Weekend (14 page)

“You just don’t know your Spanish, Gary. I’m sure they were happy. Is that all?”

“I had problems with Margret Thomas.”

“What kind of problems?” He looked up sharply and sat straight in his seat. The hotel chauffeur automatically shifted into a position of attention.

“At first she was just bitchin’ a lot, snappin’ at the Puerto Rican guys, cursin’ them, you know. Then she started actin’ funny. Said she had stomach pains, wanted me to pull into the first service station, so I did. She went to the can and when she came out she looked kind of awful. Then I don’t think we went more than ten miles when she says she has to go again and makes me look for another bathroom.” He shifted his weight from one foot to the other. “You mind if I sit down, Mr. Lawrence? It was a helluva lousy trip.”

Jonathan pointed to a chair.

“So I pulled into another place. Naturally, the Puerto Rican guys start complaining about all the stops. She curses the hell out of them and goes into the ladies’ room. We wait and wait. It takes her a lot longer this time. She comes out looking a lot worse too.”

“You made it into the city though, didn’t you?”

“Oh, yeah, Mr. Lawrence. Like I said, we finally got to the Coolidge, but not before she made me pull over two more times. Then, coming over the George Washington Bridge, all hell broke loose. I think she messed in her pants because it stunk something awful. The Puerto Rican guys were screaming bloody murder and she was too weak to even talk back. Thank God by that time we’d reached midtown.”

“You can skip the rest of the details, Gary. Most important, did you see her go into the hotel?”

“I was just getting to that,” he said. “The Puerto Rican guys went in, I’m positive of that. But I could have sworn that as I pulled away, she was headed up the street away from the place. What the hell is this all about anyway?” he blurted out. “I mean, why did I drive those three into the city without any of their belongings?”

“I’m paid to ask the questions,” Jonathan said brusquely. “You’re not.” He pulled out a black leather wallet from his pocket. “Here’s an extra fifty for what you had to put up with.”

“Gee, thanks, Mr. Lawrence, but …”

“And if Monday comes and you’ve kept your mouth shut, there’s an extra twenty-five where this came from.”

“Mum’s the word,” Gary said, getting up to leave. “I can’t even remember where I went myself.”

“That’s fine.” Jonathan rose and walked him to the door. “If anyone should ask, just say you took them to the bus depot and dropped them off. You have no idea where they went after that. Simple as that.”

“You’re the boss. Whatever you say.” He opened the door and slipped out quickly, his thoughts spinning. First he had taken Tony Wong over to Dr. Bronstein’s and then the Chinaman’s roommates were whisked off to New York with a chambermaid. By the time they got there, she was sicker than anyone he had seen in a long time. Something about it didn’t make sense. As he started the engine of his car, he wondered if he should dig around some, maybe even make a call to Dr. Bronstein. Then he remembered the extra seventy-five dollars. Better to leave well enough alone.

Breakfast at the Congress was often as elaborate as dinner in a fancy metropolitan restaurant. Besides the fresh fruits and appetizers one would normally expect, there were eighteen different varieties of herring to choose from, pickled, marinated, kippered and matjes the runaway favorites, every conceivable kind of smoked fish and lox, freshly baked Danish, bagels, bialys, matzos, onion rolls and cinnamon rolls, imported jellies and marmalades, cheeses of all nations, cereals, pancakes, waffles and a selection of egg styles to satisfy the most fickle of morning stomachs. Busboys and waiters, themselves somewhat subdued from a night of partying, moved in a mechanical, trancelike manner, taking orders quietly and walking robot fashion through the swinging doors to the kitchen. Each time the doors opened, those seated nearby were treated to a cacophony of sights and sounds. Dishes clanked, chefs screamed and waiters jostled for position, anxious to be the first to get their orders filled and diners fed and out so they could catch up on their sleep before setting up for lunch.

On this particular Saturday morning, even the guests seemed unusually quiet. The conversations were down to a whisper, the laughs few and far between. Elderly people sat like tolerant monarchs sipping their hot water and prune juice and listened with a quiet wisdom born of similar experience to the tales of the night before told by the younger people at their tables. Married couples hardly exchanged a word as they picked lackadaisically at their food.

