by J. L. Salter
Jason’s apparent ardor cooled significantly. “I haven’t been doing anything but sitting around… haven’t been anywhere.” He inhaled deeply at his own armpit. “You don’t get smelly unless you do stuff and go somewhere.”
“I don’t know which farm school taught you human hygiene, but if you’re going to stay another minute inside my apartment, you’re going to take a shower.” She jabbed her pointing finger in the appropriate direction. “And throw those filthy rags outside the door. If I can chase them down, I’m going to wash them.”
“Cheese Louise, what a grouch. You used to be fun to be around.”
“Don’t get me started, Jason!” She sounded like her own mother. Amanda took a breath. “You brought one change of sick clothes. I’ll bring them to you. Now shuck those filthy things and get yourself washed. Missus Yodel can’t even practice with the smell coming from this apartment.”
“It sure didn’t bother her the rest of today.” Jason hurried into the bathroom before Amanda could reply.
About fifteen minutes later, Amanda saw Jason emerge from the hall bathroom — presumably clean. Except for damp hair, however, he didn’t look much different than before.
Clearly, he noticed the interior climate change right away. “When did the A/C guy come and fix your unit? Whew! I was dying in here today.” Jason wiped his brow theatrically. “With the windows open, I had to listen to Missus Yodel practice for seven hours straight. Today she didn’t even take a fifteen minute break.”
“The air’s not really fixed.”
“It’s running right now.” Jason held his hand up near the ceiling vent. “Feels great. Thanks, whatever you did.”
Though Amanda enjoyed hearing his gratitude, she had to break the news. “Just temporary. That part the technician ordered hasn’t come in yet, but I told him I had a meeting tonight.”
“Another meeting?” Jason let out a string of curses, some of which were new to Amanda.
She ignored his interruption. “So he brought over a loaner part from his shop. But it’s got to be on his shelf again in the morning. I’m afraid you’re back in the tropics tomorrow.”
“We get temporary use of an A/C part? If he’s got it in his shop, why can’t you just buy that one? We don’t need one imported from Osh-Kosh. The local part will be just fine.”
“You don’t understand. This has to do with my landlord — the geezer who owns these fourteen apartments… seven duplexes. He has an exclusive contract with Spiros Brothers Air, and they’re closed down for a funeral in Greece.”
“The entire shop closes down ’cause somebody died in Greece? You can’t run a business that way!”
Amanda nodded. “Good point. And I think Mister Geezer is coming around, as well. But he’s got to wait until the Greeks get back in the States to see if that contract can be amended, or if he’ll have to get a lawyer to run interference.”
“Look, I don’t give a frying flog — um, a flying frog — about the Geezer, the Greeks, or the lawyer. I spent this entire day suffocating in here and listening to the female Slim Whitman next door. I’m going nuts! Another day like today and I’ll be running in the streets screaming.”
Well, at least he’s identified the correct direction. “Look, no need to get agitated. Just enjoy the cool air while we have it. Maybe this particular Greek funeral will be short and sweet.”
“It’ll probably be the start of a new Grecian civil war and they won’t make it back to the States for months!” Jason sputtered a lot when he whined. He also exaggerated.
“Well, at least we can hope they’ll be back in time to light my furnace for winter. Think positive.”
“I already am positive. I’m positive this whole situation is totally insane! And it’s all Christine’s fault. Couple of days ago, I only suspected she’s a witch, but now I’m certain. If you cut her, I bet she won’t even bleed.”
“Don’t witches bleed?” Amanda raised her eyebrows.
“Well, whatever the test is. Maybe you have to dunk them under water and see if they drown.”
“I don’t think she’d appreciate that.” She peered into his rather frantic eyes. “You used to like Christine.
He shook his head slowly.
“Well, you certainly paid attention to her. I thought you were being friendly.
Jason’s head continued to move slowly side to side.
“Oh, I get it. You only put up with her because she has such forward attributes.”
