Too Much Is Just Too Much

Friday was a much better day for Fred. He had only just settled down to dig into his work, for however long it was still his work, when he was informed by Helen that the accident of the previous day wasn’t as bad as they had all feared. Both drivers were already released from hospital and the damage to the trucks was considered "reparable" and "minor," respectively. A recovery crew had been dispatched straightaway to the scene for the contents of the trucks and, while the engine parts were on their way to be inspected for possible damage it was thought they would likely be fine, and the heavy ovens, remarkably, were found to have survived the crash unscathed. Due to a shortage of vehicles available on short notice, the ovens had been loaded into a truck already half full of mattresses. The chief of the recovery crew expertly pronounced some of the mattresses a righteous mess and just as expertly judged the ovens undamaged. They were then labouriously transferred to another truck and were now, presumably, in the possession of the irate restaurateur.

Helen was confident that if anything should turn out to be wrong with them, Soames would hear about it

The news had an almost magical, restorative affect on Mr. Grieves and by lunch time, Fred was assured there was nothing untoward in store for him, although he did suspect any future raises normally due him might be deferred to offset increases in the company’s insurance premiums. However, his position with the company was secure for the moment, so by the time he left to pick up Myrtle he was in a positively light-hearted mood.

Myrtle, meanwhile, was eagerly anticipating more sales at Pricemart. The linens sale that began that very day was next on their shopping agenda and they’d decided to go straight there after work, then head for Myrtle’s afterwards for a late supper. On the way to the store, Fred filled Myrtle in on the events of the day and she clucked over him and offered her heartfelt congratulations in return. Then, scarcely out of the car, she hurried into the store prepared to take on the expected crush of eager shoppers attending the sale. Fred caught up with her at the towel bin. It wasn’t quite the melee Myrtle had foreseen, but there was still a small group of jostling, no-nonsense women around the bins, each intent upon getting her hands on the best towels first. Fred stood back and watched in an odd combination of horror and amazement as Myrtle plunged confidently into the sea of human elbows.

He was a little surprised when she emerged intact only a few minutes later with four of the bound sets in colours he wasn’t sure about, but decided he could live with. Myrtle placed them in the cart and marched on, leaving Fred to assume custody of the cart and keep up with her.

Unfortunately he didn’t. The events of the past couple of days had actually taken a lot out of Fred and he just wasn’t used to this kind of shopping. Oh, he sort of kept up with Myrtle for a couple more of the sale bins, then stood aside as she dived into the fray. But then, dazed and confused, he sort of wandered off alone, eventually leaving the cart parked at the end of an aisle where something had caught his eye.

When Myrtle finally realized she’d lost her companion, she didn’t have the slightest clue where to look for him. Her arms loaded with sheets, pillow cases and dish towels, she hurried along a main aisle looking in both directions for any sign of Fred. Suddenly she bumped into an abandoned cart. Looking into it, she recognized the towels she’d already picked out. This was a clue, she thought. So she looked down the first aisle, which was in the toy section, and saw no one. She dumped what she had in her arms into the cart and moved on to the next aisle, but something made her hesitate. She backed up and looked down the first aisle again. While there were no people shopping in that aisle, there was a pair of legs in brown suit pants and two feet in brown shoes sticking out of the bottom shelf that didn’t seem to belong. Taking the cart with her, she went to investigate. There, quite asleep amongst a gaggle of stuffed animals, was Fred. He reminded her of the toy closet scene from E.T.

“Fred,” she said quietly.

“Smufffledup,” he said, jerking awake. “Huh? Wha...” He sat up and looked around. “Oh Myrtle... I was... I mean...” his voice trailed off.

Myrtle couldn’t help chuckling. “C’mon Fred,” she said, again quietly, hoping no one would come down the aisle at that moment. “I guess this was all a bit much for you. Let’s check out with what we have.”

Fred, looking as if he barely comprehended, only nodded, and struggled to his feet.

Once again Fred seemed unsure where the car was, but this time Myrtle was in the lead pushing the buggy with their bags. She put them in the trunk, then turned to Fred and suggested he give her the keys. Surprised, Fred nevertheless handed them over. It would be nice just to sit in the passenger seat for a change, he thought, and let Myrtle drive them home. Indeed, he snoozed part of the way, which had Myrtle congratulating herself on a good call.

Also at Myrtle’s suggestion, Fred settled onto one end of her couch and sighed contentedly. They had carried all the parcels in from the car and carefully stowed them in her bedroom. Myrtle had agreed to hang onto Fred’s purchases pending access to his new apartment, pointing out that it would be easier for her to get his apartment ready for him coming out of the hospital if she had everything at hand. Fred immediately and gratefully accepted her offer. He was certain his mother would have found an excuse to peep into every bundle he had taken home. He also suspected she might feel compelled to offer critical comment on his choices and was a little concerned that during the inevitable verbal onslaught, he might blurt out in his own defence that most of the choices were actually Myrtle’s, providing his mother an opportunity to prematurely criticize his girlfriend.

He thirstily gulped his milk while making up his mind to bring the parcels he’d taken home back to Myrtle’s. Draining his glass, he had just sat back to gaze out the window when Myrtle called him to the kitchen for toasted western sandwiches and oven fries.

They chatted as they ate, and afterwards they snuggled back on the couch. Fred was getting these funny, urgent feelings when he sat next to Myrtle. He wanted very much to get closer ~ close enough to smell her hair and nuzzle her ear. But he got a warning twinge in his side every time he strained to get closer. So he tried to content himself with putting his arm around her and snuggling with her, at least when Myrtle wasn’t getting up for coffee, or to put wood on the fire, or to get a catalogue out of the magazine rack. Fred was a little worried that Myrtle might be hurt by his seeming reluctance to be amorous, but she was plainly quite excited and content for the time being with the shopping, cooking and planning.

He left that night after some kisses he would very much have taken further if he could, but Myrtle only pushed him away playfully and told him he should go home and come back for breakfast in the morning. Then, as he headed out the door, she listened for that tell-tale bang or thump that meant he needed her. But there was none. Apparently Fred made it to his car safely.

Shopping? What?

Myrtle was waiting outside by the time Fred pulled up and she noticed immediately that he looked quite pallid and rather gloomy. As soon as she was inside the car she laid one tiny hand against his cheek and gazed sympathetically into his mournful eyes. "What’s wrong, Fred?"

He looked away and sighed. Part of him wanted to keep all the sordid, embarrassing details from Myrtle, and part of him wanted to confide all. The latter part was winning. "I had kind of a bad day," he confessed.

"Pull the car over there and tell me about it," she instructed firmly, pointing to an open area at the side of the building.

Fred obediently parked the car and shut it off, then turned to look into Myrtle’s one good eye. "Yesterday my boss told me to send out a truck to exchange two shipments and I sent out two trucks instead… ‘cause I thought it would be quicker… and today they got into accident," he explained quietly.

"Both of them?"

Fred nodded. "With each other," he clarified.

Myrtle stared. "But… but… that’s incredible!":

Fred sniffed and nodded resignedly. "The boss was pretty upset with me for sending two trucks. I don’t understand why these things always happen to me," he groaned.

"But surely he can’t blame you for such a thing," she comforted. "Oh Fred, it wasn’t your fault," she insisted. Moving as close as she could without inadvertently leaving her bucket seat, she slid an arm across his shoulders and gently stroked his temple with the other hand.

Fred moved a bit closer to her. "That’s what I told him and he didn’t fire me. I thought for minute there I’d lost my job."

"Oh you poor thing," she sympathized, kissing his cheek.

"I fainted," he confessed, shamefaced.

"I shouldn’t wonder," said Myrtle. Then she gazed at him curiously. "When?"

"Right in Mr. Grieves’ office… when they told me what had happened… I couldn’t believe it and I… I passed out."

"It must have been quite a shock." she surmised.

He nodded, then with head bowed as much as possible with the collar, he toyed with a bit of fluff on his pant leg and glanced only furtively at Myrtle. "Luckily I was sitting down at the time… but I guess it wasn’t a very game reaction," he mumbled guiltily.

Myrtle couldn’t help smiling. "There now, Fred," she comforted. "It’s not as bad as that. It was terrible news… and you might have done worse."

"How?" he challenged.

"Well… if you were the hysterical type, you might have burst into a fit of giggling or something." She patted his arm. "Now Fred, if you’d done that, you would have been fired," she smiled. "Just as well you quietly fainted instead." Fred looked into her twinkling eye and couldn’t help smiling himself. Myrtle planted another kiss on his cheek. "Now, if you don’t feel like shopping, I quite understand. We could go to my place and I could whip up a quick dinner…"

He shook his head. "I don’t mind shopping, Myrtle. I feel better now… and I don’t want to put you to the extra trouble."

"It wouldn’t be any trouble, Fred," she admonished. "But, if you think you wouldn’t mind shopping, perhaps it would take your mind off your awful day for awhile."

"Yeah. Let’s go to Tim Horton’s," he replied. "I’d like some of their chili."

Myrtle gave him an encouraging little squeeze, then slid back into her seat properly as Fred started the car.

Myrtle had soup and a sandwich as Fred slurped down his hot chili. It was a dubious choice with the soft collar on, but he made it through the quick meal with only a few fresh stains. Then they began their search for Fred’s new bed at the Western Furniture, which happened to be next to the Pricemart.

The rest of the evening was pretty much a blur for Fred. He just wasn’t used to the rigours of shopping, the thrust and parry with salespeople, the rifling through bins of sale items and searching... searching the aisles for just the right shade of the right colour or the right size of throw cushions. As Myrtle happily shopped and variously asked him questions about what he liked, which he couldn’t really answer, and prattled on happily about the merchandise, Fred just tried to keep up to her so he wouldn’t get lost in a store.

When they finally left the last store, a dazed Fred looked up and down the rows of cars in the parking lot, vacuously wondering where his might be. Unaware that Fred was having difficulty finding a car that looked familiar, Myrtle strolled along beside him chatting merrily. "I think we did very well tonight, Fred," she announced.

Fred stopped and looked at her. "Myrtle, I just spent well over a thousand dollars in there… all at one time," he said with obvious awe, and in a rather shaky voice.

"And money well-spent too, Fred," she assured him. "The car is over here, dear," she said helpfully, pointing.

He made his way to the car and unlocked it as Myrtle went on happily. "Now, except for two small lamps and two bedside rugs, you’ve got your entire bedroom furnished and you’ve got a 20-inch colour television besides," she recounted joyfully and after putting the parcels in the trunk, they both climbed into the car.

