Last Summer at the Golden Hotel

by Elyssa Friedland

  “What’s that?” She pointed at the package.

  “A move-in gift,” Brian said. “Open it.”

  She couldn’t imagine what it was. Giving someone art for a new home was a bold move. He didn’t know her style or how she planned to decorate. Aimee didn’t even know her own taste yet. Most of their belongings had been picked out when she was practically still a child bride, updated along the way with pricier and flashier versions of the same. But she’d never had a chance to create a home de novo, without input from a husband or the considerations of small children.

  She reached for the brown paper and gave a downward tug that ripped it apart.

  “My picture!” she gasped. It was the painting she’d made as a little girl that had hung behind the reception at the hotel. “I thought this sold at the auction?”

  “It did. To me,” Brian said. “I waited a while to give it to you because I didn’t want you to think I was some crazy stalker.”

  “And you had just gotten another woman pregnant,” she added, but in a friendly tone.

  “And that,” Brian said, and flashed his dimpled smile.

  “I’m so touched, Brian,” Aimee said, rubbing her fingertips against the inside of his elbow. “Where should I hang it?”

  Brian looked around.

  “I know, not many options. But I don’t need more than this apartment for now. I’m kind of happy to be out of the big house. It was scary sleeping there alone, and everything was breaking. I had no one to kill spiders anymore.”

  “I’ll kill your spiders,” Brian said, resting the painting against the wall. His cell phone rang. “It’s Phoebe. I should take this.”

  One week had passed since the opening party of the Golden Motel. Phoebe and Zach called Brian constantly with questions. He was a good sport about it, though Aimee urged him to let them figure out some things for themselves. How she wished she’d had more independence and faith in her abilities when she was their age. Brian stepped into the bedroom to take the call, and Aimee collapsed onto the still-wrapped couch in the living room.

  She and Brian had been dating for three months now. He was applying for management jobs at several hotel chains, but nothing had panned out yet. Maddie was pregnant, which meant Aimee was going to be a newly divorced grandmother. It was as unlikely a thought as the Golden Hotel no longer being in existence. Aimee, who had never been one for spontaneity, was slowly learning to expect the unexpected.

  A knock on her door interrupted her thoughts. She thought it might be the movers, having left something behind. But it was Louise, a bottle of champagne and a bouquet of flowers in her hands. Aimee’s new apartment was only five blocks from her mother’s. She was moving on with her life, but also moving back. Life was always going to have some tension between the familiar and the new.

  “Maman,” Aimee said, motioning her inside. “You didn’t have to bring anything.”

  Louise furrowed her brow. “I hope I taught you better than that. You never show up at someone’s home empty-handed. Now show me around.” She walked toward the fireplace and stopped short. “The painting!”

  “Brian bought it for me. From the auction,” Aimee said. “He’s in the other room, on the phone with Phoebe. I’m not sure those kids realize what they’ve gotten themselves into.”

  “Neither did your father. Or Amos. Or any of us. But that’s part of the magic. They will build something wonderful. It’s in their blood,” Louise said, admiring the painting.

  Aimee looked poignantly at her mother, then to Brian, who had joined them, then set her eyes back on the painting of her creation.

  “It certainly is.”

  Epilogue

  New York, 2031

  Follow me,” Ben said in a whisper. “I cracked the code to the padlock on the office. Let’s check it out.”

  “What was it?” Charlie asked, picking at a scab on his knee that he’d gotten from a scrape when he and Benny had been climbing the fire escape at the motel two weeks earlier.

  “The street address of the Golden Hotel. Phoebe and Zach do not have much imagination.”

  It was after 11 p.m. at the Golden Motel, and Ben Hoff and Charlie Weingold, sixth and seventh graders respectively, were supposed to be sleeping in the room they were sharing for the weekend. But why would these best friends, who were more like cousins—siblings even—sleep, when they could be causing mischief at the hotel owned by their uncle and cousin respectively?

