Weekend (19 page)

By now Melinda had turned their lovemaking around so that it was she who was doing the molding. He wanted to draw back and assume control again but she wouldn’t permit it. Instead she clung to his torso with desperation, intertwining his thighs with hers and pressing her pelvis forward. He felt the moistened vaginal lips and became aware, once again, of the surprising smoothness. She must shave every damn day, he thought, and fantasized about the scene.

Finally he mustered up enough strength to push her back so he could mount her the way he wanted to. She relinquished, this time without resistance, and he entered her swiftly, easily. She brought her legs up and wrapped them tightly around his lower back. They fell into a vigorous steady rhythm. She closed her eyes and wagged her head from side to side, moaning softly. Her lips parted, her tongue sought contact. He brought his fingers to her lips and teased her by running them along the rim of her mouth. Then he touched her tongue and she took his forefinger between her lips and sucked on it.

She screamed with each climax. His power to bring her to such a pitch of excitement turned him on even more. He tried desperately to hold back and keep himself from coming but they were into such a perfectly synchronized movement his body simply flowed on. He exploded in long, deeply satisfactory spurts, pressing and pushing forward with each one.

When it was over he turned on his back to catch his breath. Her eyes remained closed but the look on her face was a testimony to how pleasing and satisfactory their lovemaking had been. The throbbing in her neck continued.

“Tennis always get you in such a mood?” he asked.

“Everything gets me in the mood.”

“I’ll have to remember that.” He looked at her seriously. “You know, I really don’t know much about you.”

“About as much as I know about you,” she said, sitting up.

“But I do know I need a shower.” She stood up and turned to him, beckoning him with her finger. “C’mon, I’ll wash your back.”

“Sounds good to me,” he said, letting her help him to his feet. “As they say in my business,” he gave her a pat on the rear, “one hand washes the other.”

When Grant opened the door, a few seconds later, he was confronted immediately by the sight of Melinda’s bath towel, crumpled on the carpet. He stared for a moment, then listened. He heard the shower going but intuitively knew something unusual was going on. He walked further into the suite until he was confronted with a man’s slacks and jacket draped over the chair near the bed. By now he didn’t have to strain to hear the muffled laughter and whispers emanating from the shower.

He pushed the bathroom door open ever so slightly and through the transparent shower curtains saw the silhouettes of his mother and a man. She was kneeling. He was leaning over, his hands on her shoulders. Suddenly her head started moving back and forth. Grant wanted to get closer, but the realization of what she was doing enraged him. He felt a flush come into his face and he was unable to swallow. Choking from anger, he ran hastily from the scene.

Once out in the corridor, he experienced a series of chills. A salty taste brought the realization that he had bitten down hard on his tongue and drawn blood. He spit out at the wall.

He looked about with the panic of a cornered animal and focused on the stairway that led to the next floor. In a spurt of anger and frustration, he lunged at the steps and took them in threes. When he got to the next floor he ran to the next, and the next, and the next, until there were no more stairs to climb.

At the top, though he could hardly catch his breath, his energy, insane as it was, increased. Standing there, looking to see if there was a window he could fling himself out of, images of the sex scene began flashing before him again. The man’s erection, his mother’s mouth … the same mouth she used to kiss him goodnight.

He buffeted himself from one side of the wall to the other. Suddenly his wild gaze focused on the fire extinguisher hanging near the stairwell. Satisfied there was no one else around, he moved forward and ripped it off the wall. Cradling it in his arms like a baby, he carried it until he reached the far end of the corridor. Every floor of the hotel had at least one or two small rooms set aside there for the storage of fresh linen, vacuums and ironing boards. Grant had noticed them the first time he had come to the hotel.

Almost without thinking, he brought the nozzle of the fire extinguisher to the largest bin and pointed it in. Then, as if to destroy everything that was neat and clean, he pressed the extinguisher. The white foamy liquid shot out first in short, then in long spurts. Grant blinked his eyes and gasped with each spurt. When the extinguisher was spent, he checked the hall again and carried it back.

