Hidden Number
Seattle, 2000s
When some people get drunk, they become beligerent, or slutty, or wistful. I myself like to announce to people that I am, in fact, drunk and then I laugh loudly about things in my head that I don’t share with people. I also tend to get drunk on embarrassingly elaborate fruity drinks in shades of pink or blue. When Dean gets drunk, he becomes an 1890s dandy. Dean drinks Manhattans, “a refreshing libation.” When the bars close, Dean’s place is a popular destination. “To my parlor! There will be merriment until the morning lights the wainscotting!”
Dean’s apartment, in the basement of an art gallery, has no windows but it does have a full video surveillance system. Every wall, and some doorways, are draped ceiling to floor in red velvet curtains. The rooms are lit by electronic candlelight, wired to sconces along the walls. The furniture is a combination of Victorian wood and upholstery and bench seats from the van the band gutted to fit the equipment in. To the right of the entrance are shelves supporting phonographs, books on the occult, and Victor, Dean’s ventriloquist dummy. To the left is a TV. Would you like to watch any given episode of Pee Wee’s Playhouse, or would you prefer an old Houdini film? Too bad! Those are your choices. This is why you shouldn’t follow a drunk guy back to his windowless apartment. “I seem to have misplaced my monocle. Do you enjoy the theremin?”
