Editor’s Note: The Last Hotel: A Novel in Suites by Sonia Pilcer. This is the 30th installment of her tales of the Upper West Side in the 1970s. Look for it every Friday. To read the 29th installment, with links to previous ones, click here.
Lobby
At age 64, Luba Ehrlich had taken a new name, her second husband’s. She had been sad to lose Wolf. Her first husband had been a good man, a stolid man, who made her feel safe. She didn’t know what to do with herself after he died. So she took a job in a D.C. hospital, where she had a second cousin.
That’s when she received the letter that changed everything. It was on official stationery from the Lodz Survivors Society. Lodz? The city where she had been raised. Her eyes raced through the letter. They wanted to honor her? For the heroic feats performed by her family in saving Jewish lives during World War II. They called her a “Righteous Gentile.” Finally, they invited her to a survivors gathering in Jerusalem. After the ceremony to honor her and other “Righteous Gentiles,” she had seen Saul standing in the corner by himself.
He looked different, of course. In Auschwitz, he was a tall skeleton. He was still unusually tall with a huge shock of still dark hair. She had taken a deep breath and approached him.
He had recognized her immediately. “Lubcha!” he cried out.
“Salek,” she said softly.
As they embraced, he had whispered in her ear. “Finally I found you.”
“No, I found you.”
Poor Saul. How he hated being stuck in the house. Normally, he woke up at 6, got to the hotel by 8, but Dr. Farber told him that he had to take it easy. He couldn’t go back to work yet. “You have to build up your strength, Saul.”
Now that he was back home, Luba and he fought. He had never been around the house so much. She wouldn’t let him budge. But it was Friday. Checks must be collected. Saul started to get dressed.
“One heart attack isn’t enough?” Using all her strength as a nurse, which was considerable, she took him back to his bed. “You’ll stay at home until the doctor says you can go back to work.”
“And what are we going to live on? Air?”
“I’ll collect the checks for you. It’s just for a few weeks, Saul. I don’t want to lose you – again,” she said gently, wrapping him in her large arms. “Come on, you stubborn cholera!”
He was getting stronger everyday. But you didn’t just get up from something like this and dance. He had to be patient and not get so nervous. Nervosa.
“You don’t know anything.”
“Then tell me, husband,” she murmured. “I’m your wife.”
“Yes.” He nodded. “My Lubcha.”
He often called her by her childhood Polish name. It moved her terribly. So strange that they should be together. To have such luck so late in life.
“Business is not so good, Lubcha.”
“I know, darling. But you’ll be stronger soon.”
“No, something else.”
“What?”
“The hotel is finished.”
“What about the lawsuit?”
He shook his head. “I can’t do nothing. Especially now. They can have my share. Let’s take the money.”
“But I thought Abramovitz said –“
“He told me it’s a lost cause unless I have a rich uncle. We have nobody. I can’t do nothing,” he repeated sadly. “It almost killed me.”
“Do you still want me to collect the rent?”
“Of course.”
“Do the tenants know?”
“Most of them.”
“What about Leah?” she asked.
He shrugged.
“Does she know her father had a heart attack and almost died on the table?”
“I tried to call her. Her machine doesn’t even pick up. But I told her about the hotel the last time I saw her. “
“Did you talk?”
He nodded. “We sat in the car. She’s so lost, Luba.”
“She’s a stone on your heart,” she said. “That’s what she is.”
“I know. But I have other problems. Like the Endicott Consortium – that’s what they call themselves. But I’m still the Manager, and you are Madame Manager.”
Saul then explained how the safe is located inside the last drawer in the file cabinet, which is on the floor. He gave her a slip of paper with the combination. Various keys in a plastic bag. A current tenant list with little notes in his impatient scrawl next to the names.
Luba never liked the Last Hotel. For one thing, the neighborhood scared her to pieces. During the short walk from the Broadway 72nd St. subway, bums accosted her, filthy palms open. Drug addicts hanging outside buildings, passing back and forth a cigarette, women dressed like men, garbage everywhere. Ugh, the smell of it! But what could she do? Saul was the Manager and she was Madame Manager.
Which was why she was standing in a crummy cubbyhole, the size of a water closet with a metal desk, a wall of cubby holes, a cabinet that opened to a wooden board with hooks and keys hanging from them.
