Curing the Uncommon Man-Cold (24 page)

“What the heck did I say?”

“Oh, people also talk about things they hate. Speaking of which, who in tarnation is King Louie?”

“You don’t want to know.”

“Well, I’ve got other patients. Bye.”

“Thanks, Rachael.”

The woman in the other adjacent stall passed gas again and the stench made Amanda’s eyes water. It was about 10:10 a.m.

Chapter 17

Jason salivated during the entire ride — his initial eight minutes of freedom from Amanda’s apartment — and whapped Kevin’s arm when they reached the first fast-food establishment. After Kevin turned in, Jason ordered the largest burger available and super-sized the fries and drink.

Kevin pulled over and watched as Jason swallowed his first real meal in over nine days. There was not much actual chewing. When Jason signaled he could process aural sensations, Kevin began explaining what he’d learned about the blog and how Amanda was certainly complicit. “I’m not saying Amanda cooked up all that stuff, but she certainly went along with it.”

“That witch Christine cooked it all up. Did I tell you she nearly tore off my right nipple?”

“That’s pretty kinky. What was she wearing?”

“No, it wasn’t sexual.” Jason had mustard on his mouth. He tried to lick it off but didn’t get everything, so he just wiped his face with the tablecloth sarong. “It was punishment. Torture. Witch stuff.”

“I think I’d let Christine hurt me a bit, if she was wearing a black leather corset and high-heeled boots.”

When Jason sighed, a sesame seed flew from his mouth and landed on the driver’s forearm. Kevin reacted like he’d been shot.

“No, you’re missing the whole point. There was no sex, no comfort, nothing good at all. This was all deprivation and it’s like they were punishing me for something.”

“Now you understand what I’ve been trying to explain about that blog. They
were
punishing you — all because you had what they call a man-cold.”

“I think I heard that mentioned before. What’s a man-cold?” Jason frowned. “Don’t we get the same colds that women have?”

“It’s beyond me. Bill didn’t know, either.”

“Who’s Bill?”

“Guy I know. Saw him at the lounge last night.”

“You’re picking up men now?”

“Funny, funny. Bill was there for the same reason I was: a convention of bank employees. I ended up with a cute examiner for the FDIC.”

“Wait a minute. You mean you found out last night that I was being deliberately abused by evil women for over a week, and my name had recently been transmitted all over the World Wide Web… but you waited ’til this morning to come rescue me?”

“Sandy was lonely and pretty. What can I say?”

Jason just shook his head. “Well, swing by my place. I need some clothes and my other set of keys. Then take me back to Amanda’s so I can get my truck.”

“Sure. And while we’re at your place, log on to this blog real quick so you can see what I’m talking about.” Kevin paused. “You need to understand, I didn’t know you were the victim ’til last night. For the first week or so, when I heard people talking about this blog, I thought it was a different schmuck that was being terrorized and starved.”

Jason nodded. Impaired perception was about all he could expect from Kevin.

When they zipped over to Jason’s apartment for his spare keys, he quickly changed into street clothes. Then he scanned the blog and related links for about ten minutes. Finally it sank in — Amanda had been a willing participant in the entire drama and some of the abuses were even of her own invention! He felt like he’d been gut-punched.

“Let’s go, Jase. If you still want to get your truck before I head to work.”

“Yeah, sure. I’m ready.” He logged off and scrambled toward Kevin’s vehicle. “We got time to drive through the chicken place on the way? I still feel kind of weak.”

Kevin checked his watch. “Okay, but I better not be late.”

They set a speed record picking up his chicken.

Jason was furious and mortified at what he’d learned from the blog. But the greasy fried chicken helped settle his nerves slightly. It didn’t help his stomach much, however.

Kevin dropped him in front of Amanda’s apartment and sped away.

The no-necked boy was near Amanda’s front door, whacking the laundry room wall with his tennis ball. “They fine-ly let ya out?”

Jason nodded.

“What was ya in for?”

“It was all a big misunderstanding.” Jason started to turn, but stopped. “Free advice, kid. When you grow up, don’t ever get sick.”

Jason unlocked his truck; it took four tries to get the engine started. Sitting idle for nine days does funny things to fuel injectors. He lowered his window and took in one final earful of yodeling before he drove away.

If he hurried, he could make the breakfast buffet at Shuney’s.