  It was Labor Day weekend, and the Weingolds, Goldmans, Glassers, and Weingold-Glassers were planning to spend the weekend at the Golden Motel, as was turning into tradition. The motel had seen its highs and lows over its twelve-year existence—it turned out having a website and a phone number was a good idea—and Phoebe and Zach had also realized that reading the comment cards (not technically cards because they were submitted electronically) could be very useful, even if the complaints stung.

  Favorites at the motel, if the TripAdvisor reviews were any indication, were the thoughtful offerings of nostalgia. The most popular activities were the cha-cha lessons, bingo, and karaoke. But for Ben and Charlie, the best things to do at the hotel were to hide in its many seductive crevices, steal desserts from the freezer, and prank call the hotel guests after midnight.

  “Well, if it isn’t the tiresome twosome,” Brian called when the boys slipped into the locked office. The lights had been out, but Brian’s face was illuminated by a single bulb in a desk lamp. “Tell me, you boys looking for something?”

  They both reddened. It was one thing to bend the rules and get caught by Phoebe or Zach, who were definitely grown-ups but still cool and with more recent memories of what it was like to be young. But Brian, whose hair was gray and who chastised them in a deep voice, was a whole different story.

  “Um, we were just . . . I thought I left my—” Ben started to say, attempting to save Charlie from a punishment.

  “Save it, kid. You are just like your great-grandfather. He always had that mischievous glint in his eyes. It’s what made all the guests love him so dearly.”

  “What was Grandpa Amos like?” Charlie asked. Even if his son was trying to steer the conversation away from the boys breaking the rules, Brian was willing to oblige. He missed his father every day and insisted that Phoebe and Zach put bags of Famous Amos cookies in all the guest rooms to pay homage. Amos had died shortly after the Golden Motel opened, and, to everyone’s grave disappointment, had never gotten to see the second iteration of his legacy. Among the family, they called the motel “Golden 2.0.”

  “Your grandfather was a wonderful man. Hardworking, smart, a devoted husband. And most of all, he was a loyal friend. Like the way you boys are to each other.”

  “Can we hear more?” Ben asked.

  “Yes,” Brian said. “Tomorrow. And the day after. And the day after that. But not now. Now you both go to bed, and try not to get into any trouble on the way upstairs. Ben—don’t make me rat you out to your grandma.” He gestured to the framed picture of Aimee on his desk.

  “We got it, Dad,” Charlie said. “Before we go, Ben and I have some ideas for the hotel. We were thinking a skate park in the garden, and also, could you tell Phoebe and Zach to put in a gaming room, and—”

  Brian put up his hand to stop them. This was how it started, wasn’t it? Traditions uprooted by the energetic voices of the young. He would hear them out. He’d make sure the co-CEOs did, too, his niece and his wife’s son. But not tonight. Tonight, he was tired.

  The boys saw that he meant business.

  “Good night! Night!” they called out, and scrambled out of the office.

  When they were gone, Brian swiveled his chair around to look at the portrait of Amos and Benny, which had been moved into the office to keep it from getting damaged by the many inebriated guests of the Golden Motel.

  “Good night, gentlemen,” he said softly, and he could s
wear they answered him back.

  Acknowledgments

  What a year! I started writing this book on a high from publishing The Floating Feldmans and finished writing it during a worldwide pandemic. As I write these acknowledgments, I have no idea if I’ll be sharing the Golden Hotel with readers virtually or in person, or to use the phrase du jour, in a “hybrid model.” But boy, do I hope I can hug my dear readers and celebrate with them in person.

  Kerry Donovan is my supportive, brilliant, and patient editor. We are a true team. I deliver material that will make Kerry smile, and she indulges my requests for eleventh-hour plot changes. My agent, Stefanie Lieberman, calms my neuroses better than anyone, and is a savvy and thoughtful advocate for me always. On Stefanie’s team, I am also grateful to the wonderful Molly Steinblatt and Adam Hobbins. Fareeda Bullert and Loren Jaggers make up my stellar team at Berkley, marketing and publicizing my work tirelessly so that I can reach the broadest possible audience. Ann-Marie Nieves, I am thrilled to partner with such a clever, dedicated, and hardworking publicist. Adam Auerbach, thank you for another stunning cover. Muriel Smith is the talented artist who created the stunning illustration of the Golden Hotel in the front of the book.

