Wired!

Fred, meanwhile, turned on the coffee and ate his sandwich, then paced the apartment nervously, trying to figure out what to do. He blamed this all on Cynthia. He couldn’t begin to imagine what she was thinking of when she did this. At the same time, he knew Myrtle wouldn’t hold him blameless. Even in his foggy state, he could have pushed Cynthia away, he chided himself.

He tried to reason with himself that he and Myrtle weren’t attached yet, that they had no formal “arrangement” like an engagement. But then he’d just stop pacing and give his head a shake. Fred was no playboy. Myrtle was his girl friend. She’d done a lot for him already and she deserved better than this. Both of them knew where things were headed. Fred just couldn’t be more ashamed of himself.

At least he got his exercise, pacing the apartment constantly the way he was. The coffee he’d poured got cold, and he guzzled it back that way when he tried to distract himself with the TV. But Sunday afternoon television wasn’t enough to keep him off his feet. Hundreds of channels and it was a choice between The Littlest Hobo and Super Dave, he thought. Or a chick flick. He moaned out loud.

He opened a can of beans when he felt hungry again, eating them right out of the can and slopping some on his sweatshirt. He just kept drinking coffee until it was gone, then he opened a large bottle of Coke and started in on that. As the day progressed, he slowly got wired on caffeine and stress. By bed time, he was sitting on the other end of the couch watching a very bad old movie in an effort to “get sleepy,” but it wasn’t working. In fact, Fred didn’t sleep at all till about four in the morning, and then he had a bad dream about Myrtle being washed away in a fast stream even as he was reaching for her. This snapped him awake in a cold sweat. He went back to the TV to see what was on.

At 7 a.m., he made another pot of coffee and stuck his head in the fridge to see what there was to eat. He decided to make himself a fried egg sandwich, only this time, he thought, he’d put more oil in the pan, in case he had to wash it himself. What with eating it as he paced, this added more greasy stains to the sweatshirt he was still wearing.

He called his doctor’s office later in the morning to make an appointment. He wanted those tests as soon as possible. He asked to be squeezed in for an urgent appointment and was told the earliest the doctor could see him was Thursday afternoon. Thursday seemed a long time to wait, but then it occurred to Fred that Myrtle had his car and he wasn’t sure how else he’d get downtown to his doctor’s office. He didn’t know the transit routes. He figured he might have to take a cab. Whatever it took, he decided. So he booked the appointment.

Then he went back to pacing, trying to figure out what he was going to tell Myrtle. When she called up after lunch to see how he was doing, Fred did his level best to sound ill.

“Don’d cub, Myrdle,” he moaned. “I’b too sig,” he said, trying to sound really stuffed up. “You’ll catch it,” he added.

“Oh Fred, you sound really awful,” she sympathized. “Honestly dear, I don’t mind coming over to make sure you have everything you need. I’ve been taking my vitamins,” she assured him.

“Id’s ok,” he said. “I’ll just rest, Myrdle.”

“Do you have cough medicine?” she asked. “I could bring you some,” she offered.

“No, no,” insisted Fred, feeling a little panicky. “I hab tea... and honey. I’ll be fide, honest. I hab a doctor appointment on Thursday,” he said, instantly wishing he hadn’t mentioned that.

“What time?” asked Myrtle.

“Oh... 2 p.m. But I can just take a cab, Myrdle,” he said quickly.

“Oh no, now I won’t hear of that, Fred,” she admonished him. “I’m sure I can get the afternoon off. I’ll come get you and take you to your appointment for sure. You just be ready,” she instructed. Before Fred could argue, she added, “and I’ll call tomorrow and Wednesday to check on you, just in case there’s anything you need, or if, hopefully, you’re feeling a bit better and you’ll let me come over and check on you,” she said sweetly, but with just a hint of annoyance.

“Oh...... ok... sure,” mumbled Fred. “Ok then, talk to you tomorrow,” he said quickly, thinking he’d best just get off the phone with her.

“Till tomorrow, sweety,” she said.

Fred hung up quickly. Myrtle noticed, and sat staring at the receiver in her hand for a few seconds. Then she shrugged and hung up the phone. But the call had left her with a most disquieting feeling. She decided it was time to take care of a little bit of her own business. She glanced around to make sure there was no one headed her way that she could see. Then, with her work folder open in front of her, she pulled a little book of business cards out of her purse.