by J. L. Salter
Jason frowned. “Probably a third cousin, twice removed. What’s this particular cousin made of?”
“Some sort of artificial soy protein base.”
“Artificial? Even the natural soy crud tastes like horse pee. I can’t imagine what the fake soy tastes like.”
“Well, you’re supposed to sprinkle this wheat germ on top.” She held up a small bottle. “It cuts the bitterness of the artificial soy.”
The look on his face revealed utter defeat. How had Jason lasted six days with hardly any palatable food? How stubborn does one have to be to remain in inhospitable circumstances even though he’s perfectly healthy, except for low blood sugar from restricted intake of a remarkably odd diet? Why was he holding on to the illusion of illness when he could just walk out and go home?
Amanda didn’t know. And today she didn’t have time to dwell on it. “Well, I’ll put the milk-cousin in the fridge if you want it. If not, there’s still some prune juice left. I’m in a rush this morning.”
“You’re going to work again?” He looked like he might cry. “But it’s Sunday! Doesn’t King Louie realize he’s running you down to a nub?”
“Like I told you yesterday, I’m way behind. The applications have to be duly considered and I’m the one who does that part. Besides, if I’m down to a nub, it has other contributing factors besides King Louie.”
Clearly, Jason was oblivious to her point. “Any idea what time you’ll be home? They have a great breakfast buffet at Shuney’s.”
“You can’t eat all that greasy stuff. You’re a sick man. We’re trying to build up your immunities and clean out your system, not clog it up further.”
He looked like his faithful dog had just died.
“Well, anyway, I can’t stay and chat while you eat, but I also bought you a new cereal to go with that soy milk-cousin stuff, since the other breakfast meals have gotten a firm thumbs-down.”
“Finally. Hope it’s Sugar Crisp… or Cap’n Crunch. Something tasty.”
“Here’s the box. You decide. Bye.”
As she exited the door, she heard him wail, “Flax? This stuff is for barn animals!”
Jason may have been partly correct, but it was also a legitimate healthy cereal for adventurous humans: organic flax plus granola.
Amanda went to the side of her duplex and turned off the breaker for the air conditioner. She had just enough time to get an egg and cheese biscuit — plus coffee — from Hardee’s on her way to work.
* * * *
Amanda saw a few other employees in the lobby of her office building, but she had most of her own floor to herself. She recognized one accountant on the far end, but he belonged to a different county department which had a few offices in that corner. She didn’t realize that individual ever worked on Sundays. Maybe he was a spy for King Louie.
In her own office, Amanda kicked off her sneakers and read the blog for Day Six.
.
Curing the Uncommon Man-Cold
Day Six
This was a riot. They weren’t maids – one works in a local doctor’s office – and they weren’t Hispanic. Actually, it was two of my old sorority sisters who both took two semesters of college Spanish. They’ve each remembered only enough of the lingo to get lost in Juarez once and, on a different occasion, to nearly get arrested in South Miami.
With perfect timing, they arrived as Marty was about to consume a contraband candy bar. And they sprayed it! No, not real cleanser… just water with blue food coloring. [I insisted on that because I predicted there was a serious chance he’d try to eat something while they were present. Ha.]
Marty seems to be addicted to the toothpaste with three colorful stripes. He might need a special clinic for detox after he leaves Missy’s apartment.
I wanted to nip this in the bud… cold turkey. I suggested we switch his toothpaste to that awful stuff they used to sell for sensitive teeth back in the 1960s. It tastes like psoriasis cream, I’m told. However, Missy insists we have to let Marty hang onto something of comfort. Good grief.
We’ve noticed some wagering threads which link to our blog. I can’t offer any tips. Marty has already defied all the odds I could have imagined. He’s one desperate individual. But not desperate enough to walk out the door to freedom.
Almira Gulch
.
Amanda checked the comments section of their primary blog. Betting was high in favor of Marty’s imminent departure but a small percentage predicted he’d outlast their efforts to oust him.