He only nodded and somehow got the key into the ignition. After starting the car he looked around, sort of wondering what to do next, then fumbled to put the car in gear. He’d just never experienced anything like this before. Refusing to pay $4.95 for the bed legs, Myrtle instead ordered him a bed frame with wheels that cost $29.99. Fred wasn’t sure why he needed wheels on his bed. For just a brief moment he visualized driving to work in his bed. He gave his head a shake. Apparently he needed the frame in order to attach the headboard to the bed and he had to have the headboard because it went with the bedside tables and chest of drawers she picked out for him. He was well enough pleased with the dark pseudo wood grain furniture and it was available at substantial savings because of being slightly damaged, but it had all seemed to happen so fast.

"Myrtle, why did you pick the chest of drawers with the scratches on top, instead of the one with the gouges on the side?" he asked.

"Because the gouges were on the side facing out in your new bedroom," she explained. "If they’d been on the side against the wall it would have been different. Anyway, we can cover up the scratches on top by setting something over them… like a jewelry box," she suggested.

"I don’t have a jewelry box," said Fred quietly.

"We could always get you one," she said.

"I don’t have any jewelry," he countered.

Myrtle chuckled. "Oh Fred, I’m sure those scratches will wind up covered with something. Dresser tops always wind up covered with things."

Fred sniffed. She was right of course. He could always put his brush and comb set on the chest of drawers and he was sure a great many miscellaneous items from model ships to loose change would eventually accumulate there. He sniffed again, pondering the delivery arrangements for the furnishings. It was all a lot for Fred to absorb at once. He was confused, but he just couldn’t let it go. "Are you sure you don’t mind waiting at the new apartment for the furniture," he asked, concerned. The sales people hadn’t been very flexible about the delivery date, and the one they’d been given coincided with Fred’s hospital visit, so Myrtle had volunteered to wait for the delivery instead.

"Not at all, Fred," she assured him. "I know you wanted to be there yourself, but I’ll make sure they put everything where it belongs, Fred. And I’ll even make the bed for you. Think of it, Fred… when you get out of the hospital, you’ll be coming home to your own apartment and a freshly furnished bedroom."

Fred smiled gratefully. It would be nice to be able to climb into his own, freshly made bed after his operation. "Thanks Myrtle. I appreciate your help."

Then he grinned again at the thought of being picked up and taken home by Myrtle, who would have his car anyway. And then tucked into his freshly made bed by her. It was a lot nicer than the prospect of having to go home to his mother’s and rely on her for his care while he convalesced. When he pulled up outside Myrtle’s house, he turned off the engine in anticipation of an invitation inside, and of course, Myrtle obliged.

Oh Fred

Fred was still basking in the warm glow of his new relationship when he got home. Unfortunately his mother was standing in the kitchen when he entered.

"Well, look what the cat dragged in," she observed.

"I found an apartment tonight," he informed her. "Available October first."

"Well I’m not returning any of your board money for the next two weeks," she stated firmly. "Even though you’ve scarcely eaten here in the last week, I still had to shop for you. I’ve got a pound of stew beef in the freezer I don’t know what to do with."

Fred gazed at her askance and cleared his throat, biting his tongue at the same time. "Fall Fair coming up," he said finally. "You could make up a bunch of meat pies for the Ladies’ Auxiliary table," he suggested helpfully.

His mother only snorted in response, but Fred knew from experience she’d give the matter some thought and probably do just that. The Ladies’ Auxiliary would be pestering her for something and his mother, he well knew, could stretch a pound of stew beef to a lot of little pies.

"You want anything before bed?" she demanded, obviously reluctant to leave the kitchen until he was gone from it.

"No thanks. Had dessert and coffee at Myrtle’s."

"And just who is this Myrtle person? And when will I meet her?" she demanded again.

Fred shuddered slightly at the thought. "She’s just a friend," he replied. "And we’re a little busy just now… she’s helping me get stuff for my new apartment," he explained. "G’night Mom," he added quickly, just as she’d opened her mouth to speak. He retreated hastily down the hallway to his room.

After getting ready for bed, Fred snuggled in and lay thinking about Myrtle. He hummed happily to himself as he recalled the events of the evening, then his mother’s words to him about meeting Myrtle intruded upon his reverie. He wondered how Myrtle would react to his mother, and vice versa. He had no way of knowing for sure since the situation had never come up before. His mother did usually assume a reasonably civil manner for Cynthia’s benefit, despite disliking her intensely. But Fred suspected this was a special effort for Bill and didn’t think the same consideration would be extended to him.

Then again, Myrtle wasn’t at all like Cynthia. Was it possible his mother would like her? He snorted and immediately dismissed the notion. His mother didn’t like anybody ~ except Bill. He was quite sure of that.

He jabbed absently at his pillow as he lay ruminating on the matter. His mother’s attitude toward Cynthia might have been entirely different had they met prior to the marriage ceremony. It must have been somewhat surprising, even for his mother, to be called suddenly to Bill’s penthouse apartment by an unfamiliar female voice and rush into town dreading injury or worse to her fair-haired boy, only to find him fine, though somewhat whoozy for the consumption of spirits, and waiting for her in the company of a buxom blonde and Judge Bickford Waldo.

Fred had certainly been surprised. But Bill had requested that his mother and brother witness the ceremony and Cynthia had simply called them to hurry right over. Fred thought it rather curious that his mother hadn’t raised an unseemly fuss the moment she’d arrived, especially given Bill’s condition at the time. But to the contrary, Flora Luckinbill had seemed flustered and somewhat intimidated by the presence of Judge Waldo, particularly with Cynthia being so chummy with the venerable widower, calling him "Bicky" as she did. It was the only occasion Fred could recall his mother actually rendered speechless by another human being. The judge had seemed to sense a certain disquieting aura in the small gathering and attempted to relax everyone by joking that with Bill married, his principal competition for Upton’s pretty girls was effectively removed. Unfortunately, his well-meant light-heartedness had fallen flat on everyone but Cynthia and only heightened Flora’s tension.

Fred yawned. He was sleepily pondering just how he and Myrtle might get married some day when he drifted off.

On their way to work the next morning, Fred and Myrtle discussed their shopping ideas and decided to get started that evening after work. They would eat first at a fast food restaurant, then do the rounds of the local department stores. When Fred pulled up outside her building, Myrtle leaned across and kissed him gently on the cheek before climbing out. He grinned happily and waved as she disappeared into the building, then drove on.

Myrtle endured a rather dull day at the office. Dick was in a state of disgruntlement when he returned from delivering his report to the Dean’s Committee and, at Myrtle’s suggestion, he departed before noon. There was only one student needing her help throughout the day and even the faculty didn’t bother her that much. Not even Horace Dilby.

Fred would have given anything for a dull day. Oh, he breezed through the morning all right, taking just enough notice of what he was doing to feel reasonably confident he’d done it properly. And he fairly floated to the lunch room and back, consuming his bologna sandwich in the interim without even observing that it was the same old thing. It even appeared for awhile that his afternoon might pass as agreeably as his morning, until precisely 2:50 when Mr. Grieve’s secretary, Helen, entered Fred’s office in an obvious state of panic. She stood just inside his door in something of a crouch, staring wide-eyed at him, her hands flapping up and down beside her head and before Fred could enquire about the nature of her affliction, the words "Oh Fred!" escaped her lips, then she turned and departed his office as suddenly as she’d appeared.

Curious, Fred followed her. This was obviously what she’d expected him to do, for as soon as they reached the threshold of Mr. Grieves’ office, she stepped aside and allowed Fred to enter first, offering a look of unqualified pity as he passed. He stopped just inside the door and gazed in wonder at the scene before him. There sat Mr. Grieves at his desk, staring straight ahead, his face a pasty, frozen mask betraying only the likelihood of some calamitous occurrence. Gathered protectively around him were the Safety Supervisor, the Personnel Director and the Assistant Transport Manager. They all glanced at Fred as soon as he entered, then looked away and began a conspicuous cacophony of coughing and throat clearing. This seemed to break the spell Mr. Grieves’ was under and, as Fred stood there wondering who’d died and what he had to do with it, Mr. Grieves’ slowly raised his eyes to gaze at him.

It was a badly shaken Fred who exited Mr. Grieves’ office several minutes later. Doubting he would make it back to his own office without assistance, Helen accompanied him and left him sitting at his desk silently contemplating the ceiling. He moaned and placed a clammy palm across his face. Here he’d been expecting accolades from his boss for having dealt with the problem of the misplaced ovens so handily. What had happened could only happen to him, he thought miserably. Only for him could such a simple operation turn into such an unlikely disaster. Tucking his chin into his collar, he tried to be philosophical about the whole thing. At least he wasn’t fired. After all, Mr. Grieves couldn’t really blame him for what happened - it was just one of those things. Fred only wished he’d told Myrtle he worked at Soames without mentioning his position with the company. That way he might have survived the embarrassment of the demotion he feared Mr. Grieves had in store for him, without the added humiliation of having to explain it to Myrtle. He groaned and laid his upper body across his desk and was still in that position when Helen, concerned that he might not be conscious of the hour, or conscious at all, came by to inform him it was quitting time.

Fred is Pickled Tink

Fred was ecstatic. He had found a suitable apartment on his first try, it was available almost right away and he had a girlfriend. He glanced proudly at Myrtle. He was well pleased with her. She wasn’t a pushy woman. Fred didn’t approve of pushy women and hadn’t since the sixth grade when little Gloria Newton talked him into removing his clothes in the woods back of the school picnic. She had promised to remove hers too, so they could each see what the other gender looked like. But he was no sooner undressed than Gloria grabbed his undershorts and made off with them. Fred frowned as he recalled the incident. He found out later she’d done it on a dare and he had been subjected to an abundance of female giggling and tittering for several days afterwards. And he had never recovered his undershorts. He had been disinclined to trust women ever since and simply wouldn’t tolerate a pushy, forward one.

He gave Myrtle a little squeeze and she returned it, then she contentedly rested her head on his shoulder. He could feel the slight pressure of her head against his collar and he sighed happily into the cool evening air. It was the man who should make the first moves, he thought. Regardless of his sexual experience, or lack of it, he was in charge. And Myrtle, he was certain, was the kind of woman who appreciated that.

