10

The dentists’ president, Dr. Ingram, glared at the visitor to his suite on the seventh floor. “McDermott, if you’ve come here with some idea of smoothing things over, I’ll tell you right now you’re wasting time. Is that why you came?”

“Yes,” Peter admitted. “I’m afraid it is.”

The older man said grudgingly, “At least you don’t lie.”

“There’s no reason I should. I’m an employee of the hotel, Dr. Ingram. While I work here I’ve an obligation to do the best I can for it.”

“And what happened to Dr. Nicholas was the best you could do?”

“No, sir. I happen to believe it’s the worst thing we could have done. The fact that I had no authority to change a hotel standing order doesn’t make it any better.”

The dentists’ president snorted. “If you really felt that way, you’d have the guts to quit and get a job some other place. Maybe where the pay is poorer but the ethics higher.”

Peter flushed, refraining from a quick retort. He reminded himself that this morning in the lobby he had admired the elderly dentist for his forthright stand. Nothing had changed since then.

“Well?” The alert, unyielding eyes were focused on his own.

“Suppose I did quit,” Peter said. “Whoever took my job might be perfectly satisfied with the way things are. At least I’m not. I intend to do what I can to change the ground rules here.”

“Rules! Rationalization! Damned excuses!” The doctor’s rubicund face grew redder. “In my time I’ve heard them all. They make me sick! Disgusted, ashamed, and sick of the human race!”

Between them there was a silence.

“All right.” Dr. Ingram’s voice dropped, his immediate anger spent. “I’ll concede you’re not as bigoted as some, McDermott. You’ve a problem yourself, and I guess my bawling you out doesn’t solve anything. But don’t you see, son?—half the time it’s the damned reasonableness of people like you and me which adds up to the sort of treatment Jim Nicholas got today.”

“I do see, Doctor. Though I think the whole business isn’t quite so simple as you’d make it.”

“Plenty of things aren’t simple,” the older man growled. “You heard what I told Nicholas. I said if he didn’t get an apology and a room, I’d pull the entire convention out of this hotel.”

Peter said guardedly, “In the ordinary way aren’t there events at your convention—medical discussions, demonstrations, that kind of thing—that benefit a lot of people?”

“Naturally.”

“Then would it help? I mean, if you wiped out everything, what could anyone gain? Not Dr. Nicholas …” He stopped, aware of renewed hostility as his words progressed.

Dr. Ingram snapped, “Don’t give me a snow job, McDermott. And credit me with intelligence to have thought of that already.”

“I’m sorry.”

“There are always reasons for not doing something; plenty of times they’re good reasons. That’s why so few people ever take a stand for what they believe in, or say they do. In a couple of hours, when some of my well-meaning colleagues hear what I’m planning, I predict they’ll offer the same kind of argument.” Breathing heavily, the older man paused. He faced Peter squarely, “Let me ask you something. This morning you admitted you were ashamed of turning Jim Nicholas away. If you were me, here and now, what would you do?”

“Doctor, that’s a hypothetical …”

“Never mind the horse-shit! I’m asking you a simple, direct question.”

Peter considered. As far as the hotel was concerned, he supposed whatever he said now would make little difference to the outcome. Why not answer honestly?

He said, “I think I’d do exactly as you intended—cancel out.”

“Well!” Stepping back a pace, the dentists’ president regarded him appraisingly. “Beneath all that hotel crap lies an honest man.”

“Who may shortly be unemployed.”

“Hang onto that black suit, son! You can get a job helping out at funerals.” For the first time Dr. Ingram chuckled. “Despite everything, McDermott, I like you. Got any teeth need fixing?”

Peter shook his head. “If you don’t mind, I’d sooner know what your plans are. As soon as possible.” There would be immediate things to do, once the cancellation was confirmed. The loss to the hotel was going to be disastrous, as Royall Edwards had pointed out at lunch. But at least some of the preparations for tomorrow and the next day could be halted at once.

Dr. Ingram said crisply, “You’ve leveled with me; I’ll do the same for you. I’ve called an emergency executive session for five this afternoon.” He glanced at his watch. “That’s in two and a half hours. Most of our senior officers will have arrived by then.”

“No doubt we’ll be in touch.”

Dr. Ingram nodded. His grimness had returned. “Because we’ve relaxed a minute, McDermott, don’t let it fool you. Nothing has changed since this morning, and I intend to kick you people where it hurts.”

Surprisingly, Warren Trent reacted almost with indifference to the news that the Congress of American Dentistry might abandon its convention and stage a protest withdrawal from the hotel.

Peter McDermott had gone immediately to the main mezzanine executive suite after leaving Dr. Ingram. Christine—a trifle coolly, he thought—had told him the hotel proprietor was in.

Warren Trent, Peter sensed, was noticeably less tense than on other occasions recently. At ease behind the black marble-topped desk in the sumptuous managing director’s office, he betrayed none of the irascibility so apparent the previous day. There were moments, while listening to Peter’s report, that a slight smile played around his lips, though it seemed to have little to do with events on hand. It was rather, Peter thought, as if his employer were savoring some private pleasure known only to himself.

At the end, the hotel proprietor shook his head decisively. “They won’t go. They’ll talk, but that will be the end of it.”

“Dr. Ingram seems quite serious.”

“He may be, but others won’t. You say there’s a meeting this afternoon; I can tell you what will happen. They’ll debate around for a while, then there’ll be a committee formed to draft a resolution. Later—tomorrow probably—the committee will report back to the executive. They may accept the report, they may amend it; either way they’ll talk some more. Later still—perhaps the next day—the resolution will be debated on the convention floor. I’ve seen it all before—the great democratic process. They’ll still be talking when the convention’s over.”

“I suppose you could be right,” Peter said. “Though I’d say it’s a pretty sick point of view.”

He had spoken recklessly and braced himself for an explosive response. It failed to occur. Instead Warren Trent growled, “I’m practical, that’s all. People will cluck about so-called principles till their tongues dry out. But they won’t inconvenience themselves if they can avoid it.”

Peter said doggedly, “It might still be simpler if we changed our policy. I can’t believe that Dr. Nicholas, if we’d admitted him, would have undermined the hotel.”

“He might not. But the riff-raff who’d follow would. Then we’d be in trouble.”

“It’s been my understanding we’re that way already.” Perversely, Peter was conscious of indulging in verbal brinks-manship. He speculated on just how far he could go. And why—today—he wondered, was his employer in such comparative good humor?

Warren Trent’s patrician features creased sardonically. “We may have been in trouble for a while. In a day or two, however, that will not be true.” Abruptly he asked: “Is Curtis O’Keefe still in the hotel?”

“So far as I know. I’d have heard if he’d checked out.”

“Good!” The hovering smile remained. “I’ve some information that may interest you. Tomorrow I shall tell O’Keefe and his entire hotel chain to go jump in Lake Pontchartrain.”