Part 13 (1/2)
The door to the office opened.
”Yes, we are proud,” said the person coming through the door.
”Welcome, boss, we were just finis.h.i.+ng up with Mr. Suri,” the gentleman with the mustache said.
”Who is this?” she asked, looking at me.
”A fellow comrade. Stalina is her name.”
It was Nadia. My Nadia.
”I knew a Stalina when I was young,” she said as she turned to look at me.
Our eyes took focus. The age lines did not keep us from recognizing an old acquaintance. A small line of a scar at the edge of her left chin was all that remained of Pepe's bite. Nadia carried herself with importance and elegance in a tailored black suit. Her hair was long and wavy and a couple of shades lighter than I remembered. Her lips were perfectly lined with pencil and filled in with a deep red lipstick.
”I am Stalina Folskaya,” I said in Russian.
”Stalina, I know who you are. I like your hair; the color black suits you. What are you doing here?” she added in English.
”It's a long story,” I replied in Russian.
”She works here,” Mr. Suri piped in.
”Yes, I run the front desk and design the rooms,” I added in Russian.
”The rooms of this motel have a reputation. The other motels, my motels, are losing business because of them,” she said in Russian.
We continued in our native tongue.
”Did you get married, or is that an alias?” I asked.
”I married an American, of Russian descent, to get my papers. He is out of my life now. It did not work out.”
”Business is business,” I said.
”Yes, it is. I am buying Mr. Suri out. I need the income. I want all the motels; my parents still depend on me.”
”Maybe your motels need something besides 'lunchtime specials.' Where are your parents?” I asked.
The black suits were getting agitated with our conversation in Russian.
”Brighton Beach. Where they all are,” she said and then turned to the fellow with the widow's peak. ”Frank...”
”Yes, boss?”
”Give Mr. Suri the money,” she said in English.
”Mr. Suri, what's going on?” I asked.
”Stalina, I'll be leaving. Madame N is giving me an offer I can't refuse. Garson and I are moving to Arizona. There are business opportunities in the desert. Chander and his mother live there. I want to be closer to him. The money will help. I'm sorry, Stalina,” he said, holding the leather satchel to his chest.
The money and valise gave off a strong swampy odor.
”Your boss had plans that would ruin my motels,” Nadia said.
My heart sank. I would miss Mr. Suri. Bacco spit again into the cup.
”This is capitalism, Mr. Suri?” I asked.
”More like extortion. Mara's gone already. She left with that boyfriend to Florida. I found a note. She must have suspected something,” he added.
”You two finish up your business. We'll be taking over now,” the gentleman with thick fingers said. He wore a pinky ring with a diamond that gave off a flat glint when he waved his hand at us.
”What about me?” I said. ”My job? My rooms?”
”Stalina, you stay, run the motel,” Nadia said.
”But boss, I thought you said I could run this place,” Bacco whimpered.
”Bacco, go outside and clean the pine needles off the boss's car,” the man with the pinky ring said.
”But...”
”Stalina will be an a.s.set to this establishment, and anyway I owe her,” Nadia added.
”You don't owe me anything, Nadia.”
”Bad things happened after they put your dog down. It was not your fault.”
I said, ”I can't believe you still think about that after all these years.”
”I still have the scar, and my father took his revenge.”
”More than the dog,” I said.
Nadia was distracted by one of her men showing her the time on his pocket watch. She did not answer my question.
There was still unfinished business between us, but at the moment I felt inspired and empowered by my new position. I again felt the pang of the loss of Pepe, but I also had a new idea for a room inspired by a formal dining room in the palace at Peterhof. Speaking Russian again gave me the idea. The bed would be made to look like a formal dining table. ”Bed-able,” I would call it. Chandeliers, hunting murals on the walls, dark purple and green velvets, and many, many mirrors.
”My dream is to have Berlin, Connecticut, become the short-stay capital of the East Coast,” Nadia added with great confidence.
”Yes!” her gentlemen all cheered.
Bacco was spitting and grumbling and hesitating to go outside.
”Go on, Bacco, clean the pine needles off the boss's winds.h.i.+eld.”
”I will serve your ambitions well,” I said, and then I turned to Mr. Suri.
”I had no idea Nadia ran the other motels, sir.”