Weekend

by Tania Grossinger

  “Whoa there,” he cried. He lifted her straight up and then down again. She was silent until her feet touched the ground. Then she started to cry.

  “What are you crying for, Amy?” her mother asked, walking toward them quickly. “The nice man stopped you from falling. I’m sorry,” she said, her eyes widening as she looked at the dark-haired man in front of her. She tugged down on her slipover blouse and reached out blindly for little Amy’s hand. The baby hugged her mother’s leg, but continued to stare up at Nick.

  “No harm done,” he said. He tapped the little girl softly on the top of her head and walked on. The instant he moved away, she broke free once again and toddled merrily down the corridor.

  Nick stopped in front of Melinda’s room and checked his watch. For assignations like this he preferred being late. Better they should wait for him. He paused, then knocked at the door.

  She was standing there wrapped in a large beach towel, the ends tucked in loosely at her breasts. The skirt of the towel ended just above her pelvis. Her face was still flushed from her last set of tennis, but it hardly detracted from her beauty. On the contrary, it created a sexiness all its own. She smiled and stepped back to let him in.

  “You did say your tennis lesson would be finished at eleven-thirty,” he said. “If I’m early …” Damned if she wasn’t playing the same game as he.

  “No, not at all … it’s just that things got so backed up at the courts we ran late. I haven’t even had a chance to shower.” She looked at the clock on the end table and smiled at him warmly. “Please, come in. There’s a draft.”

  He moved in quickly and closed the door behind him.

  “Looks like you got in a lot of exercise,” he said, touching his hand to her wet cheek.

  “It was great. Too bad you couldn’t join me.” She pushed her hair back with both hands and the towel slipped, revealing more of her breasts and the crevice between them.

  “I had some business to take care of,” he said. He was going to reach for a cigarette but changed his mind. His attention was riveted on the little tuck in the towel. There were more exciting ways of getting gratification.

  “Just what is your business, Nick? You make it out to be so mysterious.”

  “It’s nothing mysterious,” he said smiling. “As I just said to someone this morning, you might say I make a profession out of bringing things back to life.”

  “Do I look like I’m dead?” She was challenging him and he loved it. He stepped forward and brought her body to him. She lifted her face to meet his lips. As they kissed, she undid the tuck in her towel. The terrycloth material dropped quickly. Her naked body felt small but comfortable in his arms. She moaned as she twirled the bottom of his earlobe in her fingers. He knelt down and scooped her up in his arms to carry her into the bedroom.

  Gazing down at her as he began to undress, it occurred to him that she was one of the most delicious packages of sensual pleasure he had ever seen. Her firm, full breasts quivered only slightly as she turned to greet him. Her small waist turned with gentle lines into hips that were slim and perfectly proportioned. But something was out of sync. It eluded him for a full five seconds. Then he realized, almost with a shock, that she had no pubic hair. Much to his astonishment, it turned him on.

  As he kissed and fondled her body, the strangest images formed in his mind. He was king of the universe and she his nubile slave, a vestal virgin who had never been with a man before. It was like making love to a fantasy, she was so compliant, so in tune with his directions and desires. He was able to mold her into whatever sexual experience he wanted.

  Her left hand cupped his balls almost as if she were weighing them. Her forefinger and thumb encircled the top of his prick and began to move up as far as the tip, then down to the bottom. The friction hardened him, swelling him to his full size. She was kissing his neck, working her way down to his chest, moving with even more energy and intensity than he. The inexperienced partner of his imagination had suddenly turned into a professional, and although he hadn’t been in a whorehouse for more than twenty years, he found himself recalling, with great gusto, one of the most exciting experiences of his life.

  By now Melinda had turned their lovemaking around so that it was she who was doing the molding. He wanted to draw back and assume control again but she wouldn’t permit it. Instead she clung to his torso with desperation, intertwining his thighs with hers and pressing her pelvis forward. He felt the moistened vaginal lips and became aware, once again, of the surprising smoothness. She must shave every damn day, he thought, and fantasized about the scene.

