Myrtle’s meeting with Dan Milburn on Wednesday evening went very well. He was cheerful, understanding, and also very nice, seeming quite committed to making sure his clients were looked after. He wasn’t a cheap ambulance-chaser, thought Myrtle with relief. He was surprisingly young, but seemed like just a fellow who wanted to make sure people were getting their due. So Myrtle was quite happy to leave the whole accident claim in his hands. He had been quite thorough about collecting facts and information. Of most interest to him was the fact that the other driver was charged, but there had been no court date yet. These things could be sluggish, he informed Myrtle. But it was best to not let the whole matter get lost in the red tape shuffle of the courts. He was going to track it down and push the thing along, so he could then push for a fair settlement for Myrtle. She was very much relieved, and a little impressed.
That same Wednesday evening saw Fred trying hot chocolate as a means to get sleepy, so he could get some more rest before his doctor appointment. He was still eating for something to do, was still a mess and overall, still in rather rugged shape. But at least he knew it and thought if he could just get some rest, he could pull himself together for his appointment, although, he had no idea how he was going to handle seeing Myrtle. He sipped his hot chocolate while once again pacing in his living room. It wasn’t as good as Myrtle’s, he thought sadly.
Thursday morning went smoothly enough for Myrtle. There were no big problems at work ~ nothing she couldn’t handle in the moment anyway. She reminded Dick that she’d be away for the afternoon before leaving so he wouldn’t be surprised.
When Professor Dilby came in, she gave him a big smile. “Is there something I can get for you?” she asked cheerfully.
“Why yes, dear girl,” he smiled back at her. “I really could use a new white board marker.”
Myrtle got him one. The marker was something the professor actually needed, so he pocketed it, gave Myrtle a little salute, and said, “thank you,” as he sashayed out the door. Myrtle went back to her work smiling.
The morning didn’t go that smoothly for Fred, who had another wash, tried to comb his hair and changed his shirt again, but then he went to the kitchen to have coffee and breakfast. He decided on another fried egg sandwich and had to wash the pan first. That was a rather messy exercise. He washed it under running water which involved a lot more splashing and suds than just washing a pan should. Once his sandwich was ready, he again paced the living room to eat it, while watching a morning news show on TV. A couple of hours later, he knew he should have more to eat before going out, so he opened another can of beans.
Myrtle grabbed a quick take out lunch when she left work at noon, then went straight to Fred’s apartment. She thought she could spend a little time with him before his appointment. She decided to knock on the door this time. Fred didn’t open it right away. She somehow knew he was peeping at her through the peep hole. When he did open it, Myrtle was shocked by his appearance. Then she stepped inside the apartment and was even more shocked. There were dirty dishes all over the place, the carpet had a discernable track of stains in it, and Fred ~ he was a sight. He had stubble, his hair was a mess and there were greasy brown stains on his shirt. Myrtle just stood, her mouth agape, and looked around. When her eyes settled back on the front of Fred’s shirt, he looked down.
“Haven’t been feeling well,” he muttered. “I washed,” he squeaked, seemingly in his own defence.
“Fred,” said Myrtle, shaking her head. But no more words came out right away. Then, with some exasperation, “your hair....”
“I combed it, honest,” he said quickly.
“Your shirt...” she pointed.
“I was feeling better, so I had an egg sandwich for breakfast,” he said, “and beans for lunch. The shirt was clean on after my wash,” he explained lamely. He sighed hopelessly.
“How many sandwiches did you have, Fred?” she asked sarcastically, pointing at the little plates, mugs and glasses littering the tables.
Fred felt his knees weaken. He had forgotten to tidy up at all. He’d also forgotten to talk as if he was stuffed up. He stared at his feet.
“Fred,” said Myrtle, a little coldly. Fred looked up. “I don’t know what’s going on here, but go change your shirt and comb your hair properly so I can take you to your appointment,” she said sternly.
Fred felt helpless and ashamed, but he just nodded and headed off to his bedroom to get a fresh shirt. While he was gone, Myrtle looked at the mess. It wasn’t her mess, she told herself, and she had certainly already done enough for this man who plainly wasn’t being honest with her for some reason. But she just couldn’t stand there, waiting, so she put down her purse and went ‘round the room picking up dirty dishes, then took them to the kitchen sink where she encountered more. She just added the ones she’d collected to the ones already there. Then she tidied just a little, throwing the bean cans into the recycling, throwing out a couple of crumpled paper towels and turning off Fred’s coffee maker. She wiped down the counter, then shook her head as she glanced around again. She just didn’t understand what was going on.
Both the drive to Fred’s doctor’s office and the wait in the waiting room were uncomfortably silent. To add insult to injury, Fred’s doctor laughed when Fred told him what had happened, though he caught himself, cleared his throat and asked Fred for more details. Fred tried to give answers without revealing the identity of the woman. The doctor wasn’t really the help Fred had hoped he’d be. He just kept glancing at Fred with something like disbelief. But he filled out a blood test form. When Fred asked how long it would take, he was told a few days ~ except for the HIV test, which had to go to the city and could take up to three weeks. Fred was floored. Three weeks! He’d already blown his ruse with Myrtle. There was no way he could make stuff up for three weeks, even if he could think of anything else.
After a stop at the lab for the tests, the drive home was just as silent, only this time Fred was mulling over in his head what to do next. When they got to Fred’s apartment, Myrtle was caught somewhere between seething anger, and worry that there really was something seriously wrong with Fred. He hadn’t offered to tell her what the blood tests were for. When they got inside, she stood looking at Fred rather expectantly. Fred’s knees felt weak again. He still didn’t know what to do. He was just no good at deception. He looked tortured, but Myrtle just waited.
“I’m so sorry, Myrtle,” he finally blurted. “I didn’t mean for it to happen. She just forced her way in. Next thing I knew she was... she was... well... on top of me, and we were... I mean, I don’t know why she did that. I wasn’t interested in having sex with Cynthia, Myrtle. I don’t care about her. I was saving myself for you,” he whined.
Myrtle just stared at him. She couldn’t believe what she was hearing. Sex? With Cynthia? "When?” she demanded.
“Sunday morning,” he whimpered. “Honestly Myrtle, I thought it was you at the door, then she just pushed her way in...”
Myrtle had heard enough. “I’ll get your car back to you this evening,” she said coldly. With that, she turned and strode from the apartment, the slamming door almost drowning out Fred’s wail, “Ooooh Myyyrrrrrtlle..... nooooooo.”
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