She checked the tallies on the parallel blogs. Kick-Marty was at 54, Free-Marty was at 32, and Lighten-Missy was at 10. Amanda also spotted a new blog with a new running serial: Burn the Witch. That tally was already at five.
Amanda went to the staff lounge to brew some coffee.
She made good progress until 11:00 a.m., when her cell phone rang.
Annoying! Amanda was in the middle of a really boring portion of the grant application and that interruption would force her to read it again. She opened her phone with an aggravated flip. Christine. “Hey.” Amanda squeezed in this next part before her older friend could speak. “Before I forget, have you seen the new shadow blog called Burn-Witch?”
“No. Which witch?”
“Well, obviously you, Brunhilda. I told you Jason has been calling you a witch.”
“Yeah, you mentioned that. I think it began when I yanked a few of his chest hairs.” She chuckled.
“Possibly before. Anyway, when I looked at our blog earlier today, I checked the tallies on the three shadow blogs we’ve seen so far.”
“Right. I also checked them not long ago.”
“Well, the new one I just saw today is Burn the Witch — 5.”
Christine was briefly silent. “Okay, I understand that Jason says I’m a witch, but how did the bloggers figure out what Jason thinks?”
“Didn’t you mention that in one of your early posts?”
“Not sure.” Christine paused and likely tried to remember. “Anyhow, that’s not why I called. I want to meet you at your apartment. Today… noon.” She had not visited Jason alone again. “Grab something to eat before you get there. This is another unconventional remedy for Jason, and you might not have an appetite afterwards.”
“You promised you wouldn’t poison him…”
“No, not poison. The key is for him to think it could be poison.” Christine started to hang up but then apparently remembered something. “Oh, I think I know how the bloggers figured out the witch reference.”
“How?”
“From the blog name I’m using. You know, the Wizard of Oz character I told you about. Since Almira Gulch’s alter ego in the movie is the Wicked Witch, the blogger must have picked up on that image.”
“Maybe.” Amanda wasn’t convinced. “But I thought I saw it in your blog.”
“Whatever. See you at noon.”
“Okay. But remind me to tell you about the cat’s panther performance this morning at four-something. Even better than we imagined. Diabla deserves an Academy Award.” Amanda smiled into her phone. She realized Jason had been whipped.
“Yeah, I’d like to hear that. Noon… your place. Later.”
* * * *
When Amanda drove up about an hour later, Christine was waiting outside.
“What’s so important that I had to drop what I’m doing at work, on what should be my day off?”
“I shouldn’t say. It’ll be more effective if you don’t know.” Christine nodded once. “Just play along.”
“That’s about all I’ve been doing for the past six days.” Amanda groaned loudly. “Okay.” She remembered it was August. “Hold on a second. Let me turn the A/C back on for the next hour.” She went to the compressor and flipped up the lever on the breaker box.
They entered together and found Jason on the couch staring at TV snow. This time he had the remote control upside down. It was not evident why he thought that might make a difference.
Since the air cond
itioning had been off all morning, the windows were wide open and the ceiling fans were at highest speed. Jason also had the HVAC blower motor running, which allowed additional warm air to exit the ceiling vents. He did not appear to notice the slight change in temperature of the air from above, but he turned and waved when they closed the door.
In the distance they could hear Mrs. Yodel in the midst of her unceasing practice.
“Does she do any actual songs? Or just practice Swiss-Austrian scales?” Christine wrinkled her nose.
“Not sure. But I think that might be a song. She probably even wrote it.” Jason nodded like a music teacher keeping time with the composition. “As best I can calculate, it goes on like that for about forty-five minutes. Then there’s about a ten-minute chorus. Then she returns to the verse.”
“You’re kidding.” Amanda scoffed.
“Why on earth would I make up something like that? The really, truly stupid things of this world are too bizarre to make up.” Jason looked both of them over and then addressed his girlfriend. “So, what’s up? You off work finally?”