Actually, Fred wasn’t sure if he had any sexual experience or not. He knew Gloria Newton didn’t count, but he wasn’t sure about Hortense Lundy. He had just started at Soames Shipping and had attended that first office Christmas party wanting to make a good impression. Unfortunately, it simply hadn’t occurred to him that there was anything other than fruit juice in the punch. He remembered dancing with Hortense and he vaguely remembered wearing an orange rind on his ear for an earring. But he was never sure what happened after that, except that he woke up the following morning on an unfamiliar couch in an unfamiliar room certain that he’d been crushed to dust and was suffering the final moments of his ebbing life. He did notice in a detached sort of way that he wasn’t wearing his pants and he did wonder briefly where they were. But since he didn’t even know where he was, it just hadn’t seemed all that incredibly important.

He had lain there, a moaning mass of helpless human inertia, until Hortense appeared suddenly from nowhere, plucked him from the couch and hugged him to her, making sympathetic and very loud clucking noises in his ear as she did so. He remembered thinking at the time that it was an awful shame he’d survived all those years with his mother only to perish in the huge arms of Hortense Lundy. But she had released him before he passed out and as he plopped back onto the couch he only wanted to find his pants and get out of there. Both these desires were fulfilled when Hortense held a cup of steaming black coffee to his parched lips. As soon as the hot liquid hit his abused stomach, he was quite violently ill and Hortense quite suddenly produced his trousers, helped him into them and escorted him through the front door. He quite accidentally discovered his car on her front lawn and somehow started it. He didn’t actually recall all of the drive home, but somehow he got there safely.

For weeks afterwards he tried to ascertain if anything had happened between Hortense and himself by listening closely to office gossip. But despite prowling the water coolers and cocking an ear whenever he heard a snigger in any corner of the employee lunch room, all he was ever able to determine was that he’d taken Hortense home after the party, and barfed on her couch.

He glanced again at Myrtle and smiled inwardly. It was amusing, he thought, that a man who couldn’t seem to keep his pants on had no sexual experience he could recall. Then he frowned again, wondering suddenly why he’d thought that was funny.

As they approached the car, they each reluctantly released their hold on each other and Fred bent to open the passenger door for Myrtle. As she brushed past him to climb into the car, Fred gazed into her one good eye and asked, "how old are you?" almost instantly wondering if he mightn’t have approached the question with more tact.

Myrtle only smiled. "Twenty-six," she answered. "You?"

"Twenty-seven."

They smiled at one another in mutual satisfaction with this little revelation, then Myrtle climbed into the car and Fred went around to the other side.

"Penny for your thoughts," he offered, after they’d driven along in silence for awhile.

Myrtle giggled and patted his leg. "Oh Fred, you’re such a card. Actually I was just hoping you like ice cream with canned fruit on it, because that’s what I have for dessert when we get back to my place. I was sort of wishing I’d taken the time to bake you a pie or something instead," she revealed.

Fred grinned hugely. "Oh, I like ice cream all right, Myrtle. That’s what I usually have at home. But I like pie too, and y’know, I haven’t had any in a long time," he informed her meaningfully.

Myrtle giggled and patted his leg again, this time leaving her hand rest there. By the time they arrived at her place she had learned that Fred liked cherry or blueberry pie best, apple, raisin, pumpkin or lemon second best, and rhubarb pie third best. Since it seemed to her there was scarcely a kind of pie which wasn’t one of his favorites, she made a mental note to check her pantry to see if she had the necessary supplies to do some pie-baking soon.

As soon as they were inside, Myrtle lit a fire, then put on the coffee and served up their ice cream in the kitchen. When they’d finished that, she poured a mug of coffee for each of them and led Fred to the living room. He wanted to help with the dinner dishes, but Myrtle insisted she would do them later, so the two snuggled together with their coffee on the end of the couch nearest the wood stove and once again leafed through a catalogue. It wasn’t much attention they were giving it this time though, as Myrtle snuggled close and rested her head on Fred’s shoulder. She relaxed against him and had her eye closed much of the time, even as she flipped the pages of the heavy book in Fred’s lap. For his part, Fred was trying to keep his nose in the general proximity of Myrtle’s head so he might better enjoy the faint lilac scent of her hair.

Though he was almost always in bed by 11:00 on week nights, it was 10:45 before he reluctantly left Myrtle's. He shyly kissed Myrtle good night and waved as he backed away from her, then he turned and fell out the porch door.

Myrtle rushed to his side. "Are you all right?" she asked.

Fred nodded through the pain on his face as she sat down on the ground beside him and wrapped her arms around his shoulders. She laid his head against her and soothingly stroked his cheek, gently rocking back and forth. It was worth the fall, he thought as he relaxed against her. Then he suddenly realized the softness he could feel against his ear was one of her tiny breasts and was embarrassed. He moved to get up and Myrtle released him.

She regained her feet as he did, then moved close and softly kissed his cheek. "Now, you watch where you’re going," she admonished.

He smiled sheepishly and once again waved as he backed away. Then he turned and disappeared down the path without further mishap.

Fred Finds an Apartment

"Were yous gonna live together?" enquired the building manager as they all stepped into the available bachelor apartment. Fred only gazed at the man in wide-eyed surprise and blushed furiously.

Myrtle cleared her throat. "No. Mr. Luckinbill is seeking an apartment for himself," she replied firmly.

The manager only shrugged and extended a hand toward the empty room. "It’s small, but it’ll do for one. It goes for $625. a month."

"Utilities included?" inquired Myrtle.

"Yeah, but it’s extra for parking and cable," replied the manager.

As soon as he’d glanced around and heard the cost of rent, Fred decided he could probably afford the larger one bedroom, so he wanted to move on. But Myrtle was in the tiny kitchenette opening all the cupboards and appliances. As Fred watched, he wondered absently what she was looking for, but he waited quietly until she’d peeped into everything, then he turned to the manager. "Well, this is okay," he shrugged nonchalantly, "but it is kind of small. I’d like to see the one bedroom, please."

The manager shrugged and grunted, then shuffled toward the door. They were no sooner inside the other apartment than Myrtle scurried to the little bedroom. Fred just stood in the doorway watching in amazement as she pulled a tape measure from her pocket and measured both dimensions of the small room. Then she turned to Fred with a satisfied smile. "It’s big enough for a double bed, Fred. You could have two bedside tables too if they were small. And you put a chest of drawers against that wall," she assured him, pointing to the outside wall with the window. "The closet is rather small, but at least there is one," she declared cheerfully.

Fred nodded as she brushed by him and marched into the living room. The manager was standing in the middle of the room rocking slowly back and forth and staring at the ceiling. Myrtle stopped in front of him. "How much?" she asked brusquely.

"This one’s $785. Parking and cable extra," he droned.

Fred peeped around the doorway and smiled gleefully at Myrtle. It was more than he’d hoped, but he could afford it… he was quite sure.

"How much is the parking?" Myrtle asked a trifle suspiciously.

"For indoor, forty dollars. For outdoor, twenty-five," replied the manager, yawning.

Myrtle glanced at Fred, who allowed a brief look of alarm to cross his face before replacing it with determination. He squared his shoulders and marched into the living room.

"I’ll take it," he announced. "With outdoor parking," he added, whereupon Myrtle scurried into the kitchen to peer into the cupboards and appliances and the manager stopped rocking and glanced at Fred in mild surprise.

"Well, you hafta fill out an application," said the manager. He pulled a wrinkled and slightly soiled piece of paper from his back pocket and held it out toward Fred. "And you’ll have to leave a cheque for the first and last months rent. If you check out, the apartment’s yours from October first… which is... um... well... it’s today. So it’ll be yours once this checks out. Of course, if you don’t want it so soon, you can leave a deposit and maybe get it if nobody else wants it right away."

Fred examined the application as the man spoke. "I’ll take it from October first," he muttered. "Got a pen?"

The manager shook his head and Fred gazed at him helplessly. Even as she thrust her head into the freezer compartment of the refrigerator in search of any foul odour that might be lurking there, Myrtle had been listening to the men. She strode back into the living room and handed Fred her pen. Then, as he glanced around in search of a surface to write on, she gently guided him toward the kitchen. As soon as he discovered the kitchen counter, he set to work on the rental application while Myrtle busied herself measuring the living room and bedroom windows, and assured herself that everything in the bathroom was in working order.

"If this checks out, you can pick up the key in a couple days," said the Superintendent sternly, once both the application and a cheque for the appropriate amount were in his hands. Then he shuffled to the door and stood slightly aside, allowing Fred and Myrtle to exit first.

As they strolled along the darkened street side by side, Fred breathed a satisfied sigh. Then he glanced at his companion. "I’m sorry if just taking it like that caught you unawares, Myrtle. I’m a little impulsive sometimes, I guess," he confessed.

"Oh no, Fred," she beamed up at him. "You were just being decisive and I think that’s a very admirable quality in a man."

He grinned and moved a little closer, so that his arm brushed against Myrtle’s. Then she stopped suddenly and turned to face him. "Fred, I’d like you to help me with a little shopping too… if you wouldn’t mind," she said hesitantly. "I’d like you to come with me to pick out a new car," she finished quietly.

His slightly alarmed expression turned to one of concern. "But Myrtle, you weren’t going to get a new car till you had your insurance money."

"Well, I know Fred, but you’ve just taken an apartment… and you can’t drive all the way from here to my place to pick me up every morning and deliver me to work. Then take me home every evening too," she ventured.

"Sure I can, Myrtle. I don’t mind. You can get the gas money from the insurance company. And I really don’t mind."

"Oh no, Fred. It isn’t reasonable," she declared. "Anyway, you’ll be going into the hospital at the end of next week. I’ll have to make other arrangements for those few days afterwards anyway. I might just as well get my own car again, Fred."

He moved closer and took both her hands in his. "You can use my car while I’m in the hospital, Myrtle," he suggested.

Myrtle shook her head slowly. "I couldn’t do that, Fred. I’d just feel awful if anything happened to it."

"But Myrtle, it’s insured… and I’m sure you’d be careful. You can see okay out of one eye, right? Please… it’s just a car… and I really don’t mind," he pleaded. "I really don’t want you to rush out and buy a car."

"But mightn’t your mother need your car while you’re in the hospital?"

Fred's eyes widened at the thought, but he just shook his head solemnly. "She has her own transportation," he replied in a low voice. "Now Myrtle," he said sternly. "I insist! I’ll still drive you to and from work for now, and you’ll take my car while I’m in hospital."

