Curing the Uncommon Man-Cold (18 page)

Amanda nodded and sat. She was slightly surprised that Jason’s mother was so sympathetic. “It’s been pretty rough. A lot worse than his alleged illness in January.”

“Is Jason behaving worse, or is it because of your stress at work?”

“Not sure. I guess Jason’s about the same, but… this probably sounds awful, I guess, but I don’t find him nearly as endearing as he seemed in January.”

Margaret smiled. “From what I recall, his previous cold wasn’t all that charming to you at the time.”

“No. But we’d just gotten serious a couple of months before January. So our relationship was still pretty new.”

“A honeymoon period of sorts. You had more tolerance then. More patience.”

“Yeah, I guess I sort of enjoyed feeling needed then. But now it feels different, dealing with a needy man.” Amanda stopped suddenly. “I’m sorry. I probably shouldn’t say that to Jason’s mother.”

“That’s okay. I know Jason pretty well myself. He can be very needy at times. He was my youngest, you know.”

“Well, that’s partly why I’m here, to get your input on some things. But first I need to tell you that I haven’t exactly been Nurse Nancy, tending to his every whim. In fact, I’ve been more like Stern Stella — trying to make him miserable enough to go home to his own apartment.”

“Oh, I already know. Christine called me early this past week and I’ve been reading her blog since the second day.” Margaret chuckled. “That Jason surely is stubborn. Most men would’ve escaped by the fourth day, if not sooner. Even if they had to crawl out a second-story window. But he’s already lasted six full days.”

So Christine had also told Margaret… which brought the total to at least eleven people who knew about the secret project. “I didn’t realize you already knew about the strategy Christine devised. You know, without her help, I’d have been the one jumping out of windows by now.” Amanda sighed. “Christine’s Scare-Cure is pretty comprehensive.”

“Jason brought this on himself. When you first stated you didn’t want him to stay over, he blew it by insisting. So, in my opinion, he’s getting what he deserves. Men can be so dense at times.”

“You don’t think I’m being too hard on him?”

“Oh, I’d call it tough love of a sort.” Margaret was thoughtful for a moment. “You know, I had to do that with his daddy.”

“All this elaborate scheming of Christine’s?”

“Oh, no. Not nearly this elaborate.” Margaret’s expression softened, as if with a fond memory.

“So what did you do?

“Well, a lot of these far-flung strategies of Christine’s weren’t even in play back then. You know, no Internet and such. So back then, I had to search for the simplest elements.”

Amanda was imagining a leather harness or a muzzle. “What’d you use?”

“Hot water.”

“You scalded your husband?”

Margaret smiled. “Oh, no. Just the opposite. I blew out the pilot light on our old hot water heater and told Henry it was broken. I flat out lied… said the technician was swamped and couldn’t come until sometime the next week.”

“Well, that sounds okay as far as it went. So he’s got no hot water to shave or bathe.” Amanda was puzzled. “How did that cure him of colds?”

“Well, you see, I stopped bathing, too.” Margaret laughed. “No deodorant, no makeup… and I didn’t shave my legs.”

Amanda smiled broadly. “So guys with man-colds got horny in the 1960s and 70s also?”

“Of course. Even up through the 1990s. But I surely didn’t want to get close to all that mucous and such, so I made certain he wouldn’t want to be around me, either.”

“Pretty drastic.”

“Drastic times.” Margaret nodded. “I needed him up and out, and back to work. Sympathy and sex weren’t going to get him moving in the right direction.”

“So your cold water strategy worked?”

“Henry was off the couch by the third day.” Margaret’s hand made a quick sideways
whoosh
. “By the way, there was a bonus in that little episode.”

Amanda looked puzzled.

“I had a birthday later that same month. Henry got me a new water heater.”

“Very thoughtful and personal gift.” Amanda rolled her eyes.

“Oh, that was fine with me. We didn’t have all that much money back then and I really wanted a new water heater. That old one was secondhand — only held about twenty gallons and the burner unit was on its last legs. You couldn’t wash dishes and take a bath in the same evening unless you waited a couple of hours.” Margaret chuckled again. “Yeah, my Henry realized he didn’t ever want me looking and smelling like that again.”

