Free Stalina by Emily Rubin Page B

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.”
    “Here, take a General Ulysses S. Grant.”
    “Fifty? Ulysses S. Grant was the eighteenth president of the United States.”
    “Keep the change. You know more about the presidents than I do.”
    “I have been studying,” I said.
    Harry gurgled again, and I thought how happy Mr. Suri would be about the extra cash, in spite of his impatience. Joanie and I sat on the floor, watched Harry, and drank another shot of vodka.
    “Tell me more about Russia,” Joanie said.
    “It’s still very cold there this time of year,” I replied.
    “You grew up with all those Communists?” she asked.
    “We were all part of a great socialist movement.”
    “This country dislikes Communists.”
    “We were friends at one time.”
    “You guys fought the Germans?”
    “The Nazis. They invaded us and we beat them,” I said proudly.
    “You have such nice nails. Are there beauty parlors in Russia?” she asked, holding and admiring my manicure. She tipped back the remaining vodka in her glass.
    “Yes, there are many. I do my own nails; I learned as a child.”
    Joanie leaned back on her elbows. Harry started to snore.
    “We hardly sleep together, so I rarely get to hear him snore. It’s kind of cute, don’t you think?” Joanie giggled.
    “Oolnya’s House of Beauty was where I learned about manicures.”
    “Ool-ya—I love the Russian names, they’re so… vodka! ” she exclaimed.
    “Would you like a little more?” I asked.
    The bottle of Kremoyna shifted in the ice as if it was trying to get our attention. I just realized then that we’d never used the ice in the bucket for the bump on Harry’s head.
    “I remember from that movie with Omar Sharif—you drink the vodka frozen even in the winter.”
    “That is the best way. Dr. Zhivago —it was banned for a while in Russia.”
    “Vodka was banned?”
    “The book, not vodka, never, just discouraged, without much effect.”
    “Let’s drink to Ool-ya and her manicures,” Joanie said with her glass high above her head. “Maybe Harry needs a sip of vodka.”
    “It’s Oolnya, with an n . Put the glass under his nose like smelling salts,” I suggested.
    “I don’t want him to wake up yet. We bought some more time; I want to hear about manicures.”
    I filled her plastic cup halfway with more vodka and did the same for myself.
    “It would be nice to have some herring with this vodka,” I said and settled back onto the floor. The room could use a chair or two. Perhaps a bench from a carousel to go with the fun park theme.
    “Herring? What about caviar? Isn’t that your Russian gold? Fish eggs worth thousands. How strange you Russians are,” Joanie said as she went over to Harry and kissed his lips with hers still touched with vodka.
    Harry sniffled and turned over, but with a smile on his face.
    “Shhh!” Joanie added. “Let’s not wake Harry.”
    “We have another forty-five minutes. Mr. Suri will be calling in a half hour.”
    “Please, Staliiin-aaa, tell me about Oool-NYaaa.”
    The vodka had taken effect.
    “She called her shop Oolnya’s House of Beauty. My friend Olga’s mother and my mother would go together for weekly appointments, and we would tag along. Oolnya had massive breasts that were always half exposed, and her behind was so large it made a shelf off the back of her purple satin robe. She sat at the forward edge of her swivel chair because of the size of her