  Finally he mustered up enough strength to push her back so he could mount her the way he wanted to. She relinquished, this time without resistance, and he entered her swiftly, easily. She brought her legs up and wrapped them tightly around his lower back. They fell into a vigorous steady rhythm. She closed her eyes and wagged her head from side to side, moaning softly. Her lips parted, her tongue sought contact. He brought his fingers to her lips and teased her by running them along the rim of her mouth. Then he touched her tongue and she took his forefinger between her lips and sucked on it.

  She screamed with each climax. His power to bring her to such a pitch of excitement turned him on even more. He tried desperately to hold back and keep himself from coming but they were into such a perfectly synchronized movement his body simply flowed on. He exploded in long, deeply satisfactory spurts, pressing and pushing forward with each one.

  When it was over he turned on his back to catch his breath. Her eyes remained closed but the look on her face was a testimony to how pleasing and satisfactory their lovemaking had been. The throbbing in her neck continued.

  “Tennis always get you in such a mood?” he asked.

  “Everything gets me in the mood.”

  “I’ll have to remember that.” He looked at her seriously. “You know, I really don’t know much about you.”

  “About as much as I know about you,” she said, sitting up.

  “But I do know I need a shower.” She stood up and turned to him, beckoning him with her finger. “C’mon, I’ll wash your back.”

  “Sounds good to me,” he said, letting her help him to his feet. “As they say in my business,” he gave her a pat on the rear, “one hand washes the other.”

  When Grant opened the door, a few seconds later, he was confronted immediately by the sight of Melinda’s bath towel, crumpled on the carpet. He stared for a moment, then listened. He heard the shower going but intuitively knew something unusual was going on. He walked further into the suite until he was confronted with a man’s slacks and jacket draped over the chair near the bed. By now he didn’t have to strain to hear the muffled laughter and whispers emanating from the shower.

  He pushed the bathroom door open ever so slightly and through the transparent shower curtains saw the silhouettes of his mother and a man. She was kneeling. He was leaning over, his hands on her shoulders. Suddenly her head started moving back and forth. Grant wanted to get closer, but the realization of what she was doing enraged him. He felt a flush come into his face and he was unable to swallow. Choking from anger, he ran hastily from the scene.

  Once out in the corridor, he experienced a series of chills. A salty taste brought the realization that he had bitten down hard on his tongue and drawn blood. He spit out at the wall.

  He looked about with the panic of a cornered animal and focused on the stairway that led to the next floor. In a spurt of anger and frustration, he lunged at the steps and took them in threes. When he got to the next floor he ran to the next, and the next, and the next, until there were no more stairs to climb.

  At the top, though he could hardly catch his breath, his energy, insane as it was, increased. Standing there, looking to see if there was a window he could fling himself out of, images of the sex scene began flashing before him again. The man’s erection, his mother’s mouth … the same mouth she used to kiss him goodnight.

  He buffeted himself from one
side of the wall to the other. Suddenly his wild gaze focused on the fire extinguisher hanging near the stairwell. Satisfied there was no one else around, he moved forward and ripped it off the wall. Cradling it in his arms like a baby, he carried it until he reached the far end of the corridor. Every floor of the hotel had at least one or two small rooms set aside there for the storage of fresh linen, vacuums and ironing boards. Grant had noticed them the first time he had come to the hotel.

  Almost without thinking, he brought the nozzle of the fire extinguisher to the largest bin and pointed it in. Then, as if to destroy everything that was neat and clean, he pressed the extinguisher. The white foamy liquid shot out first in short, then in long spurts. Grant blinked his eyes and gasped with each spurt. When the extinguisher was spent, he checked the hall again and carried it back.

  Then, almost as if possessed by a demon, he ran down to the sixteenth floor, the fifteenth, then the fourteenth, and thirteenth and twelfth, until he was finally on the second, as spent and drained as were all the fire extinguishers he had emptied.

