Weekend

by Tania Grossinger

  No one spoke as they ran Manny back through the main gate and drove him to the front entrance of the hotel. One of the officers got out and opened the back door for him, as guests standing nearby looked on with interest.

  “We hope you understand that we’re serious about the quarantine, sir, and that you won’t make another attempt.” Manny simply grunted, gave them the finger, and scowled back at the people who had stopped to stare. Then he walked back into the hotel and headed for the bar. He was furious, frustrated and angry. He had blown all the money he had in the world and right now all he wanted to do was to strike out at someone, anyone. He thought about having to face Flo again and swore to himself that if she bugged him even a little bit, he’d haul off and belt her right in the mouth. That image was the only thing that brought the slightest degree of consolation. Otherwise, he was just plain miserable.

  For a reason she couldn’t quite fathom for the moment, the basement had suddenly taken on new and ominous vibrations. The shadows loomed darker and longer, the hum of the motors was threatening, and the muffled conversations of distant custodians scared her. She lingered at the entrance as though standing on the brink of disaster. It was as if she had crossed an abyss into the setting of a recurring nightmare lingering in the deepest crypt of her memory. It was all there in her mind’s eye … her father’s shrunken face, the stiff and bony fingers, his glassy eyes staring up into space. The funeral cortege was winding its way slowly through the hotel with hundreds of people following the coffin. It ended up here in the basement. They were going to dump the body in her hideaway. Someone patted her on the head and said she was going to have a nice new playmate. She was about to scream at the images when Grant’s voice shook her back to reality.

  “Thought you’d never show,” he said. He stepped out from behind a column, both hands in his pockets. A toothpick dangled from his mouth.

  “You scared me. What were you doing behind there?”

  “Playing tiddleywinks with manhole covers.” He laughed and came closer to her. “What do you think I was doing? I was waiting for you. Everyone else is running around the place like it’s the end of the world.”

  “Doesn’t look like it from the farmhouse. From there it looks like everything’s about normal.” She was so happy to see him she began to relax. “I was just listening to some records. I got a new Elvis album.”

  “Yeah, I like him.”

  “C’mon,” she said. “Let’s go to the hideaway before someone spots us.”

  “What did you do with Alison Tits?” he asked as she unlocked the door.

  “She hasn’t spoken to me since this morning. I think she’s mad at both of us.”

  “No loss.”

  She closed the door and put on the light. He went behind the mattress leaning against the side wall and pulled out what remained of another bottle that Sandi had hidden. There was barely a quarter of it left.

  “I think that’s the last one I have. I shoulda gotten another one but I was afraid …”

  “That’s okay. There’s enough.”

  “Gimme a cigarette,” she said. She sat herself down comfortably and leaned against the wall. He took out his pack and pounded one out. “Light it,” she said when he handed it to her. He smiled and put it in his mouth. The he took out his matches and lit it, taking two long puffs. He passed it over. She inhaled sharply and nearly choked. He laughed sarcastically, took a drink from the bottle and offered it to her.

  “You’re not going to get drunk again, are you?”

  “On this little? Never happen.”

  “Whaddya want to do?”

  “What do you want to do?” Even his response was loaded with sarcasm.

  “Play strip poker,” she said, half to reply in kind.

  “You wouldn’t have the guts.”

  “Would too.”

  “Big talker with no cards.” He took another drink. She looked around for something she could substitute for playing cards but then got a better idea.

  “Got any money on you?”

  “Money? Sure. Why?”

  “I mean change.”

  “Yep.” He reached into his pocket and came out with a handful of nickels, dimes and quarters. “Got it for those dumb pinball machines in the Teen Room.”

  “We’ll use a quarter.” She reached over and took one out of his hand. He looked at her with curiosity, a half smile on his face.

  “I don’t get it,” he said, putting the rest of the change back.

  “It’s very simple. I’m heads and you’re tails. We’ll take turns flipping. If I win, you take something off. If you win, I do.”