Before she could protest further, he leaned over and kissed her. Though he’d meant to plant a gentle yet firm kiss on her lips, he actually only managed to graze her right nostril. But despite being a little startled, Myrtle was certain of his intentions and she moved a little closer and softly kissed his cheek in return. "All right, Fred. We’ll try it your way first," she relented.

He grinned his approval and slid an arm across her shoulders while she slid hers around his waist. Then the two continued their stroll toward his car in what would soon be his new neighbourhood.

A Delicious Stew

As soon as they were inside Myrtle’s house, she asked Fred what he’d like to drink while she finished preparing supper. Fred politely informed her that he always had a glass of milk after work and Myrtle happily supplied it. Then she handed him the catalogues they’d been going through the previous evening and disappeared into the kitchen. Fred sat back and leafed through one of them, turning to the section on bedroom furnishings to review the various sizes and prices of beds.

"That one’s nice," said Myrtle, having quietly slipped up behind Fred. She pointed over his shoulder at a picture of a double bed with exquisitely carved wooden head and foot boards.

Fred gasped. "Yeah… but Myrtle, I can’t afford a bed like that!"

Myrtle patted him on the shoulder. "Oh, I know Fred. But isn’t it nice just to look at them sometimes? What size bed did you have in mind?" she probed casually.

"Oh… I thought maybe a double bed… a little extra room would be nice… you know, not so cramped… if I can afford it," he stammered as he conscientiously avoided turning toward Myrtle.

"I think it’s a good idea," she encouraged. "What kind of bed did you have in your old apartment?"

"Bunk beds," he replied quietly.

"Bunk beds?" she repeated.

"Yeah. Well, I got rid of my pull-out couch when I moved to the larger apartment and I found the bunk beds on sale in the kids’ furniture section at Price Mart. I thought it would be kind of nice to have the extra bed… in case I had a guest… and you don’t have to use them stacked one over the other… you can set them side by side. Of course, there wasn’t room in my apartment to do that, but that’s what I had in mind when I bought them," he finished feebly.

Myrtle smiled and patted him on the shoulder again. "Dinner will be ready soon," she assured him, turning back to the kitchen.

When she called Fred to dinner, he entered the kitchen realizing it was the one room he actually hadn’t been in before. To his left was the kitchen sink and counter, then the refrigerator, with the front entrance hall at the far end, which Myrtle used as a laundry room and pantry. On his right was a counter and the stove. At the far end of this was the kitchen window, under which sat a small, drop leaf table and two chairs. Myrtle was just setting their plates on the table.

Once he was seated, Fred peered over his collar at his plate. "It looks and smells delicious," he observed, smiling. Indeed, he was well pleased with the food on the plate before him: chunks of beef swimming in a thick tomato sauce with mashed potatoes and peas. It was sort of a stew, but with a difference, he thought cheerfully. He was accustomed to eating stew of some sort quite often at his mother’s. But her stews were always brown and Myrtle’s was red. As an added bonus, there were mashed potatoes instead of just the boiled chunks his mother usually served.

"I hope you like it," said Myrtle quietly.

"Which is the salt, Myrtle, the hen or the rooster?" asked Fred.

"Oh… please Fred, taste it first if you don’t mind. I put quite a bit of seasoning in it… you may not want any more," she suggested.

Fred blushed. "Oh, of course… sorry Myrtle. Just a habit I picked up at my mother’s."

Myrtle just chuckled and watched with a sort of morbid fascination as Fred lifted a forkful of food past his collar and into his mouth. That was the one problem with the soft collar, thought Fred. Its fabric exterior couldn’t be as easily wiped off as the plastic exterior of the neck brace. The front of the soft collar was beginning to look a little soiled despite his best efforts to avoid spillage. "This is delicious," he proclaimed as he chewed one mouthful, then smushed some of the tomato sauce and some peas into his mashed potatoes.

As they ate, Myrtle prattled on about sales on linens and towels that were coming up. "The reason I asked about the size of the bed," she explained as Fred chewed, "is so we know what size sheets we’re looking for."

Fred nodded his understanding as she spoke. Then put down his fork and reached for his glass of milk. He took several gulps, then with practiced savoir-faire, tucked his upper lip beneath the lower, neatly and quickly removing all trace of the white residue. Sighing with satisfaction, he raised his eyebrows at Myrtle. "I was going to ask my mother if I could borrow more sheets from her, but I wasn’t looking forward to it. I mean, I still had some of her sheets when my apartment burned down," he explained. "I also had four pillow cases, two washcloths, three hand towels, two bowls, a saucepan and a cheese grater of hers. Y’know Myrtle, I thought she’d given me some of those things… you know… to keep… but she won’t let me forget they were all lost in the fire... as if it was my fault. I’m not sure she’d be willing to loan me anything else."

Myrtle shook her head and offered a sympathetic smile. "Well, hopefully we’ll be able to decide what size bed you can have tonight… after we’ve seen the apartments," she comforted. Then she offered him the choice of dessert now, or dessert later with coffee when they returned from viewing apartments. Fred eagerly opted for the latter and as soon as Myrtle had piled the dishes in the sink, the two took off for town.

Fred Scores a Triumph

Fred glanced at the open page of the log book and recalled that he’d been about to dial the phone when Bill came in. He found the number on the page, then picked up the phone and dialed. Only when the phone was ringing did it occur to Fred to wonder what his purpose was in calling.

"Receiving," growled a voice at the other end.

"Ahh... did you people receive anything you weren’t supposed to?" enquired Fred uncertainly.

"Who is this?" demanded the gruff voice.

"Oh, I’m sorry," trilled Fred. "This is Fred Luckinbill at Soames Shipping. We’ve sort of lost track of ovens... two of ‘em. Got sent to the wrong place... wondered if you’d seen them."

Fred heard a distinct rumble in the phone. The other man was laughing. "Yeah, we got ‘em," the man finally replied. "You know, we outfit semi-trucks pretty good these days. Cabs even have microwaves in ‘em. But these ovens are huge suckers, son!"

Fred couldn’t help tittering, mostly in delight that he’d found the wayward ovens. "I know," he replied. "They were intended for a restaurant in Milburn. We somehow got two shipments mixed up. We’ll send a truck for them... and you’re probably missing some engine parts?" he ventured.

The man was still chuckling merrily. "Yeah.. we figured it was a mix up, but we’re a little behind in production anyhow, so we weren’t panicking about it just yet. "Course, it’ll be nice to get these huge suckers out of here... and the boys’ll sure be relieved they don’t have to install them in a truck!"

As the man continued to amuse himself, Fred suddenly realized he didn’t know what company he’d called. He frantically searched the page where he’d found the phone number for a company name, but there just didn’t seem to be one. "Who is this?" he asked desperately.

"Joe Phillips, Assistant Receiver," came the reply. "But any of the boys know where those ovens are."

"Yeah, but Joe, what’s the company?" moaned Fred.

Joe’s rumbling laughter burst through the phone again. "Ya mean ya don’t know who ya called, son?" he surmised gleefully.

"Well, it seems to have escaped me," Fred confessed awkwardly.

Joe sniffed and cleared his throat in an effort to stop laughing. "Well, this is the Wilmer Truck plant in Burlington, son. My goodness, we wouldn’t want you to lose track of these ovens again, would we?"

"No," agreed Fred, his voice cracking with embarrassment. "We’ll... we’ll send a truck for the ovens tomorrow, Joe... and we’ll get those missing engine parts to you as soon as we can."

"Well that’s fine, son," confirmed Joe. "And we’ll get those ovens crated back up for ya too. They’ll be on loading dock C... okay?"

"Loading Dock C," repeated Fred carefully. "Thanks Joe."

As soon as Fred hung up the phone he felt like cheering. He had found the missing ovens! He immediately grabbed two shipping manifests and began filling them out to get the transfer completed as quickly as possible. Mr. Grieves had told Fred to send out a truck to recover the ovens - wherever they were, take them to Milburn, pick up the engine parts and return them to wherever. Mr. Grieves had been clear that he didn’t care if it took the truck all day and half the night to accomplish the exchange, just as long as it was done. In his glee at finding the ovens so quickly, Fred decided to do his boss one better. He would dispatch two trucks. One would go to Milburn and the other to Burlington for the pickup. Then they would exchange places and loads. Fred was sure this would get the job done more quickly, even if it was more expensive, and he was equally certain Mr. Grieves would appreciate his reasoning in the matter. He was in a positively gleeful mood when he went to pick up Myrtle.

Superman Bill

Fred, meanwhile, was frantically leafing through the log book of shipments from two weeks back, telephoning anyone who was supposed to have received a shipment of engine parts and had actually received two restaurant ovens with grill attachments instead. Fortunately it wasn’t Fred’s mistake. But the shipping clerk who had erred was no longer with the company, so when the angry restauranteur had demanded his ovens and offered Mr. Grieves a pointed suggestion concerning what might be done with the unwanted engine parts, Mr. Grieves had suggested to Fred in rather strong terms that he locate the ovens and affect a transfer of shipments immediately.

Fred had called the receiving departments of three automotive plants, two of whom derived obvious amusement from his quest for ovens gone astray, and had just placed his hand on the telephone to call a fourth plant, when a bronzed hand covered his, preventing him from lifting the receiver. Fred recognized the hand instantly and slowly raised his eyes to gaze into the handsome, grinning face of his younger brother.

"How are you, little brother?" bellowed Bill.

Fred cringed. He hated it when Bill called him that. Even though Fred was the physically smaller of the two, he was also the elder and to him that unquestionably meant Bill was the little brother.

"Let go of my hand," he said patiently.

Bill chuckled and only reluctantly complied, then Fred sat back and stared at his brother in wary anticipation. As he gazed upon Bill’s flawless features, blindingly alight with the usual perfect yet churlish smile, Fred marvelled again that it was even possible they both sprang from the same loins. At six feet, two inches and a muscular 225 pounds, Bill was the paragon of youthful manhood in the community of Upton. As if that were not blessing enough, having graduated from the Business Administration program at Upton College only a few years ago, followed by a physical fitness course, he now owned and operated Upton’s only health and fitness club. He also owned a piece of Upton’s only health food store and worked regularly as a sports consultant with both sporting goods stores in town. At the tender age of 24, Bill Luckinbill was an Adonic entrepreneur who was the envy of many young men in town and, keeping fit and tanned as he did at his own club, he was also the object of much female adoration, despite his recent marriage.

"To what do I owe the dubious honour...," began Fred.

