Curing the Uncommon Man-Cold (3 page)

Her apartment was a mess — newspaper pages all over the place. Tissues were on the floor, tucked between couch cushions, and even in the potted plants on either side of the television. A water glass had formed a ring on top of a low bookcase. On the table: a half-empty bag of chips and an open box of cereal. It even looked like Jason had drunk prune juice from the container.
Yuck!
There was a huge wad of mucous in the bathroom sink — she’d probably need a putty knife to scrape it up.

Shortly after six, Christine bustled in with two large empty trash bags. “Is he down?”

“Sound asleep in the guestroom. I’m surprised you didn’t hear him snoring from the parking lot.”

Christine noticed the chips and cereal on the table. “He’s been snacking all day?”

“Afraid so. I thought I’d hidden everything last night. Must’ve been up on a top shelf.” Amanda hugged her friend. “You came back! I was afraid you’d abandoned me.”

“Not only back, but I’m launching Phase One of our Scare-Cure. Armed… and… dangerous.” Christine held up a tube of Super Glue.

“What are you going to do to him?”

“This doesn’t go on him. It’s to glue down the toilet seat. We’re going to make him sit to pee, like normal humans.”

Amanda frowned. “I’m going to lose my deposit if you cement all the fixtures.”

Christine dismissed that concern with a wave of her hand. “We’re going to fill this place with estrogen ’til it’s oozing from the walls. We’re cutting him off from everything male.” She held up one empty plastic bag.

“What’s that for?”

“Food, to start with. Everything but staples. What all have you got?”

“Other than these chips and cereal, hardly anything. I don’t really cook, you know. And I haven’t been to the store in a week.”

Christine had already shifted focus. “Whatever. Edibles in one bag. In the other bag, we gather up every magazine with a sexy girl on the cover.
Cosmo, Vogue, Oprah
, whatever.”

“
Oprah
?”

Christine ignored the interrogatory. “Catalogs, too. Got any lingerie mailers?”

“Uh, just Victoria’s Secret, as far as I know.”

“Ah ha!” Christine sounded like Sherlockella Holmes solving a dastardly crime. “Prime example. Get it.” As she looked around, her eyes were wild with the excitement of a case. “Does Jason keep any girlie mags here?”

“Here?” Amanda held out her hands, palms up, like they might hold some clues. “I don’t think so. Why would he keep nudes in my apartment?”

“He’s a man. Check the garage.”

Of the fourteen apartments in the complex of duplexes, only six units had private garages… for thirty dollars more each month. Amanda needed that space for things left by her downsized parents, so her car stayed outside in the parking lot. “Why the garage?”

“Prime hiding places: toolboxes, high shelves, places you wouldn’t normally look.”

“I don’t have any toolboxes.” Amanda sighed heavily. “Tell you what, I’ll collect what little food’s in the place. You go look for dirty pictures.”

Christine rubbed her hands together. “Thought you’d never ask. I’m an expert at this.”

Amanda could tell. And it scared her a little.

Both searched for nearly fifteen minutes.

Christine came back empty-handed except for a small notepad with a Gil Elvgren pin-up on the cover.

“One of my dad’s old tablets, from a tool supply company. This thing’s over fifty years old.” Amanda checked the calendar inside.

“Can’t be too careful. We’re confiscating all of Jason’s visual stimuli.”

“He’ll just turn on TV.”

“Not after 7:00.” Christine checked her watch. “In about thirty minutes I’ve got a cable guy coming to disconnect.”

“Disconnect my cable?”

“Relax. It’s only my sister’s husband.”

Amanda clutched her friend’s forearm. “Do your sister and her husband know about our secret cure project?”

Christine shrugged. “Just enough for them to cooperate with this particular phase.”

“That’s way too much for anybody else to know! This was supposed to be just between us. But now twice as many people are in on it!”

“Not a problem. My brother-in-law only talks about sports. And my sister doesn’t even know you. Besides, who’s she going to tell?”

Amanda tried to recall the statistical maxim about how fast information spreads when each person learning a secret tells just one other person. It was roughly equivalent to the bubonic plague epidemics in the Middle Ages. Then she realized her friend had already moved on, so Amanda shifted to more mundane matters. “But there’s a big fee to get my cable service back!”

“He won’t really disconnect anything… just disable it.”

