Curing the Uncommon Man-Cold (20 page)

“Well, we have a special treat for supper tonight. I think you can eat as much as you want.”

“How about a rack of baby-back ribs, with baked beans, stuffed potatoes, Cole slaw, maybe an ear of corn, and some ice cream?”

She admired his persistence, as well as his optimistic appetite. “I’m afraid it’s not quite that sumptuous.”

“What? More acorn juice? More egg cousin tofu smushed crud?”

“Nothing of the kind. You’ve eaten squash before, haven’t you?”

“Oooh, squash. Yeah, I can do squash. ’Course, I don’t eat it when I have access to real food, but in an emergency situation like this, yeah, I could groove on some squash. Uh, how are you cooking it? Steamed, boiled… oh, fried in batter? That would be super. Absolutely turbo. Batter-fried squash.”

“Now, I didn’t say any such thing. I just asked if you’d ever eaten squash. This isn’t my meal preparation anyway. Actually, I’ve never prepared this particular dish before. It’s kind of a cousin to squash.”

“More cousins?”

“This is a specialty handed down through generations in Christine’s family.”

Jason groaned loudly. “I should have known. If she’s behind this, it’ll probably be a squash made of hummus, or some gluten-free, organic sprout cluster. Maybe soy-generated squash… or worse. That witch!”

“Be careful what you wish for.”

“Huh?”

“If you think Christine is a witch, it might come true.”

Jason paused and likely considered the implications. “Uh, anyway, I can’t find my credit cards or car keys, either.”

“Why do you need car keys? You don’t have any pants.”

Heavy sigh… with a moan mixed in. “Never mind.”

“Okay, bye.” Amanda smiled briefly after she flipped her phone closed. Christine’s harebrained Scare-Cure strategy might actually be working. Jason had no medical symptoms of a cold, not even a sniffle. Out of sheer stubbornness, he was hanging on to the notion of being sick. Maybe the upcoming cousin cushaw episode would cure him over the edge.

Chapter 14

After work, around 5:40, Amanda reached her apartment — dead tired. Mondays at her office were always arduous, even during regular weeks of the year. But during these crunch weeks, after toiling all weekend, a Monday was agonizing. Before entering, she went around the side of her duplex and activated the air conditioner, then kicked off her heels while closing the door.

Amanda dropped her purse to the floor with a loud
whump
and collapsed in the chair near the entry. Something was beneath her buttocks. She leaned left and reached under her bottom with her right hand. A flattened tube of toothpaste! “Jason!”

“What?” He had just arrived from the hall bathroom.

“Is this a subtle reminder that you need more toothpaste?”

“Uh, yeah. I was too weak from hunger to write a note.” He coughed for punctuation.

“Oh, come off it! You’re not too weak to click that remote for hours at a time!”

“Cheese Louise. Bad day at work?”

“Don’t even get me started.” It took considerable effort for Amanda to rise from the chair. “I’m going to nap for about twenty minutes. I’d suggest you don’t even breathe too loud while I’m asleep.”

———

Jason stepped aside as she walked past.
Mondays are her moody
days.

About thirty minutes later, Amanda emerged from the bedroom with tousled hair and badly wrinkled skirt and blouse. It was 6:15. Obviously still groggy, she initially trudged the wrong direction. Then she turned toward the guestroom, where she retrieved a pair of jeans from a small stack of clean, folded clothes on a large box. She returned to her own bedroom and soon reemerged in those jeans plus a tee-shirt which advertised a past county fair.

Jason recognized it as the sole honorarium for Amanda’s efforts in securing federal grant monies for the fairgrounds last year. He hoped she was no longer as grouchy as when she’d first arrived home, and Jason ventured a tentative question to test the water. “Going somewhere?”

Amanda groaned. “No, it’s yet another event
here
this evening. I think I’ll have to move out of my own apartment to get any rest or peace.”

“What other event could there be? You’ve had crops, cards, committees, plus Christine… and those are just the ones beginning with C. What else could you possibly do here tonight?”

Finally beginning to shake off her groggy exhaustion, Amanda surprised him by smiling very slightly. “Well, in fact, it actually is another C activity.” She looked like she had a secret. “This one’s a big surprise.”

“I used to like surprises, I think. But now they scare the crud out of me, especially if Christine’s involved. Will she be here?”

“Christine, Sunny, and I’m not sure who else. Maybe Maria.” Amanda looked around the apartment’s main rooms. “And I’ve got just about half an hour to straighten up.” She started in the hall bathroom as Jason watched from a safe distance. At the lavatory Amanda found more tiny black crumbs — a small sprinkling near the edge of the counter. “Jason, what are these?” She pointed dramatically as he shuffled closer to the door and peered in.

