Editor’s Note: The Last Hotel: A Novel in Suites by Sonia Pilcer. This is the 23rd installment of her tales of the Upper West Side in the 1970s. Look for it every Friday. To read the 22nd installment, with links to previous ones, click here.
Sofa Club
Pete Mahoney, ensconced in the turquoise vinyl couch, was enjoying his beverage in a brown bag, sipping through a straw. Lenny walked into the lobby, carrying a rolled up racing form under his arm.
“Did Saul leave already?” he asked.
“Yeah, said he had to go to the bank, then was going home.”
“So wha’d you do at the office?”
“I lost on Tricky Dick.”
“We all lost with Tricky Dick. Now we’ve got that actor who will probably be the next president.”
“What, you prefer that idiot Mondale?”
“Pete, have you heard anything else?”
He shook his head. “Saul says they can’t do nothing unless he sells his share.”
“What does he have?”
“I heard 15 percent.”
“He’s not gonna give up this place. Just like that. Without a fight.”
“He doesn’t have the dough to fight these vultures.”
“What we need is a money person.”
“You know anyone who has some extra moolah, like a couple hundred thou?”
Lenny shook his head. “Not in my line of work. I mean, I could always win big.”
“That big?”
At that moment, Pincus walked in, carrying his overfull leather briefcase.
“Good evening, gentlemen,” he said.
“What’s good about it?” Pete asked.
“No gentlemen here.”
“Now you sound like Saul.”
“Shit,” Pete said. “This is home. I’m comfortable here. I have my friends. I even like Saul.”
“What do you mean?” Lenny said. “He’s the main attraction.”
“Saul looks tired,” Pincus observed.
“All this is wearing him out.”
“Did you talk to your brother-in-law?” Pincus asked.
“He’s looking into it, but it’s a long shot if they sell the building. We don’t have any legal rights as statutory tenants. We don’t even have leases. We never signed anything…” His voice trailed off. “Fred went downtown to the tenant board. They gave him some numbers to call.”
The three men sat lost in their thoughts for several minutes.
“It’s over,” Lenny said flatly. “Maybe not tomorrow, but it’s happening all over the city. They call it ‘gentrification.’ The rich throw out the working man.”
Pincus shook his head. “Sometimes it’s time. Faye and I, maybe we’ll live together. In sin,” he giggled softly. “But she wants to move downtown to Greenwich Village. She’s kind of Bohemian.”
“Bohemian.” Pete belched loudly.
Pincus ignored him. “I like it uptown. I wouldn’t mind living in Riverdale.”
“I bet nothing’s going to change yet. But when it does, I’m selling my taxi and medallion. I can get big bucks. Esther and me gonna buy a Winnebago. I like to drive. We can go to Atlantic City, Las Vegas, Reno…”
“Bon voyage.” Pete belched again.
“What’s the matter with you, Pete?”
“Both of you guys sound hitched,” he said. “I never thought I’d hear it. Not in a hundred years. Especially from you, Lenny. You called them all wallet sniffers.”
“Not this one. Estie lets me sniff hers.”
“Urrrgh!” Pete made a sound like he was about to puke.
“You’re just jealous,” he said.
“It’s pathetic.” Pete made a face. “You know the score. They’re sweet till they’re not, then they take you to the cleaners.”
“Maybe not.”
Pincus smiled wistfully. “We all met here in the Last Hotel.”
“You want a plaque?”
“Where you gonna go, Pete?” Lenny asked.
“When it’s time, there’s another hotel on Eighty-Second Street and Columbus. The Endicott. Like here, except a rougher clientele.”
“I’ll miss this,” Pincus said. “Sitting on the sofa. Talking every night a little.”
Pete took a long sip as he slowly slid down the couch. “I thought it would be my Last Hotel.”
“Come on, old man,” Lenny said, propping him up.
“You don’t know shit from Shinola,” he muttered.
At that moment, Hana entered the lobby, hoisting her Channel 13 canvas bag over her shoulder, filled with folders and blue cardboard boxes.
“So you’ve heard what’s going on?” Lenny asked her.
“I’m not sure what you mean,” she answered.
“It looks like the hotel might get sold, and then we’ll probably all have to leave.”
“What about Saul?”
“Who knows?”
She shook her head as she pressed the button. The elevator arrived. Reardon walked out. He bowed his head as he stepped past Hana.
“Hey, Reardon,” Lenny said. “What do you think?”
“I think it’s damn rotten. I’ve been in the hotel for over ten years. And that doesn’t mean anything?”
“The tenant board will give us a pro bono lawyer.”
“Look, there are two separate issues here. Our apartments. And Saul. What’s going to happen to him?”
“He said they want to keep him on, but it’s just a matter of time. He knows it too,” Lenny said.
At that moment, the elevator opened. Gittel came out, carrying her thermos. “Halo everybody! Halo!” she said. “I have hot tea with lemon.”
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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