Luba had worn her good clothes so she’d look professional. A suit, pearls, earrings. A silk scarf. Very European. And her black Lady Marlene long-line support. The edge of the desk having already run her stockings.
As she reached for Saul’s tenant list, a wire from the non-functional intercom scratched her arm. “Leonard Katz,” she said.
“Lenny,” he said, removing his unlit cigar. “How’s Saul?”
She put a mark next to his name as he paid his rent.
“He’s stronger, but he still has to rest. He wanted to come back to work today, but I said No.”
“And he listens to you?”
“You must be a bachelor.”
“Not as much as I used to be.”
Suddenly, she felt uncomfortable talking to this stranger about her private business.
“Such a shame about the hotel,” he said. “I’m thinking six months max.”
“Less than that,” she said.
“We like this place. We like Saul.” Lenny grinned. “Well, tell him Lenny says hi.”
“Sure.”
Around noon, the telephone rang. She picked up the receiver, noticing a crack across the mouthpiece.
“So far a few people gave me checks,” she reported. “A very glamorous lady with red hair. Amber — let’s see. No! It’s impossible. I don’t believe you.” She laughed. “And this little Yiddish man, carrying a thick folder of papers…” Her voice trailed off. “Pincus….No, no. Don’t you dare? No pizza! It’s not good for you. I’ll pick up a chicken at the deli. You have to be on your diet, bondit!”
Hana stopped by the desk. “Are you Saul’s wife?”
She nodded. “Luba.”
“Hana Wolf.”
“Oh, you’re the writer,” she said. “Saul told me about you.”
“How is he?”
“To tell you the truth, Saul has seen better times. But he’s getting stronger all the time. You know he had a heart attack.”
“I didn’t know exactly –”
“The medics got to him on time. He collapsed in the court building.”
“But he’s going to come back, right?”
“Sure…” she said tentatively.
“He isn’t?”
“You know a Consortium, whatever monster that is, plans to buy the building.”
“How can they?” Hana demanded, outraged. “The Last Hotel is an institution. A historical relic.”
“Saul tried his best, but he can’t do anything. And then his attack. He just can’t fight no more.”
‘We got a letter. But they said nothing’s going to change.”
She looked at Hana like she was a moron. “And you believe them?”
“I guess I do, or I did…” Her voice trailed off.
“You better look for an apartment,” Luba counseled.
“This really feels like home, or the kind of home I imagined I could have in the city where I could write,” Hana said, entering the elevator.
Luba watched the elevator door shut. On the lonely streets of Manhattan, the residents had found a little hamlet, population several dozen, where they could park themselves until the next opportunity, relationship, catastrophe.
Several moments later, Luba looked up to see a woman darting past her in a pulled down fedora and trench. She walked out of the cubicle.
“Leah?” she called.
The younger woman looked up blankly, then turned away.
“Excuse me, but don’t you know who I am?”
Leah turned to her. “Luba? What are you doing here?” she asked. “Where’s my father?”
“Saul had a serious heart attack–“
“What?” She gasped. “I didn’t know.”
“Didn’t you wonder why he wasn’t here all week?”
“I rarely see him.” She hesitated. “Is he all right?”
“He collapsed on Monday in the court building. They took him to Emergency at Bellevue. It was a real nightmare.”
“Why didn’t anyone tell me?”
“You don’t answer your phone.”
“I’m sorry,” she said, choking up, tears welling in her eyes. “Is he all right?”
“He’s recovering. And you know how hard it is for him to sit still. I had to force him not to come to work today. The man is a nervous wreck. He’ll get another attack.”
Leah shook her head. “I thought he was indestructible. He survived Auschwitz! One in what? A thousand.”
“We’re all indestructible, until we’re not. He needs time to recover. I don’t know if I can keep him home long enough. He doesn’t know how to relax.”
As she spoke, Leah had the fantasy of passing a joint to him. Getting her father high. That would zone him out a little. Or maybe she could teach him to meditate, to breathe deeply, visualize a peaceful place…
“Why don’t you come and see him?” Luba asked.
Leah looked at her father’s new wife. He had someone to help him, to do his bidding. She was alone. Not really. This Righteous Gentile lady with Lodz beige hair offered her hand.
______________
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.
