My Funny Quarantine

by Rachel Abugov

  “We can move the stuff down to the storage locker and I think I have an air mattress somewhere,” said Mike without a trace of contrition over his messy living arrangements. “I wasn’t expecting company.”

  “Obviously not,” sniffed Freddie. “We can pick up a few things tomorrow to make the place homey. After all, I’ll be here for two weeks. A few plants would be nice. I like bonsais. My friends in L.A. have bonsai redwoods. They fit in a coffee cup.”

  “Why the hell would anyone want to shrink a redwood down to that size? I thought the whole point was their grandeur. And in case you’ve had a lapse of memory, we’re not going anywhere for the next two weeks. So if we don’t have it, we’ll be ordering in. A lot. It’s okay, though. I have a Prime account.”

  “Well, then, I guess we have all we need to survive,” said Freddie, smiling in spite of herself. “How about I take the couch tonight and tomorrow we can set up the guest suite. Does that work for you?”

  “Sure. Do you need something to sleep in?”

  Freddie nodded.

  Mike went into the bedroom and she could hear him rummaging. “The washer and dryer are in the closet over there, the laundry pods are on the shelf, you can grab a toothbrush and towels from the closet in the bathroom and the kitchen’s over there. Help yourself to anything you want.”

  Okay. That was the worst welcome tour ever. Although under the circumstances, Freddie could hardly expect turndown service and a handmade truffle on her pillow.

  “Not exactly designer wear, but here’s a bizarrely-long t-shirt you can use as a nightgown.” Mike lobbed it at Freddie, who caught it without fumbling. She unrolled the garment to see that it had a logo on it of a punk band. Not just any punk band, though.

  “Screeching Weasel? Seriously? Are you trying to be funny?”

  “No, I’m not trying. I kind of think I nailed it. You have the ability to laugh at yourself, right?”

  “Generally. Not right now, though. God’ll get you for this,” said Freddie, then blushed. She was quoting an old-school TV show.

  “Sounds familiar. Nana and I binged through the first two seasons the other week. You must’ve watched it with your bubbie.”

  “Guilty as charged. That, and Y&R. She’ll never miss an episode. Oh, cripes. I wonder if they told her that I couldn’t come home. She’s got to be worried!”

  Freddie grabbed her phone and started texting. “I reached Nellie, the attendant. She’ll let Bubbie know and maybe we can Facetime tonight if it’s not too late for her. If not, I’ll catch her before breakfast.”

  “You’re a very devoted granddaughter,” said Mike.

  “She really only has me,” said Freddie. My folks are on a cruise. This was one of their bucket list items. I came back to Montreal so I could take care of my bubbie. We were always super-close. I was named after her mother. My great-grandmother,” she added, in case the relationship wasn’t clear.

  “I was named after an uncle who met an untimely end,” said Mike. “They think it might have been a gambling debt gone wrong. There was a family scandal, because you’re not supposed to name after someone who died too young or under sketchy circumstances. But my parents liked the name, and here we are.”

  “Yes. Here we are.” Freddie scanned the apartment.

  “What are you looking for?”

  “The guest bathroom.”

  “Well, you’ll have to keep on looking,” Mike said. “There’s only one bathroom, and it has two doors, one from the hall and one from the bedroom. We have to work out a system so we don’t barge in on each other. After my coffee, I like to spend a little time catching up on my reading, if you know what I mean.” He smiled. Actually, it was more of a wicked grin.

  “How lovely. I’m honoured that you shared that with me. How about this for a system? You knock and ask if anyone’s in there. If you can see the other person, you have don’t have to knock.”

  “It’s a little complex, Freddie, but I may be able to handle it.”

  Oh, shit. He was laughing at her. This would not end well. If the virus didn’t get him, Freddie would take care of the details herself. She hadn’t spent that much time in the company of the Caplansky family without learning a few tricks of the trade.

  “All righty then. It’s been quite a day. I’m gonna take a bath and pack it in.”

