ARTS o’ MAGAZINE

✋ Handsy Hubert 🤚

Mike Kraus

Why is the floor unevenly wet? Under the stall door, a half roll of toilet paper is unraveled haphazardly around the bowl. A soap dispenser was ripped off the wall and left in the sink. Why some of the nicest places have terrible men’s rooms will always be a mystery. Who comes to a swanky restaurant like Robi’s Place to trash their bathroom?

As I leave the restroom, the bar air seems fresher. Almost a sweetness. Monica is at the opposite side of the large rectangular bar with rosé. Through the shelves of alcohol and glasses, I notice she’s with an old man. His salt-and-pepper hair is slicked back with heavy oil. Like a dollar store LBJ. A bit wrinkled, his black readymade suit is well tailored. Must be her grandpa; maybe dad? I motion the bartender for another beer and take a seat kitty-corner from them so I don’t interrupt.

Monica’s expression is stoic with a downward focus on her wine. The old man whispers into her ear from behind. Did he just smell her hair? His hands gripping Monica’s biceps and slowly moving toward her forearms with firm caresses. The bar is quiet and empty, yet his mouth nearly grazes her neck with every word. Monica is unusually still. What are they talking about? The old man’s hands wrap Monica’s waist and a mischievous grin appears on his thin lipped slightly obscured face.

I grab my bottle of beer and make determined prowling steps toward them, “Hey Monica,” a bit sternly and trying to unravel the meaning of this interaction, “who’s this?”

“Uh, my wife’s over there!” the startled old man blurts out and motions toward the booths on the far side of the restaurant. He seems much taller now that he’s no longer hunched over Monica. With his eyes still wide open with alarm, he suddenly speed walks toward his wife.

“So…” I bite my upper lip and just stand there waiting for some guidance. “Who’s dat?” Monica’s posture relaxes and says, “Oh, dat’s Todd Hubert.”

“How do ya know ‘im?”

“He’s da accountant at werk. Started a few months ago after losin’ his job. Partner at some firm.”

“How’d he lose dat job?” Losing jobs is easy here. But, I never heard of an owner getting fired.

“Oh he’s a ‘good guy.’ A shame really. Was helpin’ an ol’ lady with her money. He really wanted ta help her. So, he adjusted her funds, ya know. Ta help her. But, what he did was technically illegal. Someone at headquarters found out ‘nd fired ‘im. Can ya believe that? Fer helpin’ an ol’ lady.”

“Yep,” I replied without thought or hesitation.

“Ya can?” Monica expected unquestioning acceptance to her question. “How come?”

“‘Cause it’s obviously complete bullshit.”

“What?” She leans in at my assertion. “Why would ya say dat?”

“‘Cause it’s such cliché nonsense.” My tone becomes mockingly sad as I continue, “I was jus’ helpin’ a lil’ ol’ lady cross da street like a good Boy Scout… Gimme a break. It’d take a serious, obvious, unbelievably criminal act fer a financial firm ta remove a ‘partner’ from ‘is own business.”

“Well, other people think he’s great. A real ‘good guy.’”

“Lyin’ sleeze bag if ya ask me.”

“I didn’t. Really don’t know ‘im anyways.” She sips her wine like the cigarettes she’s trying to quit.

“Seriously?” I replay his movements thinking of alternative meanings. “Dat ol’ man was gropin’ ya like a TSA agent.”

“No he wasn’t.”

“Ya fer real?” Did I see that right? “He was pressed up against yer back; bent over ya. Rubbin’ yer arms ‘nd sqeezin’ yer waist. Pretty intimate fer someone ya ‘don’t know.’”

“I didn’t notice anthin.’”

“Well, dat’s what I saw.” I lean back even further in my chair and take a swig from my beer. “Wanna get somethin’ ta eat with da next round?” Monica and I are fairly casual. Not sure if this reaches the threshold of being a “date.” We sit quietly watching the Sox game. It’s a real pitcher’s duel with the batter stepping out of the box and the southpaw off the rubber frequently.

