Business

Requiem, lead singer of the Lost Boys, cancels world tour (Tear the Flesh ’89) at the height of their fame to go into self-determined seclusion and found at the abandoned Gilman Hotel in 1989, from uncertain causes and most unhygienic circumstances.

Requiem, a self-professed vampire, was noted by fans as having come back from the dead and more internet rumors persist about resurrection. Which, of course, is nuts.

The Lost Boys’ albums spawned legendary metal/darkwave/rock fusions “Die Die Die Darling,” “Drown Your Face,” “Rage Against,” “Virgin Sacrifice,” and the award-winning single “Spit Dust.”

Holly Ween played Requiem in The Dead Sexy Hotel in 2012.