  “No, you’re not,” said Mike, looking semi-apologetic. “I opted for a large stall shower instead of a tub. The real estate agent told me that in this small of a place, it wouldn’t affect the resale value because I’d be selling to the singles market.”

  “Oh. Are you planning to sell?” Freddie had plans to eventually get her real estate license. Maybe this could be her first listing!

  “When I have a family,” shrugged Mike. “We’d need more space. I couldn’t see raising a child here. They seem to need a lot of equipment, from what my friends say.”

  “They do,” agreed Freddie. Soleil and Luna, the first of the Caplansky grandchildren, had closets that were bigger than Mike’s apartment. Regular people probably had less stuff. Certainly they had fewer shoes.

  “Okay. I’ll jump into the shower. You have the basics, right?”

  “Soap, shampoo, towels, yeah.”

  “Conditioner, anti-frizz serum, makeup remover, CC cream?”

  “No, no, no and you were supposed to buy that but you fled the scene.”

  “I’ll make do,” she sighed. “Organic coconut oil?”

  “No. WD-40?”

  “What would I do with that?”

  “I have no clue. I know what I’m gonna do, though. I’m gonna take a shower first, so I can clear the way for you, and then I’m gonna pack it in.”

  Mike headed for the bathroom, striding purposefully. Freddie was sure he was going to break into a chorus of “Oh What A Beautiful Morning,” just to be annoying. He didn’t, but at the last possible second, she sprinted to the washroom, wedged herself in the door and said as sweetly as possible,” Sorry, when you gotta go, you gotta go.”

  Chapter 3

  “How did you sleep?”

  “Well, aside from the fact that the couch is short and so’s the blanket, I slept fine. I can’t afford to be too picky.”

  “There’s always Chez Manon,” offered Mike.

  “I don’t think so.” Freddie’s level of snark hadn’t changed but her appearance was completely different without her makeup. Her skin was pink, not shades of brown, her eyes sparkled without the so-called enhancements of shadow and eyeliner, and her lips looked healthy now that they’d shed the bandage-coloured lipstick. It had taken half a box of facial tissues to remove all the warpaint. Mike had seen the wastebasket in the bathroom. And the bottle of small-batch olive oil that he had brought back from Greece was now repurposed as makeup remover. Most notably, her hair fell into soft ringlets around her shining face. Yesterday, it had been stick-straight and unmoving.

  “I ordered a few things on line,” she began. “Just the basics. By tomorrow, I’ll be back in business. I washed my clothes from yesterday, in hot water in case we picked up any germs. And I made us a pot of coffee.”

  “Thank you,” said Mike, reaching for his Habs mug. “This smells good.” He took a long draft of the coffee and tried not to spit it out. “Which coffee did you use?”

  “The one in the canister,” Freddie said.

  The one that contained the used coffee grounds that he was saving for his balcony garden. “Maybe next time you can use the stuff in the freezer,” he said. “There’s a better selection there. Don’t tell me you like this.”

  “I only drink green tea,” confessed Freddie. “You don’t have any, so I just made myself some hot water and lemon. It’s supposed to be cleansing.”

  “How about some breakfast? I can make French toast or bacon and eggs.”

  “My window is closed,” said Freddie. Surely Mike was doing intermittent fasting. Everyone was. “I’ll stick with hot water for now. Yummy!” She gave a half-hearted smile, then reached for
her phone for the ninety-sixth time.

  “Expecting a call?”

  “The nurse from the CLSC was coming to see Bubbie. I wanted to make sure she had her heart meds renewed.”

  “She probably saw Nana, too. I’ll give her a call.”

  “Oh, now’s not a good time,” said Freddie, checking the time on her phone. “They’ll be at the salon getting their hair done before the weekend. Monique is only there three half-days a week, and they have a standing appointment. I could use her around now. My hair’s a total mess.”

  “No, actually, it looks nice, Soft. You look better without all that warpaint. Why do you hide behind it, anyway?”