  There is one incredibly special lady—and she is a lady, indeed—to whom I owe a major debt of gratitude. Bunny Grossinger, daughter-in-law of the famous Jennie Grossinger of Grossinger’s Catskill Resort Hotel in Liberty, New York, provided me with numerous stories about the Catskills and gave me an insider’s look at running a hotel in the “Jewish Alps.” I met Bunny at Pilates and visited her in her apartment for interviews, where she received more phone calls from friends and family in an hour than I receive in a day. She is a one-of-a-kind treasure.

  For research, I relied on the following books: The Catskills: Its History and How It Changed America by Stephen M. Silverman and Raphael D. Silver; The Borscht Belt: Revisiting the Remains of America’s Jewish Vacationland by Marisa Scheinfeld with essays by Stefan Kanfer and Jenna Weissman; and A Summer World: The Astonishing History of the Jews in the Catskills—the Borscht Belt—from the 18th Century to the Present Day by Stefan Kanfer. The documentary Welcome to Kutsher’s was a great resource, and of course, the movies Dirty Dancing and A Walk on the Moon were very inspiring. I’m in debt to Marc Chodock, owner of the super-hip Scribner’s Catskill Lodge in Hunter, NY, for his insights on the Catskills of yesteryear versus today.

  Andrea Katz, what can I say? I finished this book more quickly and had a blast doing it because you read installments of it every day and gave me invaluable feedback along the way. Love our texting.

  My wonderful mother, Rochelle Folk, grew up spending her summers in various bungalow colonies in the Catskills. She had many colorful anecdotes that enriched this book. I appreciate her keen editing and suggestions for improvement, as always.

  Author/book world friends Leigh Abramson, Lisa Barr, Jenna Blum, Jamie Brenner, Fiona Davis, Liz Fento, Laurie Gelman, Emily Giffin, Brenda Janowitz, Pam Jenoff, Lauren Margolin, Courtney Marzilli, Susie Orman Shnall, Amy Poeppel, Kim Roosevelt, Maureen Sherry, Lauren Smith Brody, Randy Susan Meyers, Rochelle Weinstein, and Allison Winn Scotch are incredibly supportive and “get it” like only fellow book people can. A special shout-out to Catherine McKenzie for everything and beyond.

  My extended family continues to support me and be cheerleaders and ambassadors for my work, and I am truly grateful. My children, Charlie, Lila, and Sam, are very proud of their mommy and get more excited about bookstore sightings than I do. They make me laugh and experience pure joy every day. William, you are a prince among men. I love you.

  Readers, thank you times ten billion. I love my job!

  READERS GUIDE

  Last Summer at the Golden Hotel

  ELYSSA FRIEDLAND

  Questions for Discussion

  Many characters in the novel are struggling with feelings of aimlessness or a lack of direction. What do you think is at the core of these feelings for each of them? Is there a character who deals with these feelings better than the others? Does anyone deal with these feelings particularly badly?

  At many points during the novel, children learn that their parents are imperfect humans. Do you think the generations are sufficiently forgiving of one another? Are they able to learn from one another’s mistakes, or are they stuck thinking about their differences?

  The secrets uncovered during the novel often structure the characters’ lives before they know about them. Have you ever learned something about your own life that you were not aware of? How did you react, and do you think the characters at the Golden Hotel reacted productively?

  How does age/generation play a role in the relationships formed and kept at the Golden Hotel?

  What does the hotel represent to the owners? To the middle generation? To the younger generation?

  What do you think about family businesses? What are the advantages and disadvantages of working with family and friends?

  While reading, did you find yourself wanting the Goldmans and Weingolds to keep the hotel? Why or why not?

  Where does the tension between Louise and Fanny stem from?

  How does the sibling dynamic between Brian and Peter as they’re growing up shape who they become as adults?

  Why does Brian manage the Golden Hotel? Where do his attachment and commitment to the hotel come from?

  What do you think the Golden Hotel says about tradition versus change? How are we to balance these valuesor realities in our own lives?

