Forsyte's Retreat Read online

breakfast.

  The phone rang and he let it. He was not yet ready to assume his duties.But as time passed and none of his staff appeared, the ring became moresignificant. He gave in.

  "Forsyte here!"

  "Sorry, Mr. Forsyte," it was the operator, "but none of your staff canjoin you just now. They send their regrets."

  "Regrets?" Sextus said icily. "Did you explain who called this meeting,young lady?"

  Her voice dropped the synthetic sweetness and became a throaty rasp."Look, Buster, we're short-handed enough without you should callmeetings at eleven A. M. Plug the hole in your head. It's suckin' air."He broke the connection. The place was busy, he'd grant, but this wasrank insubordination. His whole staff! Everyone seemed keyed to the_boingg!_ point.

  He decided to mull it over breakfast. The spacious, well-appointedcoffee-shop served his juice gelid and his coffee hot, his egg tenderand his toast crisp. The bit of tension vanished as he ate with relish.He signed the check with his tight, little introverted signature.

  Now for a quick inspection tour to see just how rough things reallywere. He told the boy on the service elevator, "To the bottom." Hisstomach writhed as the cage plummeted four floors below the streetlevel. The kitchens, laundry, warehouse, baggage-room, switchboard room,ice-plant and personnel spaces sprawled through an acre of undergroundlevels. They boiled with sweating men and dishevelled women engaged inthe intricate business of housing, feeding, clothing, liquoring andcatering to a small city under one roof. Then he remembered how smallthe quarters were upstairs.

  How could they _house_ enough guests to justify all this?

  Returning to his office he called the employment bureau. "Mr. Crowson?Forsyte here! I'm at the hotel."

  "Oh dear, what's wrong now?"

  "You didn't tell me to whom I should report. This, ah, is my firstexperience with employment agencies. Usually there is a board ofdirectors."

  "Is that all?" Crowson sighed audibly. "You are in full charge, I assureyou. Our little interview was quite satisfactory. I have certified youto your bookkeeping department, and you may draw upon your salary aftera week. Anything else?"

  "Where may I reach the owner or the chairman in an emergency?"

  "The owner is a Dr. Bradford who is in Hanford, Washington. Top secretgovernment work. He may not be contacted until he returns. Sorry, that'sall I can tell you. Getting on all right, Mr. Forsyte?" he asked withobvious reluctance.

  Sextus cut off. Two lights on the intercom were blinking at him. Onecall was from the kitchen. The first chef had just heaved a cleaver atthe steward, and the head salad girl was in hysterics.

  Sextus said he'd be right down. The second call was from the chiefhouse-detective. He had caught a bell-hop peddling marijuana to thewaitresses. What was the manager's new policy? Sextus told him to holdthe boy in the locker room for him. Then one of the room clerks rang tosay that Gary Gable, the movie star, was raising hell in the lobbybecause he couldn't get the bridal suite and demanded to see themanager.

  Sextus smiled. These things were the routine of running a large hotel.He stopped at the bar for a quick one and then started for the kitchen.

  * * * * *

  The day passed pleasantly enough, and he looked forward to retiring tohis quiet rooms upstairs. He thought to get some intelligent answersfrom his assistant manager when he walked in promptly at five P. M., buthe turned out to be a university student from Southern Cal, working dayson his master's degree in business administration and nights at thehotel. No wonder he hadn't been promoted. Not that he wasn'tbright--just not experienced.

  Sextus formally offered his hand and introduced himself. The lad said,"I'm Horace Smith the phone is ringing excuse me." He snatched the phonewith a harried look.

  Somehow the phone never stopped ringing. Sextus gave up and retired todress for dinner. He finished his fifth of whiskey and descended to thehotel's swank Oceania Room, where he made himself known to the maitred'hotel. That frenzied little moustachioed person sniffed Sextus' breathand seated him behind a potted palm.

  Discreetly avoiding the wine list, Sextus dined well, noting severalmovie stars and other vip's in the crowded dining room. He couldn'tescape the illusion that he was dining at the Ambassador or the WaldorfAstoria--instead of in a five-story rat-trap. Where did they all comefrom?

