Weekend

by Tania Grossinger

  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.

  “Something important’s going on,” he said. “They’re telling everybody they have to go to the nightclub. I wanted to make sure you knew.”

  “We already do. Someone put a note under our door. What’s up?”

  “I don’t know. I was outside walking by the big fence and one of the bellhops told me, but just before that, I saw a bunch of cops lock a gate.”

  “What cops?”

  “He must mean the hotel security,” Nick said.

  “No, they weren’t hotel security. I know hotel security. They were state policemen.”

  “State police locked the gate? Why?” Nick asked. Grant chose to ignore him.

  “Is this one of your stories, Grant?”

  “Shit! I don’t care if you believe me or not!” He started to walk away.

  “Grant! Stop it! Either go down to the meeting or go back to the room and take a shower or something.”

  The word triggered his ire.

  “Is that what you did?
Do you want me to take a shower just the way you did?” He gave her a dirty look and stormed away.

  “Now you know why I don’t talk about him,” Melinda said. She took Nick’s arm as if to insure he wouldn’t run away. “He’s always been a problem.”

  Nick’s mind was not on Grant. “This is damn peculiar,” he said, looking again at the mimeographed message. “Let’s get a move on.”

  “Maybe there’s a killer loose in the hotel,” Melinda said.

  That’s all this place needs, he thought, publicity like that. Well, there was only one way to find out.

  ∗ ∗ ∗

  There was a button outside the emergency room door. Pressing it signaled the attendant or nurse inside to open it to receive patients. Bruce practically pounded on it. Every second could be crucial. An attendant opened the door and a nurse came up behind him.

  “You’ll need a roller,” Bruce shouted. The attendant went to get it and the nurse came to the wagon.

  “Is this Dr. Bronstein’s patient from the Congress?” she asked.

  “Yes, it is.”

  “Good. We’ve been waiting for her.”

  The attendant came back pushing a rolling stretcher and with Bruce’s help, lifted Fern onto it. Then Bruce pushed it into the hospital.

  “Should I wait?” Gary asked.

  “Definitely,” Bruce called back. “Don’t dare leave without me.” The door closed behind him and he looked about frantically.

  “In here,” the attendant said, pointing to a large wooden door to the left. They rolled her into a small emergency room. The nurse went to take Fern’s blood pressure.

  “Call for Dr. Elias,” she told the attendant. “You’ll have to wait outside,” she said to Bruce. He hesitated a moment, then walked out. The moment he came back into the hall, he was approached by a man in a suit and tie.

  “Did you just bring a woman in from the Congress hotel?”

  “Yes. Why?”

  “Jesus, how the hell did you get out of there? Are you a doctor? What’s happening up there, anyway?”

  “Who the hell are you?”

  “Name’s Bert Young.” He flashed a press card. “I’m with the Times Herald.”

  “I’m sorry. There’s nothing I can tell you.”

  “C’mon, buddy, give me a break. You’re the only one who’s gotten out of there since that quarantine’s been slapped on. I’m trying to get a scoop.”

  “I don’t have any scoops,” Bruce said. He noticed a stout gray-haired man hurrying down the corridor.

  “How are the people taking it?”

  Bruce ignored him. “Dr. Elias?” he called.

  “Yes.”

  “I’m Bruce Solomon, Sid Bronstein’s cousin.” He reached out to shake his hand. “I’m with the patient from the Congress. Her name’s Fern Rosen.”

  “Yes, I’ve been expecting you. Let me take a look at her and I’ll speak to you as soon as I’m through.” He walked into the emergency room.

  “Is she a cholera victim?” the reporter badgered. “How many have there been?”

  “Look, I’m sure they’ll have a news conference, and then you’ll have a chance to ask all the questions you want.”

  “Yeah, but why can’t you …”

  “Listen, damn it,” Bruce said, pushing him back with his forefinger. “I’m here because I’m concerned about that young woman in there. My mind has no room for any scoops or news or sensational details. What are you anyway, some kind of parasite, hanging around emergency rooms? Buzz off.”

  Young shook his head.

  “I’m just another guy trying to do his job,” he muttered and walked away. Bruce felt some remorse, but his mind centered back on what was taking place in the emergency room. It seemed at least half an hour before Dr. Elias finally came out.

  “It’s going to be a battle,” he said. “She’s lost a great deal of body fluid, and she’s still in shock. There’s no point in waiting around. It’ll be a while.” He put the chart down on a nearby desk. “How are things going at the hotel?”

  “By now the guests are being told and I expect all hell’s breaking loose. You’re right. I’d better go back. Can I reach you here later?”

  “I’ll be here until seven.”

