“I came up as soon as I could.”
“We appreciate it,” Sam said. “We know how busy you are. Blanche is upset because the Bluestone family blames us for what’s happened. I keep trying to tell her they’re in shock and don’t really know what they’re saying.”
“I know what they’re going through,” Ellen said. “It’s only natural. When there’s trouble people always look for someone or something to blame. Right now, for example, in the eyes of most people, the hotel is responsible for what’s happening. It’s so ironic. You know how we’ve always prided ourselves on a clean kitchen. Why, we spend twice for staff in that department what any other hotel in the mountains does.”
“You could eat off the floor in that kitchen,” Blanche said. There was a silence. “So, Ellen, what are you going to do?”
“It’s mostly out of my hands now. I’ll be meeting with the guests right after I leave you to explain what’s going on. The health authorities have taken control. The hotel’s in quarantine.”
“Doesn’t that keep people in as well as out?” Sam asked.
Ellen nodded.
“But we have to leave tomorrow,” Blanche said. “There’ll be the funeral, and …” She looked at Sam but he said nothing in support.
“I’ll see what can be done,” Ellen said, “but I can’t make any promises. Like I said, the situation’s out of my hands. But you know I’ll do everything I can.”
“Don’t worry about us,” Sam said. “You’ve got more important things than us old folks to think about. You know, it’s curious how the past has a way of coming back at us,” he said, leaning back on the couch. “I remember the panic up here in 1916. That was the bad summer of infantile paralysis. Papa Golden and I sat up many nights sweating out tests and examinations of children who got sick when this was nothing more than a small tourist area. You can imagine what would have happened if one of those kids contracted polio while at the Congress.”
“No one would have stayed and no one would have come back,” Blanche said.
“But as luck would have it, thanks be to God, no one got sick.”
“And what about the Spanish flu?” Blanche asked, getting caught up in his reminiscences.
“That was two years later. I remember it was in August. Barber shops, stores in town and hotels had to close at six
P.M.
each day. People were afraid to mix with each other and everybody walked around in a perpetual state of terror. But once again we were lucky and no one at the Congress got sick.”
“Nevertheless, can you imagine what’s going to go on here after Ellen meets with the guests?” Blanche said.
“Come, dear, don’t make her any more frightened than she is.”
“It’s all right,” Ellen said quietly. “I’m resigned to the fact that this is probably the end of the Congress.”
“How can you
say
such a thing, young lady?” Sam Teitelbaum’s face took on some of his old energy. “Do you know what went in to building this place? Why I worked on my hands and knees side by side with Papa Golden long before you were even born. How can you be so quick to give up?”
Ellen remained mute.
“No one thought the hotel industry would survive the polio epidemics. And no one thought they’d survive the flu. But the important thing is that they did. And you’re going to survive this, too. Just wait and see.”
Ellen reached for his wrinkled hand, brought it up to her lips, and kissed it. “Thank you for that.” She looked first to him and then to Blanche. “I love you both. You said something earlier, Sam, about the past having a way of coming back. If it could just happen one more time … if we could just see this tragedy through …” She blinked a tear away as she checked her watch and realized it was time for her to leave. “Incidentally,” she said, standing up and getting her pocketbook, “I also came here to tell you that if you wanted, you could stay over with us at the old farmhouse. I thought it might make you feel safer and …”
“No, no,” Sam said. He stood up too. “Why take a chance of spreading things? We don’t know, maybe this thing’s in us too.”
Ellen knew there was no reassurance she could give. “It’s an open invitation. Think about it. If you change your mind, just let my secretary know and she’ll make the arrangements.” She kissed them both again and hurried out of the suite.
The moment the door closed behind her, she wanted to cry. It wasn’t rational, she knew, but still somewhere deep inside she did feel responsible for what was happening. After all, it was at her hotel that all these people had been exposed to cholera. A few had already died, others had gotten sick, and they probably still hadn’t seen the last of it.
