Weekend (26 page)

“You’d give yourself a hernia, Manny.”

He wasn’t sure whether she was joking or not but to be on the safe side, he laughed.

“Jesus, you’re crude. And to think you call me crude?”

Crude, she thought. Yeah, she was crude sometimes. It was the story of her life. Damn it, she just couldn’t shake her depression today.

He came up to her and tried to put his arms around her but she pushed him away.

“I’m not in the mood.”

“Not in the mood? When the hell are you ever in the mood? There used to be a time when you couldn’t get enough of me.” She shook her head and hung up her bathing suit. Yes, there used to be a time. But that was a long, long time ago.

Now, during the infrequent times they made love, their foreplay was short and he was always too quick entering her. Instead of their lovemaking being something beautiful, something mutual, it was merely self-satisfying, always on his side. She remembered a line of her friend Mimi Englewood. “My husband only sees me as someone to masturbate into.” How true that was of Manny.

“Not in the mood,” he muttered. He shoved a cigar into his mouth and twirled it with his tongue. She simply walked into the bathroom and slammed the door.

For a moment he stood staring at it. The anger built from his loins up. He stood next to the door.

“Next time you’re in the mood,” he yelled, “let me know. I’ll have them announce it on the public address system.”

With that, he left.

Bruce looked up as Lillian Sokofsky and her coterie of nurses slid through the doorway of Ellen’s office. They had all changed into their uniforms and were standing by waiting to be introduced to the guests.

“One false alarm, thank God,” Lillian said.

“Who? The guy in the dungeon?”

“Yeah. Cheap wine and beer, that’s all it was. Dr. Bronstein found the bottles piled in his room.”

“I’m afraid we’re going to have a lot of that kind of confusion. Anybody with a simple ache or pain is going to be convinced he has cholera.”

“Panic turns people into hypochondriacs,” Lillian said. “You know that.” She settled on the couch while the others walked around looking at the photographs. “I worked the polio epidemic up here in ’51 and I remember the hysterics. That’s why it’s so important we get the proper information out right away. We certainly don’t want someone with a heart condition frightening himself into an attack just because he gets a gas pain and thinks he got ‘it.’”

They stopped their conversation as the public address system came on.

“LADIES AND GENTLEMEN, MAY WE HAVE YOUR ATTENTION. YOUR ATTENTION, PLEASE.” He recognized Magda’s voice. “ALL OF THE GUESTS ARE ASKED TO CONGREGATE IN THE FLAMINGO ROOM IN FIFTEEN MINUTES. I REPEAT, FIFTEEN MINUTES. THIS IS AN EMERGENCY MEETING AND IS OF EXTREME IMPORTANCE. EVERYBODY MUST ATTEND. ONCE AGAIN, THIS IS AN EMERGENCY. FIFTEEN MINUTES. DOWNSTAIRS. A MEETING IN THE FLAMINGO ROOM.”

“It begins,” Bruce said dejectedly. “Where’s Sid?”

“He didn’t get halfway across the lobby before he was called to another room. Something about a guest hitting her head in a shower. It’s funny … but when you have an outbreak like this you forget that people have other problems too.”

“Old woman?”

“Don’t think so. The roommate called for help.”

“Roommate, huh?” It made no impression, and he turned back to his papers. “You know,” he said without looking up, “in 1849 there was a terrible cholera epidemic in London. This was before they knew anything about the existence of germs. A doctor by the name of John Snow, through painstaking backtracking, determined that most of the victims drank from a specific water pump on a specific street. He had the pump handle removed and the epidemic subsided.”

“Fascinating.”

“Yeah,” he went on with an enthusiasm characteristic of one who enjoys his work. “Not long afterward it was scientifically proved that the water, which had been contaminated by sewage, was indeed the culprit. What they learned from this was twofold; there was something that everyone with cholera had in common, and that once proper sanitary conditions are instituted, the disease becomes practically nonexistent. That’s what gets me here. The sanitary conditions at the Congress are exemplary. This means it had to be carried through the food.”

“But I understand Wong had nothing to do with the kitchen.”

“That’s what’s driving me up the wall. It’s almost as if someone literally took the damn bacteria out of his room and released it in the kitchen.”

“You don’t really believe that, do you?” Her eyes widened in surprise.