"The usual," interrupted Bill with a crooked smile. He winked as he pulled off his wedding band and held it out toward Fred. "I’m taking a scuba diving course in Florida... be away two weeks. I’m taking the red-eye out tonight."

Fred extended his hand with obvious reluctance and as the ring fell into it, he noted once again that Bill’s ring finger was just as tanned as the rest of him. One would never know Bill owned a wedding band, he thought disdainfully. "How’s Cynthia?" he asked pointedly.

"Okay," replied Bill with evident disinterest. "How’s Mom?"

"Why don’t you ask her yourself," responded Fred testily.

Bill offered a dark look of warning. "You know damned well why. Every time I call she only wants to know if Cynthia’s pregnant yet. Damned if I know why she’s so eager for a grandchild," he complained.

"She wants to take it for a ride in her truck," snorted Fred.

Bill chortled loudly. "Y’know Freddy, Cynthia won’t even call Mom for a recipe anymore, ‘cause Mom only pesters her about how come she isn’t pregnant yet."

"Well, why isn’t she?" inquired Fred innocently.

"How in hell should I know?" said Bill in exasperation. "We’ve been trying... off and on. God knows I’d love for her to be preoccupied with a kid. She just doesn’t take, for Chrissake." Bill sighed and ran his fingers through his freshly styled bleach-blond hair. "Cynthia is enrolled in a cooking course at the new kitchenware shop in town while I’m away. I’ve invested in the place and Cynthia thinks she’s checking out business in the shop and the course enrolment for me, but of course... you never know, maybe she’ll absorb something useful," he suggested a little contemptuously.

Fred, as always when Bill spoke of his wife, was torn between disapproval of his brother’s tone and outright pity. Cynthia had simply been the conquest that wasn’t. An exotic dancer of notable beauty and dubious talent, she had performed nightly at the exclusive night club where Bill spent many of his evenings. During her contract with the club, many of Upton’s leading male citizens had called on her in her dressing room after her evening shows and plied her with compliments, flowers and other gifts. Most, however, had struck out. Not so Bill. Having listened to the woeful stories of the men who’d failed to impress the much admired dancer, Bill had arrogantly strutted to her dressing room one evening intent upon conquest. But conquest simply hadn’t been necessary, for the instant Cynthia laid eyes upon her incredibly good looking caller, she had simply disrobed and invited him to do the same.

Denied the challenge of the thing, Bill had afterwards proposed marriage, hoping to at least establish some exclusivity with Cynthia during what he envisioned as an engagement lasting precisely the length of her contract with the club, at which point he’d simply break up with her. But Cynthia refused him. She considered Upton only a brief stop on her way to the big time where she would doubtless encounter an older, wealthier and therefore vastly more suitable suitor.

So Bill had encountered an element of challenge in his relationship with Cynthia that he could relish. He persisted over the course of several weeks in pestering the woman to marry him. Though she was always pleased to see him whenever he called on her, Cynthia was just as tenacious in her refusal - until she absorbed the fact that the handsome young man was actually well on his way to becoming quite wealthy. Then she evidently decided it was unfair to hold his youth against him and not only accepted his final charming and touching proposal, but hauled the slightly inebriated Bill in front of a Magistrate with such swift suddenness it was only several days after the happy event that Bill realized he was actually married to the most talked about girl in town.

No one knew what changed Cynthia’s mind about making the big time, but to her credit she endeavoured to settle down and become a model housewife, despite the fact that she hated housework and couldn’t boil water, much less prepare the kind of meals Bill expected. Nevertheless, she discarded her scanty dance costumes in favour of a June Cleaver style house dress and did her very best to acquire the skills necessary to be a homemaker.

To his discredit, the libidinous Bill had quickly graduated from roving eligible bachelor about town, to roving married philanderer about town. Cynthia, however, was so busy devoting her energy to her new lifestyle, she had so far failed to notice her husband’s lapses of attention.

"Well, gotta go," said Bill, turning to the door. "See ya in two weeks."

Fred only shook his head as his brother disappeared through the door, then he glanced again at the ring as he dropped it into the paper clip compartment of his desk drawer. He certainly didn’t approve of what Bill was doing, but each time Bill went away, Fred held onto the ring for him. He just hadn’t been able to refuse. He sighed and tried to remember what he’d been doing before Bill interrupted.

Cereal and Reports ~ Food for Thought?

After they exchanged their morning greetings, Fred gazed intently into Myrtle’s eye. "Are you all right, Myrtle?" he inquired with evident concern.

"Why yes, Fred. Why?"

"Your eye is kind of red and puffy," he observed, wondering immediately if he might have found a more tactful way of putting it. "You haven’t been overworking it, have you?" he asked to demonstrate that his motives for asking were pure.

Myrtle smiled and patted his arm. "No, Fred. I’ve just been chopping onions."

"At 7:30 in the morning?" he squeaked.

"Yes," she chuckled. "For dinner tonight. I browned some brisket and chopped onion and put that along with a can of tomatoes and some herbs and spices into my crock pot. It’ll simmer all day while we’re at work and when we get home, dinner will be practically ready. I’ll just have to boil some potatoes and peas," she explained proudly. "I hope you like it."

"Sounds great," he said, trying to sound eager. It sounded fine to him, but he found it difficult to enthuse about a hot meal with onions in it at 7:45 a.m. He was a cereal man who could only rarely entertain the notion of bacon and eggs in the morning. Too greasy, he thought. The morning after his apartment burned down he had tried an egg breakfast out, but he hadn’t liked it and wished he’d just bought an ordinary bran muffin somewhere.

"What do you usually eat for breakfast, Myrtle?" he asked suddenly, instantly wondering if the question hadn’t sounded abrupt.

"Cereal," she replied.

Fred smiled in approval. "Me too. I particularly like Cheerios," he announced.

"Oh, I like those too, but I usually eat bran flakes... for the roughage," she said, wondering if she'd actually needed to say that. "Sometimes I have Cheerios or Rice Krispies for a treat though," she added. "What do you like for lunch, Fred," she asked, sort of trying to change the subject.

"Oh, I generally take a sandwich," he said without enthusiasm. "I’m tiring of it though. My mother has packed me a bologna sandwich every day since I came to stay with her."

"Why don’t you ask her for something different?" inquired Myrtle with a tone of disbelief.

"I did. I mean, I mentioned one day that bologna every day was a bit boring. The next day I got two unbuttered slices of bread with a piece of paper between them. She’d written on it, "violets are purple, roses are red, it isn’t nutritious, but it’s different, Fred."

Myrtle couldn’t help laughing, but Fred could only manage a half-hearted snort.

"Your mother sounds like quite the practical joker," ventured Myrtle.

"I guess so," he responded uncertainly. Actually, Fred was of the opinion that his mother did such things out of sheer meanness, but he had to admit he’d never really considered the possibility that she possessed a sense of humour. "Anyway," he continued, "I wound up buying a sandwich out of the vending machine. I thought it would be better than two slices of dry bread."

"Was it?" asked Myrtle.

"No,” he said simply. “Probably lucky it didn’t kill me,” he added, sticking out his tongue. “I don’t think people should buy food from machines.”

"Couldn’t you make your own lunches?" she ventured.

"I’d actually like to... I’m used to looking after myself," he assured her. "But my mother won’t let me use her kitchen unsupervised.” He suddenly realized how that sounded. “I mean, she’s just like that," he added hastily. "She doesn’t trust anyone else in her kitchen.”

"Oh. I’ve heard some women are like that," remarked Myrtle almost feebly. But she noticed that Fred had already drifted away on the current of his own thoughts. That was ok, she thought, pondering her own habit of buying a salad lunch in the college cafeteria. Not exactly exciting conversation, she thought, yawning. So they drove the rest of the way to the college in silence and said their usual smiling goodbyes at the door to her building.

Dick was standing in her office looking thoughtful as Myrtle came in. "Oh Myrtle, have you had a chance to do that report on the computer system?" he asked fitfully as she hung up her jacket.

"Good morning, Dick," she said calmly. Then she made herself comfortable at her desk, pulled her work file from the drawer and put away her purse. "Yes Dick, it’s done," she answered finally, pulling a paper-clipped sheaf of papers from her file and holding it out to him.

Dick nervously flipped through the papers. "Oh good," he sighed. "It isn’t too long."

"Of course not," she replied. "But you’ll be wanting to go over it carefully before you present it to the committee," she cautioned.

"Okay. Are we for it or against it?" he asked.

"For it, with certain reservations," she replied.

"Fence-sitting again," he observed with obvious delight. "But then, I guess that’s why we have cracks in our asses," he giggled.

Myrtle smiled tolerantly. Dick very often indulged in silliness unbecoming a man in his position whenever he felt relieved, yet still tense about something he had to do. "You should go over the last page in particular, Dick... to make sure you’re comfortable with the language prior to the meeting," she advised.

Dick turned to the last page. He looked over it and settled on a spot to begin reading out loud. "There are still some problems, large and small, to be resolved, but this is to be expected when in transition from one system to another. The college should encourage cooperation and patience from all employees working with the new system, and this committee in particular should take care to separate constructive criticism, which may help us overcome the problems we encounter, from petty complaints motivated only by self-interest." He glanced up at Myrtle. "This is strong stuff. It could upset the Dean," he almost whimpered.

"No, it won’t," she assured him gently. "It might embarrass him a little, but don’t worry, the rest of the report is quite boring."

"But, if I’ve lulled them to sleep, why wake them up at the end?" he anguished.

"Well, for one thing, Dick, it’s the kind of thing that will keep the Dean from asking you for any more reports for awhile," she smiled.

Dick returned a slightly uncertain, yet conspiratorial smile and sighed with some measure of relief. "All right then. I’ll go over it all before I read it to the committee tomorrow morning," he promised. Clutching the report in both hands, he turned to leave. "I hope they have donuts at the meeting instead of those stale cookies," he muttered as he wandered out the office door.

Myrtle chuckled softly. Dick would come to work tomorrow dressed in his most funereal suit, looking very dignified and ready to stand before the Dean’s Committee to offer an important perspective on a subject of some controversy throughout the college. Of course, Myrtle’s report would have him actually commit to nothing more than a general concept of collegiality. Myrtle breathed a sigh of relief herself and began thumbing through her work file in search of some ordinary task to perform. She came across some faculty correspondence which needed typing and decided to tackle that next.

It's Just Shopping, Or Is It?