  He held the bottle in his hand frozen near his face and looked to see if she was serious. It was obvious she was. He thought about her supple body under all those clothes and then about his own nudity.

  “What if someone comes along?”

  “No problem. The door’s easy to lock.” She got up and turned the latch. He felt a curious anxiety building from within, but he wasn’t sure whether it stemmed from excitement or fear. When she returned, she kneeled directly across from him, her buttocks leaning down on her ankles for support. “We’ll flip to see who flips first.” He still hadn’t said anything or moved. “Well, are you game or not?”

  “Sure I’m game,” he said. “What do you think I am, a baby? Go ahead.” She tossed the coin in the air. It fell with a dull thud on the mattress. It was tails.

  “You win. You start.” She picked up the quarter and placed it in his free hand. He took another swig from the wine bottle and put it down on the floor. Her eyes were intense and staring at him. He tossed the coin in the air and it fell heads up. She clapped her hands and looked at him expectantly.

  “Big deal,” he said and took off a shoe. Then she took it and flipped it quickly. It was heads up again. He smirked and took off his other shoe.

  The next flip was tails up. He expected her to take off one of her shoes, just as he had done, but she surprised him. Instead of reaching for her foot she stood up, put her hands under her skirt, and pulled down her panties, taking great care to step out of them neatly. Then she tossed them to the side with mock bravado.

  “Coin please,” she said, lowering herself back to the mattress. She kept her skirt close to her body. “I said coin.”

  “Huh? Oh, yeah.”

  A half dozen flips resulted in his removing his socks and shirt and her removing both shoes and a sock. He drained the wine bottle empty and lit a cigarette. They had both grown strangely quiet. He thought his hand shook when he flipped the coin again, but she pretended not to notice. He won the next toss and she removed her second sock.

  “Down to the nitty gritty,” she said. The coin came up tails. She stared down at it. He waited a moment and reached out and put his hand over it.

  “If you wanna quit, we’ll quit,” he said.

  “No, that’s not fair. Besides, it was my idea.” She reached down and pulled her cotton blouse up and over her head without unbuttoning the middle or lower buttons. She held it in front of her for a moment, then draped it dramatically over the wine bottle. He stared at the cups of her bra, noting how tight it was fastened. It looked as though it pinched her body. He wondered if it hurt.

  “What are you going to do if you lose again?”

  “You’ll find out. Whatever I have to.”

  He shook his head and turned the coin over and over in his sweaty hand. Then he rested it on the nail of his thumb. “Here goes,” he said and flicked it up in the air. This time it fell on its side and landed tails up. Sandi lost again. She hesitated only a second, then reached behind her back and unfastened her bra. It fell away from her body instantly. Her tiny bosom quivered as though she had gotten a chill. Slightly embarrassed, she folded her arms across her chest and her face turned beet red.

  “You flip,” he said, not sure whether he should smile or not. She reached for the coin. Her tits looked so tiny, not at all like his mother’s. She tossed the coin quickly and won. He unfas
tened his pants without looking at her.

  “It’s neck and neck,” she said. She looked for the fullness in his crotch and was surprised that it wasn’t there. Odd, she thought. From everything she had read, he should be having an erection by now. That was what she wanted to see, why she had suggested playing this stupid game in the first place. More than anything in the world, right now she wanted to see his loose, smooth underwear tighten and strain—his thing, pushing against it with all its strength in its eagerness to get out and be near a girl, near Sandi, near her. She recalled a description in one of those cheap paperbacks a maid once left behind. A man’s erection was pictured like an independent animal, its head rising toward the stars, its neck thickening like a bull. But none of this was happening with Grant and she wondered what was wrong.

  “Wanna call it a draw?” he asked.

  “Do you?’”

  “I don’t care.”

  “Well, it’s not exactly a draw no matter what we do. I mean, I never let a boy see me like this before,” she said.

  He shrugged and leaned back against the mattress behind him. “I’ll bet.”