If old Mrs. Bluestone hadn’t come through the main gate of the Congress, she might have lived to see her grandchildren grow up. And what about that young man Oberman? And the kids at the day camp? She suddenly found it hard to swallow. We’ve got to beat this thing back, she thought. We’ve
got
to. She straightened and moved to the elevator, determined to speak with confidence when she faced the guests.
When it was over, she would go somewhere and mourn.
There was no way to deaden the impact of that announcement over the public address system. Those who were able to hear it were thrown into a frenzy. Some imagined it some sort of hotel prank. Was it a mysterious new July Fourth activity? Their confusion and anxiety was compounded by the fact that many of the lower echelon staff members seemed to know nothing and looked just as confused. The front desk was mobbed. The girls were polite and patient, but some guests resented their “we really don’t know” reply and responded with nasty looks and remarks.
Mimeographed messages on slips of paper were run off in the print shop and the bellhops were given stacks, assigned floors, and told to knock on doors. If there was no response, their orders were to slip the messages under the doors and go on to the next room.
Other bellhops were sent outdoors to pipe the announcements on the golf course, tennis courts, at the pool, down by the lake, on the baseball fields and wherever guests might be. The worst reactions came on the golf course and at the pool. Some guests were abusive and refused to leave. When the bellhops couldn’t give them any details about the meeting in the nightclub, they disregarded it altogether. However, most guests were surprised by the unusual request and dutifully obeyed.
The noise in the lobby was intense as the people milled around. Some were angry they hadn’t been permitted to finish their lunch. Children, pulled along reluctantly by their parents, cried and whined. Guests shouted questions to each other to discover what they could. For some the general ignorance created a carnival atmosphere. Over near the card room practical-jokers tried to outdo one another by screaming ridiculous reasons for the gathering.
“They’ve run out of borscht!”
“Someone’s been caught stealing towels!”
“There’s a virgin loose in the hotel!”
Magda stationed herself in the center of the crowd, reassuring people, calming children, smiling, squeezing hands, kissing cheeks. Old-timers pulled at her, first-timers flocked around. She gave no one any specific information but her presence, her smile and her warmth helped lower the level of insecurity, especially for the elderly.
Rafferty and two of his security men gently moved everyone toward the nightclub. Although they were firm, they neither pushed nor shouted. Some of the department heads helped out. Stan Leshner brought people in from the courts. Moe Sandman cleared out the coffee shop. Netta, the reservations manager, made sure everyone was out of the beauty parlor and boutiques.
Sandals slapped against the floor. Some guests still carried their tennis rackets. Many from the pool wore nothing but their bathing suits with a towel wrapped around their necks or tied around their waists. As the parade of vacationers moved through the club’s wide double doors, their voices dropped immediately. Instinctively, the earliest arrivals had avoided the front tables. Most had congregated toward the rear. Artie Ross and Mr. Pat pleaded and begged them to move forward. Wives took their husbands’ hands and pulled their children close. The nightclub was never designed to be a highly illuminated place and even though all the lights were on, the effect was still somewhat subdued. To compensate for that, all the stage lights were activated.
The sight of Ellen, Bronstein and the five public health nurses in uniform, had an immediate effect on the crowd. Although Bronstein was not known to most of the guests, almost all had seen the large portrait of Ellen and Phil in the main lobby and a great many had met her at the cocktail party the night before. It was the public health nurses that caused the greatest stir. The uniforms even stifled the jokers. Something serious was up. This was obviously no joke.
As more and more people came in, Ellen moved toward the microphone on stage. In a calm, steady voice she asked them to please take seats. “It’ll help if more of you move down and make room for those entering. Please.”
Bar waiters acted as ushers, directing people in off the aisles. Gradually, those who had reacted angrily about having their recreation disturbed became less belligerent and more interested in what was about to take place. Eager guests started shouting at others who were taking too long to get seated.
“The quicker we all get settled, the quicker I can begin,” Ellen said.
“When we’re ready to start,” Sid said, partially covering his mouth with his hand so no one out front could hear, “introduce me right after your opening remarks. Hopefully, hearing from a doctor will calm some of them down.”
