Curing the Uncommon Man-Cold (2 page)

“Scare him.”

“You mean, like… boo?”

“More subtle.” Christine lowered her voice. “Remember that movie with Kathy Bates and James Caan in a remote cabin? He’s a writer.”

“
Misery
? You call that subtle? You want me to scare Jason with a sledgehammer and a stub of lumber?”

“No, I’m still on
subtle
. But you might need the hammer later.” Christine nodded. “If this works, you’ll get Jason out of your apartment and might even cure him of man-colds forever.”

“Okay, I’m on board.” No hesitation. “Tell me your plan.”

“Fear is a powerful force if properly applied.”

Amanda heard a noise outside. “He’s here! What’s your plan?”

“We’re going to give Jason the Scare-Cure.”

“The what?” Amanda looked out the window. “Hurry! He’s nearly at the door.”

“The Scare-Cure.” Christine seemed to like its sound even though she obviously had no strategy yet developed to implement that devious term. “I’ve got some research to do.”

“You’re leaving me alone with Mister Sick?”

“I’ll call you tomorrow at work.” As the doorknob twisted, Christine whispered, “Don’t feed him anything besides really thin soup and those nasty crackers your mom left last year. You have any other yucky food?”

“There’s a soy hotdog leftover from July 4th.”

“Perfect. That’s Jason’s lunch tomorrow. No bun. Hide everything else.” Christine opened the door.

Jason Stewart was slumped over like he’d been at hard labor on a chain gang for weeks without food or water. He looked up pitifully, saw who it was, and waved lazily. “Hi, Christine. Where’s Amanda?”

She turned her head to indicate the interior of Amanda’s apartment. Christine moved down the walk — partly backwards and partly sideways. She noticed how much more debilitated Jason looked when Amanda came to the door.

Scare-Cure.
This could be interesting.

Amanda took in the pitiful sight. Jason seemed like an abandoned kindergartener clutching his teddy bear as he looked for Mommy at the house next door. It might have been endearing, except her boyfriend was no longer in preschool. At 32, Jason seemed in no hurry for their serious relationship to grow deeper. He obviously adored Amanda and loved being with her, but his notion of commitment had some leftover adolescent one-sidedness. Could he become a responsible mate? Nobody knew, including Jason… apparently.

Good-looking and leaning toward handsome, Jason had a boyish face and thick, dark hair that would look better combed the other direction. His blue eyes, occasionally dark and soulful, were bright with zeal when he participated avidly in basketball, softball, soccer, and flag football. About average weight for his frame and medium height, Jason’s strength and athleticism were belied by a slight paunch, due to his predilection for junk food, beer, and frequent snacks.

She remained in her doorway, blocking his entrance. “I’m sorry you’re under the weather. But like I said on the phone, these are my most horrid work weeks all year. Already stretched to the limit. I simply can’t deal with anyone staying here.”

Jason looked puzzled at why he was still on her threshold. “I won’t be in the way. You won’t even know I’m here.”

“Trust me, I’ll know.” She frowned. “Even without the bell you auditioned in January.”

“The concept was good; maybe the tone was off.”

“If you’d rung that bell once more, I would’ve stuffed it up a… really… dark… place.”

Jason’s muscular shoulders slumped. “But I don’t think I’m well enough to drive.”

“You got here all right and your place was closer to the doctor’s office.”

“But I shouldn’t be alone when I’m sick.”

Whiny is quite unbecoming in a lover
. “It’s a cold, Jason. How bad could it be?”

“Doctors miss a lot. I have complications.” He coughed to illustrate. “And fever.”

“Well, I’m sure this is the worst cold in all of middle Tennessee.” She sighed heavily and felt his forehead. No discernable warmth. “Okay. Wait right here and I’ll get a thingy to check your temp.”

When she returned from her bedroom, Jason was sprawled out on her couch and already had the TV on. She paused to consider
where
to insert the thermometer.

After an hour of channel surfing, Jason entered the hall bathroom. Moments later, he emerged wearing floppy socks, a very old tee-shirt with several holes, and pajama bottoms with a sprung-out waistband. He headed toward Amanda’s bedroom.

“Hold on, Mister Germs! Not in
my
bed!”

“Huh?”