Inside the grocery store, a shopping routine was quickly established with Fred falling into the practice developed during shopping trips with his mother. It was his custom to assist by requesting specific instructions regarding the item and brand required, searching the aisles for same and returning to the cart with either that item, or something he’d seen in passing and wanted. Grocery shopping was the only kind of shopping Myrtle didn’t enjoy, but she soon discovered that Fred’s routine was fun and it did seem to get the job done a bit faster. Quickly getting into the swing of it, she sent Fred hither and yon for everything from baked goods to coffee to dairy products, being careful not to send him for anything heavy in consideration of his injuries. Each time he returned to the cart with the correct item and a satisfied grin, Myrtle rewarded him with a smile and a "thank you" and sent him off again. This gave her time to read labels and browse new possibilities.

Only once did Fred err and return to her with the wrong item. She had asked for salted Premium Saltines, and he had returned with unsalted crackers. She glanced at him as he handed her the package. He stood grinning happily, his face fairly shining in eager anticipation of her approval and a new assignment. Myrtle dropped the crackers into the cart and offered the usual smile, then sent him off for frozen orange juice concentrate. She then wheeled over to the cracker aisle to change the selection herself. As she did so, she spied a box of animal crackers and it inspired the notion that buying a special treat for Fred for all his help would be a great idea. Not the animal crackers though, she chuckled inwardly. That might seem to be mocking him. She’d think of something else.

Carrying a container of frozen orange juice in each hand, Fred scurried through the store looking for Myrtle, who, in turn, had selected the shortest available line up and was patiently waiting for Fred. The cart was more than half full, and knowing that Fred couldn’t carry any heavy bags, she’d decided it was time to check out. She didn’t have everything on her list, but the essentials were in the cart and she’d find a way to shop again soon. When a puffing Fred finally found her, she gratefully took the orange juice from him and added it to the conveyer belt.

As the final items rolled past the cashier and into the hands of the bag boy, Fred became uncomfortably aware of being stared at. He turned and looked into a baleful expression on the fresh, young face of the bag boy packaging Myrtler's groceries. Fred recognized him, and the boy evidently recognized Fred, who blushed and turned away, looking for escape. Crouching slightly, he maneuvered himself behind Myrtle. He had hoped he’d gone unnoticed during the unpleasant incident in the parking lot the last time he’d shopped here with his mother. Shortly after Fred’s father had died, his mother had sold their little house in town and purchased the comfortable, frame bungalow she now occupied. Having done this, she found she was in need of some form of reliable transportation to carry her to and from town. With Superman Bill’s encouragement, she had chosen a small, red pick-up truck with which she had developed a certain rapport by the time it was worn out some years later. To replace it, she had chosen a full-size, red pick-up, on which she proceeded to lavish her affection in the form of running boards, fog lights, grill guard, very loud chrome horns, mag wheels, mud flaps and miscellaneous chrome trim and decals. As preposterous as it seemed to Fred, his fifty-six year-old mother currently owned and actively drove a vehicle that was the envy of every burly black-shirt in the county.

As if this alone wasn’t sufficiently embarrassing to Fred, it was in this vehicle that he had accompanied his mother to this very A&P scarcely three weeks ago. And it was the boy now warily eyeing Fred who’d wheeled her groceries out to her truck. As he lifted the groceries into the truck bed, the boy had enthusiastically and repeatedly proclaimed his admiration for the vehicle. When he’d finished loading the groceries, he had glanced first at Fred, then at the huge, grey-haired Flora Luckinbill and quite innocently commented that the owner of the magnificent truck was a swell fellow for letting them use it. Flora’s face had instantly turned the most remarkable shade of purple. Then she had unleashed upon the poor lad a torrent of verbal vitriol which left him a wide-eyed and quivering lump in the parking lot as she climbed into the cab and roared away. Fred had scarcely had time to jump into the back of the truck, at first thinking it likely safer anyway than riding in the cab with his infuriated mother. He now recalled this rash decision with mixed feelings, for his mother’s rather aggressive driving style and the bumpy rural roads had combined to reduce Fred to a moaning mass of black and blue. To add insult to injury, he later discovered that the dozen eggs and several tomatoes amongst the groceries had somehow arrived home unscathed.

Fred shook his head and glanced back at the boy, who continued to regard him suspiciously while loading Myrtle’s groceries into a cart. Then the boy followed her only reluctantly to the parking lot, continuing to keep a cautious eye on Fred as he went. The boy did seem somewhat relieved when they stopped behind Fred’s Toyota. However, as soon as Fred had the trunk open, he slipped quietly into the driver’s seat and just waited. He heard and felt the trunk slam shut, he watched in his rearview mirror as the boy departed and he breathed a sigh of relief when Myrtle climbed into the car.

"These are for you," she said, holding out a box of Cracker Jacks.

Fred stared at them, then smiled slowly as he took them from her. "What did you get these for?"

"For you," she smiled back. "You were so helpful in there, I just wanted to get you a little something for a reward. I hope you like them."

"They’re my favourite," he grinned. "Of course, the prizes aren’t what they used to be...."

Myrtle giggled. "Oh Fred, you’re such a card."

Fred only shrugged as he set the Cracker Jacks on the console and started the car. Then he offered Myrtle another bashful grin as he put the car in gear and headed for the exit.

Myrtle had Fred carry the bags containing rolls, bread and paper products into the house, while she lugged the heavier groceries. Then she told him firmly to sit and wait as she made one more trip to the car where she got the last of the bags, as well as Fred’s Cracker Jacks. He was so thoroughly embarrassed by his inability to carry more that he just felt like slinking home. But Myrtle was getting to know Fred well enough to anticipate this reaction and she was determined he wasn’t going to leave until she’d had the opportunity to raise his spirits. So he obediently sat waiting in the living room while she quickly put away the frozen foods and other perishables. Then she poured some milk into two mugs, put them in the microwave, picked up his box of Cracker Jacks and hurried to join him.

"I brought these in so you could have some with your hot chocolate if you wanted," she explained, setting the box in his lap.

Fred picked it up and sort of hugged it to his chest. "Thank you, but you don’t have to make hot chocolate, Myrtle."

She borrowed Fred’s own technique and pouted. "But the milk is already warm," she explained. Getting up, she gestured toward the kitchen. "I just need to add the cocoa. I thought you’d at least stay to enjoy a nice mug of hot chocolate with me before rushing home."

Fred acquiesced, of course. So once the hot chocolate was ready, Myrtle brought it in for them and settled down near Fred. Then she pulled some catalogues from the magazine rack. It wouldn’t hurt to start looking over what was available as they enjoyed their treat.

Not the Golden Arches At Least

When Fred pulled up outside the Commercial Art building later, Myrtle was waiting for him just outside the front doors. She didn’t want to keep him waiting again for one thing, and for another, she was vaguely curious about where he would take her this time. She rather hoped Fred’s previous restaurant selection wasn’t an accurate reflection of his idea of dinner out.

"Well, we’ll get a good meal tonight, Myrtle," Fred assured her once she was settled into the passenger seat. "And then we’ll get you re-supplied with groceries,” he grinned. "I thought we’d go to the steakhouse beside the A&P," he enthused. "That way we can just skip over to the store to shop when we’re done. Is that okay?"

"Oh sure Fred," she replied, satisfied with his choice. She was familiar with Nick’s Steakhouse and Pancake Emporium ~ not a fast food joint and not really fancy either. Just right, she thought. And she also liked shopping at the A&P next door.

"It’s a good thing we came so early, straight from work, Myrtle. It’s hard to get a booth later in the evening," Fred informed her knowledgeably, once they were seated in the restaurant.

"Yes, this is very nice," she agreed, resting her elbows on the Formica table top as she gazed at the open menu before her. Steak or pancakes, she pondered.

“How do you like your steak?” asked Fred suddenly.

Myrtle glanced up. She hadn’t really decided if she wanted steak, but then thought about how she’d been eating a lot of homemade bread goods in the past week, so maybe a good old fashioned chunk of meat would be a nice change. “Medium,” she answered, smiling.

"Me too," smiled Fred. "Would the New York strip loin be all right with you?"

"Oh Fred., that’s kind of expensive. I’d be happy with a rib eye,” she protested. He offered a wounded look, once again putting Myrtle in mind of beagle puppy. She sighed resignedly and offered a penitent smile. "Well, whatever you’re having," she agreed.

And so, as the two enjoyed their early dinner, they talked about looking at apartments.

"There’s a two-bedroom, a one-bedroom and a bachelor in the building I like the look of best, and there’s a couple of bachelors available in the other building,” said Fred. “I suppose we should look at them all, but I really would prefer a one-bedroom. A two- bedroom will be too expensive and I lived in a bachelor once... with a pull-out couch. I didn’t like it."

"It is a lot of bother," agreed Myrtle.

"Dangerous too," he nodded emphatically. "I slipped once pulling my couch out and it landed on top of me."

"Myrtle’s eye widened in astonishment. "Were you hurt?"

Fred shook his head. "But I had the devil’s own time getting out from under it. Those things are heavy and the cross bar between two of the legs was right across my throat. If I’d been wearing this collar at the time... well..... " his voice trailed off thoughtfully as Myrtle just stared at him. Then he sort of gave his head a shake. "Anyway," he continued, "I haven’t really liked pull-out couches since."

"Small wonder," she agreed, her eye still wide. "I’m certainly glad you weren’t hurt."

Fred smiled bashfully. "Anyway, I guess... if you don’t mind... we should look at all the apartments. If I can only afford a bachelor, maybe we could think of a sleeping arrangement other than a pull-out couch," he ventured.

"I’m sure we could," she encouraged. "And I don’t mind at all. It’ll be interesting to see them all. When should we go?"

"Well," said Fred a little sheepishly, "I sort of made appointments for tomorrow night... but if that’s not convenient Myrtle...."

"Oh it’s not a problem at all," she assured him. I had no other plans. But tomorrow evening, before we go, you must have dinner at my place. It’s my turn to treat," she smiled.

"Okay," he agreed with a happy grin. Then his face fell just a bit... "But you mustn’t go to a lot of trouble, Myrtle."

She reached across the table and patted his hand. "I’ll just make us something fast and simple, Fred, so we won’t be too late getting out to look at those apartments."

