Weekend (25 page)

“I just want to repeat,” the Sheriff said, “that we’re only going to be able to beat this thing if we pull together. We’ll need each other’s help as much as possible.”

There was a very short, very somber silence. Then Ellen stood and everyone focused his attention on her. “I want to stress that my primary concern is for you, our staff and our guests, but you all know what the impact of this is going to be. I didn’t get much of a chance to grow in my job and, as you all know, I didn’t assume it under happy circumstances.” She hesitated a moment and swallowed. “Now I’m almost glad Phil isn’t here. It would have broken his heart. In any case,” she added, throwing her head back and brushing a tear away, “I need your support more than ever. Those of you who don’t live on the grounds will be taken care of. Halloran will make the arrangements. Please, do what you can to keep everyone calm. Panic can cause more problems than the cholera. I’ll be speaking to the guests in the nightclub in about twenty minutes so you can use the time to notify your departments.”

“If this hotel’s going down,” Moe Sandman said, rising to his feet, “It’s going down with a hell of a fight!” There were cheers and some applauding, but most faces reflected fear and concern.

“Thank you, Moe.”

“If I could just add one thing,” Bruce said, “we are especially interested in the whereabouts of a chambermaid named Margret Thomas during the early afternoon hours yesterday. If you or anyone in your department can help us with that, please let us know immediately. Also, if you have any specific questions, you’re welcome to stay now and ask them.”

For a moment no one moved. Then slowly, one by one, they began to exit, each going over to Ellen first to offer comfort and consolation.

“I’m heading over to the dungeon,” Bronstein said, “to check on that gardener.”

“You know, I don’t even know what the hell I’m supposed to do now,” Gerson Kaplow said.

“You’re supposed to supervise the quarantine,” Bruce said. He had little patience for stupidity. “Why don’t you check with the reservation desk and see if there are any doctors in the house? We’re going to need all the help we can get.”

“Just think of all the medicine you’re about to learn,” Bronstein added, but this sarcasm was lost on the deeply worried and dejected fellow physician.

Sam Teitelbaum and his wife climbed out of the hotel station wagon very slowly. It took more effort than it ever had before. Gone for the moment was the youthful vigor that contradicted their actual age. They clung to each other with that desperation characteristic of the elderly, a desperation borne out of fear of the future and fear of the here and now. Suddenly nothing made sense. In a matter of hours a journey that had begun as a happily anticipated holiday had turned into a terrifying trip to horror and death.

They had just identified their friend Mrs. Bluestone’s body for the coroner.

“Let’s go right to Ellen’s office,” Sam said when they stepped into the lobby. His wife remained mute. She permitted herself to be directed like a somnambulist. “We want to see Mrs. Golden,” he said when they reached the front desk.

“Oh, just a moment,” the girl said. She stepped into the receptionist’s area and whispered. There was a short conversation and another girl got up and came to the desk.

“I’m afraid Mrs. Golden’s at a staff meeting right now. Can I be of some assistance?”

“No, Please,” Sam said. “We
have
to speak with her. Is it all right if we wait in her office?”

“Well, I …” She looked at him curiously. “Do you have an appointment?”

“You don’t know who I am? Sam Teitelbaum? I’ve been coming here every Fourth for thirty years and we’re close friends of Mrs. Golden and her late husband, may he rest in peace.”

The girl became flustered. “I’m sorry. I just started working here last week. Besides, Mrs. Golden’s office … well, there are some people in there already waiting to see her.”

“Let’s just go up to the room, Sam.”

He looked at his wife and nodded.

“You’ll have her call me the moment she comes back?”

“I certainly will, Mr. Teitelbaum.” She scribbled some words on a memo pad. “What room did you say were in?”

“We’re in room 315.”

“Fine.” She added the numbers to the paper. “I’ll get the message to Mrs. Golden as soon as she’s free.”

“Thank you,” he said. If he had been wearing a hat he would have tipped it. They turned from the desk and went to the elevator.

“I want to go home,” his wife said. “I want to be in my own house.”

“We’ll see,” he said. Her voice was so thin, so small and birdlike it frightened him.

“Her sister-in-law blames us. I knew this morning she would do it. I heard it in her voice.”