  “I’ll have you know that this is the style,” said Freddie with as much haughtiness as she could muster. Hot water and lemon wasn’t what she needed. Not when she could have had a latte with real dairy instead of the alternative milks that were so popular but not as tasty. A few croissants, too. Quarantining worked up one hell of an appetite. She grabbed her phone. “I’m ordering breakfast. To hell with my window. These are extenuating circumstances.”

  Within half an hour, two lattes and half-a-dozen assorted Viennoiseries were on the doorstep. Freddie licked the latte foam off the plastic lid before tackling the arduouis task of pastry selection.

  Mike watched as Freddie’s tongue darted into the crevices of the recyclable plastic. Without her false face and fake hair, she wasn’t half-bad looking. No, scratch that. She was pretty. And she was staying with him for two whole weeks. Who knew what could happen in that time?

  Freddie licked her fingers to get rid of any croissant crumbs, then gave a contented sigh.

  “That was soooo good,” she said. “When I was in LA, I couldn’t really eat. It didn’t look good on camera, and on the show, I was constantly trying to squeeze myself into a smaller size. Kendra thought I had a gluten sensitivity because my stomach puffed out every time I ate.”

  “Is Kendra an internal medicine specialist?”

  “Huh?”

  “If not, then she’s probably seeing your stomach expand because it’s full. It’s supposed to do that,” Mike added. “But if she’s not a physician and just a media personality…”

  “She’s my friend,” said Freddie defensively. “Or she was, till the party.”

  “So why’d you do it?”

  “Do what? Give up gluten?”

  “No. Why did you kiss The Big Hurt?”

  “Because he was there,” said Freddie with exasperation. “I mean, he’s hot, he’s rich, he’s successful. Who wouldn’t want to kiss him?”

  “I wouldn’t,” said Mike. “Kissing men isn’t my thing. But that’s not why. It’s because he was involved with my friend, and I’d never throw a friend under the bus like that. It’s not how I am.”

  Freddie lifted her empty coffee cup and shook it, trying to get one more sip out of the foam that was clinging to the sides. “It’s not how I am, either. Not really. I don’t know what happened. Maybe someone slipped me a roofie,” she said, her tone brightening. If she’d been drugged, then it wasn’t her fault and she could hold her head high again.

  No such luck. She hadn’t been roofied. She’d have to take responsibility for her actions. Ouch. It would take a lot of reflection, never her strong suit. Fortunately, she had fourteen days to work through this and then she could return to the warm familial embrace of the Caplansky family.

  Oh, who was she kidding? None of the Caplanskys would be anxious to see her again. They’d just be anxious. Betrayal was not something they took lightly. Time and again, they’d broken ranks with friends and other hangers-on because of betrayals, real or imagined. Like the time Kaycie’s hairdresser had fried her extensions when she insisted on going blonde for the third time against his advice. Or the awful time they were served a non-diet soda at Sonic. In most peoples’ lives, these were not hanging offences. The Caplanskys were not Most People.

  Freddie started to cry – not the single, perfect tear of an actress, but gulping, snorting sobs. The gentlemanly thing for Mike to do would have been to give her a hug. Instead, he shoved a roll of paper towels at her and said, “I’m going into the other room. I have a thing in five minutes.”

  Mike rearranged the papers on his computer desk as he logged into Zoom. Should he have been a little nicer to Freddie? Nah. She was doing her best to be the center of attention, which was something she’d picked up from that TV family. As much as he tried to avoid them, they were everywhere. Either they were feuding with pop singers or shilling bizarre beauty products and sketchy diet supplements. Case in point: Freddie. She looked so much better without all that spackle on her face. The day before, she didn’t really look human. But if he tried to pass on this constructive feedback, he’d get slammed for it. So he took the most politic route and kept his mouth shut.

  One by one, the screen started to fill up with his students. Many of them had opted to change the background on their screens. Two students were at the beach, a few were on the Starship Enterprise, one was in the Bat Cave and one was being chased by a dinosaur. Mike, being a minimalist, was just using the back wall. He had a calendar which he hadn’t bothered changing the month on, a couple of vacation pics, and his bookshelf, filled with history books.