  The only thing he wanted to do now was to curl up in the warm sun and go to sleep.

  Fern had never been so happy that something had ended. The whole time the cosmetician and beautician had been working on her, her stomach churned in despair. Probably just nerves, she thought. No one had ever pummeled her face and pulled her hair like that before, and it made her uncomfortable. She was grateful when it was over and she could get up and walk away.

  Having arrived early for the hairdresser, she decided to stick her head in next door and see what was happening at the makeup class. She rarely paid attention to what she used on her face but today, to her amazement and amusement, she found herself fascinated by the different kinds of moisturizers, powders, lipsticks, eye shadows and eyeliners. She even let herself be talked into being the demonstration model for the class.

  Funny, she mused later as she headed to the lower level to meet Charlotte, what’s happening to me is exactly what so many other women, single women, dream about when they come to the Catskills. They will meet their version of Prince Charming, fall in love and maybe even live happily ever after. The funniest part, it occurred to her, was that she hadn’t even sought him out. She really didn’t care one way or the other whether she met a man over the weekend or not. And in spite of all this—it never occurred to her it might be because of this—Bruce, Prince Charming, had come to her.

  Charlotte. That was another thing. She was discovering another side to her roommate. She would have expected her, under the circumstances, to be jealous, even bitchy. Instead, she appeared to be genuinely happy for her, lending her unlimited encouragement and support.

  Instantly, Fern felt some regret. She wished that Charlotte would have some romantic luck too. David Oberman couldn’t really be considered a find, even though he seemed to have been having a good enough time the evening before. Obviously he had changed his mind when he got to his room and that’s why he hadn’t joined them at breakfast as he had promised. He probably couldn’t take any more of Charlotte’s coarseness, and it bothered her that her friend might never understand.

  Unfortunately, Fern realized, there was nothing she could do about it. Charlotte was old enough and experienced enough to take care of herself. She shifted her thoughts to the kind of new dress she should buy. Her wardrobe didn’t contain anything suitable for the Saturday night extravaganza where everybody wore their very finest accompanied by whatever jewels they could beg, borrow or steal. Maybe a pale lime ankle-length strapless set off with a tasteful pearl choker and matching earrings. She should have paid more attention to the sun the day before. A tan would have done wonders for her complexion.

  Is this really me? she asked herself. The smile that must have crept over her face caught the attention of a number of guests as they walked on and they returned it with enthusiasm. It had never happened to her before—people she didn’t know reacting to her like this. Wasn’t there something just a teeny bit vulgar about being so vain, spending so much time thinking about makeup and clothes? She paused at a mirror and looked at herself once again. For a moment it was like looking at a complete stranger. The blond streaks were magnificent. The two curls at the cheeks were so perfectly placed they looked painted over her skin. A teeny bit vulgar, perhaps, but she liked what she saw.

  She was wearing a darker lipstick than usual because the cosmetician had advised that “Ruby Red” was in style and it contrasted “in a very flattering way with your translucent skin, my dear.” She realized now, as she studied her “new face,” why she had avoided eye shadow in the past. Whenever she had tried to put it on by herself, she somehow ended up looking either ten years younger or ten years older than she was, but now, with the professional’s touch, it didn’t look that way at all. On the contrary, it made her eyes look large and lovely and at twenty-four years old, she was more attractive than she had ever been in her entire life.

  If only she felt a little better. Her stomach continued to complain and for the life of her, she couldn’t understand why. She had eaten so little at breakfast and was the only person at dinner the night before who gorged herself on salad instead of double desserts. Again, she concluded it was nerves. It’s a lot like playing a part in a play she decided, puffing her hair up over her ears. This isn’t actually me … and yet if I play the role long enough, maybe …

  When she reached the boutique she stopped and looked around for Charlotte. After a moment, she realized her friend was standing just a few feet away. Their eyes met and Charlotte let out a whoop.

