Stalina by Emily Rubin Read Free Book Online

into the top turrets in the roof. The reflections broke into six different views from anywhere in the bed. Even though I had only been in the bed alone, I still found the angles and broken views quite stimulating. The sides of the bed and the platform were covered with green plastic grass. It was the same stuff like the mat outside Rosalinda’s fortune-telling salon. I put up a wallpaper trim that shows a woman in Victorian dress entering a gazebo. After the trim was in place, the room was complete. Total cost, sixty-three dollars and fifty-three cents.
    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