Weekend (17 page)

“There is that possibility, yes. It is one option, if our offer to become silent partners doesn’t appeal to you.”

She was nonplussed. Why hadn’t Jonathan prepared her for this? Of course she’d had her fantasies about selling out, right after Phil died. She’d said as much to her daughter the night before, but… At the same time, somewhere deep inside there was a voice speaking. It said that, in her position, no one would blame her for taking the easy way out. After all, it declared, it wasn’t her background and tradition. She had just married into it. It wasn’t in her blood the way it was in Phil’s.

And what about Sandi? Her precociousness, the continuous exposure to all the sexual hijinks going on at the hotel … all of it crying out for strong parental guidance, guidance she might not have time to give as long as she had a hotel to run. Was it worth more to her than bringing up and guiding her own daughter?

Then another voice took over, reminding her how much she loved the hotel. It had been her home, a good one, for over fifteen years. The staff, the guests, were like a family to her. The Congress, whether she wanted to admit it or not, was a part of her life too. Perhaps not as longstanding a part of hers as of Phil’s, but a great part nevertheless.

She was faltering. The longer she remained silent, the weaker she knew she appeared. For a few moments she was unable to speak.

“Well, I …” she smiled wanly and shook her head. “I honestly don’t know what to say. This comes as quite a surprise, as you can well imagine. I don’t want to close the door on either of your offers but at the same time …”

Even that was more than Jonathan had led Nick to expect. “I don’t want to push you,” he said. “It’s not like walking into a department store to buy a suit of clothes. We both have to look into a lot of things. I just wanted to make my intentions clear and give you something to think about. In the interim, you might have some loans or notes that you can’t handle.” He shot a quick look at Jonathan. “To protect our potential investment, we might be persuaded to extend money to you at a lower than usual rate of interest. Just to keep the vultures away,” he added, smiling. She was confused about the reference to loans she couldn’t handle and was beginning to hate his smile.

“Ellen doesn’t know all of the economic details yet,” Jonathan cut in. “She’s had to move in rather quickly and our accountants are still preparing an analysis for her perusal.”

“We’re also in the middle of the biggest weekend of our season,” Ellen added.

“Of course. I know this is a busy time for you and I don’t want to take any more of your time. Why don’t we set a date for another discussion, say the middle of next week? I’m sure both of us will have many questions we’ll be wanting answers to.”

“All right,” Ellen said. “Make the arrangements with Jonathan and he’ll keep me informed.”

Nick nodded and stood up. Jonathan practically jumped to attention.

“It’s been a pleasure meeting you, Mrs. Golden. Not only do you and the Congress live up to your reputations, you surpass them.” He certainly knows how to turn on the charm, Ellen thought as she stood up and reached out to shake his hand again.

“Thank you,” she said, turning on some charm of her own, “If there’s anything you need to make your stay more comfortable, please feel free to call on me anytime.”

Nick nodded to Jonathan who followed him out. They stopped just a few feet from the main desk.

“Not such a tiger after all,” Nick said. “More like a pussycat. I thought you said she’d never even entertain the idea of selling out.”

“She surprised me,” Jonathan said. It was an understatement.

Nick eyed him suspiciously and reached for another cigarette. “Here I expected to be up against a brick wall and I find myself talking to a very gracious lady who is quite open to suggestions.” He shook his head disapprovingly and Jonathan did not miss the message. “I hope your business acumen is better than your evaluation of people. I’d hate to think we were considering investing in someone who …”

“I swear to you, a week ago the woman barely tolerated discussions about conventions and legalized gambling, much less… Something must have happened—”

“Well, perhaps you should get to work and find out exactly what. In the meantime, send that file you prepared on the hotel’s financial situation up to my room. When the time comes to talk to her again, I want to be totally prepared.”

“Of course.”

“And no more mistakes,” he added pointedly, crushing his butt into the rug with his heel. Before Jonathan could respond, he moved away and headed toward the elevator.

“Let’s go sit under that tree over there,” Sandi said. Grant put his head down and followed the two girls as the three of them crossed the driveway and walked toward the old, sprawling maple tree near the chain-linked fence that divided the highway from the hotel’s grounds. Much to his displeasure, Phil Golden had had to fence in the Congress more than ten years ago. It was the only way he could guarantee his guests exclusiveness. Without some sort of security, too many outsiders could simply walk in and take advantage of the hotel’s facilities without paying.