“These are my Hell Weeks. I can’t get sick with all those grant apps stacked on my desk. The boss would bring files to my hospital room.” Amanda ground her teeth slightly.
Why can’t you wait ’til after Labor Day
to get sick?

“So where do I sleep?”

“Your own apartment.”

No reply from Jason.

Amanda shrugged and pointed to the guestroom.

“All the way over there?”

“It’s forty-two inches across this hallway.”

Jason peered in. “That’s not enough room for a five-year-old.”

“Well, stop acting like a five-year-old.” Amanda sighed. “You’ll be safe enough if you stay on that path.”

Supper was a few hours later. As per Christine’s instructions, Jason’s complete meal was a small mug of chicken-flavored consommé with one stale, generic rye crisp cracker.

It was a long night for Jason. Highlights included: loud groaning, coughing fits, sneezes like backfires from a rusted exhaust manifold, and snoring which rattled the inside wind chimes. On numerous trips to the bathroom he even managed to click the light switch with amplified noise. Beginning around 2:00 a.m., he spent another hour flipping through TV channels.

Amanda netted about three hours of sleep.

Chapter 2

August 11 (Tuesday)

An exhausted Amanda watched from the kitchen as Jason approached from the short hallway around 7:00 a.m. The patient’s minor cold symptoms had already improved significantly but Jason looked worse: hair not combed, face unwashed. It was a matter of slight scientific curiosity as to how long his saggy pajama bottoms could stay up with so little spring left in their ancient elastic.

Jason’s complete breakfast was a small glass of unsweetened prune juice and two more generic rye crisps. “I think British press-gang prisoners ate better back in the 1700s.” Jason groaned. “Tell me again why I can’t have real food?”

“Christine is pulling together a special diet. Something from NASA, for astronauts and deep-sea laboratory people.”

“Do they work with sea labs? I thought NOAA did that.”

“Whatever. Our connection was futzy.” Her fingers wiggled to illustrate. “Anyhow, she gave strict instructions for you to stay on liquids and crackers until we get the complete menu in place.”

“How well do you know Christine?” Jason’s voice lowered. “I mean really know her?”

“Oh, we’ve been best friends about five years. Since before her divorce. Why?”

“She hates me, you know.”

“Why do you say that?” Amanda’s mouth was about to smile without permission.

“The way she looked at me, yesterday when I arrived. I think she put a spell on me. Looked like she wanted to cut the brake lines on my car or something.”

“That’s silly. Christine wouldn’t know brake lines from wiper blades. You’re just a little paranoid — light-headed because of your illness.”

“Light-headed because I’ve only consumed thirty-seven calories since I got here.”

“Look, you’re not at work because you’re sick. I told you to stay at your place, but you insisted on coming here. Okay, so I’m taking care of you. But I need lots of help and Christine’s helping me.”

“But I don’t want Christine around. Just you and me.” Jason resumed his pitiful expression. “You know, my private nurse…”

“Yeah, I know. But we have to focus on getting you healthy again. You can never tell when colds might relapse and turn really nasty.”

* * * *

Comfortable on the couch, Jason flipped though channels and scratched his lower belly.

Amanda stopped on her way out the door for work. “Did you call in?”

He nodded. Jason was good at his job, handling the electric co-op’s phone customers, but he sometimes viewed himself as the anonymous
Press Six for Billing Complaints
rather than an individual with actual identity.

“So what are your plans today?”

“Plans? Uh, no big plans. Just—”
cough, cough
“—try to get better.”

“Well, if you burn up that remote, you’re outta luck.” She pointed. “No more batteries.”

Jason shrugged. “Do you have anything at all I can eat without Christine hexing me?”

“I’m out of almost everything. I’d originally planned to do groceries tomorrow.” Amanda frowned. “But since Christine’s bringing over that special food soon, we’d best wait.”

“I’m—”
cough
“—recuperating. You know, vitamin C and bed rest—”
cough
“—but I need to keep my strength up.”

“Well, I’ll check with Christine about supper possibilities.”

“Oooh. Maybe pizza!” He felt a flicker of hope.

“No dairy for Mister Sicko. Messes with your mucous.”

Jason was crushed.

Amanda touched the side of his face.

“Have I still got fever?” He hadn’t intended to sound so eager. His skin was probably 98.7 degrees.