“No, this is kind of a lunch break and then I’ve got to go back and read more grants.” Amanda turned toward her inventive friend.
“It’s time for your holistic therapy session and Amanda didn’t want me here alone with you. So we have a chaperone.” Christine’s smile was thin. “She apparently thinks I’m after your bones.”
“Maybe so, if you plan to grind them up for a magic potion.”
“You’re not still holding a grudge about that poultice, are you?”
He lightly touched his right pectoral area. “I’ll tell you in a few months when the hair grows back.” He pointed toward the small bag Christine was carrying. “What’s in there?”
“Are you familiar with that poor old woman who lives near the dump, north of town?”
“The voodoo woman?” He looked around quickly. “You didn’t bring that old hag in here, did you?”
“She’s not really that ugly.” Christine to the defense. “She’s just challenged… uh, facially and bodily.”
“She’s a bona fide hag if I’ve ever seen one. And she’d still be in jail if she hadn’t made pin-cushion dolls of the warden and his wife.”
“I understand they’re both recovering reasonably well.”
Though Amanda had not heard about any of this, she did not inquire.
“Anyway, the voodoo priestess is not here.” Christine used her soothing voice. “No need to worry.”
“What’s in the bag, then?” He pointed again, with more vigor.
“Well, since we both knew a visit from that unfortunate woman would cause you some distress, I just stopped by her place to get something before I came here.” Christine held up the small brown sack. It was the kind used for pints in retail liquor stores. “Something special for you.”
“You didn’t give her my name, did you?”
“Don’t believe so. Why?”
“They say the voodoo hag collects names. She puts them in a jar and experiments with different kinds of magic. That’s how Kevin’s older sister got the shingles. Somebody left her name with the voodoo hag.”
“Oh, you don’t know that for truth.” Amanda couldn’t bite her tongue any longer. “Shingles comes from chicken pox virus or something. Anybody can get it, at just about any age over forty.”
“Maybe so, but you get it faster if somebody gives your name to the voodoo hag.”
Christine held up her hand. “Enough distraction. This has nothing to do with shingles or names. This is about getting you well again, so you’ll be back on your feet and out of Amanda’s hair. She’s overworked, here and at her job. Not much we can do about her job.”
Jason again missed the invitation to leave. “You could give King Louie’s name to the voodoo hag.”
Amanda was distinctly interested in that suggestion.
Christine pulled a small blue bottle from the paper bag. “Custom tonic. Certain to return you to the pink of health.”
“I don’t wanna be pink!” He sounded six years old.
Christine displayed the container as though it was special vintage.
Jason peered cautiously without touching it. “I don’t guess you checked whether Madame Voodoo is authorized by the FDA to dispense medicine.”
Christine shook her head. “You shouldn’t make fun of her abilities. That kind old lady has cured many an ailing creature in this town.”
Jason cringed at the word creature.
From her purse Christine pulled a gigantic enameled serving spoon. It was the size used around campfires to stir and serve baked beans to a full troop of starving scouts. Then she opened the small bottle.
“I don’t think I can watch this part.” Amanda left the couch area and stood near the front door, looking out the window to one side. One eye continued to monitor the drama, however.
On the couch, Jason crossed his arms and tightened his mouth.
“There are stronger remedies we’ve already discussed.” Christine sounded slightly sinister.
“I am not doing that colon thing.” His sphincter likely puckered involuntarily. “No way.”
Christine switched back to her smoothing voice. “Well, if this works, perhaps the colonic bath won’t be necessary, at least not at this stage of your illness.” She waved her hand to get him refocused on the tonic. “It’s supposed to lower fever, dry up sniffles, make you regular, and improve the constitution.”
“My constitution is okay, but my Bill of Rights is in question.”