  As he awaited the elevator, he was approached by the bell-captain. "Mr.Forsyte?" Sextus nodded stiffly. "Here's an envelope Mr. Patterson leftfor you. He was the last G. M. Incidentally, sorry I was a little roughon the phone, but you can see our situation here. Understaffed andovercrowded. It gets thick, real thick, brother."

  Sextus felt his belly muscles tighten. "Confusion is never improved bydiscourtesy or insubordination," he said coldly.

  At that moment a bellman rushed up to the rebuffed captain who wasregarding Sextus with a restrained loathing. "The guy in C332 keepsscreaming for his beer, but the service elevator to 'C' vector keepsdumping me off in 'F'."

  The captain said, "Try riding to fourth on 'C' and then walk down a deckand come out through the linen room."

  "Can't I just ride up the guest elevator, Jack?"

  The captain stared at Sextus. "Our Mr. Forsyte wouldn't approve. Now,move!"

  He turned to Sextus and said acidly, "Just one of our little extraproblems." He moved off with a disgusted shake of his carefully barberedhead.

  The nature of the bell-captain's special problem sounded interesting,but the details confused Sextus. _Ride to four on "C", walk down tothree and out by the linen closet._ Sounded like three-dimensionalchess.

  His cage arrived and he returned to his suite. He removed his shoes,stripped to the waist and sank gratefully into the soft bed, nestlingthe last bottle of his suitcase reserve in the crook of his bare arm.

  He considered the sealed envelope marked: TO MY SUCCESSOR. URGENTMATTERS.

  First he opened a fresh bottle and then the envelope. He flipped throughthe papers. There were some tax reports ready for signature, two unioncontracts up for renegotiation and an estimate on re-doing 520 rooms invectors "B" and "F". Vectors? Did they mean "Wings"?

  The last paper was a personal letter, apparently addressed to him.Before he could begin it the phone at his bedside jangled. Operatorsaid, "Would you take this, please, Mr. Forsyte? I dispatched a houseman, but the guest is hysterical."

  Without awaiting his permission she cut in the woman. "Hello, manager?There's a man in my bed!"

  "What is your room number, madame?" Sextus asked with drowsy detachment.

  "I'm in H-408," she said, and on the "8" her voice ran up the scale in aquivering crescendo that launched Sextus briskly from his bed. H-408 washis floor and his wing, luckily. He tore out of the suite and down thehall without shirt or shoes.

  The door stood ajar, and he pushed it open. In the middle of the floor,still gabbling into the phone, stood a lumpy, pallid woman about his ownage, naked except for a pillow which she hugged fiercely to her navel.Her bleached hair was a frayed bird's-nest.

  In bed, decently clad in a pair of blue and white striped pajamas, was arather distinguished, gray-haired gentleman of about fifty, leaning onone elbow and watching the woman with an expression of mild astonishmentand interest. To Sextus' practiced eye, the man was guilty of nothing.

  The house detective arrived at that moment, but Sextus dismissed himwith a wave of his hand. He went in alone.

  "I'm the manager, madam," he assured her. He noted that despite herexcited wails, her eyes drooped half shut. A bottle of sleeping pills onthe table was uncapped.

  "Thizz man, thizz man, thizz man!" she kept repeating and pointing herelbow at the bed. The man in question raised his eyebrows and shook hishead.

  "Damndest sensation I ever felt," he said. "I'm Johnathan P. Turner,attorney. Before I tell you my story, please check with the desk andverify that I was assigned this room."

  Sextus took the phone from the woman's pudgy hand which darted to rescuethe sagging pillow. The room-clerk reported t
hat Mr. J. P. Turner wasregistered to room 408, but in "J" vector, not "H".

  Sextus' eyes swept the room. It was an unexplainable mess. Two sets ofluggage were jumbled on and around the baggage rack at the foot of thebed. Rinsed out nylons hung from the shower rod, but a man's shaving kitoccupied the shelf over the lavatory. Despairing of ever arriving at asensible explanation, Sextus went to work.

  Although hampered somewhat without his shirt, coat and tie, Sextusmanaged to get Turner and his belongings transferred peaceably toanother room and the woman quieted down in bed with another sleepingpill.

  Then Turner was allowed to tell his story.