“I can’t deny I’ve noticed Christine’s rack. But that’s partly because she showcases those very healthy melons.”
“Melons?” Amanda looked wistful. “I would have calculated grapefruit as the proper comparison.”
“Whatever. Anyhow, now that I’m certain she’s a witch, I bet Christine’s boobs are solid ice. You’d get frostbit if you even touched them.”
“Yet you’d still be tempted, wouldn’t you?”
Jason paused while he obviously reflected on the flesh he’d seen over Christine’s low-cut blouses. “Probably so. But not for long. Your fingers turn black if they stay frozen more than a few minutes.”
“Better rewind that Arctic documentary. I think it requires several hours of exposure.”
Jason seemed to contemplate a longer exploration of Christine’s bosom. “Whatever.”
“Well, regardless of your feelings for Christine, or if you’re just bewitched — ha! — by her cleavage, you’d better not make her angry. If she gets upset, she might reschedule that colonic tonic.”
Jason started to waggle a finger in her face, but quickly stopped. His finger still extended, he just stared into her eyes for a long moment.
Amanda could see his frustration, exasperation, and disappointment. But she could also see Jason was clearly no longer sick. He was already completely over his cold, but was stubbornly holding out for the owed TLC he had manufactured in his mind.
Sorry, ‘Marty’.
“Since your slacks are still at the cleaners and all you have is sagging jammies, you’d better stay in the back room while my guests are here.”
———
Jason felt like a fourth grader sent to the chalkboard to write disciplinary lines. “More guests? Creepin’ crud! How long are they going to be here?”
“Probably not much more than two hours. Now scoot. I think they’re arriving now.”
They were.
From Jason’s listening post in the guestroom, it was difficult to imagine the purpose or function of this gathering. He thought he recognized Sunny’s and Maria’s voices and was positive he heard Christine’s. With that combination, this could be a meeting of their secret coven.
However, it didn’t sound sinister. There was laughter, oohs and ahhs, and somebody even clapped briefly. What could this be? There was a fifth female voice not recognizable. Jason strained to hear. He discerned snippets about color and shade and tone — perhaps the fifth woman was an amateur artist painting a portrait of one of the guests.
No, not quite that, but it had to be related somehow to artwork. In fairly short order, she had apparently painted pictures of all four attendees. Hmm. More laughter; also excessive flattery which sounded enthusiastic but insincere. What the heck are they doing out there?
Jason didn’t know. But they also ate a lot of snacks, which, of course, interested him considerably more than the portraits, or whatever. During their two-hour stay, they evidently gorged themselves on what sounded or smelled like nuts, cookies, and nachos, among other indistinguishable edibles.
Sound traveled well in that apartment. At the guestroom door, as he savored the sounds of distant food, Jason wondered how things had come to this. Something was wrong with this picture, terribly wrong. But he couldn’t put his finger on it.
He was banned from hen-party sessions which did not interest him anyway. He had no accessible street clothes, couldn’t find his car keys, considerable cash and his credit cards were missing, and his girlfriend had just ordered him to shower. Crud. He’d
come here to recuperate from illness. But Amanda had basically imprisoned and then abandoned him. The evil witch Christine had administered torture and probable poison, and his buddy Kevin flatly refused to rescue him. Everything was off kilter!
Tonight would be his fifth night at Amanda’s apartment and there was absolutely no sign of impending sex. What’s the point of being sick if you get absolutely no TLC at all? He couldn’t answer that. In fact, Jason could barely formulate the question. He began to wonder if they were also drugging him with some mind-altering serum — some exotic elixir that fogged the brain and turned normal men into zombie convicts. Maybe he would become a mindless prisoner who’d bounce a tennis ball off a brick wall for hours on end, like the irritating no-necked kid.
Jason felt like a zombie. Why couldn’t he just walk out? Zombies aren’t allowed to leave.
What would break his evil spell? Probably need magic stronger than the witch’s.