“That’s silly. How can it be our fault that for some reason only God can understand she was taken with cholera?”

“I don’t know. But they hold us responsible anyway. We’re the ones who talked her into coming up here.”

“I think you’re reading into it.” He put his arm around her protectively. “They’re shocked and upset. We all are. Nobody’s thinking straight. When we see them at the funeral Monday …”

“I want to go home, now, today,” she repeated. “I don’t want to wait until Monday.” The elevator opened and they stepped in.

“We’ll see,” Sam said again. They both looked out at the lobby, their faces frozen in similar expressions of bewilderment and emotional fatigue. They stared ahead with dull, lifeless eyes. The elevator doors closed effortlessly in front of them, shutting them away from the world like the lid of a five-hundred-pound coffin.

Charlotte stopped at the top of the carpeted stairway and studied the lobby. He was nowhere in sight. She had looked everywhere—the tennis courts, the pool, the lake, even the baseball diamond. Finally she even succumbed and called his room but he didn’t seem to be there either. Now she was caught between the frustration of not being able to find him and feeling like an idiot for spending so much time and energy trying to track him down. It was degrading enough to chase around after any man, but a shlump like David Oberman? It bothered her that she cared so much. Maybe a quick cup of tea at the coffee shop would calm her down. Besides, maybe she’d find him there.

She had just started down the corridor when she spotted Bruce walking with a tall, strong-looking man in an obvious hurry. He saw her, said something to the man, and approached. She waited, a half smile on her face.

“I thought you’d be with Fern.”

“I think I messed things up. I got stuck somewhere and didn’t call her on time. When I did, there was no answer and I assumed she was either with you or at the tennis court.”

“Oh, no,” Charlotte said, now curious where Fern was, too. “And I know she’s not playing tennis because I just left there. Actually,” she said, almost pathetically, “I’ve been running all over the place trying to locate David. You haven’t seen him, have you?” Bruce felt his body tense. “You have, haven’t you? I can tell by your face. What is it, he didn’t want to see me any more?” She was deflated. “You don’t have to say anything,” she finally said, “that’s obviously it. I can tell.”

“Oh, no. No,” Bruce said, “That’s not it at all. I’m sorry. I was thinking of something else. I haven’t seen David all morning.” It bothered him to have to lie, but he didn’t think he had the right to confide in her before Ellen’s meeting with the guests. It was better that she learned the truth along with everyone else.

“I’ll bet,” she said, sulking. “Anyway,” she went on, looking over his shoulder at a dark-complexioned man in tight jeans, “I have no idea where Fern is either. Maybe she’s back in the room.”

“I doubt it. I just called again and nobody answered.”

“In that case, maybe she’s out under a tree reading a book or taking a walk somewhere.”

“Think so?” He looked back and saw the Sheriff growing impatient. “Listen, I’ve got to run. If you find her, please, tell her I’m really sorry I was late. I’ll explain it all to her later, okay?”

“Sure, sure.”

He walked off quickly and rejoined Balbera. Charlotte watched the two of them hurry down the hall. Very mysterious guy, Bruce’s friend, it occurred to her. Great eyes. Maybe I’ll get Bruce to introduce me. She started on again, heading for the coffee shop, but as she thought more about what Bruce had said she slowed her pace until she came to a complete halt. Where the hell was Fern anyway? Why hadn’t she come looking for her when Bruce didn’t call? Also, it wasn’t like her to give up on someone she obviously cared about just because he was a few minutes late. She had gone to too much trouble to make changes for him. Her curiosity got the better of her. She turned and headed for the elevators.

As soon as she opened the door to their room she heard the sound of the shower. Odd, she thought. Why would Fern be taking a shower so soon after getting a makeup job and having her hair done? She crossed over from the dressing room to the bathroom. The door was wide open. “Fern?” She stepped inside.

The sight she confronted was so shocking that at first she was tempted to run out and make sure she was in the right place. Her roommate was slumped on the floor of the shower stall, her knees turned away from her body, her head bowed, her chin bobbing against her chest. The water pounded down rhythmically over her head, down her back, creating a steady stream under, over and around her. Charlotte’s first thought was that she must have tripped and hit her head against the tile.

“Fern!” This time she screamed the name.