He nodded approvingly, then sat back as the waiter poured coffee. By the time they were through, Myrtle had learned Fred received almost $7,000. from the insurance company for the contents of his apartment. In addition, he had saved almost $2,000. more. He was thrilled with the amount of money they had to work with, but Myrtle felt that properly furnishing and supplying an entire apartment on the funds available was going to be somewhat challenging. Still, she was eagerly looking forward to getting started. She felt they just might succeed if they attended the appropriate sales and weren’t afraid to look for bargains at the thrift shops. If possible, her enthusiasm was greater upon learning the monetary restrictions than it had been before. Myrtle loved a challenge.

Once Fred had calculated the tip and paid the tab for dinner, they decided to move the car closer to the grocery store. What with his hernia and Myrtle’s continued limp, he thought it best to get a parking space as close as they could. Myrtle was impressed with his thoughtfulness, especially as Fred wound up parking the car again only about three rows away from where it had been before.

So Much Catching Up

Myrtle stood waiting on the path the next morning still feeling a bit tired despite a good nights sleep, but also feeling quite satisfied with her breakfast of a toasted English muffin with peanut butter and jam. She had been getting tired of homemade flat breads. They’re something you don’t always think to make, she thought, and they come in handy when you can’t get out to buy bread. But a change had been in order. And as she breakfasted, she also jotted down a rather lengthy shopping list while sipping her coffee. She didn’t know how much she’d be able to pick up, but since she’d just used the last of it, coffee was right there on top.

When Fred pulled up, Myrtle climbed into the car and noticed right away that Fred was also in a rather cheerful mood. She could just feel it somehow. She had no sooner clicked her seatbelt into place when Fred gleefully bubbled that his insurance cheque had finally arrived and had been waiting for him when he got home yesterday.

"Of course, it won’t cover the total replacement cost of new furniture... insurance never does. But with the bit of rent money I’ve saved living with Mother the past three months, I ought to be able to outfit a new apartment pretty well," he enthused.

"Have you been looking for an apartment, Fred?"

"Just from the outside," he replied. "I’ve got my eye on a couple of fairly new buildings near the town limits with apartments still available in them. Would you go and look at them with me, Myrtle? You see, I’d really appreciate your help picking out my new furniture. Women are so practical about such things... and you should know what the apartment is like.. if you wouldn’t mind helping me out."

Myrtle could scarcely believe her ears. "I’d love to, Fred," she enthused. "Now, you’ll have to tell me your favourite colour and the basic kinds of things you’re looking for... oh and I think Price-Mart is having a sale on curtains and blinds next week...."

Myrtle loved to shop. It was only the realistic boundaries of her limited needs, her natural practicality, and the restrictions of her insignificant income which combined to prevent this happy pastime from blossoming into a consuming hobby. She was every bit as thrilled as Fred at the prospect of finding an apartment and furnishing it all fresh and new from scratch. By the time they entered the college grounds Myrtle had conducted a reasonably thorough investigation of Fred’s colour and taste preferences.

Fred’s favourite colour was brown, with which almost anything goes, except maybe the purples and reds... ah, but orange and yellow, thought Myrtle gleefully. And he was undecided on any of the details of just what furniture he wanted, which left the possibilities wide open. Myrtle was all aglow with the possibilities when Fred pulled to a stop in front of the Commercial Art Department.

"Anyway Myrtle, I’ve got the numbers of the building management and I’ll call today and see if I can get us an appointment for later in the week. But tonight I promised to take you grocery shopping, so I told my mother I wouldn’t be home for dinner and I thought we’d eat out, then go to the grocery store. You know, you shouldn’t shop for food on an empty stomach."

Being wrenched back into the present so abruptly like that made Myrtle feel vaguely irritable. But she stoically offered Fred a grateful smile. "I’d forgotten all about that," she confessed. "I really do need to do some grocery shopping though. Are you sure you don’t mind, Fred?"

"Positive," he grinned. "I’ll be here at about quarter of five to pick you up," he reminded her.

Once again Myrtle turned to wave after closing the car door and Fred waited until she was inside the building before continuing on his way. Pulling her work from her desk drawer she began rummaging through the top papers to remind herself what she’d wanted to tackle first.

Two hours later, having made pretty good headway on the stack of work, Myrtle was casting her eye back and forth between two memoranda. One was dated September 12 from the Records Department responding to her own earlier concern about the new computer system. The other memo was dated September 18 from the Dean’s office to Dick requesting that he deliver a critique of the computer system to one of the Dean’s committees on October 2. It was rather short notice for such a request and Myrtle wondered if there was a connection between the two memos. It wouldn’t be the first time the administration had discouraged enquiry by creating work as a sort of punishment. It was also very short notice for Myrtle to prepare the report for Dick to present, but before she did so, she wanted to know more.

She was concentrating so intensely on this problem that she failed to hear the approach of Professor Horace Dilby and was quite unaware of his presence in her office until he spoke.

"G’morning, Myrtle. Glad to see you back. Can I have an envelope?"

At the first crack of his lecturer’s voice in her ear, Myrtle started straight up in her chair. By the time he’d finished speaking, she was sitting mouth agape with a protective hand over her heart, her one eye locked into a shocked stare. Once she was reasonably certain her heart wasn’t going to stop, she slowly sagged into a normal posture. Then she reached into her drawer for the requested item and held it out to the professor. She said nothing, but offered a friendly, helpful smile as she waggled the envelope in front of him.. He seemed rather confused at the sight of it, but finally took it and, returning her smile, tottered slowly out the door as if he wasn’t quite sure where he was or where he ought to go next.

Myrtle chuckled knowingly. When she first came to Upton College she found it most disconcerting that so many of the faculty thought nothing of interrupting her concentration to ask her for some small item. So she had conscientiously supplied each of the eighteen tenured faculty members with all the little things they might conceivably need in the performance of their duties. Still, they came to her. And so Myrtle learned that there was an element of employer care in the world of academia reminiscent of babysitting. It was never the students who were the problem. All 370 of them in her department tried hard to be grown up and were no trouble at all. But the faculty had apparently abandoned this charming, youthful pretense and had reverted to behaviour similar to that exhibited at their mother’s knee at the approximate age of eight. And so Myrtle did her best to look after them.

Still smiling, she shook her head and glanced down once again at the Dean’s memorandum. What she’d been seeking jumped instantly from the page in the two words "clerical complaint." She realized suddenly that it wasn’t her own minor complaint which had prompted the Dean to demand a report from Dick. It was that secretary who’d been so nasty. The administrative decision she’d wanted from Dick must have had something to do with the computer system and she must have complained to the Dean when it wasn’t forthcoming. Myrtle was livid. "Bless Professor Dilby," she murmured, vaguely wondering if the poor man had remembered yet why he’d wanted the envelope.

Actually, Horace Dilby hadn’t needed an envelope at all. He was a teacher of many years tenure who had simply come to dread his own classes in Drawing the Human Figure. While he’d explored different methods over the years, the basic principles of drawing never changed. The human figure never changed. The endless sea of youthful faces yawning and munching snack food throughout his lectures and demonstrations never changed. Sometimes the poor man just needed to gaze upon a smiling human face which had nothing whatever to do with his actual classes, and though no one had ever accused Myrtle of being pretty, he had decided that she possessed the very face he was craving. Over the past two and a half years it became routine for Professor Dilby to wander into the administrative office at regular intervals. He only wanted a glimpse of Myrtle’s smiling face. But right from the beginning he had recognized that it just wasn’t dignified for a man in his position to loiter in the administrative office with no apparent purpose. Hence, his habit of requesting some small item Myrtle was sure to have handy. And since Myrtle generally proffered the requested item in concert with a friendly smile, his strategy worked to perfection.

This day found Professor Dilby wandering distractedly down the hallway debating with himself whether it was Tuesday or Wednesday. It made a notable difference in the time and location of the class he was reasonably certain was imminent and for which he was responsible. Spying a set of washrooms to his right as he toddled along, he abandoned his debate with himself for the moment and entered the door marked "men." Only when he was inside did he discover the envelope still in his hand, and as it had no practical value to his immediate needs, he simply deposited it in the washroom waste can.

Meanwhile, satisfied that she now had the clue she’d been searching for, Myrtle was prepared to begin Dick’s report, but it was going to have to wait till after lunch. During the morning, Winnifred Rodwell, the Resource Librarian in the department, had invited Myrtle to lunch with her and Myrtle was looking forward to the chance to catch up with her friend.

The Eventful and Uneventful Ride Home

Once outside, Myrtle stopped briefly to stretch and inhale the cool, evening air. When she opened her eye again, she saw that Fred was holding the car door for her and quickly climbed in, smiling her thanks as she did so. Then snuggling comfortably into the bucket seat, she put her head back and sighed. Fred was right, she was tired. But she was also satisfied with what she’d accomplished despite the well-meant greetings and minor panics which had interrupted her work at regular intervals throughout the day. She was in pretty good shape for tomorrow, she thought. Right now she just wanted to get home to a hot meal, a hot shower and a warm bed.

Then, just as Fred turned the car onto the highway, Myrtle’s eye popped open and she groaned.

"What is it?" asked a startled Fred.

"I just remembered," she began hesitantly. "Oh Fred, I don’t want to take advantage of your kindness, but I have very little food left at home. You see, I haven’t been able to get out shopping," she sighed miserably. "I’m afraid I’m just too tired to shop tonight anyhow. If you wouldn’t mind, Fred, could we just stop at a convenience store on the way home? I mean, I could just grab something handy... some wieners and buns maybe.. and some fresh milk and orange juice. Would that be all right?"

"Sure, Myrtle. But why don’t we just stop and get dinner out? That way you wouldn’t have to worry about it when you get home... you could just rest ... and we could get some doughnuts or something for the morning for you.. and I could take you shopping tomorrow," he offered.

"Oh no, Fred," she protested. "I couldn’t inconvenience you that way. I really don’t want to take advantage... just any old corner store would be fine.. honestly."

"But I don’t mind, Myrtle. Really, it’s no bother," he insisted.

Myrtle was prepared to debate the matter further when Fred suddenly turned off the highway into a parking lot and coasted to a stop. She gazed up in surprise at the golden arches as Fred eagerly climbed from the car and went around to her side. Her argument died on her lips as she slowly realized his intentions. It wasn’t exactly what she’d pictured when he said "dinner out," but then again, it was probably quite appropriate for the situation.

Inside, he selected a table for two and suggested she make herself comfortable as he swung out one of the plastic chairs for her.

"Now," he said with delighted satisfaction as she swung her knees under the table. "What would you like?"

The mental image of a roast beef dinner passed across her mind... but she shook it away. "I don’t know," she said. "Maybe a chicken burger?" she ventured.