“How?” Amanda looked puzzled.

“Never mind. Check our blog later this evening and I’ll try to post our Phase One efforts.” Christine snapped her fingers. “Oh, your laptop. Keep it with you at all times. Lock it in the trunk of your car while Jason’s awake. Never let him near it.”

“Okay, I’m ahead of you on this part: no Internet or video games. But how do I explain where my laptop is?”

“In the shop. Tell Jason he spilled coffee on the keyboard and it stopped working. That way it’s his fault.”

“But he didn’t spill anything.” Amanda shook her head. “He won’t believe that.”

“What he won’t do is remember… either way. Men are always guilty of something, so it feels pretty natural to be accused of just about anything. You watch. If it’s necessary to tell him about the bogus coffee spill, he’ll look like a third-grade boy caught putting tadpoles down a pretty girl’s blouse.”

Amanda sat at the table with a loud sigh. It was like hunkering down in the middle of a whirlwind. She wondered what else was involved in Phase One but was too frightened to ask.

No matter. Christine was bubbling over to tell. “I’m taking all the booze in the apartment. Hot, cold… open or not. No alcohol whatsoever. Not a drop.” She also produced a handwritten list of her strategies, arranged by category. “It’s still a work in progress.”

Amanda scanned the page and smiled. She was beginning to see the kinky wisdom in her friend’s manic plan — take away all Jason’s creature comforts. “You know he’s going to freak without his beer.”

Christine nodded with a cheesy grin.

Amanda retrieved four bottles from behind the microwave. “Hid these last night.”

“Are you sure that’s all the booze? Just four beers?”

“Jason drank the other eight this past weekend, shortly before he was struck ill.” Amanda felt a bit defensive. “It was on my shopping list.”

“Let me see that list.”

Amanda reached for the magnet-backed tablet on the refrigerator door. It wasn’t really much of a list because Amanda didn’t bake, either.

“Okay, scratch this, this, this… and definitely that.” Christine made those motions with her finger. Then she eyed her friend narrowly. “I can see why Jason gravitates to your place when he seeks primal comforts. His momma wouldn’t buy all this junk. You’ve been catering to his cravings: sweets, chips, beer, ice cream. If I was a lovesick man with a big appetite, I wouldn’t go home, either.”

It felt like Amanda was being chewed out by her fifth-grade teacher.

Christine obviously noticed. “Hey, after we cure Jason of this syndrome, you can buy him some treats, if you want.” It sounded like Jason was a recalcitrant Yorkie. “But maybe you should think about scaling down the magnitude. Looks like half your grocery budget goes to Jason’s sweet tooth and his spare tire.”

Amanda shrugged. “I didn’t realize it had gotten that bad. Jason would look around like something was missing, so I’d buy it. That way he didn’t have that lost expression on his face.”

“He pretty much always looks lost to me. Don’t focus so much on his face and stop feeding it so much.” Christine sounded too stern. “I’m not trying to meddle, Amanda. I mean not beyond this experiment and quest for a cure. But I am concerned. It’s easy for some women to become doormats under men’s feet. In a relationship, the position you want is on top.”

Amanda pondered that image, but didn’t inquire how literally her friend intended it.

Christine halted her train of thought like she’d suddenly noticed a completely incongruous tollbooth along the tracks she’d been traveling for years. “How on earth did you and Jason ever hit it off to begin with? I mean, besides his sad, loyal eyes… and that he rescued you, once upon a time.”

“I don’t know. He was cute, a little rumpled, and slightly confused.” Amanda realized that description also fit most Guinea pigs.

Christine rolled her eyes and started to interrupt.

Amanda quickly continued. “And he makes me feel good.”

“You mean in bed?” Her older friend edged closer.

“That, too. But I mean he makes me feel
valuable
. Sometimes when we’re out, I sense that he’s practically guarding me, like a security guy walking to the bank with a big payroll bag.”

Christine apparently ignored the imagery. “That’s it?”

Amanda smiled softly. “Plus, he seemed so uncomplicated. I like that. My life is very complicated, so there’s a comfort level in a boyfriend with predictability.”

“You can get that kind of comfort with a plush blanket from Sears. You two are about as opposite as could possibly be… within this species, that is.”

“Is it wrong to want a boyfriend who’s uncomplicated and predictable?”