Was he truly one of the undead under a spell? Or was he still so sick that his fevered brain imagined most of this? Hmm.
Time passed. Jason might have dozed briefly while sitting on the floor with his ear to the door. Not sure. He listened for sounds from the art meeting. Silence in the main rooms. He got up stiffly, opened the door, and crept down the short hallway to check the kitchen.
“Dang it! They took all the food scraps with them!”
Witches… again!
Jason peeked inside a decorative bag left on the table. Makeup! The art meeting was a make-over party! A receipt was underneath the bag. Over $48 for that little bag of cosmetics. The other women probably bought at least that much. At least $200! That fifth woman was an artist, all right — a con artist! She’d bilked Amanda out of nearly fifty bucks for two hours of laughter and insincere flattery. Jason and two buddies could duplicate that with a twelve-pack of beer! Would’ve saved a lot of money.
He peered more closely inside the little bag. Interesting colors. Jason wondered if any were edible.
* * * *
Curing the Uncommon Man-Cold
Day Five
Just a very short addendum.
Our patient suffered through a full day of no A/C in this August heat.
Why would Marty put up with these discomforts? Inquiring minds want to know.
Ladies: this portion’s lesson is that a man will believe almost any lie… provided it’s unbelievable enough. The key is to go boldly where no prevaricator has gone before and come up with a fantastic lie. The little, simple lies are fairly easy to disbelieve. But the whiz-bang whoppers just swoop away these guys and carry them off for a marvelous ride.
I gorged myself on snacks tonight at the make-over… couldn’t leave them for Marty. In addition to everything else, I ate four Southern Lassies and took home three more. That’s nearly half a pecan pie!
Log on tomorrow for more updates on the Scare-Cure for the man-cold.
Almira Gulch
Chapter 9
August 15 (Saturday)
In the coffeemaker Amanda brewed some very weak green tea, which made a nice sputtering sound. But she knew Jason wouldn’t drink any because it smelled vaguely like potpourri.
Shuffling slowly from the short hallway, Jason appeared in those awful clothes. Since his other set was still in the dryer from yesterday’s wash, Amanda knew these were different items. But they looked identical to what he’d worn for the previous five days.
“Do all your pajama bottoms look exactly alike?”
“Uh, what do you mean? The style?”
“Don’t get me started on style. I’m talking identical — color, pattern, everything. Right down to the sprung-out waistband. Why do you wear them so dang loose?”
“Blood flow to my lower extremities. Cuts off the blood supply if the elastic’s too tight.”
“Well, you’ve got at least six inches there.” She pointed.
Jason seemed caught off guard by her observation, but then he looked distinctly proud.
She sighed through her nose. “I’m talking about your waistband. You’ve got six inches of slack from that sprung-out elastic.”
His face showed immediate disappointment and he raised his pajama bottoms up about an inch. Now they were temporarily about four inches below his navel.
“I can’t believe these jammies sag as much as your other ones. Maybe worse!” Sometimes Amanda couldn’t drop a subject. “I’m bringing home a set of suspenders.”
He shrugged. Most likely, after he’d realized his favorite topic was not even in the conversation, Jason had lost interest and shifted to something new. “I had the strangest dream last night.” He didn’t even pause to see if she was interested. “Dreamed I was asleep. I woke up, in my dream, with a small panther on my chest. Purring and digging its claws into my pecs.”
“Not many panthers this close to Nashville. I think you have to go further north toward the Kentucky border for cougars and mountain lions.”
He ignored her nature lesson. “I think this dream panther escaped through the window, because I heard the blinds rattling, like the animal was whacking them or trying to tear them down.”
“You must have been sleeping somewhere else. No blinds in my guestroom. Those are curtains.”
“Well, it sounded like blinds. Maybe the panther was on your treadmill, rearranging those two hundred clothes hangers.”
“Panthers don’t tend toward domestic chores… they prefer hunting and killing.” Amanda wondered how long this conversation could last before she’d burst out laughing.
