Rattle

“Ming chow con shing ling mow!” was all I could get out of the angry Chinese man screaming in my face.

“Sir, I don’t speak Chinese,” I tried to explain, my frustration almost to its breaking point. The Chinese man spit on the marble floors of my hotel and then spread the saliva around with his foot, causing me to curl my lip up in disgust. “You’ve got to be kidding me...” I muttered, looking up at the arched ceiling, just praying that by some miracle I would learn how to speak Chinese.

It took me a while to decide whether I wanted to learn it to cuss Chinese man out for spitting on my floor or to figure out what the hell he was complaining about.

“Perhaps I can help you,” another man stated, standing in between the fuming man and I. “I am from the Chinese Embassy; I will gladly translate for you.”

Thank god.

The two men conversed in their native languages for a few moments before the Embassy man tuned back to me.

“He says that there were not enough towels in his room, 216, and there was a large stain on the curtain that he believes is from poo.”

I quirked an eyebrow.

“Poo?” I asked. “You mean feces?”

“Yes.”

“Right, let him know that we’ll get that all sorted out immediately.”

I left the two to talk in order to let one of the house maids know what I was told, asking her to clean it up.

One of the Janitors cleaned up the saliva on the floor while I rubbed my temples before resting my head on my hands, wondering what my husband was up to, hoping that his day was going at least a little bit better than mine. I imagined his smile and adorable giggle and thought about the way his eyes sparkled on our first date, the lights from the lights on the Ferris Wheel reflecting in his pupils.

Ding, ding, ding!

I jumped, only realizing that I had slipped a little bit too far into my day dream.

“I apologize, ma’am,” I started with a jolt. “How can I help you?” I asked politely, already disapproving of her look. She reminded me of my 6th grade math teacher--abnormally tall with the tightest bun I had ever seen in my life, pulled back so far that I thought her eyes were going to pop out of her skull. Her face was sharp and bony while her eyes had this Don’t mess with me look about them.

“I have reservations under the name of Elroy,” she stated, “and next time I see you, I do not want to see you sleeping on your desk.”

At least she didn’t whack me over the head with a ruler…

“Yes ma’am. My deepest apologies for that.”

I typed her name into my computer and saw her reservations come up.

“I’ll need to see I.D. and your reservation confirmation number…” I continued routinely.

---

It was nearing 4 o’clock, the time I got off work, and I was so ready to go home and relax. My feet and legs ached from running too and from Ms. Elroy’s room on level six on the west end of the hotel to the Chinese bastard’s rooms on level two, east end of the hotel. I was half ready to tell them that the manager died of a heart attack caused from physical exhaustion.

I almost sweat completely through my suit and button down shirt and my neck was dripping with the sticky fluid. My dress pants felt starchier than they had when I put them on that morning and my body longed to go home to my beautiful husband and cuddle up on the couch to watch mindless movies.

I pulled at my collar, trying to allow some cool, fresh air to be absorbed into my skin just before a sigh of relief came from my lungs when I saw Micah, the night manager, walk though the door

“What’s the diagnosis, doc?” the tall, dark and handsome 26-year-old asked.

“Chinese people are death and Mrs. Elroy in 673 likes to smack you in the face for no apparent reason.”

“Got it. Watch out for Chinese people and evil 673 ladies.”

“Yep. I’ll see ya later.”

I clocked out of work and practically ran out of the hotel in a frenzy.

“Freedom!” I sang, the moment the door to my Ford F-150, breathing in the scent of the clean pleather seats before shrugging my jacket off, throwing it into the seat behind me. I plugged my iPod into the stereo and put it on shuffle, grinning lightly when Just Like Heaven by The Cure came on. It was the song my husband and I danced to after our wedding.

I rolled down the windows and held my arms up, allowing the sweat stains to dry, crinkling my nose at the whiff of body odor that reached it.

That’s it, I’m definitely changing before Frank comes home…

Finally, I pulled out of the hotel parking lot, relishing in the view of it disappearing in my rearview mirror.

Don’t get me wrong, I love my job, it’s just the days when we get the bitchy customers that complain over every-fucking-thing that suck.

I grinned lightly when I reached my apartment building, glad to finally be home, sweet, home after such a shitty day. I decided that I’d make something nice for my Frankie for dinner after I took a shower and changed into some different clothes. Frank always loved it when I cooked for him.

After walking past the lobby and up to the very top floor, the penthouse, I unlocked the door and threw my jacket over a chair so it could get dry cleaned, along with my pants. I walked through the living room, kitchen and dining room, finally making it to the bedroom. My other light pink shirt (sue me for liking pink), underwear and socks went into the laundry hamper so that I could make my way to the shower to get rid of the disgusting scent of sweat that had taken over my body.

Frank called around 4:45, just after I turned the stove on, claiming that he was on his way home after closing early. I imagined him walking out to his car, his eyes sparkling like they did on our first date, just at the sound of my voice, while he flicked his lip ring back and forth with his mouth.

After exchanging our ‘I love you’s, I took a skillet with chicken off of the burner and continued to make Frank’s tofu, all while somehow managing to chop up some broccoli to put in the sauce.

I felt a pair of arms wrap around my waist while a soft kiss was placed on the back of my neck and I jumped, nearly sending a pot careening towards the floor.

“Baby, didn't I tell you not to sneak up on me like that?" I scolded, turning around in his arms to pull him into a hug. I needed it after such a shitty day.

"You might have mentioned it once or twice. But you just look so inviting when you stand here like that."

I grinned at him and kissed his nose and then his lips. I realized then that he had dark circles under his eyes and I felt bad that he obviously had a day almost as shitty as mine.

After I finished cooking, making sure not to add any chicken to Frank’s pasta, we talked about our days. Frank seemed to find great amusement in my story about Mrs. Elroy slapping me with her room service brochure.

“It wasn’t funny!”

Frank giggled into his cup of soda and then sat it down.

“By the way, babe, are we getting new couches? That’s the same couch that we bought when we first moved in together and there’s that marinara sauce stain Ray left on the arm of it that one summer he practically lived with us during. Plus, one of the springs is broken and it sinks in really far.”

I agreed that we needed new couches and that got us on the subject of the summer our good poofy-haired friend stayed at our apartment with us after his house had burned down due to a gas leak.

Good times. Good times.

Finally, we cleared off the table and curled up on the couch under a blanket that Frank’s aunt knit for us to watch The Shining for the millionth time.

Frank fell asleep during the movie, his head rested on my chest while he loosely held my shirt in his fist. I smiled lightly at him and carried his small body into our bedroom, placing him on our puffy comforter with a light poof sound. I slowly and carefully pulled his clothes off and I couldn’t help but stop and stare.

Frank was perfect in every single way, shape and form. I don’t know what I did to deserve something so amazing and downright godly, but I did something. I loved everything about him, even the fact that he was sort of a female.

Frank is intersexual. He has a penis and he used to have breasts before he got them surgically removed when he was eighteen, two years before I met him. He doesn’t have a vagina, but he did have ovaries, which is what his doctor called Ovotestis, meaning that he had both testicles and ovaries.

I finished looking at my sleeping husband (shut up, he gave me permission to stare at him whenever I please the day we got married) and turned off the lights.

I tucked him under the blankets before kissing his nose. He scrunched his face up in the most adorable way I’ve ever seen and curled deeper into the duvet while I took off my clothes and tossed them across the room somewhere before pulling Frank into my embrace, his soft, adorable snores already filling the air.