They talked a bit more about Jason and about flowers. Margaret offered to make some tea, but Amanda had to hurry home for the evening meeting Christine had scheduled.

* * * *

Curing the Uncommon Man-Cold

Day Seven

During the afternoon, we had a team supposedly shampooing the carpets in
Missy’s
apartment. All they really did was wet the floor with spray bottles and then roll a noisy shop-vacuum over it. The result was that
Marty
had to tiptoe on paper towels spaced along the edges of the rooms and hall.

For the evening activity,
Missy
hosted a publicity committee meeting for an upcoming program similar to the national effort called
No Child Left Behind
. This particular session might have been called
no snacks left behind
, however, because we took everything with us, including the trash. I smuggled out the remaining oatmeal raisin cookies. [This Scare-Cure is frightening my diet as much as anything else!]

Yet he’s not sick. All
Marty
has to do is walk out. What on earth is keeping him there?
Missy
and I both agree he’s stubbornly holding out for some TLC, but surely it HAS to be more complex than that. Doesn’t it?

All that evening and night, the apartment A/C ran again, but
Missy
had closed the vent in the guestroom back on Day Five. Ha!

Missy
phoned me with some of today’s developments. At present,
Marty
looks like an ambulance victim. I guess I forgot to mention that yesterday his right arm was in a makeshift sling. He just told
Missy
that he threw out his shoulder somehow, but we know it’s because he was dumping that dissolved candy bar in the trash can!

The injury today involved his left elbow. Claims he tripped on a brick and careened into a treadmill. I’ll probably have to rent a wheelchair before this case is over.

What an actor! Someday there might be an award for the best ‘sick’ performance of a cold victim. And
Marty
should win, hands down, since he’s been clever enough to add the exaggerated injury spectrum. I predict, very soon, many of these victims will sustain such injuries and develop a limp just like
Marty’s
.

He has seized on the previously missing component of the entire phenomena:
visually
manifested pain! Most of the rather uninventive man-cold sufferers of previous generations typically relied on manufactured sneezes and fakey coughs. But having Ace bandages and arm slings solidifies the sympathy factor. He’s brilliant!

With his left elbow wrapped tightly — fully extended — and his right forearm in a pretend sling, I don’t know how he manages the normal bathroom functions. But let’s not contaminate our brain cells with such images.

By the end of today, Day Seven,
Marty
has survived six full days of this Scare-Cure. No sign of leaving yet.

Check back tomorrow evening for the report of my best gimmick so far.

Almira Gulch
.

.

Amanda sighed heavily. Since this carpet cleaning team likely had two members, the new total was now at least thirteen individuals who knew about her supposedly secret project! That assumed the woman who conducted the make-over session was completely out of the loop.

Chapter 13

August 17 (Monday)

For the patient’s breakfast Amanda brought out the hemp and flax granola cereal boxes, plus the artificial soy milk cousin.

Jason kept his distance from all three containers.

“So what are you going to do? Just suck down another half tube of toothpaste?”

“I thought I’d take a few swigs of that prune stuff. The nasty taste kinda grows on you. Plus, it’s keeping my insides cleaned out, so your witch friend won’t keep harping about colon sweeps.”

“Whatever.” She returned to her bedroom to finish getting ready for work.

Jason did not appear to notice the air was comfortable after the overnight cooling by the conditioning unit. In a few minutes, Amanda would flip the breaker again and the temperature would rise dramatically as the day went forward.

That day’s strange remedy — carefully choreographed by devious Christine — was a morning treatment instead of midday, as the others had been. It was also the first therapy administered by Amanda without Christine’s presence or apparent involvement.

Jason sat on the couch and looked for the TV remote. Perhaps he figured a few hours of snow and white noise might calm his starvation agitation.

“I have to leave soon, but there’s time for today’s alternative therapy treatment.”

As she completed that sentence, Jason covered his right nipple reflexively. “No more chest hair yanking.”

“Nothing to do with your chest.”