“No, no,” Bruce said. “Of course not.” Actually it was the first time he had thought of it but…, “That would presuppose that someone knew his condition in the first place. Besides, what kind of an idiot would do something like that?” He saw that the other nurses were looking at him strangely. “I’m sorry girls, I’m not serious. I just got carried away. It’s been that kind of day.”

“So where does that leave you?” Lillian asked.

“I don’t know. What I figured I’d do,” he said, “is use old John Snow’s tried and true method of backtracking. Somehow, somewhere, the victims did something in common. Now it’s a question of zeroing in and finding out what.”

The sound of the phone interrupted the conversation. He leaned over and picked it up.

“Hello?”

“Bruce.” Sid was practically whispering.

“Yeah. What’s up?”

“Listen, I’ve got a serious case up here.”

“Cholera?” He looked at Lillian who sat forward in her seat. “I thought someone hit her head in the shower.”

“No, you were right the first time.” He didn’t want to say cholera in front of Charlotte. “Apparently you know the girl. Fern something or other. Her roommate’s been babbling and she said something about an appointment. She mentioned your name. I …”

“Rosen? Fern Rosen? Is that the girl you’re seeing?”

“Yeah, Rosen. That’s it.”

“I’ll be right there.” He jumped up and slammed down his clipboard. “Tell her I’m on my way.” He left the receiver dangling on the desk.

“What … ?”

He was out of the door before Lillian could finish.

By the time Bruce reached Fern’s floor, Sid was standing outside the room waiting. It was obvious he was upset and concerned. Bruce felt the blood rush to his face.

“How is she?”

Sid shook his head.

“She’s in shock. Gone into a coma. I’ve sent for a stretcher. We can’t afford to wait for an ambulance. Having her taken to the hospital in the hotel wagon.” His staccato comments were driven in like nails. “Where do you know her from?”

“I just met her here. Last night. But I like her a lot.”

“Her roommate’s pretty upset. I gave her a sedative.”

“You didn’t mention Oberman, did you?”

“No. Why?”

“The roommate was … well, sort of interested in him. I want to go in.” He reached for the door. Sid followed.

Charlotte was seated on her bed, staring at Fern who was flat on her back, her eyes closed. The white linen pillow and matching cover sheet framed her face in a shroudlike background. Her face looked drawn, so much so that her features seemed distorted to Bruce. Her hair, the permanent pounded out of it by the driving shower, fell listlessly around and under her head in clipped uneven strands. Her lips were slightly parted.

Bruce turned to Charlotte. She stared back at him with tired, empty eyes. Her lips quivered, her shoulders slumped. He saw her fingers opening and closing against the palms of her hands, moving with a crab’s slow, constant rhythm. She started to shake her head.

“I don’t know what’s … wr … wrong … with her, Bruce.”

“Just take it easy.”

“I thought she hit her head but. …” She turned back and looked at Fern again. Bruce moved to her side and squeezed her hand. She didn’t look up.

“She’s being rushed to the hospital. She’ll be all right.”

Charlotte didn’t reply. Bruce turned back to Sid and they walked out of the room. They stood by the doorway in the hall.

“I’d better ride over to the hospital with her,” Bruce said. “Her roommate’s in no condition …”

“Don’t be surprised when you get there,” Sid said. “It’s total bedlam. You can’t imagine … we don’t have anywhere near the capacity we should for a major resort area. In the summertime this county swells to a population of hundreds of thousands and what do we have to service it? A two-hundred-and-eighty bed facility. Not even enough for the off-season. And now that they have to isolate anyone we send over, they’ll have to set aside an entire wing and …”

“You’ll have to start shipping some patients down to the city, won’t you?”

“Those we can, sure. But who knows how hard or fast we’re going to get hit?”

“That’s an aspect that’s going to require some coordination. Dr. Kaplow …”

“That asshole.”

“Where did he disappear to after Ellen’s meeting?”

“I haven’t the slightest idea. Probably ran to the newspaper stand to get a copy of
Forbes.
”

Bruce looked at his watch impatiently. “Where the hell’s the stretcher?”

“I’m sure it’ll be here any moment,” Sid said, looking back into the room. “Listen, I won’t be able to leave the hotel now. I called a colleague of mine, Julie Elias. He’s a good man and he’ll be at the hospital waiting for you. You can’t get much better up here.”

