Stalina: A Novel Part 8

"Oolnya moved like a hippo with a great sense of rhythm. The top shelves of the supply closet were out of her reach because those hips kept her from pa.s.sing through the narrow door. When she needed our help, she would say, 'Olga! Stalina! Fetch me a box of cotton b.a.l.l.s. I'll give you some for your manicures.'"

"Bossy, wasn't she," Joanie chipped in.

"Everyone who worked at the salon was a bit temperamental. Tasha, the manicurist, was missing the top two joints of her index and ring fingers on her left hand. She had an accident as a teenager climbing over a fence. But the missing joints actually made it easier for her to position her customers' hands and fingers as she did their nails. She was gifted."

"Imagine that," Joanie said.

"When Tasha was in a good humor, she would hand us a bottle of nail polish that was nearly empty. More often she would complain that the salon was the only place women could get away from their duties. 'That includes children!' she'd say, making sure we heard. When she chased us away, Olga and I would go into one of the dark, wood-paneled ma.s.sage rooms in the back to read our pile of magazines and dream about dressing like the models in the pictures."

"Marilyn Monroe was my hero," Joanie added. "Poor thing, it makes me sad to think of her." She got up and walked over to the "bed-coaster" and lay down next to Harry. She had a small pout and a slight quiver on her lips.

"I'm a natural blond, you know," she said as she wiped some spittle from the side of Harry's mouth.

I continued. "Oolnya would rap on the ma.s.sage room door if someone was scheduled for an appointment. She filled the open doorway completely; her waist made an hourgla.s.s shape that we could see around to the front end of the salon. We would get woozy from breathing in hairspray and polish and would stagger off the ma.s.sage tables and into the salon. Everything seemed to float around us. The peach-colored lace curtains and the kidney-shaped manicure tables became clouds floating by."

"I know what you mean; this room looks all cotton candy soft to me," Joanie said, fueled by the vodka.

"To us, the ladies under the hair dryers with their mud packs looked like an alien race of big brains. One of them once said, 'Looks like those girls have gotten into Oolnya's vodka stash.' Oolnya heard the comment, turned in her swivel chair, lit a cigarette, adjusted her robe, and said, 'I keep only schnapps, to soothe the pain.'"

"I love her!" Joanie exclaimed, and in a terrible Russian accent, she added, "I keep only schnapps, to soothe the pain."

"I like your imitation, Joanie."

"I told you I love your accent."

"How is Harry? Mr. Suri is going to call again."

"Is that the dark man who runs the desk?"

"Mr. Suri? He's not so dark."

"No, he's..."

We both spoke at the same time, with the same words. "Slightly dark."

I added, "He's Indian, from New Delhi."

"Handsome with that mustache, and kind of exotic. I'm mostly German," Joanie added.

"I'm a Jew," I said.

"You're a Jew?"

"You are surprised?"

"You're Russian."

"To the Russians I'm a Jew."

"I don't say I'm a Catholic."

"Are you?"

"Who cares?"

"Why were you surprised?"

"I don't care one way or another. Harry's Jewish. Do you miss Russia?"

"America is not home yet. I do miss Russia."

"That's sad...let's not be sad. More vodka!"

Suddenly Harry sat up with his arms raised in front of him as if he was trying to stop something that was rus.h.i.+ng toward him.

"Stop the Shriiiiinnnnerrrs! They're commmminnng!" he screamed.

Joanie jumped toward Harry to keep him from falling off the bed again.

"Harry, wake up!" she shouted as she grabbed him around the waist.

I knocked back the rest of my vodka. Harry was shaking.

"Are you all right?" Joanie was clinging to him.

"I dreamt those d.a.m.n Shriners were taking over-measly little secretive anti-Semitic toy soldiers. What's she doing here?" Harry said, looking at me. "Owww, my head," he continued, focusing on the bottle of vodka. "Did I drink that?"

"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 f.u.c.k is calling me here?" Harry whispered.

"It's OK, Harry, we're safe here," Joanie said, still holding him.

Ring.

"h.e.l.lo, 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 s.h.i.+rt closed around his paunch.

"I'm glad you're feeling better, Harry," Joanie said, affectionately fixing a misaligned b.u.t.ton.

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

I answered, "It's five thirty-five."

"Oh s.h.i.+t, 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 s.h.i.+rt 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 relations.h.i.+p. 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 ma.s.s 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 diminis.h.i.+ng 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 b.u.t.toning his s.h.i.+rts 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.

Chapter Fourteen: Mr. Suri and 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 peac.o.c.k 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?"