“Well, you still need to be regular.” She poured nearly three ounces into the bowl of her enormous spoon. “Shouldn’t underestimate the importance of bowels moving in a timely fashion.”
“Christine, you’re way too concerned about my bowels and colon. Both are doing just fine, without oatmeal enemas.”
She put down the bottle and moved the loaded spoon closer to his face. The liquid was dull, but bubbly, with slimy streaks of a greenish tint. Interesting combination. “So, basically you’re either saying you don’t want to get well, in which case you’re just taking advantage of my dear friend Amanda.” Then Christine played her trump card. “Or you’re simply not man enough to drink this little potion.”
Not man enough? That was known to be one of his relatively few triggers. Jason’s eyes shone brightly. “Bring it on, witch. I’ll drink it with you toe to toe.” That line obviously came out before he realized Christine was not there to consume… but solely to administer.
“Better swallow it quickly. Otherwise it sours on the way down.” Her eyes sparkled. “Bottoms up.” She poured the indescribable liquid into his mouth in one swift motion and then backed away.
Jason drank it in two slow gulps, with considerable revulsion. The defiant shine in his eyes dimmed to a dull glimmer. His face went pale. He clutched at his throat and made the gerrh sound a few times. Then he grabbed his lower stomach. He rose from the couch with what little dignity he could muster and hurried toward the hall bathroom.
His loose pajama bottoms fell below mid-crack just about the time he turned the corner.
Amanda returned from the front window. “What was in that potion, anyway?”
Christine smiled. “Cod liver oil, green food coloring, and Alka-Seltzer.”
“You got that from the voodoo woman?”
“Of course not. That old hag scares me. I just made this up.” Christine paused to listen for Jason’s sounds from the bathroom. “Maybe I’ll bottle up some more and sell it on the blog.”
Amanda started to go check on Jason.
Christine shook her head and touched her friend’s elbow. “If he heaves, you don’t want to see how it looks coming back up.”
Amanda shrugged and stayed put.
“You ever see the old movie Bell, Book and Candle, with Kim Novak?”
“Loved it.” Amanda nodded.
“Jason’s expression just now. He reminded me of James Stewart drinking that disgusting brew which
was supposed to remove the spell.”
“Good visual image. You should put that in your blog.”
“Our blog.” Christine’s manicured fingertips pointed first at Amanda and then back at herself. “Remember?”
“Yeah, well, our blog — and this entire top secret project — has more potential security leaks than the U.S. Congress. Besides Sunny and Maria, who were needed to manufacture activities here at my apartment, you’ve evidently briefed at least six people who were involved in bogus service calls of one kind or another. I can’t explain how much it freaks me out for that many people to know what we’re doing… and blogging!”
Christine didn’t bother to mention any other people she’d probably told — who might also play a specific role in their drama.
Amanda went to check on Jason. He had not vomited, but he hovered over the toilet as though he might have to dive in with no notice. Jason didn’t see her in the doorway and she backed out discreetly.
Christine left the spoon, bottle and bag on the dining table, a subliminal threat for Jason. “He might need another dose this evening, if he doesn’t get better quickly,” she said, loudly enough that he could hear. Christine winked at Amanda and left the apartment. There was a bit of spring in her step.
Amanda leaned into the bathroom and told Jason she was leaving. Then she went to the outside compressor and flipped the breaker lever back down.
Chapter 12
Amanda returned to her office to finish at least two more grants on her donated Sunday shift. Hell Weeks truly were. Before she resumed reading, she phoned Jason’s mother.
Following that call to Margaret and after wading through two more grant applications plus nearly halfway into a third, Amanda left her office and headed home.
She arrived at her apartment about 5:30, after nearly a full Sunday of uncompensated work. She was tired and disgusted. Her disgust had at least two triggers: Hell Weeks at the job and man-cold at her apartment.
Jason didn’t even greet Amanda as he came down the short hall holding his left elbow. “You got an Ace bandage or something?”
“What happened now?”
