The Resort by Sol Stein Page A

if Margaret were held captive? He hadn’t thought of them both being trapped.
    At the entrance to the restaurant, Clete waited for them to catch up, then beckoned for them to precede him.
    Inside, they were immediately greeted by a maître d’ in a tuxedo—a tall man, handsome, with a trace of accent. “Ah, you must be Mr. and Mrs. Brown of New York,” said the maître d’, extending his hand. Why did Henry shake it? You didn’t get rid of civilities in an hour. “Welcome,” the maître d’ said, but Henry’s gaze was beyond him, taking in the splendor of the dining room with its many levels, each a few steps up or down from the next, aesthetically pleasing geometry. On all sides there were green-tinted picture windows looking out on the natural magnificence that surrounded Cliffhaven. But Henry’s attention was riveted on the other people.
    There must have been more than a hundred guests seated at the tables, and every one of them had turned to stare at them. It wouldn’t have happened in a restaurant unless they were movie stars. Why were they looking? Because we are the newcomers.
    The maître d’ led the way, Clete bringing up the rear. Very few of the tables had someone like Clete in attendance. The orange blouses of the waitresses fluttered through the dining room.
    Henry stopped at a table where an older couple, in their sixties, were looking at them with sad eyes.
    Henry bent to the man and, in a half-whisper, asked, “What is this place?”
    Clete immediately stepped forward, touched Henry on the arm, and said, “I’m sorry, Mr. Brown, but conversation with the other guests is not permitted for the first three months.”
    The old couple looked away, their faces reddening, as if the reproof had been for them. Gradually the other heads in the dining room turned back to their meals, and resumed their broken conversations.
    “This way, please,” the maître d’ said, showing them to a table for four on one of the higher platforms. “You’ll have a good view of the mountainside from here,” he said, “even at dusk. This will be your regular table from now on.” He gestured for one of the busboys to remove the fourth chair.
    Margaret sat on Henry’s side of the table, Clete opposite Henry. He moved his chair toward the middle so that he might be opposite both of them.
    Clete said, “I’ll join you for meals during the break-in period, perhaps a week.”
    “We’re only staying overnight,” said Margaret, her voice sliding out of her usual pitch.
    Clete smiled. “Provided your conduct is exemplary. After three months another couple might be allowed to join you for the evening meal. Breakfast and lunch is served cafeteria style.”
    This is insane, Margaret thought. She was moving to get up when she felt Henry’s constraining hand. Damned if she’d be quiet. “What the hell do you people think you’re doing here?” she said.
    “I’ll be happy to answer that question,” Clete said.
    “We’re on vacation,” Henry said. “We’d prefer to eat by ourselves.”
    “I understand,” Clete said. “But that isn’t possible right now.”
    “We can just leave.”
    “I don’t recommend it. Why don’t we order?”
    “I won’t pay,” Henry said.
    “Oh, you don’t pay for my dinner, Mr. Brown. Just for the two of you, as you normally would. We’ll put it on your American Express card. Please let’s order. Very few guests really give us any trouble.”
    “You locked the door of our room,” Margaret said.
    “It’s a security measure.”
    “You locked us in,” she said.
    “I told you it’s a way of apprising you of your status.”
    “What the hell do you mean?”
    Henry interrupted her with his hand on her arm. Cool it, it always meant. You accomplish more if you’re cool.
    “Henry, these people are committing a crime.”
    “I beg your pardon,” Clete said.
    “This is kidnapping.”
    “Oh Dr. Brown, we haven’t taken you anywhere. I’m disappointed in you.”
    “It’s