“Shouldn’t Gerson Kaplow be here?”
“He should, but I don’t know where he is. I can tell you this much, I sure as hell don’t want to have to be the one to deal with the press. That should be his responsibility as public health officer.”
“The press,” Ellen said, repressing an urge to slap her palm against her forehead. “I’ve been so preoccupied I haven’t even given it a thought.”
She turned and looked out at the nearly filled Flamingo Room. The noise level had grown again, but most of the guests now had their attention fixed on her and the others on stage. She saw Magda walking down an aisle, reaching over tables to pat hands. Amazing woman, Ellen thought. She always comes through.
She looked down at her notes and realized her hands were sweaty. Despite the air conditioning, the nightclub still seemed stifling. It was time to begin, she thought. No point in putting it off any longer. Visions of an hysterical mob flashed through her mind. She imagined people trying to rush out, men leaping over tables, women screaming, children crying. Oh God, she thought, I hope my voice doesn’t crack.
There were only a few people moving through the doors now. She looked over at Sid. He and the nurses had stopped talking; their eyes were fixed on her. Sid nodded and then she began.
They were just about to go down to the Pelican Lounge for a drink when Nick noticed a slip of paper under the door.
“What is it?” Melinda asked.
“I’m not sure.” He leaned down to pick it up. “Something about a meeting in the Flamingo Room that everyone is requested to attend.”
“Sounds more like some kind of prank,” Melinda said. She didn’t add it sounded like something Grant would do if he were bored. She decided to call the front desk and check.
“Well, it’s true,” she said, hanging up. “They confirmed it.”
“What the hell could it be?”
“They didn’t seem to know themselves.”
Nick walked to the window and looked out. He saw people, alone and in groups, converging on the main building in various states of dress.
“Maybe another country attacked us,” Melinda said. “Like Pearl Harbor.”
“Stop kidding. I don’t like this,” he said. “C’mon, we better get going.”
He took her by the arm and she locked the door behind them. At the same time, Grant was bounding up the stairs in twos and threes, excited by the news and eager to tell his mother. When Melinda saw him fly around the corner and into the corridor, she turned white as though she’d just seen a ghost.
Even from down the hall, Grant recognized her reaction. He had seen it often enough before. Sometimes, if he wanted to be nice to her, he was accommodating and pretended he didn’t know her. Not that she had actually come out and suggested he do that, but he knew she appreciated it. But now, as he came upon her accompanied by this sharply dressed, dark-complexioned man, he felt resentful and angry. This was obviously the same man he’d seen in the shower and here he was, holding her arm, looking cool and cocky as if he had gotten away with something.
Melinda turned back to the room.
“You forget something?” Nick asked.
“No. Yes,” she said quickly. It might work, she thought, if I get back there fast enough and pretend he has the wrong room. But Grant stopped her with a shout.
“Ma!” God, how she hated the sound of that word.
“Ma?” Nick took on a half smile. He looked from the approaching Grant to Melinda, who had stopped dead in her tracks.
“Yes,” Melinda said. “That’s my son.”
“You know,” Nick said, “I thought I saw a pair of pants too big for you draped over a chair. So,” he said, looking at the gawky youth in front of him.
“Grant, this is Mr. Martin. Nick, this is Grant.”
“Hi,” Nick said, extending his hand. Grant looked at it but didn’t shake. Nick brought it back, the smile frozen on his face. “I guess I’ll learn about you through surprises, huh, Melinda?”
“Grant, don’t you know enough to say hello?”
“Hello,” he mumbled, his eyes fastened to the floor.
“I didn’t see you in the dining room,” Nick said.
“That’s because I wasn’t there.”
“Where are you going, Grant?” Melinda broke in, eager to find out what was on his mind. “Why were you running up the stairs like that?”
Grant hesitated a moment. He couldn’t understand it, but suddenly he felt like flaring out wildly. He wanted to scream and yell and break something apart. She looked so good, he thought, so fresh and clean. Why did she give it away so easily? This man was good-looking, but he was a damn stranger, just like all the others. There was never anything lasting between them.