Marlena thrusts her suitcase at me without stopping. I turn and follow, staring at her narrow waist as she marches across the brown grass. Only at the edge of the lot does she slow down enough that I can walk beside her.
“MAY I HELP YOU?” says the hotel clerk, looking up as the bell above the door announces our arrival. His initial expression of solicitous pleasantry is replaced first by alarm and then by disdain. It’s the same combination we’ve seen on the faces of everyone we passed on the way here. A middle-aged couple sitting on a bench by the front door gawks unabashedly.
And we do make quite a pair. The skin around Marlena’s eye has turned an impressive blue, but at least her face has kept its shape—mine is pulpy and mashed, the bruises overlaid with oozing wounds.
“I need a room,” says Marlena.
The clerk peers at her with disgust. “We haven’t got any,” he replies, pushing his spectacles up with one finger. He returns to his ledger.
I set her suitcase down and stand beside her. “Your sign says you’ve got vacancies.”
He presses his lips into an imperious line. “Then it’s wrong.”
Marlena touches my elbow. “Come on, Jacob.”
“No, I won’t ‘come on,’” I say, turning back to the clerk. “The lady needs a room, and you’ve got vacancies.”
He glances conspicuously at her left hand and raises an eyebrow. “We don’t rent to unmarried couples.”
“It’s not for us. Just her.”
“Uh-huh,” he says.
“You better watch it, pal,” I say. “I don’t like what you’re implying.”
“Come on, Jacob,” Marlena says again. She is even paler than before, looking at the floor.
“I’m not implying anything,” the clerk says.
“Jacob, please,” says Marlena. “Let’s just go somewhere else.”
I give the clerk a final, searing stare that lets him know exactly what I’d do to him if Marlena weren’t here and then pick up her suitcase. She marches to the door.
“Oh, say, I know who you are!” says the woman half of the couple on the bench. “You’re the girl from the poster! Yes! I’m sure of it.” She turns to the man sitting next to her. “Norbert, that’s the girl from the poster! Isn’t it? Miss, you’re the circus star, aren’t you?”
Marlena swings the door open, adjusts the brim of her hat, and steps outside. I follow.
“Wait,” calls the clerk. “I think we may have a—”
I slam the door behind me.
THE HOTEL THREE DOORS down has no such qualms, although I dislike this clerk almost as much as the other. He’s just dying to know what happened. His eyes sweep over us, shining, curious, lewd. I know what he’d assume if Marlena’s black eye were the only injury between us, but because I am far worse off, the story is not so clear.
“Room 2B,” he says, dangling a key in front of him and still drinking in the sight of us. “Up the stairs and to the right. End of the hall.”
I follow Marlena, watching her sculpted calves as she climbs the stairs.
She fusses with the key for a minute and then stands aside, leaving it in the lock. “I can’t get it. Can you try?”
I jiggle it in the cavity. After a few seconds, the deadbolt slides. I push the door open and stand aside to let Marlena enter. She tosses her hat on the bed and walks to the window, which is open. A gust of wind inflates the curtain, first blowing it into the room and then sucking it back against the screen.
The room is plain but adequate. There are flowers on the wallpaper and curtains, and the bed is covered with chenille. The bathroom door is open. The bathroom itself is large, and the tub has clawed feet.
I set the suitcase down and stand awkwardly. Marlena has her back to me. There’s a cut on her neck, from where the necklace clasp dug into it.
“Do you need anything else?” I ask, turning my hat over in my hands.
“No, thank you,” she says.
I watch her for a while longer. I want to cross the room and wrap her in my arms, but instead I leave, shutting the door quietly behind me.
BECAUSE I CAN’T THINK of anything else to do, I head for the menagerie and do the usual. I cut up, stir, and measure food. I check a yak’s abscessed tooth and hold hands with Bobo, leading him around as I check the rest of the animals.
I have progressed to mucking out when Diamond Joe comes up behind me. “Uncle Al wants to see you.”
I stare at him for a moment, then lay my shovel in the straw.
Uncle Al is in the pie car, sitting behind a plate of steak and fries. He’s holding a cigar and blowing smoke rings. His entourage stands behind him, sober-faced.
I remove my hat. “You wanted to see me?”
“Ah, Jacob,” he says, leaning forward. “Glad to see you. Did you get Marlena sorted out?”
“She’s in a room, if that’s what you mean.”
“That’s part of it, yes.”
“Then I’m not sure what you mean.”
He is silent for a moment. Then he sets his cigar down and brings his hands together, forming a steeple with his fingers. “It’s quite simple. I can’t afford to lose either one of them.”