An ominous stillness came over the group as Ellen stepped through the doorway of the conference room. Magda was close behind and they were flanked by Sid Bronstein, Bruce and Gerson Kaplow. Behind them came the Sheriff, Rafferty and Lieutenant Fielding of the State Police. They walked behind the conference table and remained standing. Ellen looked out at her fifteen department heads. The director of engineering coughed. A chair scraped against the floor. The auditor dropped his pen on the carpet. Bruce put his clipboard on the table. Everyone appeared to be uncomfortable.
“I don’t know if there’s any right way to begin all this,” she finally said. She held herself erect and spoke without notes. “So I’m just going to state the facts as I understand them and then let the experts tell you what has been done and what remains to be done.” She paused for a second to look at Magda. “Some of you already know that a staff member, a very new one, Tony Wong, was taken to the hospital Thursday evening. He died there yesterday morning from what has been positively diagnosed as cholera.”
For a moment the silence was overwhelming. Then everyone started talking at once. “I don’t believe it.” “Jesus Christ,” “Holy shit,” … and much indistinguishable mumbling.
“Unfortunately all of this occurred without my knowledge. Mr. Lawrence took too much on himself and made certain promises to Dr. Bronstein. The promises were never kept, and as a result, Jonathan no longer serves as the general manager of this hotel. But that is a side issue, and I don’t have the time or inclination to get into it now.
“The initial hope was that Wong was an isolated case, a freak thing, but it turns out, unfortunately, we’re not that lucky. This morning a male guest became seriously ill and died in the health club. Not long after that an elderly woman, apparently a cholera victim, died in an ambulance on the way to the hospital. One woman has had a miscarriage, and a few other guests, including two children, have complained about minor intestinal problems. Fortunately, none of them seem very serious.”
“I’ve got a gardener who’s taken pretty sick,” Bob Halloran said.
“Where is he?” Bronstein asked.
“Dungeon. First room on the right.”
“Anybody else know of someone sick?” Bruce asked.
“Suddenly I don’t feel so great myself,” Mr. Pat said. There was an outbreak of nervous laughter.
“Anyway,” Ellen went on, “the end result of all this is that by order of the public health department, the hotel is in a state of quarantine.”
“Quarantine!” The word echoed through the group.
“What exactly does that mean?” Stan Leshner asked.
“It means that no one can leave the hotel and only certain people, mainly those associated with the health profession, will be allowed in,” the Sheriff said.
“No one can leave? For how long?” Moe Sandman wiped his hands on his apron. “I mean most of us don’t live at the hotel.” There were a number of seconds from the floor.
“I guess I can help answer that,” Bruce said.
“Oh, I’m sorry,” Ellen said. “I should have introduced everyone before I started. My head’s still spinning. This is Bruce Solomon. He’s Sid—Dr. Bronstein’s cousin and he’s had experience with tropical diseases. He works at Mt. Sinai in New York. I’m sure most of you know the Sheriff and Dr. Kaplow, the town’s public health officer. And the man on the far left is Lieutenant Fielding of the State Police. Go on, Bruce.”
“Thank you. First let me explain, ladies and gentlemen, that we’re not quite sure how the cholera was transmitted to the guests although we’re quite certain it was brought in by Tony Wong. Just to be sure, we’re doing analyses on the water and examining milk supplies. The odds are that somehow it was spread through the food, though at the moment we have no idea how. To prevent it from happening again we’ve ordered an entirely new supply. What’s puzzling,” he continued, “is that apparently Wong had no contact with the food that’s been served the past few days, so in a sense we’re back to square one.”
“But,” Halloran interrupted, speaking quickly with the excitement of someone who thinks he’s found an answer, “his roommates were dishwashers.”
“That’s true,” Bruce said.
“Then that’s why they were shipped outta here last night,” he continued excitedly, suddenly seeing the pieces fit together. “You guys knew some thing was up as far back as yesterday!” There was a loud murmur through the group. “What’s he talking about?” “What the hell’s going on?”