  “Thanks,” Bruce said. He looked at the closed emergency door for a moment, debating whether or not he should step in. He decided against it and walked back to the hospital’s emergency exit. When he stepped outside, he was shocked to find that the hotel car and driver were no longer there.

  fifteen

  “I have met many of you personally this weekend,” Ellen began, “and some of you know me from previous visits to the Congress. I’m Ellen Golden,” she explained for the others who might not recognize her, “and I’ve called this meeting because I’m afraid we have a very serious problem. I should say, a crisis.” She paused. A loud murmur rippled through the audience. “Before I give you the details, I want to assure you that every possible precaution is being taken, and that we have the best medical personnel available for your consultation.”

  Sid tapped her on the shoulder.

  “Don’t let them know anyone’s died,” he whispered. “Not yet.”

  “But … all right,” she said. She turned back to her audience. “Three people, one a member of our staff and two guests, have come down with what has been positively diagnosed as cholera.”

  For a short moment there was complete silence. It reminded Sid of the hushed moment right before a tornado hits. He was sure the response resulted from a mixture of things—disbelief, ignorance and delayed reaction. “Now,” Ellen started, but the eye of the storm had passed. People began to scream and a few of them even cried. Hundreds of people shouted questions at her. A few had backed toward the doors. Ellen put her hands up and gestured for quiet.

  “Please, we have to remain calm,” she said. “If you’ll give me a chance, I’ll answer whatever questions I can. Those I can’t, will be answered by the professionals up here with me.”

  “Why did you bring us all together?” a man in the first row shouted. There were many, many seconds.

  “There is no danger whatsoever in your being together. That is not how the disease is spread. The doctor will explain more about that shortly. First, let me bring you up to date on what is happening. Please.” There were attempts to quiet one another and calm the children. The noise subsided. “Public health authorities have been brought in and certain actions, under their direction, have already been instituted.”

  “We all just better get the hell outta here,” someone shouted. The seconding began again.

  “NO, YOU CAN’T,” Ellen’s voice bounced off the walls. The speakers had been turned up to maximum just at the right moment. It held back a mass exodus. “THE HOTEL HAS BEEN PLACED UNDER QUARANTINE.”

  “Oh my God!” The words reverberated like in an echo chamber in an amusement park.

  “We will explain exactly what that means in a few minutes. But first, I want you to know what’s being done to protect you.” The noise did not subside. “Please, won’t you let me speak?” Her sincerity, her composure, her firm determination to stand her ground gradually won out.

  “Please, let me continue. If not, you’ll frighten yourselves unnecessarily.” She paused dramatically, seizing more control of the crowd by forcing them to grow even quieter.

  “The disease is not spread through the air you breathe. It is spread through contaminated food or water. You have to take it into your mouths.”

  For a good moment, Ellen had control of their attention. Then a woman fainted. She simply fell over her chair near the center aisle. All hell broke loose again.

  “She must have it,” another woman screamed. Those closest to the fallen woman pushed back. Others, too far in the rear to see exactly what had happened shouted for information. Exaggerations were passed along the way. The hysteria mounted in a chorus of shouts and warnings as people got up to leave. Ellen turned with a pleading look to Sid. Two of the pub
lic health nurses had gone down to treat the woman who had fallen.

  “These people are going to trample each other,” Sid said. They both looked down at the Sheriff who had taken a position in the front. He stepped forward, drew his revolver from his shoulder holster and fired a blank at the floor just where the musicians’ pit met with the stage. The blast echoed off the nightclub walls in a thunderous reverberation. Everyone grew still; even the bawling children paused.

  “YOU’VE GOT TO GET A HOLD OF YOURSELVES,” Ellen screamed. “WE HAVE PROCEDURES DESIGNED TO PROTECT AND HELP YOU, BUT IF YOU DON’T LISTEN, YOU WON’T KNOW WHAT TO DO.”

  “Let her talk,” a man shouted.

  “Give her a chance.”

  “Shut up, everybody!”

  “We’ve got to prevent this kind of hysteria from taking hold,” Ellen said, composed again. “Now let me tell you what has been done. First, all-new foodstuff has been ordered and received. All of the old food has been disposed of. Every piece of kitchen equipment is being sterilized again and again. And our water has been analyzed and found germ free.”

  “She’s holding them now,” Sid said to no one in particular. The public health nurses had brought the woman in the audience back to consciousness and had her sitting up in a chair.

  “On the stage with me here are members of the county’s public health nurse department and Dr. Bronstein, our local physician. There are other doctors in the hotel as well. They will be available to you at all times to answer questions or to examine anyone who thinks he might be ill.”

  “What about this quarantine?” someone shouted.

  “Quarantine is standard procedure when cholera is discovered. We’re simply not sure who might have been contaminated and who might not have been,” Ellen said. Her honest reply had a sobering effect. “The quarantine will last for the next six days.”

  A roar went up from the crowd. Some people were shouting their absolute refusal to cooperate. Others were expressing reasons for having to leave on schedule. Still others were reinforcing and supporting those who vocalized their dissatisfaction.