Things Are Looking Up

At least Fred was easy to distract, thought Myrtle, as she laid the packages of curtains side-by-side on the bed. They were wrapped in clear plastic, so the designs were quite visible. The problem was, it was quite impossible to imagine what they’d look like when they were unfolded and so much bigger over the windows. Myrtle didn’t want to choose herself, but she didn’t want to unfold them in the hospital either.

“I know it’s difficult to tell, Fred, but is there one that speaks to you more than the other?”

Fred obediently looked first at one, then the other, then back at the first one. He slumped back on his pillows. “Oh Myrtle, it really doesn’t matter, just as long as they aren’t too loud. You choose. I trust you completely,” he finished, flapping one hand toward the curtains.

Myrtle could see she was going to get nowhere, but at least she’d tried to involve him. It was like an investment for the future, if it ever occurred to Fred to complain about the curtains. She stacked the packages at the bottom of the bed.

“Poor Fred,” she comforted. “Operations are no fun,” she said, quite aware that this was merely obvious. It was difficult to think of things to say at a time like this and she was once again glad she had other things to do. She decided to stay a little while longer though, to encourage Fred to rest, though he had closed his eyes and didn’t really seem to need any. In fact, it wasn’t long after she sat down to keep Fred company, that she heard him snoring softly. She decided to slip away.

Myrtle stopped at a doughnut and sandwich shop and bought soup and a sandwich for her lunch. She took it back to Fred’s apartment and quite enjoyed it before hanging the curtains. It was a bit of a struggle, but she persevered and got the least patterned of the two hung up, after due consideration of both.

She repacked the others and put them by the door to go back. Then she made the bed and did a host of other little chores to make Fred’s new digs look and feel comfortable for him. She was torn ~ part of her wanted to hurry and get it done, another part of her wanted to take her time, so she wouldn’t feel obligated to spend so much time sitting in Fred’s hospital room. It was an awkward romance, to say the least, she thought. She’d be glad when Fred was on the mend and able to do things for himself again.

Meanwhile, Fred was awakened for lunch, and after he’d eaten the nurse bustled in and told him he’d have to go for another little walk, but this time, he was to ring if he was ready. At any rate, they’d be back. A red-faced Fred just nodded obediently as the nurse left the room smiling.

By the time Myrtle had done everything she was sure she must at Fred’s apartment and had arrived back at the hospital, Fred was just shuffling down the hall toward her, leaning on his IV stand as he walked. He looked up and saw Myrtle. “Oh Myrtle,” he said, a little pathetically, as he sort of reached his other hand toward her.

Myrtle went right to his side. “Are you ok, Fred?” she asked, concerned. It felt as if he was about to fall over.

“I think the nurses forgot about me,” he complained. “I’ve been walking and walking....” his voice trailed off.

“Well I think it would be all right for you to go back to your room, Fred,” declared Myrtle, a little aghast that Fred would just keep walking around in the hallway.

Fred looked at her, as if a light was dawning. “Oh yeah...” he said. “I never thought of that.”

As Myrtle guided Fred back to his bed, she wondered if the doctor had accidentally done a little brainechtomy on Fred as well. Then she wondered if it was the drugs. Maybe that little bit of pain-killer was keeping him all bumfuzzled, she reasoned. Once she had Fred all tucked in, she took off her jacket and settled into the chair beside him.

“Oh Myrtle,” he moaned. “I’m so tired. I went up and down... up and down...”

“There, there, Fred,” she comforted. “You can rest now.” But it was a kind of pointless statement since Fred’s eyes were already closed, he whimpered, and was quite obviously dozing off.

Great, thought Myrtle. She had wanted to return his credit card and chat about a few things, like where he wanted the phone in his apartment. But once again, there she was, sitting beside Fred as he snoozed. She sighed deeply. Myrtle wasn’t sure which was more trying ~ all the work she was doing for Fred, or sitting around listening to his incision heal. It was all quite the investment for what seemed like a promising relationship, she told herself. She couldn’t help thinking, rather sardonically, that it better pay off.

Myrtle would have rather been at home, but she sat for awhile longer with Fred, then went and got a magazine. After reading that for awhile, she went to the hospital cafeteria again for supper. Fred was awake and having his own supper when she got back.

“Oh Myrtle,” he said, smiling. “I was afraid you’d left!”

“Just taking some nourishment,” she smiled.

“Me too,” he nodded.

After supper, Fred was feeling much better and the two chatted much of the evening away. Myrtle returned Fred’s card, tried to describe the new curtains, asked him about his phone, and so much more. She went home at the end of visiting hours smiling and feeling much better.

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.

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.

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.