“We had suspicions,” Bronstein said, “but they were far from conclusive. Your men were supposed to have been sent to a hospital in the city for tests, for their protection as well as our own, but …” He didn’t want to go any further.
“Regardless,” Bruce broke in, “I’ve pieced together things chronologically and it doesn’t seem likely that Tony’s roommates could have contracted the disease or passed it on. They were away from him and their room during the time he was sick and they weren’t there during the incubation period. I don’t think they had anything to do with spreading it.”
“What you’re saying then is that the source is still right here in the hotel,” the publicity director said.
“Possibly, but we very honestly don’t know. I realize this isn’t a very satisfactory answer but I’m asking you to bear with us. We just found out about the latest cases an hour or so ago and haven’t had time to track anything down. We’re going to start just as soon as we’re through meeting with you and the guests.”
“You still haven’t answered the question Moe asked,” Artie Ross said. “How long is the quarantine?”
“The incubation period can last as long as six days. Since it’s possible that some people contacted the disease today, we’d have to say … six days from today at the least.”
“Six days!”
There was an explosion of raised arms, loud voices and cries of dissent. Ellen sat herself down and Magda followed suit. The men remained standing. Bruce cupped his hands around his mouth and shouted for order. He was finding himself more and more thrust into the leadership role, and although there wasn’t any formal decision about it, he accepted it without argument. No one seemed to mind, least of all Sid. Gradually a semblance of order returned to the meeting.
“I’m sure Mrs. Golden is going to make a similar request,” he began again, “but the point is we’re meeting with all of you because we need your help. There’s going to be enough chaos as it is when the guests find out what’s going on.”
“You can say that again,” Kaplow said. Everyone looked at him as though they had just realized he was there. The stout doctor took a seat and maintained a look of total disgust.
“Wouldn’t it be better just to get everyone outta here?” Halloran asked. “At least until we’re sure it’s all clear?”
“No,” Bruce said. He continued as spokesman. “We’d be unleashing the contagion into all the communities these people went back to. Besides, the quarantine is a public health decision, not the hotel’s.”
“How are you going to keep them on the grounds if they want to leave?” the superintendent of service asked.
“That’s our job,” the Sheriff said. “Mine, Rafferty’s and Lieutenant Fielding’s. We’ll explain our security measures when we meet with the guests and I’m hoping to have everyone’s cooperation. Especially yours,” he added, throwing them a no-nonsense look.
“I don’t know who else I speak for,” Netta, the reservations manager piped up, “but the truth is I don’t know a damn thing about cholera, so I don’t know what kind of help I’d be.” There were many voices of agreement. “All I know is my grandmother used the word to represent any and all tragedies. Sometimes it was even a curse.”
“All right,” Bruce said. “You’ve got a point.” He picked up his clipboard, looked at his notes and put it back down. “Let me simplify it as best I can, and Sid or Dr. Kaplow can add what they think is important. The symptoms include diarrhea and vomiting along with severe muscle cramps. The danger lies in dehydration and uremia. When we treat a case early on, the percentage of complete recuperation is over ninety-five percent.”
“And the treatment is not terribly involved,” Sid said.
“Cholera is not contagious in the sense people usually think of when they think of a contagious disease. The organism is generally transmitted only in food or water and not from person to person.” There were many audible sighs of relief.
“Chances are,” Sid broke in, “that since all-new food will be used from now on, those of you who are not feeling any symptoms by now are probably not in danger.”
“Unless we picked it up last night or this morning, and it hasn’t had time to show up,” the maitre d’ of the Flamingo Room said.
“Yes,” Bruce said quietly. “There is still that possibility. If you’ll permit me to change the subject … Dr. Kaplow has brought with him pamphlets about the danger signs of cholera and what to do about them to be passed out by you to the guests and your staff. Please read them carefully so you can serve as buffers and help maintain a certain degree of calm over the next few days.
“There’s no sense in our getting any more technical here,” he went on. “Mrs. Golden’s office will serve as headquarters. We’ll call some of you in from time to time to ask questions if we think the answers will help us in any way. I don’t know if there’s anything else I can say.” He looked toward Sid and the Sheriff.
“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.
“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.