“No. I was measuring your stubble. See if you can find a razor that hasn’t been up and down my legs thirty times. Bye.”

———

Mister Sicko’s sumptuous lunch was a single soy faux hotdog, minus the bun. His mouth watering, Jason spent five minutes painting mustard from tip to tip and then sliced it into twelve equal pieces. He ate them with a fork, slowly. He tried drinking more prune juice, but it clashed with the mustard.

* * * *

Among Amanda’s normal work interruptions — including several from Louis Erie, her supervisor — Christine called Amanda’s cell phone, shortly before lunch. “Hello?”

“You sound awful. Bad night with the desperately ill?”

“I’m dying.” Amanda groaned. “He kept me up all night long with his noises.”

“I thought he was in your guestroom across the hall.”

“He is. But I could’ve heard him from across the river. I’m so tired I need help holding my coffee cup.”

“I’m thinking this will be lovely.” Christine sounded like she was smiling into the phone. “Sweet, sweet revenge.”

“Uh, who’s getting revenge here? Me, for Jason’s intrusion? Or you, on your ex?”

“Oh, I’d say revenge is a big enough platter to share, maybe with some left over.”

“Huh?” Amanda’s antennae went up. “What have you got in mind with this cure-scare?”

“Scare-Cure. Top secret… I’m thinking about getting it copyrighted. I’m starting up a blog, too.”

Amanda ignored the blog topic and waited for an answer.

“Well, everything’s not fully in place yet, but I think we’ve got Jason right where we want him. Except in the wrong apartment, of course.”

Amanda heard somebody walk past her office doorway. “Look, I’ve got to go. They’re not paying me to chat with a mad scientist.”

“Quick question — what time do you get home from work?” Over the years they’d known each other, Christine had asked that question about a thousand times.

“By 5:20 if I hustle.”

“Well, hustle tonight and give Jason a triple dose of that special cough syrup I left with you in January. Bury him in that little bed and shut the door. I’ll meet you at 6:00.”

“Okay, but I’m dead on my feet and it’s only been one night. I hope you’ve got some really powerful magic.”

“Magic! Hey, that’s an angle I hadn’t thought of.” The wheels inside Christine’s brain clicked almost audibly. “See you this evening. Do not feed that patient! Okay? Make sure he’s out of it. Bye.”

Amanda briefly stared at her phone as though further information might remain inside.
Nope
. She flipped it shut, closed her eyes, and mulled the bizarre possibilities for the days ahead. She realized Christine was in a turbo-charged manic phase. They were headed together into uncharted territory with this complicated campaign, but Amanda was not terribly frightened as long as Christine’s throttle had some sort of override. Right now, Amanda was the only governor; otherwise, Christine’s engine ran at flank speed. With such momentum, it was usually best to stay out of her way if possible.

Amanda’s eyes were still closed as her ungainly boss entered and plopped down on the chair in front of her desk.

“Late night?” He sniggered.

“Hi, Louis.” She was unable to disguise her dismay.

Louis Erie was roughly average height but nearly double normal weight and wore an awful toupee. No one knew exactly what part of New York State Louis hailed from but many assumed it was near the historic lake that matched his surname. His Yankee accent was quite grating to middle Tennessee natives. “You making good progress on those grant apps?”

“Yeah. Pretty much on schedule. But I could use some clerical help.”

As usual, Louis ignored the request and just stared.

Grizzled gonads
. Amanda stared back as long as she could stand it. Then she shuffled the unread grant applications until her boss seemingly lost interest.

After Louis finally left, Amanda looked at her office clock: 11:55 a.m. She was barely functioning and still had four hours at work. If she skipped lunch and took a nap she might narrowly survive Day Two of her Hell Weeks.

* * * *

“Shoo, cat!” Amanda waved her hand at the mature nineteen-pound black cat on her doorstep. “You don’t live here any more. Go away!” The feline glared disdainfully for a moment and then hopped, nearly sideways, into the grass bordering the short walkway.

Amanda had just hurried home from work and found Jason napping in the guestroom.
Good
. She’d been prepared to dose him with Christine’s heavy-duty cough syrup from who-knows-where, but it wouldn’t be necessary. That was a relief; she didn’t really want to poison Jason. Not yet, anyway.