  “Hey guys. Ready to rock and roll?”

  A chorus of affirmative responses came through. The volume was cranked up and Freddie could hear every word.

  “Okay. We were about to start a unit on dystopian novels, but we’re living in one now, so who wants to write song lyrics instead?”

  Oh, shit. Schoolteacher Mike was about to teach. Freddie had no choice but to remain quiet, even though she would have much rather cranked up the news in hope of learning that the curve had mysteriously flattened and she’d be able to go back to normal. She halfheartedly scrolled through the various food delivery services and found that her favourite salad place was delivering to their door! This might not be as bad as she thought.

  After about forty minutes, Mike logged off.

  “That went well,” he said, as he grabbed a bottle of water from the fridge. “I lost a couple of them en route, but that’s to be expected. The Wi-Fi isn’t that strong in the hospital, and of course Amelie had to go for her treatment.”

  “What kind of treatment?” Freddie’s attention was on high alert. If there was a spa that was open –

  “Physio. I teach high school to kids who are hospitalized.”

  “I did not know that,” mused Freddie. “It must be hard.”

  “Yeah. Combining more than one grade level is not as easy as you’d think. But they’re more interested in school than they might be under normal circumstances, so there’s that.”

  “Cool. Why don’t we turn on the TV? I could use something uplifting.”

  “Ha!” Mike tossed the empty bottle into the recycling bin and wiped his mouth with his sleeve. Then, he washed his hands for the required twenty seconds, singing Happy Birthday to You. Twice.

  “You’re gonna sing that every single time, aren’t you? Why not mix it up a little bit?”

  Freddie stepped up to the kitchen sink, squirted soap on her fingers and started singing the first song she could think of that wasn’t Happy Birthday.

  She turned the tap off after twenty seconds and grinned. “I won this round,” she said triumphantly.

  “Ice Ice Baby? Are you kidding me?”

  “Ice Ice Baby always wins,” she said. “It’s the law.” Flicking her wet hands at Mike, she dried them on her expensive compression pants and grabbed her phone. “Let’s check in with the Golden Girls,” she said cheerily. “I wonder how they’re doing today.” She dialed, and to her delight, Bubbie Rose came on screen, resplendent in pink polyester.

  “Hi Bubbie!” Freddie waved.

  “Hi, mamaleh! Where are you?”

  “Don’t worry. I’m fine, Bubbie. More importantly, how are you? Did they tell you why I didn’t come home last night?”

  “Yes, sweetie. The security guard cam
e to tell me in person. Scared the living daylights out of me, coming to my room at that hour. I thought it was an emergency. I had visions of you having to go to a homeless shelter.”

  Freddie remembered Chez Manon. She only hoped they had enough beds for the people who really needed them, and that she’d never count herself in that population. She’d have to make a donation to them. Maybe she could give them some of her clothes when she cleaned out her closet. That would be the best idea – who wouldn’t want to brighten up their days by wearing a designer garment?

  “Freddie? Are you there?”

  “Sorry, Bubbie. My mind was wandering in six different directions. You were saying…”

  “Breakfast was terrible. They can’t scramble eggs to save their lives. There’s always a puddle of water on the plate. And you? How was your breakfast?”

  “Mine was good,” said Freddie, feeling a twinge of guilt over her almond croissant. “I can have them deliver something to you, if you like. What about that salad you like so much? Lunch is soon, right?”

  “That salad sounds good, but I could never eat the whole thing by myself. What about Chinese food? That place on Cote St. Luc Road has really good lemon chicken.”

  “Consider it done,” said Freddie. “But that should be for dinner. Fried rice or steamed rice? Regular or special eggrolls?” She grabbed a pen and jotted down the order. “And no soup, right? Because of the MSG.”

  “You take very good care of me,” sighed Rose. “Someone’s knocking on the door. It must be Fran. We’re going downstairs for karaoke.”

  Nana Fran appeared on screen, smiling at Freddie. “I almost didn’t recognize you, Freddie. You look different without the warpaint. Like an Ivory Soap girl.”