  What is lost when the Goldmans and Weingolds reach a decision about the future of the hotel? What is gained?

  Keep reading for a preview of Elyssa Friedland’s new book

  MOST LIKELY

  Available in summer 2022

  Prologue

  Westport, Connecticut

  1998

  The smart-but-social table in the lunchroom was in the back corner, underneath a row of wall-mounted pennants (boasting first place in swimming, wrestling, and football) and kitty-corner from the hot-and-popular table, which was next to the cafeteria line. This ensured the jocks could get their food first. Scattered in between were the artsy types, the nerds, the stoners, the goths, and the milquetoasts who defied classification.

  Holland Altman, Suki Hammer, Prisha Chowdhury, and Gemma Taylor had taken over the smart-but-social table during their sophomore year. Staples High School, the public school in their hometown of Westport, Connecticut, had the usual Anytown, USA groupings. Holland, Suki, Prisha, and Gemma had been best friends since the eighth grade, a convenient time to fortify a social group. They had agreed upon entering high school that they wouldn’t attempt to penetrate the popular crowd, but they wouldn’t fall in with the geeks, either. Instead they’d dwell in the precious milieus of the honor roll students who got invited to parties, though were never the ones to throw them. They wouldn’t necessarily be trendsetters, but they wouldn’t be followers, either.

  The four of them stuck together through high school, earning high marks and carrying enough social currency that the jocks and cheerleaders at least knew their names, and the nerds knew better than to ask them to study together. And now they were seniors. Graduation was only a month away. Today was the day they’d been dreading, anticipating, awaiting, stressing over, and picturing, all at once.

  It was yearbook day.

  Yearbook day meant finding out if their efforts had paid off. Having the right clothes, avoiding the calories in the vending machine, joining the extracurriculars, maintaining GPAs above 3.5. College admissions season, which was arguably the more important barometer of success in high school, had already come and gone. But the four friends felt just as anxious, if not more, to find out what their senior superlatives would be.

  There were fifty superlatives each year, and approximately two hundred and twenty gra
duating seniors. The entire class voted. Some were obvious. Kim Konner would get Most Popular; Lulu Anderson would clinch Most Fashionable. Charlie Rice would get Most Athletic, and class clown Byron Cox would get Most Likely to Win the Lottery and Lose the Ticket. Suki, Prisha, Holland, and Gemma each had agonized over what they’d get, silently fearing how it would affect their dynamic if they didn’t all win something.

  Holland was head of virtually every extracurricular club except for yearbook, so they had no special insight into what lay inside the book’s pages before it was released. Holland had spoken chair-to-chair with David Gross, the head of the yearbook committee, but he wouldn’t breach his oath of secrecy. She couldn’t imagine getting skipped over in the superlative section. Holland had made her mark on the school. Treasurer of the Glee Club. Editor in chief of the school newspaper. Honor roll every term.

  Suki was also feeling confident. She wasn’t Holland, a student government professional with a list of extracurriculars on her college application that required an addendum. But she was well-known around the school. For starters, she was half-Japanese. And in a lily-white school community, her background made it so every freshman through senior knew her name. Her mother was Japanese, a former model in Tokyo turned accessory designer, married to a white engineer who had promised the good life in America but had ended up laid off more times than it seemed he’d been hired. She was a solid student, cursed in Japanese when she wanted attention, and was rumored to have dated a college boy for the past year. She’d started the rumor, but only Holland, Gemma, and Prisha knew that.

  Then there was Prisha. Repressed, overworked, brilliant Prisha Chowdhury. Another student of color in the community, but somehow it didn’t ring the bells that Suki’s roots did. Prisha’s father, Dr. Chowdhury, was one of the most popular pediatricians in town. In middle school, the boys used to joke about Dr. Chowdhury grabbing their junk when he examined them. Prisha had brushed it off. It was easy to do when her nose was always in a book. She was on a path: Harvard, Harvard Medical School, then a fellowship in orthopedics. She’d always loved the intricacies of the human body, studying the skeletons strung as Halloween decorations around the neighborhood while the others were just fisting candy.