The Pelican Lounge filled slowly. People were tentative about gathering around a bar, even an “open bar.” Some wondered if the cholera could be passed to them from the glasses. “Alcohol kills all germs,” the bartenders told them. Gradually initial fears diminished. The temptation of free drinks won out. The bartenders were emphatic in their demonstrations of cleanliness. Glasses were held up to the light and inspected with dramatic interest. Early on, everyone took notice of it, but as the drinking became more intense and increased, the crowd lost its desire to participate in the sterilization process.
What they sought instead was a way to forget. A new attitude began to develop among the drinkers—a bizarre joviality built out of tension and fear. Statements made in jest became refrains for the late afternoon. “It’s too late now, so what the hell…” “I came up here for a good time, and I’m going to have it come hell or high water…” “If I’m going to die from something, it might as well be booze!” The celebration became louder. If the Angel of Death indeed hovered about, then this might be their one last fling. It was stupid to sit around and brood. “What the hell,” someone yelled, “you only live once.” The more they drank, the more they felt justified. Newcomers were chastized for wearing long faces and letting free liquor go to waste. “It’s party time, everybody. Enjoy!”
The music started up. The three-man combo was cheered. Laughter and applause gave way to people shouting requests and singing along with the band. The Pelican Lounge began to look and sound like a New Year’s Eve party. Although the bartenders were working harder and faster than usual, they too contributed to the atmosphere of frivolity, keeping up with their customers drink for drink. After all, even they might as well eat, drink and be merry, for tomorrow…
At the center of all this was Melinda Kaplan. She had grown impatient waiting for Nick, and after her third drink began flirting with every available man. The small crowd that had gathered around her grew larger. She encouraged them to join her, led them in song and soon looked like a queen holding court. Other women, jealous of the attention she was commanding, tried to compete. They soon settled on imitating whatever she did. If she called out a song for the combo, they joined in with the men to demand it. If she began dancing, they did too. At one point, she was lifted onto a small table while the men around her cheered. She bumped and ground her hips suggestively to the rapid beat of the bongos and everyone applauded.
Melinda’s vivaciousness stimulated the other women, and soon many were permitting themselves to be fondled and caressed in ways they seldom tolerated in private, much less in public. Someone started to imitate Bronstein making his speech about cholera only he substituted the word “syphilis” instead. The ensuing laughter was contagious, the conversation raw. The noise grew so loud it spilled into the lower lounges, attracting passersby. A few of them, mostly straight-laced and generally older people, gathered at the entrance and looked at the revelers as though they were witnessing a party conducted in an asylum. They muttered and shook their heads.
Thirty minutes later when the combo went on a break, some feared the party was over and melancholy began to creep in. Some of the men stepped outside for a breath of fresh air while the women sat at the small tables and looked exhausted. Even the bartenders began to slow down. Melinda felt the change but she didn’t want it to end. If it ended, what else would there be? Suddenly she raised her arms and stepped on a chair.
“Hold it everyone, hold it.”
What little noise there was subsided. Even the bartenders stopped what they were doing. The titular head of this spontaneous insanity was about to speak
“I say we make our own good time. The hell with the music. There’ll be a party in room fourteen sixty-five right after dinner tonight!”
“The hell with dinner,” someone shouted. There were cheers of affirmation.
“Who wants to take a chance eating their food anyway?” someone else said.
“Now, now, keep the party going now.” A chant developed. Melinda clapped her hands. Why not, she thought. “Now, now, keep the party going now.”
“NOW!” she screamed.
Two men helped her down from her chair. Others demanded bottles of liquor and glasses from the bartenders. The momentum was such that there was no resistance. It seemed like a good idea to get these crazy people out of there anyway. Not everyone followed Melinda and her entourage out, but enough did to create a wild parade through the lobby and to the elevators. When Melinda got into the first one, she seemed to be the only woman, surrounded by a dozen men. They sandwiched her into the middle and cheered as the doors closed. Others took to the stairs, despite the number of flights.
The lobby once again took on the air of gloom that had pervaded it ever since Ellen’s speech. The bartenders in the lounge began cleaning up the mess. A few guests remained to drink, but the atmosphere was dark and dreary. The bartenders cleaned with quiet exhaustion. Guests who had heard about the hilarity peeked in and searched for evidence of the so-called bacchanal. Obviously there had been some exaggeration. Who in his right mind would carry on like that in the midst of a crisis anyway?
