Drug of Choice

My God, he thought. It’s been raining here for days.

How long had it been?

He went back to the bathroom and urinated, shivering with a new and chilling fear. It was so terrifying, he was not really surprised when he looked down and saw that his urine was a bright, fluorescent blue.

14. GAINFUL EMPLOYMENT

He dressed quickly, slipping into a pair of slacks, sneakers, and a sweater. He had brought only one sweater, and now he was glad; it was cold.

When he had dressed, he looked again at the tray and the gruel set out by his bed.

Then he left the room. The hallway was quiet, he moved slowly down toward the stairs at the far end, avoiding the elevator. Around him, the hotel was silent except for the rising sound of the storm.

He reached the head of the stairs and paused. On the ground floor below, he could hear quiet voices, and shuffling sounds. As he waited, he heard footsteps approaching, and then coming up the stairs.

He had a moment of panic, backing away. Then he saw a closet marked “Utility”; the door was not locked, and he slipped in among mops and buckets. He left the door slightly ajar and waited.

After several moments, two people appeared at the top of the stairs. One was a lovely young woman in a bikini; the other was a red-jacketed waiter. They walked slowly, arm in arm, down the hallway. The girl seemed a little unsteady, and often leaned against her companion for support. Once or twice, she giggled.

Eventually, they came to her room, and stopped. The waiter unlocked the girl’s door, choosing the key from a large ring at his belt. The girl put her arms around his neck and kissed him soundly.

“Thank you for a lovely evening, darling,” she said. And then, “Shall we…”

“By all means,” the waiter said. He held the door open, and the girl went into her room.

“You make such thrilling love,” the girl said.

“Yes, my dear,” the waiter said, and closed the door. After a few moments, he reappeared in the hallway, walked down two doors, and unlocked another door. He disappeared inside, and came out with a stocky middle-aged man at his side.

“Ah,” said the man. “Charming morning, eh, Linda?”

“Oh yes,” the waiter said.

“All this sunlight… makes a man feel marvelous!”

“It certainly does,” the waiter said.

“After breakfast, we’ll play a little tennis, shall we?”

“That would be nice,” the waiter said.

“Good girl, Linda,” the man said.

They passed Clark, and headed down the stairs. He waited until he could no longer hear their footsteps, then came out of the closet.

Slowly, he made his way downstairs.

When he reached the bottom, he could peer around the corner and look at the lobby. He remembered it as a charming place with a simple desk and polished marble floors; lots of flowers everywhere. But now it was completely transformed. A broad, thick plastic mat of silver foil had been set out on the floor. It was very large, perhaps twenty yards square, and on it a dozen guests sprawled in bathing suits. Overhead was a bank of sunlamps, blazing down on the mat and the guests.

Five or six waiters were in attendance. At intervals an alarm would buzz softly, and the waiter would go up to the guests, and gently help them to turn over. The guests followed instructions with happy, complacent smiles on their faces. They all seemed quite awake, and would exchange a few words with the waiters at each turning.

Among themselves, the waiters spoke in low, disgruntled tones.

“Pain in the ass,” one said.

“It’ll blow over soon, then we can work it as usual. An hour on the balcony each day.”

“I hate this. Whenever there’s a storm, this damned schedule.”

Another waiter laughed. “Can’t have our guests going home without a tan, can we?”

“Oh no, that would never do.”

Clark waited several minutes until he understood what was happening. Then, he slipped around the corner, moving from the stair toward the registration desk. No one saw him. The waiters were not attentive — and why should they be? Every guest here was drugged to the ears.

At the desk he paused, ducking down into shadow. To his left was the terrace, and beyond that the swimming pool and the tennis courts. He moved off, outside, into the rainy darkness.

His sneakers squished softly on the dance floor. It was then that he noticed, with surprise, that it was not really wood but a kind of plastic. Very realistic plastic.

From the dance floor, he headed off into the gardens. Down a narrow, damp path to the swimming pool, which was located—

He stopped.

There was no swimming pool. None at all. There was a high diving board; he had seen that when he had first arrived, sticking up over the trees. But the diving board was sunk in concrete, surrounded by dirt

No pool.

He frowned. He remembered it so clearly: a beautiful sparkling Olympic pool, with a high board at one end, and a bar at the other end where you could stand waist-deep in water and drink mango punches until you were sleepy; then you could crawl out and lie on one of the deck chairs, located on the broad concrete deck around the pool.