mother got that for him in Honolulu. She used to buy him T-shirts from wherever she went.”
“She must love him very much,” I added.
“She passed away last year, but Harry was a momma’s boy—still is.”
Mothers. My mother, Sophia. I’m due to send money to her this week.
“Harry likes to wear nice clothes,” Joanie said as she stroked his blue serge suit that hung over a chair. She picked it up and hung it in the closet.
“His suit always smells of menthol cigarettes and spicy cologne, mmm.” She buried her head in the sleeve and reached into the pocket to pull out a pack of cigarettes.
I decorated the area outside the closet to look like a game booth at an amusement park. I painted stacks of bottles on the back wall and nailed a lime green snake, a pink pig wearing a tutu, a purple spider, and a monkey with a top hat securely to the wall. At first Mr. Suri thought people might steal the stuffed animals. No one has touched them, and Harry’s suit moving in front of the fan looked like someone gearing up and waving his arms—no hands—to throw a ball at the targets.
“Harry once won me a giant panda bear at a fair.”
A panda bear is a good idea for an addition to my design.
“Where was the fair?” I asked. “I like to do such things.”
“I gave the bear to my niece. About an hour and a half from here in Millerton. No one knows us there. We have to go places where no one will know us.”
I had sympathy for her situation. She lit a cigarette. The menthol smoke circled our heads and spread over Harry like a fog.
“Careful with Harry. He’s heavy around the middle.”
I waved my hands to spread the smoke. “I’ll count to three and we’ll lift,” I told her.
Joanie took off her high heels. The cigarette was dangling from her lips. We counted together.
“One, two, three, lift!”
Harry’s weight slowed us down, but with a couple of steps and one final heave we landed him safely on the bed. A moment later one of his legs started to slide off the side. I put my hip against it and pushed his limp body into the middle of the bed. Joanie and I sat next to each other. She stroked his forehead again with her hand. His eyes twitched, and he breathed deeply as she caressed his face.
“Harry’s a good guy,” Joanie said. “He can be a lot of fun when he’s not too stressed out.”
The expression was new to me.
“Are there many pressures in his out-stressed life?” I asked.
“I like that, out-stressed. That’s putting it mildly,” she answered.
“Does he have a great deal of money?” I thought to ask something practical.
“Sort of, but he has two ex-wives and a new wife, who is soon to be another ex-wife. They all cost.”
“And you?” I wondered where she fit in.
“I’ve known Harry forever; we went to high school together. We started spending time together when he was leaving his first wife, Felice. She was a friend. We’re all from Hartford.”
“So Harry is his real name?”
“It is, but that’s not what he wrote on the motel register, is it?”
“No, I think it said Alfred E. Smith.”
“Harry’s in local politics. He budgets the city’s money. Smith is one of his heroes.”
“He was a politician in New York. I know, I’ve been studying for my citizenship. He’s the answer to one of the questions. I don’t mind waiting with you until Harry wakes up.”
“Who is known as New York’s ‘first citizen’? I bet you that’s the question. He studied that guy’s life. Maybe we should change his name in the register to Rip Van Winkle.”
“I’m not familiar with this political figure.”
“Never mind, Stalina. How about a drink?”
I dialed the front desk.
“Front desk.” Mr. Suri sounded very efficient.
“Mr. Suri, it’s Stalina.”
“Yes. What’s going on in there?” he replied.
“She needed my help to get him on the bed. He’s breathing well. It will be another hour before he comes to consciousness at least.”
“They’ll owe
“She must love him very much,” I added.
“She passed away last year, but Harry was a momma’s boy—still is.”
Mothers. My mother, Sophia. I’m due to send money to her this week.
“Harry likes to wear nice clothes,” Joanie said as she stroked his blue serge suit that hung over a chair. She picked it up and hung it in the closet.
“His suit always smells of menthol cigarettes and spicy cologne, mmm.” She buried her head in the sleeve and reached into the pocket to pull out a pack of cigarettes.
I decorated the area outside the closet to look like a game booth at an amusement park. I painted stacks of bottles on the back wall and nailed a lime green snake, a pink pig wearing a tutu, a purple spider, and a monkey with a top hat securely to the wall. At first Mr. Suri thought people might steal the stuffed animals. No one has touched them, and Harry’s suit moving in front of the fan looked like someone gearing up and waving his arms—no hands—to throw a ball at the targets.
“Harry once won me a giant panda bear at a fair.”
A panda bear is a good idea for an addition to my design.
“Where was the fair?” I asked. “I like to do such things.”
“I gave the bear to my niece. About an hour and a half from here in Millerton. No one knows us there. We have to go places where no one will know us.”
I had sympathy for her situation. She lit a cigarette. The menthol smoke circled our heads and spread over Harry like a fog.
“Careful with Harry. He’s heavy around the middle.”
I waved my hands to spread the smoke. “I’ll count to three and we’ll lift,” I told her.
Joanie took off her high heels. The cigarette was dangling from her lips. We counted together.
“One, two, three, lift!”
Harry’s weight slowed us down, but with a couple of steps and one final heave we landed him safely on the bed. A moment later one of his legs started to slide off the side. I put my hip against it and pushed his limp body into the middle of the bed. Joanie and I sat next to each other. She stroked his forehead again with her hand. His eyes twitched, and he breathed deeply as she caressed his face.
“Harry’s a good guy,” Joanie said. “He can be a lot of fun when he’s not too stressed out.”
The expression was new to me.
“Are there many pressures in his out-stressed life?” I asked.
“I like that, out-stressed. That’s putting it mildly,” she answered.
“Does he have a great deal of money?” I thought to ask something practical.
“Sort of, but he has two ex-wives and a new wife, who is soon to be another ex-wife. They all cost.”
“And you?” I wondered where she fit in.
“I’ve known Harry forever; we went to high school together. We started spending time together when he was leaving his first wife, Felice. She was a friend. We’re all from Hartford.”
“So Harry is his real name?”
“It is, but that’s not what he wrote on the motel register, is it?”
“No, I think it said Alfred E. Smith.”
“Harry’s in local politics. He budgets the city’s money. Smith is one of his heroes.”
“He was a politician in New York. I know, I’ve been studying for my citizenship. He’s the answer to one of the questions. I don’t mind waiting with you until Harry wakes up.”
“Who is known as New York’s ‘first citizen’? I bet you that’s the question. He studied that guy’s life. Maybe we should change his name in the register to Rip Van Winkle.”
“I’m not familiar with this political figure.”
“Never mind, Stalina. How about a drink?”
I dialed the front desk.
“Front desk.” Mr. Suri sounded very efficient.
“Mr. Suri, it’s Stalina.”
“Yes. What’s going on in there?” he replied.
“She needed my help to get him on the bed. He’s breathing well. It will be another hour before he comes to consciousness at least.”
“They’ll owe
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