  “No, honest.” For a moment she wondered what it would be like to kiss him, her naked breasts rubbing against his naked chest. She wondered why he didn’t have that same urge. He still seemed so disinterested, so removed from what was going on between them. Was it because she kept her arms folded across her chest? She thought about it and let them drop slowly to her side. Grant continued to stare at her, but it was as though he was looking through, rather than at, her body.

  Her naked bosom had created a series of images in his mind, flashbacks moving in record speed, like a series of old-time movie cards being flipped. In each scene, he resurrected a picture of his mother—the time a few years ago when she had come into the kitchen with only a towel pressed against her chest. She reached across for something at the table and one of her naked breasts caressed his forehead. He was surprised and pleased at the softness. She didn’t seem to notice his reaction … or the time he was nine and had a sore on his penis and she bent down to kiss it and make it better.

  “Well,” Sandi said, “are you just going to sit there staring?”

  “You’re asking for it.”

  “I think you’re scared.”

  “Bullshit.”

  “There’s the coin.” She gestured toward it with her head. He remained immobile. “If you want, I’ll flip it for you.”

  “Relax,” he said, unaware of the sharpness in his voice. “I don’t need your help.” He grabbed it up in a quick action and squeezed it against his palm. Then he flung it against the far wall. It bounced off and landed a few feet away from them. She walked over to it and looked down. A smile formed across her face. “You lose,” she said. He didn’t move. “Come and see if you don’t believe me.”

  His hand involuntarily went down to cover the fly of his shorts. “This is stupid.”

  “It wasn’t so stupid when I had to take off my bra. I always knew you were chicken.” He still didn’t move. “If it was me who had to take something off again, you wouldn’t think it’s so stupid.” He pretended not to hear. She leaned over and picked up her bra.

  “I didn’t say I wasn’t going to pay up.”

  “Sure,” she said with disgust. He watched her slip her panties up her legs and reach out for her socks. When she put on her first shoe, he stood up.

  “All right,” he said. “Hold your horses.”

  “Chicken,” she mumbled again. He felt himself blush with anger.

  “I’M NOT CHICKEN!”

  She stopped with her second shoe and stared at him. He looked straight ahead, took a deep breath, and jerked his underpants down below his knees. His member peeked out from a patch of dark black pubic hair. It looked to be the size of a big toe. Contrasted with the enormity of Caesar Jiminez’s cock, as far as Sandi was concerned it looked tiny. He could see the look of disappointment on her face.

  “So? What’s the matter?”

  “You … aren’t you supposed to be, uh … hard?”

  He looked down at himself as if to see what was there. Then he took the tip between his forefinger and thumb. She realized he was squeezing it but wasn’t sure exactly why. He continued to twirl it between his fingers, moving it back and forth, almost as if he were alone. She wondered if he was trying to masturbate in front of her. Nothing was happening and the look on his face turned from exasperation to sheer ugliness. She was frightened by the expression in his eyes. Something about this guy wasn’t normal, and she should have known it from the start. She reached for the hideaway key in her shirt pocket and moved toward the door. He took steps to cut her off.

  “You going somewhere?” he said.

  “I gotta get back to the farmhouse. Magda’s going to be calling.” She rushed to the door lock, inserted the key and turned the handle. He grabbed her other hand and put it on his cock. “Stop that,” she cried and pushed him against the wall. “There’s something wrong with you. I don’t know what, but you’re sick, sick, sick!”

  She flung the door open and ran out.

  “Wait,” he yelled, “you don’t under …” but she was already down at the end of the hall. He closed the door and stood there, naked, inert and alone. Then he picked up the coin and heaved it against the wall. It fell near his feet, heads up. He would have lost again.

  “Is that really you?” Charlotte said. She was on her fourth rum and Coke and beginning to feel the effects. She turned around completely to face Manny Goldberg as he entered. He smirked. There were only a half dozen people in the bar and Charlotte was at the same seat she was in when he had left to escape the quarantine.