Then, almost as if possessed by a demon, he ran down to the sixteenth floor, the fifteenth, then the fourteenth, and thirteenth and twelfth, until he was finally on the second, as spent and drained as were all the fire extinguishers he had emptied.

The only thing he wanted to do now was to curl up in the warm sun and go to sleep.

Fern had never been so happy that something had ended. The whole time the cosmetician and beautician had been working on her, her stomach churned in despair. Probably just nerves, she thought. No one had ever pummeled her face and pulled her hair like that before, and it made her uncomfortable. She was grateful when it was over and she could get up and walk away.

Having arrived early for the hairdresser, she decided to stick her head in next door and see what was happening at the makeup class. She rarely paid attention to what she used on her face but today, to her amazement and amusement, she found herself fascinated by the different kinds of moisturizers, powders, lipsticks, eye shadows and eyeliners. She even let herself be talked into being the demonstration model for the class.

Funny, she mused later as she headed to the lower level to meet Charlotte, what’s happening to me is exactly what so many other women, single women, dream about when they come to the Catskills. They will meet their version of Prince Charming, fall in love and maybe even live happily ever after. The funniest part, it occurred to her, was that she hadn’t even sought him out. She really didn’t care one way or the other whether she met a man over the weekend or not. And in spite of all this—it never occurred to her it might be because of this—Bruce, Prince Charming, had come to her.

Charlotte. That was another thing. She was discovering another side to her roommate. She would have expected her, under the circumstances, to be jealous, even bitchy. Instead, she appeared to be genuinely happy for her, lending her unlimited encouragement and support.

Instantly, Fern felt some regret. She wished that Charlotte would have some romantic luck too. David Oberman couldn’t really be considered a find, even though he seemed to have been having a good enough time the evening before. Obviously he had changed his mind when he got to his room and that’s why he hadn’t joined them at breakfast as he had promised. He probably couldn’t take any more of Charlotte’s coarseness, and it bothered her that her friend might never understand.

Unfortunately, Fern realized, there was nothing she could do about it. Charlotte was old enough and experienced enough to take care of herself. She shifted her thoughts to the kind of new dress she should buy. Her wardrobe didn’t contain anything suitable for the Saturday night extravaganza where everybody wore their very finest accompanied by whatever jewels they could beg, borrow or steal. Maybe a pale lime ankle-length strapless set off with a tasteful pearl choker and matching earrings. She should have paid more attention to the sun the day before. A tan would have done wonders for her complexion.

Is this really me? she asked herself. The smile that must have crept over her face caught the attention of a number of guests as they walked on and they returned it with enthusiasm. It had never happened to her before—people she didn’t know reacting to her like this. Wasn’t there something just a teeny bit vulgar about being so vain, spending so much time thinking about makeup and clothes? She paused at a mirror and looked at herself once again. For a moment it was like looking at a complete stranger. The blond streaks were magnificent. The two curls at the cheeks were so perfectly placed they looked painted over her skin. A teeny bit vulgar, perhaps, but she liked what she saw.

She was wearing a darker lipstick than usual because the cosmetician had advised that “Ruby Red” was in style and it contrasted “in a very flattering way with your translucent skin, my dear.” She realized now, as she studied her “new face,” why she had avoided eye shadow in the past. Whenever she had tried to put it on by herself, she somehow ended up looking either ten years younger or ten years older than she was, but now, with the professional’s touch, it didn’t look that way at all. On the contrary, it made her eyes look large and lovely and at twenty-four years old, she was more attractive than she had ever been in her entire life.

If only she felt a little better. Her stomach continued to complain and for the life of her, she couldn’t understand why. She had eaten so little at breakfast and was the only person at dinner the night before who gorged herself on salad instead of double desserts. Again, she concluded it was nerves. It’s a lot like playing a part in a play she decided, puffing her hair up over her ears. This isn’t actually me … and yet if I play the role long enough, maybe …

When she reached the boutique she stopped and looked around for Charlotte. After a moment, she realized her friend was standing just a few feet away. Their eyes met and Charlotte let out a whoop.

“Honest to God, Fern, honest to God,” she squealed, giving Fern a big hug, “I was looking right at you and didn’t recognize you.”

