25 June, 6:00 PM, Czernograd, Hotel Casino
The hotel was a decent old building, renovated sometime recently to take it up to the standard expected by the more discerning foreign clientele. Its six storeys faced one of the smaller squares of the Old Town, converted into an idyllic park bristling with the greenery, and crisscrossed by paths meandering around monuments and fountains.
It was six o’clock in the afternoon now. Michal left Jake at the reception about two hours ago, after helping him unload the luggage. A helpful busboy took it from there, which was just as well because Jake was still hurting too much to carry anything. He wanted to leave Michal a 200 tallar note, feeling grateful and embarrassed at the same time, but Michal was adamant and finally settled for only a hundred. All that haggling for nothing in the end, thought Jake, except of course for being alive and free of serious injury; an unexpected bonus. Michal’s last words as he waved goodbye still revolved around “help”. Jake certainly could do with some assistance, but unless Michal’s cousin or uncle worked higher up at the Customs and could pull some strings, he wasn’t quite sure what more the taxi driver could do for him.
Jake checked himself in and took a shower. His arm and side sported ugly and vivid bruises, but he didn’t think anything was broken, even if it all hurt like hell when he lathered his skin with soap. Half dried, he discovered a courtesy packet of painkillers next to the mini bar, which he thought quite appropriate, and chased four tablets with a glass of cold water from the fridge.
He then lied on an unexpectedly comfortable queen size bed, limbs sprawled like Da Vinci’s Vitruvian Man, reflecting on the day’s events. After letting his mind go in circles for a while, Jake made the mental calculation of the time difference to ensure he wouldn’t be walking anyone up back in the States and called his sister. His father was ill and not to be exposed to stress, his mother would go hysterical – Jake didn’t quite know if more at the news of him temporarily losing the custody of the ashes or being almost run over by a car outside the airport –so his sister was the only and the best option to keep the family in the loop and out of his hair. Jackie, three years younger and thirty years more street-smart than him, was the baby of the family and would get away with anything, even being the bearer of bad news. This time Jake did not seek life advice but only a conduit to the rest of the family. The conversation was quick and utilitarian.
Having hung up, Jake discovered that the hotel’s website did not lie and there was indeed WiFi his room. He turned on his laptop and sent off an email to his work, explaining in some detail the unexpected delay – though he spared them the news of the near accident – and asking for an unspecified extension of his leave. Jake was pretty sure that his work would prove understanding. He had already filled them in before on the nature of his mission, which sounded to his colleagues and his superiors both touching and charmingly exotic. That and his immediate boss happened to be his father’s old friend from Yale. Nepotism in Manhattan’s public relations industry; who would have thought?
Jake was just about start thinking about dinner options – room service was looking good at this stage – when he heard a knock on his door.
He rolled off the bed, wincing from the entirely expected pain, shuffled over, turned the lock and opened the door.
It wasn’t a room service. At least not quite. There was a young woman standing in the corridor, mid-twenties, he would guess from the first glance, darkish complexion, oval face with large almond eyes, a small nose and full, slightly parted lips, all surrounded by a storm long curly hair. She was wearing a white, faux-peasant-style blouse, a jeans miniskirt, knee-high leather boots and a large leather bag slung over her shoulder. And she was smiling at Jake.
Not bad at all, but... “Sorry, but I’m not after a-“
“Hi, my name is Marina,” she interrupted him. “And I’m not a prostitute.” She was still smiling. “I’m Michal’s sister. He says that you need help.”
Photo by Marten Bjork on Unsplash
Comments