At the head of the dining room, Stan Leshner reached under the desk for his hand mike. The six-foot four ex-New York Knick had been Director of Activities at the Congress for six years. Though not classically handsome, more a Charlton Heston type than a Paul Newman, his piercing green eyes radiated an excitement and energy that was electrically contagious. He was a man of action, never walking when he could run, rarely standing still, and moving with the fierce determination that flows from a sense of purpose. He was almost obsessed with the idea of making people happy, with making sure they had a good time, and he was extremely successful at what he did.

His main job was to encourage, cajole and, if he had to, harangue even the most reluctant guest to participate in the myriad activities offered by the hotel. He also scheduled athletic competitions, conducted “Simon Says,” arranged for and introduced guest lecturers and artists, ran an athletic and recreational department larger than many public schools and oversaw a staff of counselors who directed the children’s day camp. It was the kind of job that left little time for social life.

“Looks like some of our guests had too much Champagne Hour last night,” he said to Mr. Pat.

Pat looked around at the half empty room. “Maybe you should delay your announcement a few minutes.”

“Can’t,” Stan said. “If I do, I’ll mess up my schedule and I’m running late as it is.” He plugged the microphone jack into a cable and checked the papers on his clipboard. After blowing into the mike to make sure it was on, he began to speak.

“Good morning ladies and gentlemen, may I have your attention please. I’m Stan Leshner, your Director of Activities, and I’d like to give you a quick rundown of what we have in store for you this morning.” There were some loud groans from tables on the first balcony. “In half an hour, we’ll be gathering on the Grand Patio on the front terrace for a vigorous twenty minutes of calisthenics and after that, I’ll be leading you in a session of the worlds famous “Simon Says.” Those interested in golf and tennis lessons …”

Fern stopped in the lobby just outside the entrance to the dining room and looked up at the small sign that indicated the direction of the beauty parlor. “I think I’m going to make an apointment,” she said to Charlotte. “Right after breakfast.”

Charlotte studied her friend with amusement. How things had changed in the last twenty-four hours! She noticed that Fern took much more time with her makeup and hair this morning, showing impatience and dissatisfaction when it didn’t come out the way she wanted. She had borrowed Charlotte’s off-the-shoulder top that was tapered at the waist and showed off her bosom to great advantage. That, together with the white striped bermudas that hugged her hips in a most affectionate way, proved that she did indeed possess quite a lovely figure.

“This wouldn’t have anything to do with a certain Bruce Solomon, would it?” Charlotte asked. “You two did seem kind of cozy on the dance floor last night.”

“I just thought I’d take a little of your advice, Charlotte dear,” Fern said, mimicking one of Charlotte’s frequent postures. “If you want certain things to happen, sometimes you have to make them happen!” They both burst out laughing.

“Welcome to the female race!” Charlotte beamed. “Now let’s get going. I promised David I’d meet him at breakfast and I don’t want to keep him waiting.”

Upstairs in his room, Bruce jumped out of the shower to answer the phone. It was Sid Bronstein and the sound of the doctor’s voice shattered the memories of the night before with Fern. It took a few seconds to switch gears.

“At least we made it through the night,” Sid was saying. “I can’t tell you how nervous I was every time the phone rang.”

“Maybe we nipped it in the bud,” Bruce said. “The only people who apparently had significant contact with Tony Wong have been shipped to a New York hospital for observation and I’ll put in a call to the city after breakfast to see if there are any results on his specimen. If we’re lucky—” If we’re lucky, no cholera, no epidemic, and the rest of the weekend free to spend with Fern.

“Yeah, if we’re lucky,” Sid echoed. “You know, maybe Jonathan was right after all. Incidentally, have you seen much of him or Ellen?”

“Haven’t even met her yet. She was at the cocktail party last night but he made no attempt to introduce us.”

“That’s strange. Anyway, I’m glad you went to the gala. After all these years, it’s about time you saw how the other half lives.”

Bruce laughed. “Figured I’d enjoy what I could while I had the chance.” He was about to tell him about Fern, then thought perhaps it was best to keep it to himself.