Not too far away, they were able to see a group of nearly eighty people gathered on the terrace about to begin a game of “Simon Says.” Stan Leshner stood on a small wooden platform, mike in hand, and explained the rules. “All commands preceded by the words Simon Says, you will obey. All others you will not.” Sandi and Alison stopped walking when they noticed Grant had slowed down to listen.

“What a dumb game,” he said. “My mother won last time we were here.”

“Then she can’t be very dumb,” Sandi countered. “It’s not as easy as it looks. It takes a lot of concentration and coordination.” They continued to watch as the director of activities, placing his hands on his shoulders, ordered “Simon Says hands on shoulders. Hands on shoulders place!” His audience dutifully placed their hands on their shoulders. He waited five seconds. “Okay, hands down.”

He pointed to a fat lady in the first row who had dropped her hands to her side. “See, if we were playing for real, you’d be out because Simon didn’t say to do it. Got it?” There was some nervous laughter and kidding from others who had dropped their hands, the kind, though you could never tell from his face, Stan had heard countless times before.

“Look at them,” Grant sneered, “a bunch of idiots. Monkey see, monkey do.”

Sandi studied his face for a moment. “They’re just trying to have a good time. What’s wrong with that?” He didn’t bother to respond, just stuck his hands in his pockets and continued walking toward the tree. Alison shook her head.

“I think he’s a little crazy. Maybe we shouldn’t be hanging around with him.”

“He’s not crazy, he’s just got some problems, that’s all,” Sandi said. She suddenly turned on Alison, her eyes ablaze. “Not everybody’s got it as lucky as you do … with a mother and father and everything. …” She turned and started after Grant.

“What’s that supposed to mean, Sandi? Sandi?” Alison rushed to catch up with her.

Sandi couldn’t say what she meant or really understand why she had turned so angrily on her friend. All she knew was that she felt a strange kinship to this weird, new boy who walked around the hotel with a continuous scowl on his face, ridiculed everything that was going on, and resented just about everyone he met. She recognized the anger in him but in a curious way, she felt she understood. Being at the Congress made Grant feel like a nonperson. It was obvious even his mother didn’t want him around. Sandi was luckier. She knew her mother loved her, but even she wasn’t quite sure what kind of person she was at the Congress. Being the daughter of the owner affected the image everyone had of her, including her own. School was the worst.

She hadn’t planned it that way but she did have more facilities at her disposal than the average kid could even contemplate. Not only that, she met celebrities with the same frequency her friends met each other. She had letters and autographed pictures, and almost every day she came across tidbits of information gossip columnists would give their eye teeth to have. But whenever she mentioned these to her friends at school, not out of a desire to brag but from a need to share her everyday life, she was accused of name dropping and met with envy that often bordered on downright hostility.

By the same token, these same so-called friends would vie for her favor in subtle and not so subtle ways. Who would she invite to the hotel this weekend? Who would be able to swim in the indoor pool in the middle of winter? Who would get to eat in the hotel dining room? Who would be lucky enough to spend an afternoon in the hotel’s Teen Room? But there was no one around to answer her own question. Who could she trust to like her for herself and not for what she had to give?

As a result, not surprisingly, she began to resent the hotel and talked against it to anyone at school who would listen. She complained about the lack of a real home life, bitched about the guests and wished out loud she had a normal childhood like everybody else. When she discovered the kids were laughing behind her back, she began to withdraw.

Only recently Ellen had been warned about her daughter’s changing personality. “It’s not terribly serious right now, Mrs. Golden,” Keith Spier, the guidance counselor at the local school, began during the informal hour after parents’ night, “but a number of teachers have remarked about Sandi’s way of relating, or not relating, to the other students. She doesn’t seem to be able to trust anyone, to get close. She’s become more of a loner than we think is healthy for a youngster of her age. It’s a bit strange, considering she’s exposed to so many people at the hotel.”