He made it.

Jason left Shuney’s before the lunch crowd arrived. He went home, drank a beer, and sat down with his laptop. He scanned more of the blog and adjunct links and chaffed considerably at the sizeable tally for
Kick
Marty
Out
.

Jason finally comprehended what he’d endured for over nine days and he took none of it gracefully. Felt betrayed by Amanda, of course. But he was also humiliated by all the blog attention, where he was mostly depicted as an immature brat and spoiled wuss, or a momma’s boy who’d spent too much time breastfeeding.
Where did that come from?
He made a mental note to ask his mom how long he’d accessed her milk.

With his pride heavily damaged, Jason sent Amanda a final e-mail. Thus officially broken up, Jason intended to have no further communication with his newly
ex
-girlfriend.

In fact, he might even join Kevin at the hotel happy hours after his digestive system stabilized. Right now he had a huge stomach ache — the beer didn’t set well with the buffet’s scrambled eggs.

* * * *

Still in her original E.R. bed, Amanda felt like she’d been trampled by wild goats.

Immediately after the nurse left, Christine bustled into the curtained area. “How are you feeling? Was that doctor cute, or what? You need anything? Gawd, what’s that awful smell?”

“Uh, too many questions. Let’s see. Broken toes, sprained wrist, and maybe concussion.” Amanda pointed to her own head. “Yeah, he’s a dreamboat. Uh, I need some pain meds for my foot.”

“Which foot?”

Amanda motioned toward her right.

“That’s the same foot you hurt in that rain accident at the Centroplex, wasn’t it?”

Amanda nodded. “And the smell is that old lady next door.” She pointed. “Keeps tooting. Smells like rotten cabbage.”

“Oh.” Christine pulled back the curtain slightly and studied the other patient for a moment. It was not like her to resist the temptation to investigate someone else’s post-operative privacy, despite the applicable HIPAA laws. She covered her nose.

“Do you know anything about my Wrangler?”

“Wrecker took it to their impound yard. Told me it was totaled. I also talked to the cop on the scene.”

“How’d you get there so fast?”

“It wasn’t all that fast. It took them nearly fifteen minutes to get your door open. The passenger door was crumpled over by the impact to your right rear corner. Your door was jammed when it hit the edge of that concrete wall. Wonder why they need a wall around a parking lot?”

“Okay, whatever. But what were you doing there?”

“Eating breakfast with my lawyer. The dreamy one. We’re thinking about taking Daniel back to the cleaners.”

“You just happened to be downtown near the courthouse at the same time I’m being rammed by an 80-ton tank?”

“It was only a Cadillac from the mid-1980s. But those things were built like tanks.”

“Who was driving? A terrorist?”

“A little old lady who’d come downtown to pay a parking ticket.” Christine chuckled. “Now she’s got a new ticket to pay — failure to yield.”

“What actually happened?”

“I got this from the cop, who got it from the other two drivers and some witnesses. When you began your turn into the parking lot, the old lady in the Caddy accelerated in the lane she was in. When you stopped short to avoid hitting the guy in front of you, the Caddy smashed into your rear, which was still out in the main street.”

“All because the guy in the truck couldn’t make up his mind.” Amanda groaned. “Any idea where my purse is?”

“Right here.” Christine held it up. “Tow truck guy had it.”

“Was it my cousin Pete?” Pete was a son of a cousin to Amanda’s mother. Amanda found it simpler to call him a cousin than to differentiate which number and whether removed.

“I don’t know your cousin, but this guy’s nametag said Norm, I think.” Christine lowered her voice slightly. “Did you have much cash with you?”

“Oh, I guess about fifteen bucks. Why?”

“All gone. Not sure if the towing guy took it or maybe a bystander. But they cleaned you out.”

“Credit cards?”

“I saw some cards, but I don’t know what you carry. You’ll have to check that when your head gets clear. Your phone’s still in the pouch. Hopefully they just took your cash.”

Amanda struggled to shift position again. Still unsuccessful — she couldn’t put enough weight on her right wrist. “You think I should notify Jason or something?”

“Well, that’s the important news I have for you.” Christine moved closer.

“What?”

“He’s gone.” Very solemn.

“Jason’s gone? Are you sure?”

“Positive. On my way here, I drove by your place to get him. I figured he’d want to come if we could find his pants. His truck was still there, but Jason was long gone.”

