Editor’s Note: The Last Hotel: A Novel in Suites by Sonia Pilcer. This is the 16th installment of her tales of the Upper West Side in the 1970s. Look for it every Friday. To read the 15th installment, with links to previous ones, click here.
Lobby
Saul unlocked his office and went inside. He picked up his old black phone and dialed Bolek. “When did they contact you?”
“You don’t say hello first?”
“When did they contact you?”
“Awhile ago.”
“When, Bolek? Tell me,” Saul demanded.
“A few weeks ago. Then they called again. We can’t do nothing about it,” he said.
“And you didn’t tell me?”
“I thought you knew,” he said, sounding sheepish. “They told us not to talk about it.”
“And you listened?”
“You know, the hotel hasn’t been doing so good.”
“What’s wrong with you? Don’t you see what’s going on? They want to buy our shares, and sell the building.”
“It’s a decent offer. Frankly, Saul, I need the money. Vanda hasn’t been so healthy. We have doctor bills.”
“How much?” Saul demanded.
“How much you?”
He grumped.
“The number, Bolek.”
“You.”
There was a moment’s silence at both ends of the phone.
Thirty-five years ago, Saul and Bolek had dealt Deutschmarks in the black market in Berlin after the war. Both had shared a jail cell for six months. Bolek had been in Treblinka; Viktor, Bergen-Belsen. Janusz had some story of several different camps, finally dumped in Sobibor. Heniek, Auschwitz. All were alumni of the same universe.
The Survivors. They had been viewed as victims when they first arrived in the early Fifties. Nothing in their pockets. Seen as dirty, possibly diseased Jews, who had suffered the unmentionable. They were awkward, nervous, grasping. Their English wasn’t good. Refugees. No one really wanted to look at them or know their horrifying stories.
The men got together on Friday nights. Seated at a card table in one of their living rooms, they pitched quarters, dealt cards, speaking Yiddish. Summers, they installed their families in bungalow colonies with names like Blue Paradise in the Catskills. During the week, they sweated in the city. But there was fresh air for their wives and children. Later, they went into real estate together, bought brownstones uptown, and finally, the Last Hotel.
“Did you talk to Janusz?”
“He’s happy to take the money and run away. Janusz is living with his daughter in Petah Tikvah. They contacted his lawyer.”
How could he have not known this? It was like during the war. People didn’t stick together. That was a fairy tale. They stole from each other. Every crumb of bread, meat, bone. Bolek, who he’d known since the ghetto.
“How much did they offer you?” Saul asked again.
“Okay. Ten thousand.”
“I see. Did you sign something?”
“Yes,” he admitted reluctantly. “They gave us bonuses to sign within twenty-four hours.”
“How much?”
“Five thousand.”
“And you didn’t talk to me?” he demanded. ”Idiots! IDIOTS! That’s what you are. Do you have any idea how much the hotel is worth?”
“Who told you they were selling it?”
“Grow up, Bolek. I made a mistake. I thought you were an intelligent man.”
“Vanda is ill. We need the money,” he repeated.
“The hotel is worth close to a million dollars! A million dollars. And he gives you fifteen thousand?” Saul laughed.
“What did he offer you?”
“More, because I have 15 percent, and manage the hotel.”
“How much?” Bolek demanded.
“Twenty-five.”
“The bastards.”
“They bought you cheap,” he said. “Not me! Not those wet around the ear little Hitlers. I’m not going to just roll over. Not me!” Saul dropped the receiver with a loud bang.
Oh no! He picked it up. There was a crack in the plastic. He’d have to replace it. A phone wouldn’t cost so much. Why was he worried about the hotel’s phone? He wanted to crash it into black smithereens.
It was over. The change wouldn’t happen right away, but he could feel it. This was the beginning. His life floating away from him.
At that moment, Hana from Suite 55 entered, holding a bag of groceries from Pioneer. “Are you all right, Saul?” she asked gently.
“Why shouldn’t I be?” he demanded.
“It’s just that -–“
“It’s just that it’s none of your business,” he barked, picking up his newspaper. “Everyone in America wants to know how you feel. “ The pages shook in his hands. “Their stupid Smile buttons. Have a great day.”
Hana said nothing, pressing the elevator button.
After a few minutes, Saul stood up. Picked up his phonebook, flicking through the pages. Lamm. Lap. Last. He would make the call. Even though it was long distance. He would speak to Viktor. Though he hadn’t seen him in several months, they could always talk honestly. Did he know what his son was doing? Viktor Last started the hotel with Saul. It was goddamn named after him.
Viktor picked up immediately. “So how are you, Shlomo?” He called him by his Yiddish name.
“How do you think I am? Don’t tell me you don’t know what’s going on with your son and that lawyer of his.”
“Say hello, how are you, you bondit. You think I’m happy with the mess he’s making. My Jonah. Trying to be a big businessman. Between us, he don’t know nothing.”
“Why, Viktor? We built the Last Hotel together. Remember when Anthony Quinn used to come to visit his sweetie? And it made money for us.”
“Sorry, Saul. It’s his business now. I signed the papers over and I’m not putting my nose into it. I told him, ‘Jonah, don’t take a good business and turn it into shit.’ ”
He coughed loudly. “You see, my lungs aren’t what they were. I have a heart murmur. I can’t do it no more. Too much stress. After what we went through. So who else could I pass on my business to?”
“Why didn’t you talk to me?”
“First of all, you’re not so easy to talk to. You’d be screaming your head off!”
“I am screaming my head off, but the volume is turned down. How could you do such a thing without telling me?”
“You of all people should understand. He’s my blood. I’m taking it easy. Why not? The weather is beautiful here.”
“He’s bought the other partners out. And he wants to buy my share.”
“Shlomo, this is the future you’re looking at. People don’t care about residential hotels no more. They don’t make sense anyway. Either you have a residence, or you stay in a hotel.”
“Enough already, Viktor. You’ve slit my throat, thank you very much.”
He hung up the broken phone receiver.
____________
Sonia Pilcer is the author of six novels including The Holocaust Kid. The Last Hotel is now available at your favorite bookstore or Amazon.com. Visit Sonia Pilcer’s web site here.