The bartender plunks down an irrational amount of tater tots covered in cheese, bacon, and gravy. Perfection. I ask the keeper about her “I’m a US citizen” sticker. Her eyes lit up, “Naturalization ceremony was today. Back home, gang extort my husband. Threat ta steal my chil’ren. Rape ‘nd kill. Now, I’m safe ‘nd can vote.” We buy her a shot of tequila to celebrate.

‘’Scuse me.” Monica stands up after some unconcerned detachment. “Hafta use da restroom.” I watch the game. There’s some extreme shift on the field. I wonder what my old coaches would have thought about Sabermetrics? It can look like a Pee-Wee game where kids don’t know where to stand for their positions. A couple of batters casually take strikes with no intention of swinging. Others swing for the fences without consideration. The inning passes and Monica appears to be lingering elsewhere.

I look back through the shelves of glasses and liquor and see the old man and Monica kiss on both cheeks with a full-body embrace. His hands on the small of her back pulling her stomach into his hips. As they separate, the old man slips something into her hand. I’m bewildered and must look that way. “Wha?” Monica nonchalantly asks getting comfortable in her barstool again.

“Yer kissin’ da ol’ guy dat ‘ya don’t know’ now?”

“Oh dat?” She shrugs with indifference. “It’s jus’ what people at da office do.”

“So, he hugs, kisses, and paws all the other women ‘nd men at yer job too?” I assumed he was a handsy pervert. But, now I’m curious about her level of complicity.

“Ya don’t hafta be so defensive.” Her irritation beginning to show.

“What was it he gave ya?”

“Justa card.”

“His card, huh? Doncha know how to contact ‘im at yer office already?

“Naw. He jus’ wanna set up a meetin.’ Dat’s all. He helped me on a sale. So, wants ta talk ‘bout it ‘nd celebrate.”

“Really…” The old man stalked and cornered her at the toilet to chat about a mundane transaction at this time of night on a weekend? “So, he gives out appointment cards like a dentist fer all his activities?”

“Fine. Here ya go.” She pulls the card from her purse and slams it in front of me. Almost victoriously. As if she’s a district attorney that rests his case with some damning evidence. I pick up the flimsy and simple business card, flip it over, and the handwriting reads, “Glad I got you the sale. Let’s celebrate! Wine after work on Tuesday at the Terrace Hotel? See you there!”

My head bounces and I slide the card back. “Are ya inna relationship with ‘im?”

“Of course not.”

“I know we dunno what we are. So… Jus’ so we know. Then jus’ sleepin’ with ‘im?”

“How dare you!” Her eyes become an unblinking rage. “Do ya think I sleep with men ta git ahead at werk?”

“Dat card is clearly not a werk meetin.’” My frustration is apparent. Does she think I’m naive or stupid? Is she? “Gettin’ wine atta fancy hotel after werk ta ‘celebrate’ is a hook-up.”

“How dare you tell me how ta do my job! How dare you tell me how ta be a woman! Ya some kinda Puritan now? Can’t have lunch with a man without sleepin’ with them? Huh? Ya have no right ta be so jealous.”

“Really think dat?” My mind instantly becomes sharpened. “Ya honestly don’t see da quid-pro-quo? After da massagin,’ huggin,’ ‘nd kissin?” He didn’t just write ya a card sayin’ since he gotcha a sale that ya should join ‘im for wine atta hotel? See where it goes. Ya think ‘is wife knows? Ask. She’s over there. This is so cheesy and stereotypical. Are ya just gaslightin’ me? Or do ya really not see it?

“Fuck off! That’s how.” Monica grabs her coat, purse, and assortment of junk spread across the bar in a single motion before stomping out. I take care of the bill and her car flashes by the window. The bartender collects the cash asking, “She good?”

