Curing the Uncommon Man-Cold (17 page)

“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?”

“Banged my elbow.”

“Where?”

He pointed to the back side of his elbow.

Her impatience was quite visible.

“Oh, you mean, how. Well, I guess I was lightheaded from lack of food or something. Anyway, I lost my balance on that narrow path from the door to the tiny bed, then I fell over and hit your exercise walker.”

“You toppled onto my mom’s treadmill? That’s way over against the wall!” Amanda started down the hallway. “Come show me.”

Jason followed behind, limping. “Well, it was a combination of collisions, actually. Tripped on the narrow path, tried to get my balance on some of those boxes stacked along the sides. Then fell over those and landed next to the tread thing. Tripped on some giant bricks and busted my elbow on the iron rail.”

“I think that’s aluminum. But I’m sure it hurt anyway.”

“Did you know somebody’s got bricks stacked in there?”

“It’s come to my attention, yes.”
Exactly who does he think “somebody” is?
Amanda reached for his arm. “Let me see the injury.”

Jason groaned theatrically as she gently examined it.

“Well, it’s not what I’d consider a fatal wound, but I do see some bruising. You’re wanting to wrap it?”

“Yeah. It’s throbbing and stuff.”

“Wrapping an elbow just makes it stiff. That might not be the best thing…”

“Do you have a bandage or not?”

“Yeah, somewhere.” She eyed him closely. “No reason to get testy.”

“I’m in pain here, you know.”

“Yeah. Plus the residual sniffles and that deadly temp that lingers around 98.7 degrees.”

“And my—”
cough, cough
“—cough.”

“Of course.” She sighed. “I’ll get the Ace thingy.”

She returned shortly. “Hold it out.” She wrapped his elbow fully extended, tight and stiff. “Can you wiggle your fingers?”

He wiggled. “Yeah.”

“If your lower arm starts to turn colors, be sure to loosen that wrap.”

Jason looked startled. “What colors?”

“Oh, I’d guess slightly red at first. Then white from reduction of blood flow. Then bluish-black, maybe. Probably solid black next, and then green, I think.”

“Green?” His eyes got wide.

“Gangrene. Doesn’t it turn green? Or is that a figure of speech? Maybe it stays black. Whatever. If it gets past red and white, just loosen the wrap.”

Jason kept wiggling his fingers and watching for color changes.

That could entertain him for
hours.

“I can’t stay long. I’ve got an appointment. But I’ll be back and then I’ve got a small committee meeting here around 7:30.”

“Here? Another frazzlin’ meeting? Does the entire city of Verdeville conduct its business from your apartment? Who is it this time?”

“Not that it’s any of your business, Mister Uninvited. But my guests are Maria, Sunny, Christine. That’s it.”

“Do you realize that you four do everything together? Cards, crops, committees… and that expensive session selling makeup. I’d think you’d all be sick of looking at the same faces everywhere you go!” It came out with more intensity than he’d likely intended.

“Now you’re insulting my friends? What next, Jason?”

He groaned and sighed at the same time. “I was hoping we could spend a little time together. You know, talk and stuff.”

“We’ll have time to talk after you recover and move out. Right now you need to heal and I’ve got important things going on. There are other circumstances in my life, you know, besides dealing with temporary invalids.”

Jason had tuned her out. He was flipping through the paper from that morning. “Doesn’t Penney’s always have a sale flyer?”

“I’ve seen lots of their sales advertised.”

“Did they stop putting them in the newspaper?”

“I don’t figure they run every day. Maybe just Sundays.” She was guessing.

“This is Sunday. Today’s paper.” He held it up as proof. “No flyer.”

Her hand moved to her mouth to cover a growing smile. On Christine’s advice, Amanda had extracted that mini-catalog sale insert before Jason got up that morning. “Uh, I hate to break it to you, but they stopped selling sporting goods and hardware when you were in elementary school.”

“Huh? Oh, ha ha.”

“I’m surprised you even noticed the mini-catalogs from that store. Just clothes and linens, mostly.”

“Well, I like to keep up with current events.” He obviously punted.

“In the realm of fashion and home decor?”

“Cheese Louise. Ask a simple question and you have to go through the Spanish Imposition.”

Amanda didn’t correct him. She figured his very lightly fevered brain, coupled with frustrated hormones, had skewed his word discernment. “I’ll be back before 7:30. If my guests arrive, open the door and then dash back to the guestroom. I don’t want them shocked by whatever shows above the saggy waistband of your jammies.”

She left without waiting for a whiny reply.

* * * *

Amanda had met Jason’s mother on several occasions and had visited in her home at least twice. She liked the 62-year-old widow who seemed considerably younger. Mrs. Stewart was attractive, slender, and nearly always dressed like she expected company. She tended flowers and other plants, both inside and out, and kept a clean house. Margaret had regular activities with friends her own age and participated in most of her church’s functions. She also read a lot and possessed a considerable amount of common sense.

The Mayfield Avenue neighborhood was what is often called settled: established in the 1960s and nicely laid out with tall and lush trees on generously-sized lots. Amanda admired the pretty flower beds and welcoming porch of the ranch style, about forty years old.

Margaret opened the door before Amanda even knocked. “Come on in. You must be exhausted.” She motioned to a living room chair. “It’s been a full week now, hasn’t it?”