Ellen and Sid had just stepped out of the elevator when they were approached by a frantic woman about forty years old.
“You’ve got to help me, Mrs. Golden. It’s my mother … my mother.”
“She’s sick?” Dr. Bronstein asked.
“No, but she refuses to come down to dinner. She won’t eat or drink a thing. She says she’d rather die from starvation.”
“All right,” Ellen said, “I’ll have one of the nurses go up and talk to her. What room—”
“No, she won’t believe anyone but the doctor, and even that’s somewhat doubtful. She remembers cholera from the old country, she says.”
“I’d better go up to see her,” Bronstein said. “I’ll catch up with you in a few minutes.”
“Thank you, doctor, thank you.” The woman practically pulled him back into the elevator.
Ellen went up to her office. Sheriff Balbera was on the phone at her desk. When she entered he stood up, but she waved him back into the seat. After a moment, he hung up.
“Your chauffeur took off.”
“Took off?”
“Dropped Bruce Solomon and a patient at the hospital and then drove away. The hotel car’s been located at the South Falls-burgh entrance to the thruway but no sign, so far, of the driver. One of my men is bringing the car back now.”
“Where’s Mr. Solomon?”
“He just went up to see someone.”
“Not another victim?” She moved to her desk.
“No, I don’t think so. Just a roommate of one. Incidentally, Gary wasn’t the only guy on staff to run away, Mrs. Golden. There’s a confirmed report about two of the carpenters climbing the fence. We located them in that rundown apartment house nearby, the one everyone calls the Bowery.”
“I can’t blame them. I feel like running myself.” She looked down at a phone message left on her desk. It indicated that an emergency meeting of the Catskill Hotelman’s Association was to take place at five o’clock. It was now ten to six. Oh well, even if she could pull rank and get off the grounds, it was too late to attend. Besides, what was the difference? The difference came via a phone call ten minutes later. It was Bernie Jaffe from the Ambassador. He was the current president of the association.
“We were sorry you couldn’t make it, Ellen, but we understand your situation.”
“You do? That’s good, because I hardly do.”
“Things are that bad, huh?”
“Well, thank God we haven’t had as many serious cases as was feared, but we’re still in no position to be optimistic.”
“You know we’re all here if you need anything. This, on top of Phil’s death, why it’s just too …”
“Thank you, Bernie. Thank everyone.”
“A couple of things though, Ellen,” he said quickly, anxious to get to the point “We’ve been discussing the situation at length, as I’m sure you understand. Being that you’re kind of cut off from the world up there, you’re probably not aware of the tremendous publicity you’ve had. The story’s broken in all of the major papers. The press should be coming up in force.”
“Well, I certainly don’t intend to get involved in that aspect. Gerson Kaplow, the public health officer …”
“Forget Kaplow. He’s worthless. I can’t think of anyone who’d want him for a spokesman. No, what I was getting at is this. We, as a hotel association, have come up with a sort of unified response to the situation. I don’t know if you’ve had a chance to consider the impact of all that has happened—not only on the Congress, but on the entire industry. …”
“It’s occurred to me,” she said, dryly.
“Yeah, well, the thing is this, Ellen. We’ve already heard comments like ‘the disease came from some peculiar kosher food served only in the borscht belt’ or ‘What do you expect from Jews. They always try to cut corners! They probably bought cheap meat’.” He tried to laugh. “Of course, that’s ridiculous, but nevertheless, we have to deal with it. So what really has to be done … you see, it’s for the best, even for the Congress because, eventually, you’ll come out ahead of this, and …”
“What have you come up with Bernie?” She tapped her ball point impatiently.
“Everyone feels we must isolate the situation, Ellen. Listen,” he said, lowering his voice, “you know as well as I that we don’t all follow the sanitary requirements to the letter. It’s a physical and financial impossibility. And the kitchen staff we hire, most of it is transient anyway. If the government decided to enforce every law, if every one of these people was examined, given chest X-rays … let’s face it, we’d all be in a financial bind.”
“So?”
