Emily Rubin - Stalina

There was a couple leaving the room. They were regulars, but this was their first-time experience with the new room. Perhaps they would comment. She was very skinny and wobbled in her high heels walking to his car on the gravel driveway. He wore a fedora and worsted pants, and he always wrote a different name on the card when he registered. Today he was “Ulysses S. Grant.” I thought he was a local politician. I was sure I’d seen his picture in the paper, but it was hard to tell with the fedora in the way.

“Interesting room,” he said without looking at me.

“Thank you, it’s my own design,” I responded proudly.

His hand shook slightly as he pushed the key through the half-moon opening in the bulletproof office window. The woman, standing by the car, wrapped her sequined sweater tightly around her small frame, impatient in the cold. He unlocked his side first, got in, and opened her door. In the car, they sat without looking at each other as the motor started. As they pulled away, she smiled and gave me a thumbs-up.

There was another couple waiting in a car. No time to waste basking in my glory, I say. I needed to get Mara to clean the room. She was always sleeping in the linen room. Luckily the intercom was very loud.

“Mara! Room one is done! Hurry, we have a couple waiting!”

No answer.

“ Mara! ”

“I heard you the first time…chill out.”

“Don’t let Svetlana out. There are a lot of cars coming and going.”

“She’s asleep on the towels.”

I named the cat Svetlana for Stalin’s daughter, for whom I also felt great pity. One day the weak, abandoned kitten walked up the driveway and stood in front of the office, and I practically tripped over her when I was leaving. Now the cat was healthy, but she had a bad habit of running across the drive to play with pinecones under the trees. I was afraid she would get run over. Mara always let her out of the linen room when her hands were full with the vacuum and bucket of cleaning supplies.

“Mara—”

“I’m just fixing my hair.”

“I forgot to tell you I replaced the vacuum bag.”

“How dare you touch my vacuum.”

“I made a mess finishing the Gazebo Room. I cleaned up after myself.”

“Just kidding, thanks. I’ll be out in a minute.”

The intercom button got stuck, and I heard Mara say, “Hey, Svetlana, now that she’s a big fancy designer I’m surprised she didn’t ask me to clean up her mess. Come here, kitty, help me push open the door, my hands are full.”

There went Svetlana, right under the pine trees; she was obsessed with those pinecones. At least right now the driveway was quiet. The couple waiting in the car looked anxious. I signaled them to come over.

“How was the room?” I asked Mara.

“The usual—ripped pantyhose, half-drunk bottle of wine, two-dollar tip. They left this.”

She handed me a small, thin, square red box.

“What is it?”

“Didn’t open it. I was passing by the Roller Coaster Room. The couple in there left the curtain open a crack, and I saw the guy naked standing on top of the bed.”

“I’ll put it here behind the desk. The customer may come back to claim it. You looked into the room?”

“I couldn’t help it. Just as I was walking by, he had his hands in the air like he was on a real roller coaster. Pretty funny.” She laughed.

“The fantasy works well. I’ve already sent the other couple to the Gazebo Room.”

“I saw them; they look young.”

“It could be their first time.”

“I’m going back to the linen room,” she said, still half asleep.

“Take Svetlana with you.”

“Number two is finished in a half hour.”

“Buzz me when you need me.”

“I think the intercom is stuck.”

“I’ll check it,” I said.

It was a good thing Mara liked to hang out in the linen room; the office was small, and I preferred to be left alone to study my magazines for room design ideas. I had been looking at travel journals for ideas about a room with a Caribbean theme. I’d call it “Sunset over the Caribbean.” There were never pictures of Cuba in these American travel journals even though some of the most beautiful beaches could be found there.

WHUMMMP!

Sounded like something crashed in room two. Svetlana heard it and stopped playing with her precious pinecone. I got Mara on the intercom.

Buzzzz…buzzz…buzzzz…

“ Mara , did you hear that?”

“Whaaa?”

“It came from room two.”

“Let it be, Stalina.”

“Sounds as if the television fell off the shelf.”

Ring! Ring!

“It’s the house phone, Mara.”

“Answer it,” she said.

“Front desk,” I said into the phone.

A high-pitched, excited woman’s voice said, “This is room two, the damn Roller Coaster Room. Harry’s fallen off your fancy-schmancy bed and hit his head. He’s out cold.”

“Would you like me to call an ambulance?”

“Are you crazy? No hospitals, no doctors!”

“What would you like me to do?”

“I need some ice to put on the giant egg on his head.”

“The ice maker is next to the laundry room. I cannot leave the front desk. I’ll have the maid bring you some,” I told her.

“We can’t go anywhere till Harry wakes up.”

“You have a half hour left on the clock.”

Her voice deepened into a gravelly smoker’s rasp. “He’s out cold. It’s going to be a while.”

“I’ll add another hour to your stay.”

“Shit, Harry, wake up. OK, what time is it?”

“Three forty-five.”

“Harry, what did you do to me?”

“You have until quarter to five. I’ll call you at—” I tried to finish, but from the other end all I heard was click.

I went back to the intercom.

“Mara, are you there?”

“What happened?”

“The gentleman in room two fell off the bed.”

“Is he dead?”

“They need ice; he’s unconscious. I gave them another hour.”

“I’m not going in there unless she puts some clothes on him.”

“Just hand her the ice through the door.”

“This job sucks. What was in that box?”

“Get the ice. I did not open it.”

“I’ll get the ice,” Mara said peevishly.

If I didn’t push her, she would sleep all day. The red box was sealed on all sides with green tape. Not a very attractive wrapping job. It made no noise when I shook it. I’d wait for Mara; we could open it together. My shift would be over soon, and Mr. Suri would return shortly. I hoped this Harry fellow in room two didn’t take a turn for the worse. Svetlana had gone back to playing with her pinecone.

Caww! CAWW!

That noisy crow was always hanging out in the trees. Svetlana was tiny compared to that bird.

Caww! Caww!

The crow didn’t frighten Svetlana away with all her yelling. I wondered if the kitten was deaf. Mr. Suri was coming up the drive in his Delta ’88. He always took the corner so quickly. The smell of burnt rubber from the tires made me feel warm and happy for his arrival, but I got nervous for the cat because he never watched out for her. I’d get her while I still could.

“Sveta! Svetlana! That’s a good kitten. I’ll bring a pinecone into the linen room for you.”

Caww! Caww!

“Don’t worry, Miss Crow, I won’t hurt your kitten. Svetlana, you are light as a bug. No belly yet. Can you hear that noisy crow?”

I thought she heard fine, she just didn’t seem to mind the crow’s ranting. Svetlana was very scrawny and infested with fleas when I found her. Seeing her reminded me that whenever my mother saw a kitten like that, she would say, “We ate even the skinny ones during the siege.”