  “Honest to God, Fern, honest to God,” she squealed, giving Fern a big hug, “I was looking right at you and didn’t recognize you.”

  “Oh, come on.”

  “I’m serious. Jesus, they really did a job on you.” She turned her around to inspect the back of her hair. “You look absolutely gorgeous. Wait till Bruce gets a look at you. You’ll have him in bed in fifteen minutes!”

  “Charlotte, please,” Fern said, slightly embarrassed, “lower your voice. People are starting to stare.”

  “Let them. Who cares?” She looked her over once again. “I knew it, I just knew it. The potential was always there. You just needed someone to encourage you to get off your duff and do something about it.”

  “Actually, I feel a lot like one of those mannequins in the window. They can’t do anything unless someone manipulates them.”

  “You’ll get over it,” Charlotte said. “Come on, let’s go inside and find something smashing, that will make people drop dead at the sight of you.”

  “There must be a better description,” Fern protested, but she followed Charlotte willingly. If only I can get my stomach to calm down, she thought, maybe I’ll even enjoy shopping for the first time.

  “Smile,” Charlotte said as they stopped at the first rack. “The rest of this is going to be easy.” Suddenly she looked at Fern’s face. “Hey, what’s the matter? You look pale as a ghost even with all the makeup. Are you sure you’re okay?”

  “Yeah, sure,” Fern said wanly. “It’s probably the odor of the hair spray. It’s making me a little nauseous.”

  “Then we’ll get you some toilet water to overcome it.”

  The thought made her even more nauseous but she looked around, thought of the look on Bruce’s face when he saw her all dressed up, and took a deep breath. She forced herself to concentrate on the garments Charlotte was pulling off the rack.

  The first ring of the phone made Sam Teitelbaum jump. If it was bad news, he didn’t want to hear it. It rang again and, embarrassed by his selfishness, he rushed over to answer it. Bruce was standing in the open doorway, waiting for the appearance of the ambulance squad.

  “It’s for you,” Sam said. Bruce moved quickly to the phone.

  “Thanks. Hello?”

  “Bruce, it’s Sid. I’m in room four twelve to see your friend Oberman but there’s no one here.”

  “That’s impossible. I just left him fifteen minutes ago and
he was too damn weak … holy God, he’s probably wandering around in some kind of delirium. We’ve got to locate him fast!”

  “Meet me in the lobby right away,” Bronstein said.

  “Can you handle things here, Mr. Teitelbaum? It’s another emergency and I’ve got to catch up with the doctor fast.”

  “Of course, young man. Don’t worry, I’ll take care of everything. They know what room to come to, right?”

  “Right. Just hold together.” He squeezed the elderly man’s upper arm. “We’re praying for the best.” Then he rushed to the elevator.

  It struck him as curious, knowing what he did, that the hotel should be carrying on as usual. Here he stood, after the doors opened, gazing out at this mass of humanity, guests in bermudas and polo shirts carrying tennis rackets, guests sitting casually over drinks talking in quick excited, happy voices, guests in robes and sandals going out to the pool. He was tempted to scream out to them, “Stop you idiots. There’s a germ called vibro cholerae, a potential killer, on the loose, maybe even nesting in your guts. And all you’re concerned about is enjoying yourselves and having a good time!” Wouldn’t that go over big, he thought. The elevator beside him opened and Sid stepped out ahead of the crowd.

  “Any sign of him?”

  “None whatsoever. We better have him paged. I can’t believe he was able to get out of the room. You should have seen the shape he was in.”

  “He probably panicked and it set off his adrenalin. Come on.” They ran down the stairs to the switchboard. “Rosie, put out a page immediately for a David Oberman, please. It’s important.”

  “Doc, I’m glad I found you. Mrs. Golden’s been looking all over for you.” Her voice lowered a decibel. “We’re bringing the ambulance around the back … where the staff entrance is. You know how seeing this sort of thing disturbs the guests.”