Emily Rubin - Stalina

“I thought you were over that Shriner thing,” Joanie said calmly. “So what if they didn’t let you join? Who needs them anyway? This is Stalina.”

“How do you do, sir. I’m glad to see you are awake.”

Ring.

“Who the fuck is calling me here?” Harry whispered.

“It’s OK, Harry, we’re safe here,” Joanie said, still holding him.

Ring.

“Hello, Mr. Suri.” I answered the phone with some authority, and without letting him respond, I continued. “The gentleman is awake, and I will have them vacate in fifteen minutes. Good-bye.”

Click.

“Fifteen minutes? What time is it? How long have we been here?” Harry asked Joanie.

Ring. Ring.

“Yes, Mr. Suri.”

“Stalina, please don’t hang up on me like that. I wanted to tell you that two other rooms have opened up. Everyone is taken care of. Please don’t hang up on me.”

“Yes, Mr. Suri, I’m sorry. It won’t happen again.”

“Come to the office when they leave, please. Good-bye.”

“Yes sir. Good-bye.”

Click.

“He hates it when I call him sir,” I said quietly.

Joanie was concerned with Harry, but she still heard me. “Stalina, you like him, don’t you?” she said as she started dressing Harry.

Her yellowed eyes looked sad. Her time with Harry was ending for this afternoon. He would go back to his wife, and Joanie, a bit wobbly from the vodka, would go where? Home? A drinking establishment? Another motel? I stood up. My hips made a long, round arc as I tried to get my balance with my vodka-heavy head. I went over to the stuffed animals and fluffed the purple elephant and adjusted the straw hat worn by the pig in the tutu. The snake stared at me with its googly eyes, and I played with its green felt forked tongue. My animals. My friends. My room. My “Roller Coaster Fun Park.” I did not want to leave.

“Mr. Suri is my boss,” I said, trying to be sober. “I respect him.”

“It’s OK for you to like him,” Joanie said. “I’m sure he takes your interest in him and his business as a great compliment.”

“Do you need help dressing Harry?” I asked.

“I can dress myself, thank you very much,” Harry mumbled as he pulled his shirt closed around his paunch.

“I’m glad you’re feeling better, Harry,” Joanie said, affectionately fixing a misaligned button.

“What time is it? How long have we been here?” he barked.

I answered, “It’s five thirty-five.”

“Oh shit, I missed my four-thirty,” Harry said.

His back was to me as he dressed on the bed. Two patches of sweat were soaking through his shirt on either side of his spine.

“Joanie,” he said, going back to whispering, “I’ve got to get out of here.”

“Yes, Harry, how’s your head? Here, put your pants on.”

I admired him for whispering. He did not want to inflame things, or maybe his head hurt too much to talk loudly. Either way, I was impressed with their relationship. I wanted to ask them why they were not together like a regular couple. They could love each other and take care of each other. The rest of the world would just have to understand. I picked up the bucket of ice and held the cold mass to my chest. The half-melted ice cubes looked like floating skulls swimming around the empty bottle of vodka. I shook the bucket and watched the dance of the diminishing frozen skulls. Joanie looked over at me as she was fixing Harry’s tie.

“Stalina, I think we can take it from here. Harry, can you stand up?”

“Of course I can stand. What happened anyway? My head feels like someone took a crowbar and separated my brain from my skull.”

“A concussion,” I added with concern.

“Not much I can do about that now. You’re lucky I can’t sue this place.”

“Oh Harry, come on. He’s obviously feeling better, Stalina. Thank you for everything,” she said, winking at me and pointing with her thumb at the bucket with the empty bottle of vodka.

“I was happy to help.”

“Look, we really liked the room. Maybe next time we’ll take something with a little less imagination.” Joanie smiled.

“My newest room is going to be ‘Caribbean Sunset,’” I said proudly.

“Save a spot in a beach cabana for us.”

“Yes, of course, a cabana,” I said as I opened the door and stepped outside.

“Here, Stalina, take the key. I think we’re all paid up. I’ll take Harry straight to the car.”

“Joanie, what are you talking about, cabana?” Harry asked, putting his arm around her shoulder. I noticed then that he was missing the thumb on his right hand. A wound that had healed long ago.

“I’ll tell you later, Harry. Let’s go,” Joanie said as she caressed his damaged hand.

Joanie handed me the key. The nail on her right index finger had broken off, perhaps while she was dressing Harry. He must have had trouble buttoning his shirts with that missing thumb. Joanie saw me notice her broken nail.

“Yeah, it broke. I need a visit to Oolnya’s. I liked your story about that place, Stalina. Bye now.”

I looked back inside and got a last glimpse of Harry slipping on his alligator shoes. Joanie strapped a gun holster to his ankle. A gun—curious. Why would he need one? Had he ever used it? Was someone after him for wrongdoing? Could it be for revenge or protection? He shook his foot and touched the gun, and then he stood up straight as if the gun gave him the strength to face the world. Someday I might want to hold a gun as well. I could have fixed that broken nail for Joanie, but I hadn’t made the offer. Mr. Suri was expecting me.

Walking along the path to the office, I heard the door to the linen room slam shut. Mara would have to come out again soon to clean up after Harry and Joanie.

Caw! Caw!

My cat was under the tree, and the crow was on the ground next to her. She must have escaped from the office. What a strange sight, a crow and a cat together. Svetlana was playing with a pinecone, and the crow was pulling up worms from the ground. I’ve heard that birds use their sense of smell to locate worms. Like a rubber band, fwap! the bird snapped that worm right out of the ground. She shook her head and twisted her neck to get the worm to give up. Maybe she had a nest of chicks and that was why she was so noisy under the trees. She walked over to Svetlana. It was strange how the cat was not bothered by the crow. If she pecked that kitten with her beak, I would throw a stone at her. Gravel. That was all we had here. I’d throw a fistful of gravel from the driveway at her. Wait a minute, Svetlana was opening her mouth—the crow was feeding her the worm. This was impossible. There was a car coming up the drive. The windows in the car were darkened.

“Is there a room available?” a woman wearing a peacock blue shawl asked as she rolled down the window.

“Yes,” I replied. “Drive slowly, please. Watch out for my cat under the tree. The office is over there.”

“Thanks.” As they continued up the hill, I heard her say, “Oh goody, they have a room. I hear this place is awesome, Daddy. Drive slow, watch out for the kitty.”

I could not see “Daddy” through the dark windows. Svetlana was still eating from the crow’s beak. No one would believe this.

“Sveta, Svetlana, come here to Stalina.”

The crow looked at me, said nothing, and flew up to the tree. I crossed the drive and scooped up my bloated kitten.

“Is that lady crow feeding you, little one?”

Svetlana was happily rubbing the sides of her mouth with her ebony and white paws.