Christine considered. “Well, it gives you the upper hand, which you seem to need.”

“I’m not sure how to take that, Christine. To me, it’s more like Jason needs directions and I already know where I’m going.”
Hmm
. Truly, it sounded about the same.

“Whatever. Now back to the alcohol situation. Do not get him any more.” Christine raised her hand for emphasis. “Check his friends, if anybody visits. They’re quite accomplished at sneaking in booze.”

“I don’t really expect any of his buddies to visit here. But if they do, you want me to pat them down as they enter?” Amanda considered it might be enjoyable to pat down Big Ernie. She suspected that nickname represented more than his height of six foot seven.

“Use your discretion, but don’t let them bring any contraband, especially booze.”

Amanda pointed to a third, smaller bag in the top of her friend’s purse. “So what’s in there? Or do I even want to know?”

Christine smiled. “What’s one thing guaranteed to scare away men as efficiently as wolfsbane and garlic runs off all the vampires?”

A light bulb blinked on in Amanda’s brain. “Potpourri!”

Christine nodded vigorously. “Got a ton of it. And more where that came from.” She handed over the cellophane bag like it was a treasured secret known only to Professor Vanella Helsing. “We’ll have this sick puppy up and out in three days, tops.”

“Maybe sooner, with no beer in my apartment.”

“Check our blog tonight and watch the donations pour in.”

“You mentioned some blog stuff before.” Amanda frowned. “I don’t understand.”

“I’ll explain later. Right now it’s just theory, but I think I can combine what we’re doing to Jason with a cosmic act of charity.”

That made no sense at all. “Wait, Christine, I need to ask you. This is a lot of thought and effort on your part. Why are you doing this?”

“Girl, I suffered through at least one man-cold every winter for fourteen years with my Daniel.” She turned her head and spit dramatically — though it was dry. “I hope that young hussy he took up with gives him a bad dose of the clap.” Christine looked like she wished for even worse maladies.

“You’re still smarting from that divorce, aren’t you?”

“The hurt doesn’t end when your lawyers shake hands at the courthouse. Every time I see him, or that witchy bimbo who stole him, I get upset all over again.”

“I’m sorry, Christine.” Amanda had wanted to ask this before but it never worked into a conversation until now. “Did you and Dan
ever
love each other?”

She smiled. “Oh, yeah, ’specially at first. Lots of love. But he’s older than me — I was his second wife. After about seven years, he got the itch. Then he scratched it… a lot.”

Amanda touched her friend’s forearm.

“But, hey, at least I got these out of the deal.” Christine thrust out her bosom. “For our tenth anniversary, he sent me to the plastic surgeon.”

Amanda had heard the story numerous times. “Well, they are quite impressive.”

“The other day, I thought I’d lost the pendant from my favorite necklace. The chain clasp had broken at some point and I didn’t realize it ’til I was buying stamps at the post office.”

“Isn’t that your favorite pendant?” Amanda pointed. “The one you’re wearing?”

“Yeah, I found it that night while I was getting ready to bathe.” Christine giggled. “It was stuck down in my cleavage.”

“On me, it might keep sliding.” Amanda’s hand reflexively went to her breast. She preferred to remain natural, but would be delighted with one cup size larger.

“The funny part is the postal clerk who helped me search for the pendant kept looking at my chest. I think he knew that’s where it was!”

It seemed like a lot of responsibility, carrying around such pronounced upper attributes. “Maybe they’d require less maintenance if you kept them contained a little more.”

“Why? I might be in the mood to try out another husband one day.” Christine cleared her throat suggestively.

“Well, I don’t think I’d want to cope with boobs that capture cookie crumbs and loose jewelry.”

Christine didn’t react. “I’m pulling together a complete dietary grid for your sick boyfriend.” She waved a writing tablet. “But it’ll be tomorrow before I can collect everything and get it over here. For the time being, here’s a box of crackers I want you to use on him.”

“
Use
on him? What are they?”

“They’re similar to rice cakes, but smaller and flatter. Plus, the manufacturer found a way to make them taste even more awful.”

“
You
eat those?” Amanda was skeptical.

“Well, I tasted them. Bought these back in the spring when I briefly contemplated wearing a swimsuit this summer.” Christine looked as though her younger friend should already know that. “Anyway, I’ll get the really healthy stuff over here tomorrow.”