“I’m telling you, this dream was so intense I could even smell the panther’s breath.”
“What does panther breath smell like, in dreams?”
“Pretty much like stale cat food.” Jason scratched his uncombed hair. “What do panthers eat?”
“Sick humans, I expect.”
He seemed to ignore the near-miss from such danger. “What do you figure my dream means?”
Amanda thought for a moment. “The panther symbolizes your illness and it’s telling you with its breath that you’re all recovered now. With its claws, it’s saying, ‘Go back to your own apartment.’”
He studied her face briefly, evidently trying to determine whether that interpretation could possibly be correct. “Not sure. If the panther represents my illness — and it was lying on my chest — then that could mean I’m still sick. Still under the influence of the cold virus.”
“Nah. My version’s better.”
“Well, there’s something else. When I woke up this morning, there were black hairs all over my shirt, right where the panther was lying during the dream.”
“I think they call that vivid dreaming — when images of the dream realm actually manifest themselves in the real world.” Amanda hid her smile.
“I’ve never dreamed any animal hair onto my shirt before.”
“Okay, find another dream therapist.” Amanda sighed heavily. “And see if she’s got a spare bed in her apartment.”
When Jason shrugged, his stomach grumbled like the earliest beginnings of Krakatoa. “Please tell me there’s something edible in this place. I’m so weak I had to crawl down the hallway.” Jason’s exaggeration hadn’t faltered.
“You’re in luck. I found some great stuff in the nutritional aisles at the grocery yesterday. It’ll put the rose back in your cheeks.”
“I don’t want any roses. I just want something to gnaw on that doesn’t terrify my taste buds.”
“Well, I’ve never tried this myself, but it’s a highly recommended cereal.”
“Frosted Flakes? Franken Berry? Anything but the shredded wheat bricks from yesterday. That junk tasted like rusty steel wool.” He was drooling again. “Hey, how about Trix?”
“Silly rabbit. Trix are for… healthy men.” With measured ceremony, Amanda placed a box near him on the counter. “This is organic hemp with granola.”
“Hemp! You expect me to eat pieces of rope?”
“It’s not rope. Though I guess you coul
d make some rope from it. This is an organic plant… substance. Besides, it’s mixed in with granola.”
“You could mix dog turds with granola, but I wouldn’t eat that, either.” He stared at the box.
“You seem awfully picky for someone so ill. I thought you’d be grateful I was providing nutritional foods instead of over-processed junk that would retard your recovery.” Amanda poured a few ounces into a bowl. “Here, try it. You might even like it.”
“I’m not going to try it.” It was beginning to sound like a famous TV commercial from several decades before. Jason peered into the bowl and poked its contents with his forefinger. He picked up one small cluster and sniffed it. “Smells just like a piece of rope.” He touched the cluster to the tip of his tongue. “Tastes like rope, too.”
“Well, enjoy your rope cereal, Jason. I’ve got to go earn a paycheck. Bye.”
“But today’s Saturday! I thought you’d be home at least today. You know, to take care of me a little… or something.”
“Sorry. I’ve lost a lot of time already this past week and this is our crunch period, with decisions coming up at the end of the month on all the applications for next fiscal year. If I don’t get them read and assessed, my boss doesn’t have anything to go on about who gets funded. Not that he pays much attention to my recommendations anyway. There’s a lot of politics involved and quotas of various kinds. Demographics… whatever. I might as well weigh them and just recommend he fund the heaviest ones.” Clearly, Jason had tuned out during her first sentence of complaint… and that peeved her. Amanda turned to leave.
“Quick question before you go. Was it cooler in here last night, to you?”
“No, pretty hot, actually. August, you know. Why?”
“Well, when I got up last night to use the bathroom — and had to sit, by the way — I felt definitely chilled in the hallway.” Jason pointed that direction. “Maybe that hall’s a cold spot. Hauntings or something.”
“Or panthers. But if my apartment is haunted, it’s by the ghost of the man-cold.”