“So our position has got to be that the Congress has a very unique problem. It has nothing to do with the resort industry up here as a whole.”
“In other words, we are the only hotel that might not have been sufficiently diligent with our sanitary or health procedures. Our kitchen might not have been as clean as everyone else’s.”
“Now, I’m not saying that, Ellen.”
“But the implication is there.”
“All we’re asking you to do is to take the whole picture into consideration. What good would it do anyone if the reputation of the entire Catskills was smeared because of this? Surely you can understand …”
“I understand only too well, Bernie. You just go on out there and save your own rear ends and I’ll,” she made some notes on her memo pad, “do here what I have to do. And oh,” she said, sarcastically as an afterthought, “don’t forget to thank everyone for offering help.” She hung up before he could respond.
For a moment she just sat there, staring ahead. So this is the business Phil gave his life’s energy to, she thought. This is the business she inherited. If only Nick Martin would walk in here right now and offer to buy the place … but that’s ridiculous. Even people like those he represented wouldn’t want anything to do with the Congress at this point. It all seemed so hopeless.
She thought about the preparations for dinner, the new produce, and the extra efforts they were taking to sanitize everything. Everybody was trying so hard. She might as well go down to the kitchen, she thought, and help out in whatever capacity she could. As long as she kept on working, there was a possibility she’d be all right.
Charlotte had sounded groggy on the phone when he called, so Bruce knocked loud and hard on the door. When she opened it, she looked like a woman coming off a drunk, seemingly dazed and without perspective. She rubbed her right cheek with her fist. Creases from the linen were imprinted on her face. She stepped back and Bruce entered. He closed the door.
“Are you all right?”
“Yeah,” she said, somewhat slowly. “Oh Jesus.” She lost her balance and stumbled backward. Bruce reached out and took her by the arm. He led her to a chair.
“Relax a minute,” he said. “You’re still suffering from the effects of the sedative.” He got her a glass of water.
“What about Fern?” she said.
“We took her to the hospital.”
“I know that. But what’s wrong with her? Is she going to be all right?”
“She’s going to be fine” he said with such assurance he almost convinced himself. Charlotte began to relax.
‘What happened to her?”
“Listen to me,” he said, taking her hand. “This might be a little hard to digest when you’re not feeling very well, but I think its time you knew the truth. Do you feel up to it?” She looked at him quizzically and nodded.
“I didn’t come up to the Congress for a vacation like I told you last night. My cousin is the doctor who takes care of guests up here. About two days ago one of the guys on staff came down with a disease called cholera. Sid, the cousin I mentioned, asked me to come up and help him out. Things came to a head this morning.”
He paused, wondering if it was wise to tell her everthing else but decided it was better she hear it from him than piecemeal from any of the guests. “It began with David Oberman,” he said hesitantly.
“David? What do you mean it began with him? What began with him?” She was beginning to think the unthinkable. She struggled to get up from her chair and when that didn’t work, slumped back.
“I called him after he didn’t show for breakfast. He was sick… There’s no point going into all the details.”
She could tell by his face. “He’s dead. David’s dead, isn’t he? He died of cholera.” Bruce nodded. Tears started streaming down her face. “Oh my God.” She brought her fingers up to her mouth and bit down.
“I can’t believe it. Last night he was so happy and now … so fast … it’s almost like a time bomb going off when you least expect it.”
“Yes, in a curious way it is like a bomb. But in this case you don’t even know where it’s located. To go on, an elderly woman passed away shortly after that. She was on the way to the hospital. We had some scattered cases later in the morning and then Fern…”
“Fern has cholera, too?” He stared at the carpet. “She’s dead,” Charlotte screamed, “SHE’S DEAD! You lied to me. You said she was going to be all right. But she’s not. She’s dead. Just like David.”
“No, no,” Bruce said, grabbing her by the shoulders. “I promise you. We got her to the hospital in time. She’s going to be all right.”
“I DON’T BELIEVE YOU!” she shouted, mustering all her strength so she could stand. She went at Bruce with her fingernails.
“Charlotte!” He slapped her face on both sides, and she started to cry. He sat her down again. “It’s all right, believe me when I tell you. Fern’s going to be all right. I’m telling you the truth.” She calmed down and leaned against him for support as he took out his handkerchief and wiped the tears from her cheek. Her sobbing gradually subsided.