Just at that moment, Gary Becker, the hotel chauffeur, and a bellhop stepped out of the elevator. They were carrying a folding stretcher. When Dr. Bronstein waved, they walked quickly down the corridor.

“This way,” Bruce called. He wanted them to run.

“What’s going on?” the bellhop asked. “What’s that announcement all about?”

“I’ll explain later,” Bronstein said. “Let’s take care of this first. The girl inside is pretty sick.”

“I’ve got the wagon pulled up to the side entrance,” Gary said.

Charlotte stood up when they entered. Bruce and Sid lifted Fern, top sheet and all, on the stretcher. Then Bruce tucked a pillow under her head. Her eyes quivered slightly.

“What the hell’s wrong with her?” Gary asked. Sid looked up sharply. “Hey, she doesn’t have whatever Tony Wong had, does she?” The driver got so scared he almost dropped the end he was carrying.

“Hey, take it easy. We’ve got a sick lady here,” Sid admonished. They moved toward the door. Bruce turned to Charlotte. She had her hand to her mouth.

“You try to take a nap. As soon as I get back from the hospital, I’ll come up and let you know what’s happening.” He was glad Sid had given her a sedative. Better to knock her out than to chance her getting hysterical at the meeting.

“Is she going to die?” she asked tentatively.

“No,” Bruce said quickly. He wanted to push the thought out of his own head as well. Then he rushed out to follow Bronstein.

“What the hell’s going on here?” Gary asked as they left the elevator.

“I’ll tell you all about it in the wagon,” Bruce said.

They carried the stretcher, out of view of the guests, to the side entrance. The back door of the wagon was opened and the back seat folded down, making it into a makeshift ambulance. Bruce got into the passenger side after the back door was closed.

“Listen, doc,” Gary said, pulling Sid to the side of the car. “I don’t know whether this is important or not but Jonathan Lawrence made me take Tony Wong’s roommates and a chambermaid into New York yesterday.”

“We know all about that, Gary, and we’ll be talking to you about it later.”

“Yeah, but this chambermaid, Margret Thomas, she got pretty sick on the way down.”

“Hey,” Bruce yelled, leaning over and honking the horn. “Let’s get a move on!”

“Look, Gary, tell Bruce everything. He’s … he’s sort of in charge of that now.”

“What’s going on?”

“Just go ahead. Tell him on the way to the hospital.”

“I don’t like the sound of this,” Gary said. “Am I in any danger driving that wagon? I mean … I took Wong to your office in it and …”

“No. you’re safe, Gary. Honest.”

The driver moved to the car and got in with obvious reluctance. Slowly he shifted into gear and started away. Bronstein and the bellhop watched them go.

“So what the hell’s wrong with her, doc?”

“Huh? Oh, I’m not completely sure yet. Gotta take some tests.” He started back into the building.

“I forgot to tell you, doc. Rosie said your wife called and she wants you to call her back right away.”

“Thanks.” Better I don’t call her back, he thought. That’s just what I need. More
tsures.

Ellen knocked gently on the Teitelbaums’ door. It was a long moment before Sam opened it and when he did, she saw the terror and tragedy of what was happening in the hotel written all over his face.

The wrinkles and lines had sunk deep in his skin. His once sparkling, teasing eyes were now glassy and dull. Nevertheless he was still dressed immaculately. Men his own age often looked lost in their clothes—buttons misfastened, belts too small for their pants, faces dotted here and there with stubble missed by an uncertain razor, nudged and badgered continually by their wives to zip their flies, tie their laces, and tuck in their shirts. But not Sam.

He still dressed like a man with a strong grip on life. His posture was erect, his gait certain and definite. He was very much in control, except, perhaps, today. Because he was a contemporary of Papa Golden, whom she loved, Ellen had always looked up to him as one of the last survivors of an era populated by men who were rugged, sturdy and strong. They had been the true pioneers, the ones who didn’t know from comfort and easy living, from inheritances and going by the book. The only thing they knew was work, hard work, and Ellen had a great deal of respect for them.

Sam took one look at her and hugged her tight and close.

“Blanche is lying down,” he said, stepping back and starting for the bedroom.

“No, let her sleep.”

“She’s not sleeping, just resting. And I know she wants to talk to you.”

Ellen sat down in the arm chair but stood up again as Sam brought his wife in. Her eyes were streaked with tiny red lines and she looked as though it took all her strength to walk. Ellen gave her a kiss and the three of them sat down.