There was no answer. Charlotte reached in tentatively and turned off the water. Then she knelt down and tried to lift her head. Her eyes were closed and she was apparently unconscious.

“Oh my God. Fern, FERN!” She slapped her face, first once, then two and three times. There was a stirring under her closed eyelids. Charlotte put her arms under her friend’s, braced her against her body and tugged her out of the shower. Her feet bounced over the floor as Charlotte grunted and pulled to get her out of the bathroom. Finally she succeeded in dragging her into the bedroom where, in two strenuous moves, she got her onto the bed. Instinctively she felt for a pulse at her wrists. She found none. Her panic grew.

She groggily stared around her and began to shout “Help, help, somebody help.” She lunged for the room phone. It seemed to take the operator forever.

“Hello? This is Charlotte Fein,” she finally said. “My roommate’s seriously ill, and I need a doctor right away.”

“What seems to be the problem?”

“I don’t know. I think she hit her head in the shower. All I know is that she’s not conscious and I can’t feel a pulse. Please, help, do something!”

“I’ll do what I can, Miss. Try to stay calm. Our doctor’s already in the building and I’ll put him on page right away. As soon as he answers, I’ll send him up.”

“Hurry …
please
… it’s an emergency!” Tears started streaming down her cheeks.

“I’ll get him right away.”

Charlotte held the phone in her hand for a moment, then looked back at Fern’s half-naked body on the bed. Gently she walked over and covered her with her bedspread. There were brownish stains on both the spread and the carpet. The trail led to the bathroom. Following the traces with her eyes, she spotted the white yellow trimmed tennis outfit, also spotted with brown, crumpled messily on the floor.

What the hell went on here? Something didn’t make sense. If Fern fell in the shower, why were there stains on the bed sheet and the floor? She went back to the bed and sat beside her, taking her hand in hers and rubbing vigorously.

“Fern. It’s me, Charlotte. Can you hear me?”

She detected a definite stirring again. Fern’s eyelids began to flicker. Thank God, she was still alive! A very slight, nearly inaudible moan emanated from the mouth. Her lips quivered. Then her eyes parted slowly.

“Fern?”

“Charlotte,” she moaned through parched lips. Charlotte had to bring her head very close to hear.

“What is it? What happened? Did you hit your head?”

“Charlotte …” she said again.

“Yes Fern. I’m here. What is it?”

“My stomach … the pain …” She tried, in vain, to lift her hand. “I don’t think I’m going to make it. …”

“Oh my God!” Charlotte shot up and ran back to the phone. It made no sense to her at all. Her roommate thought she was dying. She screamed hysterically into the receiver.

“Where the hell’ve you been?” Manny Goldberg asked. Flo closed the door without replying. She took off her robe and draped it over the chair, then turned and glared at him. He was dressed in a baggy pair of bermuda shorts and a striped yellow and green jersey. It was tucked only halfway in, making him look even sloppier than usual.

She unclipped the snaps that held the top of her bathing suit securely to her bosom. The bit of sun she had gotten earlier caused her skin to grow pink over the top of her breasts. It caught his attention and he felt a stirring inside of his shorts.

“What did you expect me to do, Manny, wait around all day for you to recuperate from your hangover?”

“It wasn’t a hangover. I told you. I was sick to my stomach.”

“Sure, Manny, anything you say.” Not only didn’t she believe him, but by this time she didn’t even care.

“How come you’re back so quickly?”

“I got bored. Besides, it’s about time for lunch.” She watched him put his wallet in his pocket. “Are you going to join me?”

“Naw. I thought I’d take in some golf. I’ll get a bite at the club house.”

“Then you’re obviously feeling better,” she said dryly. “Amazing how the body recuperates.”

“Not exactly,” he said, pulling up his socks. “But I’m sure not getting any better here. Maybe the fresh air and exercise’ll help.”

She began stripping off her suit and he watched with admiration as her naked body emerged from the confines of the tight material. He was aroused. Her breasts suddenly seemed particularly cool and inviting. He wanted to nibble around their softness and take her nipples between his teeth.

“Of course,” he said, “I could just as easily stay here and get some exercise.” She recognized the tone of his voice and turned and looked at him as though he were out of his mind.