“I’m sorry,” she said, blowing her nose and coughing.
“It’s all right. I understand how you feel. I felt the same way when I heard. But she really is going to be all right.” He managed to smile for her sake. “The hotel’s been placed under quarantine.”
“You mean no one can leave?”
“That’s right. Not for six days. All of the food capable of carrying the organism has been replaced, of course, so chances are you aren’t in any real danger.”
“But I could be carrying it from something I ate yesterday.”
“Yes, but …”
“I mean if Fern has it and David had it …”
“But I don’t have it, and I had dinner with them too. Right now there doesn’t seem to be much logic as to who comes down with it. There aren’t any predictable patterns. That’s one of the things I’m trying to look into now … but if you feel the slightest bit sick, I want you to call me right away.”
“Thank you,” she said, “I will.” She sat up straighter. “Actually, other than still being groggy from the pill, I think I’m okay. My stomach feels fine.”
“That’s good.”
“When can I see Fern?”
“I’ll let you know.” He stood up to leave. “I’ll be in touch with you after I speak to her doctor later on. Maybe you should take a short nap to sleep off the rest of the pill and then if you’re up to it, go downstairs and mix with other people. It might do you some good.”
“But isn’t that dangerous?”
“No, not at all. I promise.”
“Okay, if you say so.” She went to look at herself in the mirror and frowned. “Don’t worry about me,” she said. “Go do what you have to do. I’ll be in touch.”
“Good girl. I’ll see you later.” He touched her shoulder and walked out.
Damn, he was good-looking, she thought, and a mensh too. Fern was a lucky girl. Then she thought about David Oberman. The tears started flowing once again. No good, she said to herself, no good. Crying doesn’t do anyone any good. The hell with the nap. She went to the bathroom and started fixing up her face.
Nick straightened his tie but left his jacket unbuttoned. Jonathan’s secretary once again stopped what she was doing as he came out of his inner office. He nodded at her without speaking and proceeded out to the corridor. When his gaze fell on the elevator, there was no longer a charming softness about his eyes. His expression had totally changed. Even his posture was different. The gracefulness was missing from his gait. He moved with a firm, more intense determination, quite unlike the man who had walked into the hotel the day before as a quiet observer. The Richard Conte smile was gone from his face and indeed, anyone looking at him now would have difficulty imagining such a smile ever having settled there. His fingers were tightened into fists. His body was taut, ready to explode. He poked impatiently at the elevator button, no longer tolerant of delays, however small or reasonable.
When it finally arrived and the doors opened, he was grateful for its emptiness. He had no desire to speak to other guests. He could think of only one thing. He hardly blinked as the doors closed. The silence inside served to amplify the voice in his mind. It was as though the phone conversation he had just finished had been taped and was now being played over speakers piped into the elevator.
Over the last few years he had been just on the brink of making it big, no mean accomplishment for a kid who had started as a “gofer” running errands for nickels and dimes for the right people in the streets of Little Italy. He was bright and observant and it didn’t take him long to figure out that the front men had it better than the goons. They lived well, women flocked around them, and they got what they wanted wherever they went. He wanted the same for himself. He started small, took business courses at night school, worked for nothing just so he could learn how things operated from the “inside” and attracted the attention of all the right people. He took advice gratefully and listened and waited patiently. Soon enough the powers that be began to give him more responsibility. Finally, a few months back, they gave him permission to initiate a project on his own. The Congress was his first time out. It was on this hotel that he had decided to gamble his future with the syndicate. He had studied it, analyzed it and concluded that the risks for making a fortune were small and the potential great. And it would have turned out that way if only … yes, it was a freak situation and yes, it was incredible bad luck, but his bosses weren’t interested in freak situations or bad luck. Somehow he felt Jonathan could have been straighter with him. He knew what he had to do.
When the elevator doors opened, he paused only a moment. Today’s unfortunate circumstances notwithstanding, the experiences of his past had turned him into a professional, and a professional never telegraphed his intentions. A professional was a man who could create whatever facade was necessary and discard it when it was no longer needed. He took a deep breath and unclenched his fists. When he stepped out of the elevator he looked exactly like the easy-going Nick Martin who had checked in at the main desk twenty-four hours before. This would be the man Jonathan Lawrence would confront when he opened the door to his penthouse suite.