Ellen was very disturbed that she didn’t noticed it earlier. At the Congress, as far as she could see, Sandi had no trouble adjusting and seemed to have friends. When she repeated the conversation to Phil he nodded, tucked in his lower lip and promised to direct more attention to her. But it was like so many other promises, heartfelt though they may be, destined never to be kept.

Grant sat back with his back against the tree and began pulling out clumps of grass. Sandi lowered herself to sit beside him. Alison remained standing, staring off across the hotel’s lawn. The parking lot was located just across the road and they all turned as a carhop spun the wheels of a guest’s car, spitting up gravel and burning the rubber so hard they could smell it from where they were.

“I bought the book,” Sandi said. Alison had a question mark on her face. Grant began chewing on a blade of grass. She took it out of the back pocket of her jeans. It was wrapped in brown bag paper so no one could see the title. Grant made a grab for it and pulled the paper off.

“
Lady Chatterley’s Lover.
“ He looked up at Alison. “I think my mother wrote this book.” Sandi and he laughed but Alison, feeling very left out, turned away, shaking her head. “These the pages, where you got the corners turned down?”

“Uh huh.”

“‘And she held the penis soft in her hand,’” he began.

Alison began to blush. “Stop that,” she said. “You’re not supposed to read that kind of stuff out loud.”

He looked up at her and then turned to Sandi, who now wore a wry smile on her face.

“What’s with Alison Tits?”

“CUT THAT OUT!” Alison stamped her foot. Sandi looked up, fighting to subdue her laughter. Grant continued to read.

“‘And she quickly kissed the soft penis. …’”

Alison was disgusted and trotted off, heading back to her parents in the main building. She moved awkwardly over the lawn, the small heels of her shoes sinking too deeply into the sod, causing her legs to wobble. Grant laughed very loudly.

“She’ll never talk to me again,” Sandi said.

“No loss.”

“And she’ll tell her mother, who will go and tell my mother.”

“Big deal.”

“I’m beginning to think she’s right. You’re nothing but a juvenile delinquent.”

“So? Why don’t you run off too?”

She wasn’t sure. She found herself staring at him, both thrilled and frightened by his anger. Part of her wanted to go, but a stronger part of her, the part stimulated by the words in the book, by the mysterious urges in her young body, wanted to stay. Before she could reply, they heard a strange sound coming from behind them, in the parking lot. They turned to see what it was.

One of the gardeners had his hand braced against the side of an automobile as he leaned over. He was retching up his guts. It had the deep, hollow sound of a clogged sink drain.

“Ugh.” Sandi stood up. Grant laughed again.

“Too bad Alison had to miss this.”

“Let’s get out of here,” Sandi said, starting away. “C’mon.” Grant watched the gardener a moment more, fascinated with his misery. Then he closed the book and stood up. After a moment’s hesitation, he followed her.

It took David Oberman an extraordinarily long time to come to the door of his room. Bruce was conscious of the fact that he was practically pounding on it. An elderly man and woman down the corridor stopped and looked his way. He tried to relax, reminding himself that he had a responsibility to keep calm. The moment Oberman opened the door, Bruce knew they were in trouble.

The chunky man’s face was so pale his lips had practically lost all hue. His eyes were glassy and bloodshot and it obviously took great effort to keep them open. The lids hung as if ready to spring shut at any moment. He was dressed in a very faded white tee shirt and an obviously hastily put on pair of pants—the zipper undone, no shoes or socks. His hair was disheveled, strands of it sticking out like porcupine quills. He backed away from the entrance, swaying slightly as he did. Bruce stepped in quickly and closed the door.

“I … guess I … fell asleep since you called.”

“Since I called? I just called!” Bruce reached out and took his arm. “C’mon, you’d better get back to bed. How many times have you thrown up?”

“Five, six, I’ve lost track. But now nothing comes up, it’s just dry heaves. Ohhhh … my stomach…” He made an attempt to rub it and he stumbled. Bruce kept him steady, guided him to the bed, and helped him lie back. Then he went to the phone.

“This is Bruce Solomon. I’m in Mr. David Oberman’s room. I want you to get hold of Dr. Bronstein and have him call me at this extension immediately. If you can’t reach him, call me back and let me know.” He spoke so quickly, Rosie didn’t have a chance to deliver her messages. Finally he paused for a breath.