“Well, his keys were in his pants.”

Christine shrugged. “I checked next door. Missus Yodel said a man drove up and banged on your apartment door. In a few minutes Jason came out wearing your floral tablecloth wrapped around like a sarong. I don’t think those are his colors, by the way. He left with that other guy.”

“Probably Kevin or Big Ernie. I doubt anybody else would’ve come for him, except maybe a cab driver.”

Christine nodded. “Jason also left you a note.” She held it up tentatively.

It was a scrap of shopping list paper with a safety pin clasped at an angle. “This is what I used to take up the slack in Jason’s jammies.” Amanda examined the pin wistfully. The note was merely three penciled words:
Thanks for nothing
. She cried.

“Hey, Lady Doc! What did they do with my freakin’ skivvies?” That loud question from next door signaled the new arrival.

A female doctor entered while scanning Amanda’s chart. “Nothing definitive on the concussion, but if so, it was apparently mild. However, if you develop any dizziness or headache beyond that lump you already have, come back immediately.”

“What about my foot?”

“Three middle toes are fractured, maybe broken. Have to wait ’til the specialist reads the films. You may have heard there’s a delay getting the X-rays processed.”

“What did you see?”

“They look fractured to me. Which means you wear this ugly boot,” she pointed to a clear plastic bag containing a wooden shoe sole with a blue canvas upper, “for a couple of weeks and keep those splints around your toes. They should heal just fine. Start wiggling those toes in about a week, but just a bit at a time. Don’t overdo it.”

“What about the pain?”

“Here’s a prescription for three days of pain pills. Enough to last until your own doctor decides on a course of treatment.” The physician looked around like she wondered if she’d left any personal possessions. “We’re backed up in E.R., so I’ve got to go. The nurse can answer any questions.” The doctor left the draped partition quickly, picking up a new chart from a rolling cabinet on her way out.

“Hey, Lady Doc! Where the heck are my skivvies? I can’t get out of here with my privates waving around!”

Christine peeled back the curtain slightly. She probably hadn’t seen any privates waving in quite a while. Then she sighed. “He exaggerated.”

Nurse Rachael returned through the curtains with a small stack of paperwork and some older style wooden crutches. “They’re sending you home. I thought they might hold you until the films came back, but there aren’t any beds available and we’re stacked up back here. They’re even using some of our units for post-op.” She inclined her head toward the woman with intestinal gas. Rachael handed Amanda a slip. “Here’s your appointment with your regular doctor. Can you get transportation tomorrow?”

“I can take her.” Christine grabbed the slip.

“How’d you know who my doctor is? My purse was with the tow truck.”

“Your friend here told us. Plus you already had a hospital chart from last year sometime.” The nurse had Amanda sign several papers and told Christine to drive around to the E.R. entrance. As an orderly prepared to wheel Amanda out to Christine’s car, Rachael quickly covered her final briefing. “Your bill includes a week’s rental on these crutches. If you bring them back within seven days, you won’t owe anything extra. That gives you time to borrow some or rent ’em at a drug store. You might not even need any after the first week.”

“Uh, Nurse, does anybody have that man’s underpants?” Amanda pointed at the curtain. “He’s been festering about them for at least twenty minutes.”

“His wife has all his clothes in the waiting room.” Rachael sighed heavily. “He’s been told several times already, but it never sinks in. So we’ve given up. When the meds clear out, we’ll tell him again.”

The orderly chattered as he took her out but Amanda hardly responded.

Christine drove Amanda home, stopping only at the drive-through pharmacy for a three-day supply of pain pills. Otherwise, both were silent as Christine obviously monitored Amanda’s composure.

When they arrived at the complex’s parking lot near Amanda’s duplex, Christine reached over and touched her friend’s left shoulder. “I also need to tell you, Jason knows about the blog.”

“What do you mean? How could he know?” Amanda sputtered. “How do you know he knows?”

“I’m sorry. It appears that Kevin spilled the beans… or maybe Big Ernie.” Christine pointed to the neighbor’s door. “When Missus Yodel told me earlier about the man picking up Jason, she said they were also talking loudly about his name and reputation being ruined by the Internet. She didn’t understand most of it, but she heard enough to convince me the friend was briefing Jason that he’d been outed on the blog.”