After his scene with Flo, Manny wandered aimlessly around the hotel grounds, muttering and cursing under his breath. It was just like a woman to take a narrow view of things. Here he was, trying to branch out into a new area, real estate investment. He was sick and tired of the garment business. He wanted to try something else. You’d think she’d congratulate him for having some ambition, taking an initiative but no, all she could do was harp on his losing some money, money he’d quickly make back next time around.
Her father’s business. What was it when he came into it? A half-assed outfit working from one month’s accounts to the next. Whose idea had it been to move the factory to South Carolina so they didn’t have to hire union help? Who had instigated selling to chain stores? And who thought up the idea of creating an advertising campaign? He had a right to gamble with the money, for crissakes. He was the one responsible for making it in the first place. Her brother, the shlep, just went along for the ride.
By the time he had snapped out of his resentment he found himself near the back of the hotel. He noticed what was probably the delivery entrance and moved closer to it. On each side of the gate there was a chain spread as far as the eye could see with locks set up at various intervals. He saw the state police car parked on the road and realized that the guest parking lot was located on the other side of the road, away from the hotel. All he’d have to do was somehow get through the chain fence and he’d be home free. His car was parked on the far side of the gate, away from where the police were patrolling.
When the policemen spotted him, they stopped chatting and stared. He pretended not to see them and continued along the pathway. There didn’t seem to be an end to that damn fence. A mile or so beyond, he realized it ran into an undeveloped wooded area at the north end of the hotel’s property. There was a good four acres of forest there. Eventually the forest led out to another highway that ran into some of the small towns and villages in Sullivan County, but Manny didn’t know this. To his urban eye, the forest seemed endless and wild. He was frightened of the idea that he could enter it and somehow get lost. He might wander about for days without food or water before a search party could locate him. And what about wild animals? He had heard rumors about bears and wildcats, but didn’t know if they were true.
Nevertheless, to Manny, it looked ominous. As he drew closer to the woods, however, he saw that the link fence was changed into an approximately five-foot-high barbed wire border. It would be easy to lift up the bottom strand and slip under. His spirits lifted. If successful, all he would have to do was turn to the right, cross over the road, and he’d be at the guest parking lot. And because he’d be entering from the rear, the state police would never know he was there.
The planned escape rejuvenated him. He walked quickly back to the main building. When Flo learned what he was going to do. maybe she’d get off his back and stop nagging him. Maybe she’d even forgive him. He would go back to the city, take care of the money problems on Tuesday, and then make arrangements for another vacation somewhere else, somewhere where people didn’t get sick from crazy diseases.
She wasn’t in the room when he returned. He found his little carryall and filled it with what he considered his essentials. He wasn’t going to be able to carry a whole suitcase if he was going to sneak under barbed wire. Thoughts about the escape began to excite him. He saw it as an adventure. He would prove he knew how to beat the odds. He picked out his darkest pants and shirt, aware of the importance of not being seen. He looked at his watch. It would be a good two and a half hours until enough darkness would fall.
He heard the door opening and looked up at Flo. Her face was still red and her eyes puffed up. When she saw him, she slammed the door behind her.
“I called Mike,” she said. “He thought I knew everything all along. He’s pretty pissed off at you, Manny.”
“Big deal. So your idiot brother’s pissed off.”
“You call him an idiot? Look who’s talking.”
“Now don’t go getting all worked up again. I’ve got it all figured out.” He waited for her to ask how but when she didn’t, he continued anyway. “I’m going to sneak out of here tonight, before they tighten things up even more.” She didn’t reply. “Honest, I’ve got a plan.”
“Knowing you,” she said, “it’s bound to fuck up. From what I hear, they’ll enforce this quarantine any way they have to and that might even include shooting someone.”
“You’re crazy. They’d never …”
She walked into the bathroom. He stood there for a moment, thinking. They’d never. … He imagined himself getting hit with a bullet in the back of the head. Ridiculous, he thought. Nevertheless it made him tremble.
Screw it. He was ready to take his chances. He’d get out tonight, hell or high water. He went back to his preparations.