Jason relaxed slightly.

“Christine discovered an Oriental treatment which focuses on the pelvis — the breeding ground for life, but also the landfill for germs. Especially the cold virus. So it’s necessary to draw out the impurities. She said I’m supposed to ask if you agree to try this therapy.”

If Jason had been listening to many of those words, he would have realized they were practically gibberish. But apparently all he heard was the noun
pelvis
. So his brain switched from thought activity to sensation processes. He clearly got excited and all of Amanda’s explanation was likely a fog of yada-yada. He should have listened more carefully. Jason mustered only a single-word reply: “Agreed.” And he nodded a lot.

“Stand up and pull down your PJs.”

With the pitiful sprung-out elastic barely keeping his pajama bottoms up to his hip bones, all Jason had to do was shrug twice for them to drop to his knees. They did. He stood there looking at his uncovered pelvic region. “Boy, I’m glad we’re finally getting to the root of the problem… my illness, I mean. Good thing your friend finally located that article about pelvis impurities. I saw something about that on the Discovery Channel last month, I think.”

“Would you rather sit or stand?”

Jason’s legs began to tremble. “Sit. Don’t want to keel over, you know.”

“Wait. Put this towel down. Don’t want to get anything on the couch.”

“Sure. Towel.” Jason’s vocabulary seemed limited to one- and two-syllable words and no complete sentences. It was similar to his state after the panther dream, though clearly prompted by passion rather than fear.

“Ready?”

Jason nodded eagerly. He’d obviously been ready for nearly eight days.

“Might ought to close your eyes.”

“Okay.”

“Let me hold your hand.”

He nodded and extended his right hand.

From a mostly concealed container, Amanda extracted a large scoop of petroleum jelly and glopped it onto his hand.

“What?” Jason opened his eyes when the jelly hit his palm.

She clamped Jason’s hand over his pelvic region.

The patient winced and groaned when his own hand made contact. “What the creepin’ crud?”

“To draw out the impurities from that garbage dump for germs that’s inside your pelvis. Just like I said.”

“Wait a minute!” His eyes began watering. “Hey, this stuff burns!”

“It’s mentholated, silly. You can’t expect the regular kind to draw out any impurities.”

“But my crotch is on fire!”

“That’s just the ointment working.” Very businesslike. “Now you can’t touch that area for 24 hours.” Amanda reached over to the table. “Here’s some oven mitts to remind you. Hands off.” She went to the sink to wash her hands.

“Hey! What about…?”

Amanda tuned him out as she grabbed her purse and departed. She wished she’d had a camera to capture the expression on his face.
If this isn’t
tough love
…
nothing is.

* * * *

It was the beginning of Amanda’s second horrid week of the annual Crisis Phase for her grant application evaluations.

The wall clock showed 8:11. Amanda was a few minutes late arriving at her office, but King Louie wasn’t there to notice — he usually rolled in around 8:45. That gave her time to read the blog for Day Seven. Christine’s Scare-Cure had indeed gone viral.

She read through the recently posted comments. Up to that point, bloggers either posted appreciation for sharing the info on this new treatment or they merely expressed pleasure at seeing
Marty
get what was coming to him. Of course,
Marty
had several defenders as well.

But with another day’s comments, a subtle shift appeared. Bloggers were beginning to suggest that
Missy
and
Almira
had taken this project way too far. To summarize the views of the dozen or so new comments, it was clear they agreed with the initial concept, but thought it should have ended — one way or the other — after about three days. For it to stretch into eight days (and counting) was on the verge of pathological, they said. Nobody explained what pathological meant in this context. But it didn’t sound good.

“Has it gone too far already?” Amanda pondered out loud. “Is it my fault for pushing? Or Jason’s fault for resisting?”
Not sure
. Maybe both. Maybe it was all Christine’s fault for originating the concept of curing the uncommon man-cold. Some things in nature were not meant to be tinkered with. Perhaps this illness was one of those taboos. But why should Amanda suffer?
Indeed.
Related question: how much should Jason suffer?
Hmm.
How much would Jason endure? And why?