Part 7 (1/2)
”That's not a line in the poem,” I said, amused.
”No, it's not.”
His lips had a slight red hue from my lipstick. I loved how his lips were full in the middle and went a bit crooked when he smiled, almost a secret smile just for me.
”Trofim,” I said as I took a deep breath, ”I think I need a drink.”
”Yes, let's make a toast.”
Through the test tube, I saw his face, stretched and twisted like in a fun house mirror. He looked beautiful to me.
Chapter Thirteen: Manicured.
I retrieved the plastic cellophane-wrapped cups from the bathroom. The photograph of the roller coaster hung over the toilet, I had to say, was a nice touch. I peeked into the shower to check on Mara's cleaning job. Her work was just short of a proper sparkle. You had to get rid of all the residue in order for the chrome to glisten. I had to control myself from pulling out a cleaning rag and finis.h.i.+ng the job.
Ring. Ring.
”Stalina, will you answer that?” Joanie said as she sat on the bed combing Harry's thin pate of hair. I picked up the phone.
”Stalina?”
”Yes, Mr. Suri.”
”How long do you think they are going to be? I have two couples waiting.”
”I'm not sure; we're doing what we can. Business has been good lately.”
Click.
”He wanted to know how long we would be,” I said to Joanie.
”Harry's sleeping like a baby. Maybe he just had to catch up on some sleep. How about that vodka?”
The ”roller-bed-coaster” was designed for physical antics and not necessarily for comfortable sleeping, but Harry seemed very peaceful with his feet raised and slung over the hump. I poured the thickened, cold vodka into the plastic cups. The vapor from the alcohol felt peppery in my throat.
”I hope Harry doesn't wake up; he would have a fit if he saw us drinking out of plastic cups. He says it's disrespectful to the drink,” Joanie said as I handed her a cup of vodka.
”Nostrovya,” I said.
”Here's to Harry, my best friend.”
We gulped the vodka down together.
”Harry would like you, Stalina. He likes women who can drink.”
”Thank you. There is a Russian saying, 'A drink in time saves nine.'”
Harry made a gurgling sound.
”A drink in time.” Joanie laughed. ”You Russians.”
”Why, is that not the saying?”
”We Americans are just so prissy. We say, 'A st.i.tch in time saves nine.' I love your accent.”
”Thank you. I am very proud of my English.”
Harry gurgled again and lifted his right arm in the air.
”Maybe he's waking up. Quick, let's have another shot,” Joanie suggested.
I went over to get a closer look at Harry. His arm came down with a flop, but it was not only his arm that had risen.
”Look, Joanie, your man is thinking about you.”
We both laughed and stared as if watching a newborn's latest discovery.
”That's my boy; he's been having trouble with that lately.”
Ring. Ring.
”That trouble seems to be gone,” I said as I picked up the phone.
”Stalina, what's going on in there?” Mr. Suri said.
”Mr. Suri, you called only fifteen minutes ago. I think we are making progress.”
”I have people waiting. Can we carry him out to his car?”
”Give us a half hour. The hen only eats a grain at a time, but eventually she gets full,” I said.
Click.
”What's that?” asked Joanie.
”He's anxious because there are customers waiting for rooms; the motel has become quite popular.”
”I like that saying, 'The hen only eats a grain at a time.' I never heard that before.”
”Mr. Suri is not a very patient man,” I added.
She went over to Harry's blue serge suit and pulled out a large roll of bills from the pocket.
”How much do we owe you for the extra time?”
”Two more hours. That's another thirty-three dollars.”