The Sheraton Commander Hotel is a very real and very imposing brick structure rising above Garden Street just north of Harvard Square, and crowned with an impressive sign facing southeast, announcing for the uninitiated: “SHERATON COMMANDER”.
The Sheraton Commander is where, at some point in the recent past, “gender-dysphoric” anti-hero Poor Tony Krause and his fellow “red leather fags” assist the brothers Antitoi in an act of minor terrorism. The target is not the hated U.S. government but the puppet Canadian one. In the “Epaulet Ballroom”—which doesn’t exist—Poor Tony, Lolasister and Susan T. Cheese, along with two unidentified others, serve as red-dressed decoys while an “androgynous Quebecer insurgent” flings “foul semi-liquid waste” (from the Great Concavity, no doubt) into the face of the “Canadian Minister of Inter-O.N.A.N. Trade.”
The cross-dressed waste-chucking Canuck is almost certainly Bertraund Antitoi, “the brains of the outfit, pretty much by default,” whose “harebrained” schemes are “puerile and on the whole rather sad little gestures”—although other efforts described in the book are more mischievous, less terroristic.
I didn’t try to go inside to find this ballroom; from the looks of hotel security outside the front entrance, I couldn’t imagine they’d have let me and my camera in. Fictional though the attack described in the story may have been, it appears the Sheraton Commander is determined to keep it that way.