“Oh yeah.” I’m calming down by trying to breathe silently through my nose. “Probably jus’ had one too many drinks, I guess. No change. Hava good night.” I shuffle my feet to the door. As I round the corner, I see the old man and his wife. She has a friendly face and looks like an academic. Maybe a librarian. They fumble for their coats at the rack. I don’t waver at ignoring them and reach for the door.

“Hey young man.” The old man bawls to capture my attention. I pause and only partially turn my head. “Monica’s a good girl. Take care of her.” Then he winks at me. I briskly push the door open onto Schuyler Avenue and turn right

To read more, please visit: Intro: 🏡 History of Walnut House 🏡: https://readmedium.com/c01d241376bf 1) — 🚶‍ Ramblin’ Man 🚶‍♂️: https://readmedium.com/e7e0ea6355ff 2) — 👁Just Don’t See It 👁: https://readmedium.com/c93db0285d52 3) 🍸 Awakening 🍸: https://readmedium.com/b72e7dcbd17c 4) 🎸 Gazed In Wide Wonder 🎸: https://readmedium.com/626ce857b1cd 5) 💊 Tattered 💊: https://readmedium.com/a0422087f4e0 6) 🏭 Warehouse 🏭: https://readmedium.com/31bb79506dee 7) 🍹Little Taste of Grandpa’s Cough Syrup 🍹: https://readmedium.com/135499bc53d8 8) 🍳🥓☕ Breakfast With Anabelle ☕🥓🍳: https://readmedium.com/0839cce6bc47 9) 👾 What Lurks In the Basement 👾: https://readmedium.com/e8e7525f9bcc 10) 🌙 Night Time Is the Right Time 🌙: https://readmedium.com/6f6bbaef1e8e 11) 🖼 Refuge From An Indifferent World 🖼: https://readmedium.com/8ef888cb076c 12) ☠ Skull & Crossbones Memory ☠: https://readmedium.com/3f18f90ac784 13) 💚☕🚚 An Enchanting Evening At the Golden Ticket 🚚☕💚: https://readmedium.com/2f8284be509f 14) 🌭 Gotta Have Some Fun Before Ya Go 🌭: https://readmedium.com/2ca6412ca654 16) 🤵 Fake It ’Til Ya Make It 🤵: https://readmedium.com/f82ade21a44d 17) 🐴📦 Funny Little Box 📦🐴: https://readmedium.com/ea4b2fb0002d 18) 🍕 Tommy’s Pizza, Can I Help Ya? 🍕: https://readmedium.com/4ea3d996da9c 19) 🍺 Dusty’s Saloon 🍺: https://readmedium.com/09d9328ba48f 20) 💣 Does It Matter? 💣: https://readmedium.com/71218e31b858 21) 🥀 Hospice 🥀:https://readmedium.com/c7e330448393 22) 📢 ESTATE SALE! Today 10am-3pm 📢: https://readmedium.com/864c65a8c544

Mike Kraus was born on the industrial shoreline of Muskegon, Michigan. After earning his Fine Arts Degree from The School of the Art Institute of Chicago, he attended Grand Valley State University for his graduate degree. From there, he gained varied experiences from the Chicago Architecture Center, Art Institute of Chicago, Hauenstein Center For Presidential Studies, Lollypop Farm Humane Society, and the Lurie Children’s Foundation. And every place he worked, he had his sketchbook with him and found ways to be actively creative. In 2014, Kraus became a full-time artist by establishing Mike Kraus Art. Since then, he has sold thousands of paintings that are displayed in nearly every state and dozens of countries. Currently, Kraus lives in Rochester, New York with his beautiful wife and goofy dog.

For more information, please visit: Store: http://MikeKrausArt.etsy.com Reddit: https://www.reddit.com/user/BrightscapesArt/ Facebook: http://www.facebook.com/MikeKrausArt Pinterest: http://www.pinterest.com/MikeKraus/ Instagram: https://instagram.com/mikekrausart LinkedIn: www.linkedin.com/in/mkraus

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