"Right," he agreed. "You wait here.. I’ll go get it. Hafta call my mother," he confided just before rushing off.

While he was gone, Myrtle sat chin in hands and discreetly cast her eye around the restaurant. Some people were eagerly wolfing down a burger of some sort as if there was someplace else they really ought to be. Others nibbled tentatively at a little bag of tiny fries as if they didn’t have anywhere else to go at all. And there was an old fellow in the corner sipping coffee and writing things down on napkins.

Myrtle had only eaten here once before, when she was out shopping one Saturday and had become ravenous long before she was through taking advantage of a sidewalk sale. She hadn’t really taken notice of what she had ordered and didn’t remember if she’d enjoyed it, but she was quite sure it had been fast and filling. Fred was right, she thought, it would be nice just to go home and rest without worrying about supper.

Fred returned to the table with a tray of food and placed the tray in front of Myrtle. He opened a small carton of milk, poured it into the paper cup and offered it to Myrtle.

“I forgot to ask what you wanted to drink... you like milk?" he asked tentatively. He pushed the chicken burger and a small fries toward Myrtle, then he picked up the last remaining item on the tray.. a small envelope of fries and started nibbling on them.

"Oh Fred, is that all you’re having?" asked Myrtle.

Fred nodded and squirmed uncomfortably. "Just to keep you company," he smiled. "My mother already has dinner on, so I’ll get my main meal later," he explained.

"Oh Fred, you should have come back and told me," she reproved. "You shouldn’t have bought this." Fred’s face instantly fell, putting Myrtle in mind of a beagle puppy who’d just been scolded.
Sighing, she reached over and gently patted his arm. "Well, it was sweet of you to do this for me," she said, with an understanding smile. After all, he meant well and was just trying to be helpful, she thought.

Fred returned a conciliatory little smile as Myrtle took a huge bite of her burger. Then she noticed for the first time that he was wearing a different collar. Her mouth too full to speak, she waggled a french fry at his throat and raised her eye brow.

Fred patted the collar affectionately. "Changed it today. Don’t have to wear the stiff one anymore. Myrtle’s shining eye and enthusiastic nod spoke her approval as she swallowed, then took another generous bite of her burger. "And I get my hernia fixed in...." He stopped suddenly in wide-eyed dismay and sagged visibly into his soft collar. When he’d told Myrtle he couldn’t lift anything he presumed she might guess the nature of his injury. He certainly hadn’t intended to announce it to her, much less blurt it out while she was eating.

Myrtle’s eye twinkling, she offered an amused look and swallowed hard. "Yes Fred, when is your operation?"

"A week from Friday," he replied, red-faced.

She patted him on the arm again. "I hope everything goes all right," she consoled.

He blinked. "Thank you," he mumbled, once again wondering if he shouldn’t have a word with his doctor.

Myrtle consumed her food quickly and gulped down her milk, then swivelled to her feet and piled her refuse on the tray. Fred got up, picked up the tray and led the way past the garbage container to the exit. As soon as they were in the car, Myrtle dug into her purse and extracted a ten dollar bill which she then tucked into the breast pocket of Fred’s suit jacket.

"What’s that?" he enquired.

"Ten dollars for my supper," she replied.

"But Myrtle...."

"Now Fred," she said sternly. "It was very thoughtful of you to take me there and get me my dinner, but I certainly can’t let you pay for it when you couldn’t even have dinner with me."

Fred sighed. "But Myrtle," he moaned, "your dinner didn’t cost that much. It was on special."

"Oh," she said. "Well, what can the difference be? And I owe you for all this inconvenience anyway, Fred," she insisted, waving a dismissive hand. "Would you stop at that store up there? I’ll pick up some milk, juice and english muffins," she said, sounding a little inspired. Fred complied and Myrtle was in and out of the store in a jiffy.

They rode along in silence for some time, until Myrtle wondered if perhaps Fred was sulking because she’d insisted on paying for her own supper. She stretched hugely and yawned. "Oh, thank you for everything tonight, Fred. I’m afraid I’m so tired I haven’t been fit company. It’s very kind of you to look after me the way you have."

"That’s okay, Myrtle. I’m just sorry I couldn’t eat with you. But my mother is... well... rather temperamental." He shrugged, "actually, it’s not a good idea to upset her, really."

"You’re a very considerate man," she commended him. "I’m sure if you explain that you were just being kind to me, she won’t be upset with you."

Fred very nearly exclaimed that she didn’t know his mother at all, but thought better of it before any words escaped.

"And now I can just curl up with a good book until I fall asleep," sighed Myrtle.

"What kind of books do you read?" asked Fred conversationally.

"Lots of kinds, but historical fiction is my favourite," she answered lazily. Actually Myrtle was in the habit of devouring approximately half a dozen romance novels in the course of an average week. But she had long ago learned it wasn’t a good idea to reveal this, unless she was prepared to defend her choice of reading material. By now the words "historical fiction" sprang from her lips quite automatically. She chose to say that because she did have a preference for the romances set in historical times.

"My hobby is building model ships," Fred offered. "I had quite a collection of them, but of course, they were lost in the fire."

"All that hard work," sympathized Myrtle.

"Oh, that’s all right," he shrugged. "The joy is in building them. Once they’re done, there’s only so much you can do with them," he explained. "There was only enough room in my apartment to display a few at a time. I changed them around occasionally, still most of them sat in boxes in my bedroom. The new models are a lot more sophisticated than the first ones I did, so I’m just as happy to build a new collection."

"It’s nice that you have such a healthy outlook like that," she commented.

Fred grinned at the compliment. "Do you like ships, Myrtle?"

"Oh yes. I like most anything nautical... it’s so... so romantic somehow... especially those tall ships."

He grinned again as he pulled up beside the path to her house. "Well, g’night, Myrtle. See you in the morning."

She picked up her purse and the bag from the convenience store and smiled as she climbed from the car. "See you tomorrow, Fred, and thanks again for everything. You’re very understanding." She returned Fred’s cheerful wave before disappearing up the path.

Fred Up the Highway

The first thing Fred did upon arrival at his office was call the therapy unit of the Upton Community Hospital to make arrangements to exchange his brace during his lunch hour. They remembered Fred and had no problem accommodating him. The appointment made, he then settled down to the task of routing a small shipment of lathe machinery parts to the tiny hamlet of Willow Creek. The requisition was marked urgent, but the shipment just wasn’t large enough to justify sending even a small truck to Willow Creek with just that one order. He pulled out his routing log to search for a regular haul which might pass near enough to the tiny town to divert. He was relieved to find one he thought would do and began scrutinizing his routing code manual for the appropriate codes to get the job done. Finally satisfied that he had all the information he required to get the lathe parts to Willow Creek, he began filling out the shipping order, remembering to print hard so that neither the loading crew nor the driver could make a mistake.
He was concentrating so much on this task that he was quite unaware of the presence in his office of Mr. Grieves, the General Manager, until a large shadow fell across his desk. Even then, he was so engrossed that he gazed up only unconsciously into the big man’s face.

"How are you today, Fred?" rumbled Mr. Grieves benevolently.

Once Fred had slowly absorbed that he was no longer alone and he was being asked a question, he offered his boss a nervous smile. "I’m ok Mr. Grieves, thank you." He cringed only slightly. Fred was ordinarily so thorough in his work that he didn’t make errors. But his one recent mistake had blossomed into a full-blown incident which continued to be a source of embarrassment to him.

"Still wearing the brace," observed the manager.

"Oh, I’m exchanging that today.. on my lunch hour... for a soft collar," explained Fred. “And I’ve made arrangements for my hernia operation too. It’s a week Friday. I made it for a Friday so I’d miss as little work as possible, Mr. Grieves. I’m afraid I’ll still probably have to be away for a couple of weeks following." He offered an apologetic simper.

"That’s all right, my boy," boomed Mr. Grieves. "I know your mistake won’t be repeated."

"No sir," agreed Fred enthusiastically. "I’ve learned my lesson. I just felt so bad about the loading crew having to load that extra shipment because of my mistake... but I’ll never try to help them again, Mr. Grieves."

"Good boy!" nodded the manager approvingly.

Fred was actually very relieved and grateful for the way Mr. Grieves had taken the whole thing. Once the manager had determined the error wouldn’t cost much overtime for the loading crew and that the contents of the crate involved were just fine, he had been very understanding and helpful. Even before that, when two burly loading dock workers had returned a bent over, surprised and very stiff Fred to his office between them, it was Mr. Grieves who’d cleared off his desk so they could set him down.

"Well, I’m glad to hear you’re getting better, Fred," continued Mr. Grieves. "And I hope the operation comes off without a hitch for you." Then, with a perfunctory little wave the manager turned and strode from the office leaving a dazed Fred gaping at the doorway.

Until that moment he hadn’t been the slightest bit worried about the operation. The doctor had said it would be a breeze. It was a simple procedure. No problem. Fred sank deeper into his neck brace and stared at the door through glazed eyes. He would have to speak to the doctor again to find out what risks were really involved. But then he wasn’t at all sure he wanted to know. It wasn’t as if he was prepared to go through life with a hernia if he didn’t like the sound of the operation. He sighed deeply. Then he struggled to revert his attention to the shipping order, reminding himself that he didn’t want to make any more mistakes.

Having finally sifted through all the papers on her desk, Myrtle gleefully discarded one small stack and was about to delve into the matters of the most compelling urgency when she heard a tentative tapping at her office door. It was slightly ajar, but since her caller evidently wasn’t inclined to enter without an invitation, she got up from her chair and pulled it farther open. Fred was patiently waiting on the other side.

"Oh Fred.," she said with some surprise. "You’re sweet to come in for me. I guess I expected you’d just wait outside...."

"I did... for a little while. Are you ready to go? You look tired," he observed sympathetically, immediately wondering if he mightn’t have found a better way to put that.

Myrtle grabbed the clock from her desk and stared at it. "Oh Fred... I’m sorry! I had no idea it was so late. I guess I got kind of caught up in all this," she explained, pointing at her desk.

"That’s all right, Myrtle. I know how it is," he assured her. "But you must be about all in... I mean, it is just your first day back. You shouldn’t overdo."

"But mostly I shouldn’t have kept you waiting, Fred," she apologized again. "I’ll be right with you."

She pulled her purse from the desk drawer, replaced it with the freshly tidied stack of work, locked her desk and grabbed her sweater. "Ready," she puffed as she pulled the office door closed behind her.