“I’ll try to drop by later,” Sid said, “so we can get together and see where we stand. Call me as soon as you hear from the lab.”

“Will do,” Bruce said, his thoughts suddenly turning to Margret Thomas. If Wong’s specimen was positive, they’d have to get that information to Ellen’s New York doctor immediately. As a potential carrier, every second counted. But what if he couldn’t locate Jonathan? It grated on him that the manager was acting as an intermediary; it seemed such a stupid waste of time. But then again, the Congress was really Sid’s bailiwick. His cousin had always been as good a politician as he was a physician, expert in finessing people and complicated situations. Bruce could only presume he knew what he was doing. He reached for a towel.

“Good morning,” Jonathan said, speaking into the phone box on his desk. “How’d you enjoy—”

“Have you gotten a response from Ellen Golden yet?”

“Why no. I told you yesterday it might take a little time.”

“Well, I’ve decided I don’t have a little time. Set me up with her in an hour.”

“But I don’t know—”

“Know. If you still want to be part of our operation, that is.”

“I’ll get right on it.” He switched the phone box off sharply. Damn! He needed to locate Ellen fast. There was no time for sweet talk. He’d have to sit her down and paint the blackest, bleakest picture of the hotel’s finances that he could, even exaggerate, if need be. Then he would lead her to Nick Martin, who he’d present as a savior. In the end, they would both be grateful to him.

When he got to her office he found her in conference with Artie Ross, the entertainment director for the hotel. It was apparent from the way they both looked that they had been discussing the house band’s negotiations for a new contract. Artie had been with the hotel nearly twenty years now and it was the first time he had had trouble with either the unions or management.

“I was just going to send for you,” Ellen said. “Artie says Phil promised the new musician’s contract would be signed before the Fourth. He and the boys didn’t feel right about pushing for it these last few weeks, and I appreciate the sentiment,” she added, nodding to Artie, “but I don’t understand your procrastination.”

“The house band has been talking about playing only one set for dancing if they have to play for the show,” Jonathan said, “and frankly, I vetoed the concept. It’s not fair to the Latin dance band to have to play three straight sets. It’s also not fair to us because according to union rules, if they do we have to pay them double.”

“But you vetoed it without discussing it with me first,” Artie said quietly. “Without even seeing if there was some way we might compromise.”

“There can be no compromise when expenses are at stake,” Jonathan said. “In fact, Ellen, that’s why I’m here. I was hoping we could have a brief conversation about the economic situation. It’s extremely important and perhaps if I explain our circumstances to you in greater detail, you’ll understand what we’re up against and why I sometimes have to do the things I do. I’m sure Artie will excuse us.” He turned peremptorily to the entertainment director.

Artie looked to Ellen for instruction.

“Maybe he’s right, Artie,” she said somewhat hesitantly. “Let me meet with him now and I’ll get together with you sometime this afternoon. I promise.”

He gave her a smile of encouragement. “Okay, I’ll call you after lunch. I’m sure we can work something out.”

“Before you start, Jonathan,” Ellen began as Artie closed the door, “it’s important to me that you know how I feel about certain things. I’m not saying I have any special expertise in financial matters or any of your experience in management. But one thing about this place I do know is that it has been as successful as it is largely because the Goldens have always treated their staff as members of their own family, with courtesy and respect even when they disagree. It means looking at both sides of an issue and it also means not making decisions without discussing the pros and cons with the people involved, like with Artie just now or Moe Sandman yesterday. The end result is loyalty and it’s one of the most valuable cogs on which the hotel runs.”

“That attitude might have to be compromised somewhat, Ellen. Happy families and loyalties don’t always pay off, especially when money is concerned. There comes a time when we have to face up to reality.” He spoke with great confidence. “Last year wasn’t as great a season as most people think, as you well know. I don’t want to list all the mortgage notes and creditors right now but on top of what we owe, we’ve already committed ourselves to more expansion—”

“Jonathan.” She held up her hand in an attempt to stop him, but he continued to speak.

“We don’t have to debate hotel philosophy right now but you’ve got to face the facts. We need a financial transfusion and we need it badly. If not, there’s a possibility we’ll go broke.” He stopped to let the words sink in.