Jason merely shrugged.

“No more B.S. about black mold creeping out of the air conditioning ductwork. There’s no regular ducts in this bathroom. Just exhaust.” She touched it again and sniffed it gently. “We’ve already established it’s not black cocaine. And it’s not ordinary house dirt.”

Jason hadn’t realized he’d left any crumbs — he’d been very careful. “Maybe it’s ground-up acorn stuff, from that allshitz coffee you made.”
Good answer.

“Acorn grindings for ersatz coffee would be brownish, not black.”

“I can’t figure it out, either.” He shrugged again, with extra movement for effect.

“Well, it wasn’t here when I left for the office this morning. Has anyone else been in my apartment today? Anyone wearing clothing covered in tiny black crumbs?”

“No. Those carpet cleaners came in yesterday. But they didn’t go in the bathrooms or kitchen… that’s tile. Just the carpet areas. Oh, speaking of, they said they wouldn’t clean that narrow path in the bedroom where I’m staying. Too hazardous, and not even wide enough for their machine.”

Amanda’s expression showed she was clearly tired of complaints about clutter in her guestroom. “Nobody else come inside today?”

He shook his head, thinking the motion might somehow prompt his brain to concoct an answer.

“Then what are these tiny black crumbs? And who’s leaving them?”

“How about ants? You know, they carry grit and stuff. Maybe black ants carrying black grit to a black ant hill somewhere.” It was a valiant effort.

“And their only path in this imaginary black universe is over my guest bathroom vanity counter?” She narrowed her eyes. “Nice try, Doctor Science.” Amanda scanned the bathroom like she had x-ray glasses. “You know, I’m going to figure this out eventually.”

Jason shrugged again, but with scarcely detectable movement. It was his attempt at nonchalance.

Amanda swept the tiny black crumbs into the wastebasket and moved on to straighten up the other public rooms before her friends arrived.

Jason did his best to stay out of her way. Difficult, with a female whirlwind in a small apartment. At about 6:55 p.m., he heard the first noises outside the apartment door.

Amanda instructed him to remain in the guestroom since he didn’t have any trousers. He emitted a token whimper, shuffled down the hall, then shut the door and listened closely.

Jason didn’t normally listen to girl talk — it irritated those microscopic hair-like antennae attached to the epithelial cells of his inner ear. But this evening, he tuned in carefully because he thought he might be able to tell which kind of cookie was being crunched, or what type chips being dipped. Could he identify a beverage by the sound of its sip? He intended to try.

Even over the distance of the short hall and through the guestroom door, voices from the main spaces were fairly loud and moderately clear. But he’d need to strain to discern the sounds of food and beverage consumption. Jason heard enthusiastic greetings from the front door. Then sounds like someone bumping against a wall. Also, maybe somebody stumbled. Some urgent breathing and grunting… like shoppers carrying the largest dog food bag from Discount World. Then distinct dialog again.

“Do you have a shovel?” Christine’s voice.

“Didn’t you bring one?” asked Amanda.

“Why do we need a shovel?” Maybe Maria… possibly Sunny. Funny how similar their voices were at times, especially from down the hall and through a door.

“To bury the innards.” Christine again. “Too messy for the garbage can and there’ll be too much of it.”

Whoa!
Jason began assembling the words
shovel
and
bury
and
innards
.

“How do we get inside him?” Definitely Sunny.

“That’s what the saw is for, doofus.” Christine the witch.

“This might take an axe,” said Amanda. “With a real thick hide, you can’t get a saw groove started.”

Then something else which Jason couldn’t quite make out.

Double dang!
He’d put together more words, including
saw
and
axe
. Jason pinched the apprehensive skin on his forearm. It wasn’t thick. What were they discussing out there? Uh,
who
were they talking about?
Well, whoever it is
…
he’s about to be murdered!
Jason focused again on the kitchen voices.

“Who’s that?” Amanda must have pointed to someone.

“Little Herman.” Christine’s voice.

Herman must be the victim!

“I thought we were doing Jason tonight,” Amanda replied.

Did she say
doing
?
Normally that word had a positive connotation for Jason. But with all this kitchen talk of saws, axes, shovels — not to mention burying innards — it was a drastically different effect than those words formerly conveyed.

Another comment Jason couldn’t pick up.
Maybe
Herman pleading for his life
in muffled agony.
He was probably gagged!

