Roland Goity lives in the San Francisco Bay Area, and edits fiction for the online journal LITnIMAGE (www.litnimage.com). His stories appear in dozens of literary publications, including Fiction International, Underground Voices, Bryant Literary Review, Talking River, decomP, Eclectica, and Scrivener Creative Review.
Temp on Arrival (October 25, 2011. Issue 32.)
Miles is new on the job, not yet clocked in an hour, Already he chats up the cute receptionist: big sparkly eyes, adorable mouth, big juicy lips. Her name is Kate.
A white-haired man in a Brooks Brothers suit asks, "Phones slow today?" and stares skeptically at Kate. He shoulders past, bumping Miles.
"What a dick!" Miles says, once the man's rounded the corner.
"Shh," whispers Kate. "He's the president, Mr. Spanarkel. He gets away with murder around here."
"We'll see about that," Miles says.
Miles runs errands at lunch. He returns to the office with a flower for Kate he got from a street stand. He's not sure what kind it is but it smells good. Kate smiles and her lips glisten. Miles asks if anyone's in Spanarkel's office.
"Just him."
Within seconds Miles is knocking on the president's door.
"Come in," Spanarkel says.
"We haven't officially met," Miles says, introducing himself. He sticks his hand out to shake, a rumpled fist really. The president obliges, but seems surprised at the touch. His eyes widen and he suddenly goes swayback.
Spanarkel's prints now on the cold maplewood handle, Miles plunges the hunting knife into his own chest. "You crazy fuck!" Miles screams, as the blood flows quickly. "Why me? Why?"
Friendly and Accomodating, He Wore Many Hats (December 20, 2009. Issue 12.)
Leaving for the week, Stanley. Could you feed my goldfish?
Sure.
And walk my dog?
Of course
I’ve got goats that need tending …
Not a prob.
*
Stanley, I’m entering the chili cook-off. Please take a taste.
My pleasure.
For the hottest chili contest. It’s peppered with an entire field of habaneros. … Stanley, are you all right?
Wa…wa…water!!!
*
Been bit by a rattler!
No worries, I’ll just nick you with my knife … there… and suck out the venom. SLURP, SLURP; SPIT, SPIT. Voila, you’re good to go!
Lord, have mercy. Thanks Stanley!
*
How are things, Stanley? Oh my! You’ve got goats eating up your yard and steam coming out your ears. You’re foaming at the mouth …
It’s all good.
My husband’s away, the entire month. The days get lonely, you know …
I understand and am glad to help. After we’re done I’ll get your kids from school, help them with their homework, and barbecue a meal like no other.
*
In many ways Stanley was the glue that held the neighborhood together.