“Oh, come on.”

“I’m serious. Jesus, they really did a job on you.” She turned her around to inspect the back of her hair. “You look absolutely gorgeous. Wait till Bruce gets a look at you. You’ll have him in bed in fifteen minutes!”

“Charlotte, please,” Fern said, slightly embarrassed, “lower your voice. People are starting to stare.”

“Let them. Who cares?” She looked her over once again. “I knew it, I just knew it. The potential was always there. You just needed someone to encourage you to get off your duff and do something about it.”

“Actually, I feel a lot like one of those mannequins in the window. They can’t do anything unless someone manipulates them.”

“You’ll get over it,” Charlotte said. “Come on, let’s go inside and find something smashing, that will make people drop dead at the sight of you.”

“There must be a better description,” Fern protested, but she followed Charlotte willingly. If only I can get my stomach to calm down, she thought, maybe I’ll even enjoy shopping for the first time.

“Smile,” Charlotte said as they stopped at the first rack. “The rest of this is going to be easy.” Suddenly she looked at Fern’s face. “Hey, what’s the matter? You look pale as a ghost even with all the makeup. Are you sure you’re okay?”

“Yeah, sure,” Fern said wanly. “It’s probably the odor of the hair spray. It’s making me a little nauseous.”

“Then we’ll get you some toilet water to overcome it.”

The thought made her even more nauseous but she looked around, thought of the look on Bruce’s face when he saw her all dressed up, and took a deep breath. She forced herself to concentrate on the garments Charlotte was pulling off the rack.

The first ring of the phone made Sam Teitelbaum jump. If it was bad news, he didn’t want to hear it. It rang again and, embarrassed by his selfishness, he rushed over to answer it. Bruce was standing in the open doorway, waiting for the appearance of the ambulance squad.

“It’s for you,” Sam said. Bruce moved quickly to the phone.

“Thanks. Hello?”

“Bruce, it’s Sid. I’m in room four twelve to see your friend Oberman but there’s no one here.”

“That’s impossible. I just left him fifteen minutes ago and he was too damn weak … holy God, he’s probably wandering around in some kind of delirium. We’ve got to locate him fast!”

“Meet me in the lobby right away,” Bronstein said.

“Can you handle things here, Mr. Teitelbaum? It’s another emergency and I’ve got to catch up with the doctor fast.”

“Of course, young man. Don’t worry, I’ll take care of everything. They know what room to come to, right?”

“Right. Just hold together.” He squeezed the elderly man’s upper arm. “We’re praying for the best.” Then he rushed to the elevator.

It struck him as curious, knowing what he did, that the hotel should be carrying on as usual. Here he stood, after the doors opened, gazing out at this mass of humanity, guests in bermudas and polo shirts carrying tennis rackets, guests sitting casually over drinks talking in quick excited, happy voices, guests in robes and sandals going out to the pool. He was tempted to scream out to them, “Stop you idiots. There’s a germ called vibro cholerae, a potential killer, on the loose, maybe even nesting in your guts. And all you’re concerned about is enjoying yourselves and having a good time!” Wouldn’t that go over big, he thought. The elevator beside him opened and Sid stepped out ahead of the crowd.

“Any sign of him?”

“None whatsoever. We better have him paged. I can’t believe he was able to get out of the room. You should have seen the shape he was in.”

“He probably panicked and it set off his adrenalin. Come on.” They ran down the stairs to the switchboard. “Rosie, put out a page immediately for a David Oberman, please. It’s important.”

“Doc, I’m glad I found you. Mrs. Golden’s been looking all over for you.” Her voice lowered a decibel. “We’re bringing the ambulance around the back … where the staff entrance is. You know how seeing this sort of thing disturbs the guests.”

He shook his head. “There’s no time for that baloney now,” he said. “let them come right through the lobby. Every second counts.”

“But Mrs. Golden said …”

“Where is Ellen now?”

“She just went down to the health club … some sort of emergency.”

“Call her back. But page David Oberman first. When you reach Ellen, tell her we’ll be waiting in her office and to get there as fast as she can.”