“We do Jason later. Practice on Little Herman first.” Christine’s voice. “Once we get the cuts right, then we’ll crack open Jason.”

“
Wha…?” Jason felt ice inside his intestines. All this time he’d been yakking about Christine being a witch who wanted to kill him. Now, in Amanda’s apartment on this Monday night, his predictions had come true!
Christine IS
a witch!
Would Christine really gut him and chop off his head?
Dang
right she would!

But would Amanda allow Christine to go to that extreme? While Jason considered that question, he heard more dialog from the kitchen.

“Keep him still!” Christine’s voice.

“I’ve got his neck,” said Maria.

“Don’t let him roll over!” cautioned Amanda. “I don’t want Little Herman’s innards all over my floor! Keep him above the drop cloth!” That answered Jason’s earlier question. Amanda was right in the middle of poor Herman’s grisly murder. And they’d already announced their plan: once they finished off Herman, they were coming for Jason!

What could he do? How could he escape the apartment? Couldn’t fit out that bedroom window even if he could squeeze through all the hazardous clutter to reach it. If he tried to run past the plotters, he’d probably trip on his pajama bottoms and those women would whack and hack him to death, right there in the hallway!

The carpet cleaners had come too early. Christine had probably intended to schedule them for
after
these brutal murders!

More sounds from the kitchen. Not voices. These were grunts and groans. Sawing and whacking!

Where were his pants? His keys? How fast could he run with one hand holding up his pajama bottoms? Was there any other escape route besides right through that gaggle of murderous females with sharp implements and a startlingly detached attitude about vivisection?

No!

Jason couldn’t stand it any more. He dialed 9-1-1 and rushed out of the bedroom holding his phone in the air. “Don’t kill Little Herman! I’ve called the cops.”

The four ladies at the dining table stopped their strenuous activity and stared. Jason’s pajama bottoms with the busted elastic were precariously close to revealing
his
“little Herman”.

Amanda replied, “Called the cops for what? Supper?”

“Mutilation is more like it. I heard what you’re doing to Herman. Where is the little feller?”

“I’m afraid your boyfriend’s fever is back.” Christine turned to Amanda. “Check if he’s back over 99 degrees again.” Then, to Jason, “You better give me that phone.”

Jason always gave his phone to scary witches brandishing sharp knives.

Christine rolled her eyes as she took the device with her free hand. “Hello?”

Amanda pointed to the small crookneck squash named Little Herman and to the giant wigged cushaw named Jason.

Jason staggered at the sight of the entity bearing his name. “What the creepin’ crud is
that
?”

“A cushaw,” Amanda answered. “It’s in the broader family of the squash. Sort of a cousin. Like I told you before.” It was about four feet tall with a base roughly three feet in diameter. It had smooth skin like a watermelon — not rough like squash or pumpkin. Its color was a unique pattern of light green with light tan stripes.

Cousins will be the death of
me!
Jason nervously eyed the sharp implements. Four women… four weapons. He sputtered with no syllabication.

Amanda continued. “His rind is especially tough, so it sometimes takes really heavy duty tools to split him open and carve out his insides. I wouldn’t let her bring the chainsaw inside.”

“Uh, I thought you were killing somebody. Dismemberment. Herman. Cannibalism.” He touched his midsection. “Then me.”

———

Amanda monitored Jason’s composure while Christine continued on the phone with the 9-1-1 dispatcher. “Yeah, it’s just a mistake, Hazel. We’re at Amanda’s making supper. The guy who called? No, he doesn’t even live here. Nope, I don’t think we’re in any danger. He just came down the hall with one hand on his phone and his other hand clutching his jammies. Those ratty things were on their way down to his knees. No… didn’t really frighten us. Amanda knows him. Yeah, kind of a nut case, but we try to let him think he’s mainstream. Nah, I don’t want to file any charges. Not yet, anyhow.” She rolled her eyes for the benefit of her companions. “Huh? We were trying to carve up a cushaw. C-U-S-H-A-W. It’s like a really large cousin to the squash. Anyway, it takes a lot to get through his thick rind. Right, just like a man.” She winked at her colleagues. “Well, anyway, the caller here… see, he’s
off-work-sick
.” Christine made air quotes with her free hand. “No, nothing fatal, but he’s awful poorly. You see, he’s got a man-cold. Yeah, I know. Completely out of commission for two weeks. Well, our patient is improving rapidly, just this evening. Might set a new standard. Yeah, I’ll let you know how it goes with the cushaw. Bye.”