  “Yeah, it’s me. In the flesh.”

  “What happened to you?” she asked as he stepped further into the light. He looked down at his clothing and for the first time since he had been escorted back from the parking lot, realized what a mess he was. Ordinarily he would have rushed right into the men’s room and washed up but at this point he was just too disgusted to care. He brushed down his shirt and sat on the stool beside her.

  “I had an accident.”

  “I’ll say.” She laughed and turned to the bartender. “I think this man needs a drink.”

  “Scotch and soda,” he said. “Make it a double.” He reached into his shirt pocket and took out a cigar. It was totally crushed. “Damn.” He crumbled the bits and pieces in the ashtray.

  “What did happen to you?”

  He waited for the bartender to serve his drink. Then he leaned closer to her.

  “I tried to get outta here, only they had a cop in the parking lot, sitting in a car.”

  “Really?”

  “Yeah, really. The son of a bitch wouldn’t let me go.” He took a long sip of his drink and looked around. “How come this place is so dead? I figured all the swingers would be down here by now.” He looked at his watch. “Dinner’s over, isn’t it?”

  “I’m not sure. The bartender says it’s been extended.”

  “Oh.”

  “But that isn’t the only reason the place is so empty, right, Charlie?”

  “Pardon me?” the bartender said, stepping over to them.

  “I was telling Mr. … Mr. …”

  “Goldberg. Call me Manny.”

  “Goldberg, call me Manny,” she tittered, “that there’s a reason why this place is like a funeral parlor. Charlie says there’s a wild party going on upstairs. Says it started here a couple of hours ago and then moved up to the fourteenth floor. Right, Charlie?”

  “Right as the rain. And the bellhops who’ve been delivering the booze say it’s the wildest party they’ve ever seen around here.”

  “That sounds like something I could use right now.” Manny finished his drink in one gulp.

  “I’m celebrating,” Charlotte announced, apropos of nothing. He looked at her closely for the first time. Her eyes were already somewhat glassy from the rum. He left his gaze skim over her body and considered the possibi
lities. If he had to stay at the Congress and lose everything he had, he might as well go down with a bang.

  “What are you celebrating?”

  “My girl friend’s gonna be all right.”

  “That sounds like something worth celebrating.” He put his arm around her shoulders. “What was wrong with her?”

  “She had the little buggers.” She hiccuped loudly.

  “Little buggers?” He thought for a moment and then moved back. “You mean she got the cholera?”

  “Yep. The real thing. But the doctor says they caught it in time and everything’s going to be all right.” She lifted her drink in a mock salute and took another swallow.

  “Shit. I’m tellin’ ya,” he said, “it’s not safe for anyone to stay here. You never can tell …”

  “There’s nothing much we can do about it,” she sing-songed, rocking back and forth on her stool. “You saw what happened when you tried to escape. We might as well just sit back and enjoy it.” She tried to sit back and almost fell over.

  He steadied her chair and looked at her again. She had the confused, vague, expression inebriated people sometimes get, as though her thoughts were stuck somewhere in her head like a broken 78.

  “You’re right,” he said. “Maybe we should.” He threw a five-dollar bill on the bar as a tip for Charlie. “C’mon, whaddya say we go up to that wild shindig and check it out.” He took her by the arm.

  “Huh?”

  “The party. Let’s go see what’s happening.”

  “Oh, the party. I don’t know. Maybe yes, maybe no.”

  “C’mon. What harm can it do?” He tugged slightly. “After all, you’re the one who said we might as well enjoy.”

  She stood up uneasily to join him. “See you later, Charlie.”

  The bartender winked at her and continued to clean his glasses. Manny suggested they use the back stairs. He didn’t want to chance bumping into Flo in the lobby.

  “But that’s fourteen flights.”

  “So what,” he laughed. “The exercise will do you good.” He patted her on the fanny.

  “Hey, I didn’t even eat yet.”

  “Don’t worry. They probably have food up there anyway.”