Cheapskate in Love (10 page)

With a vigorous sweep of his left arm, he threw off the
bedspread and top sheet, and swung his legs over the side of the bed, as
quickly as he could. He was about to push himself into a standing position,
when Helen came from the kitchen, which was an enclosed space near the entrance
to the apartment, and he realized he was not wearing any shoes, socks, or
pants. Rapidly, he whipped the bed sheet back over his lower half. “What
happened to my pants?” he exclaimed in surprise. He knew he had been wearing
pants.

“Oh, I washed them,” she said, as she set a place for him on
the table. She didn’t think a man without pants, especially a man her age, a
shocking novelty. She barely glanced at Bill in his boxer shorts and didn’t
understand why he appeared to be so agitated. A long, happy married life does
away with such prudery.

“How did you do that?” he asked in exasperation.

“With a washing machine,” she said matter-of-factly,
“although I had to pre-scrub the dirt stains first. You went for some hike
yesterday.”

“How did my pants come off?” he insisted.

“Oh, I took them off. Give me that shirt now. I wanted to
cut it off while you slept. It’s so filthy. But I thought you would complain if
I did that. I’ll take your underwear now, too.” Helen walked toward Bill to
help him take off the last of his clothes.

“No! Stay away!” he yelled. “You will not take my underwear.
Don’t come near me. How can you barge into my apartment and take off my pants?
Just like that? Without asking?”

“How else could I wash them? You were asleep.”

“Who asked you to wash them?” he replied. “Who asked you
clean off the dining table?”

“I cleaned the kitchen, the bathroom, every part of your
apartment. The floor in this place was black with grime. It must have been
years since this place was totally cleaned.”

“Who asked you to?” he huffed accusingly. “Who wanted you to
come in here and do anything? Did I ask you? Did I tell you to make dinner?”

“Is somebody else going to do it?”

“That’s none of your business,” Bill spluttered with as much
force as he could. “You have no right to be here, acting as if you own the
place. You don’t own the place. I do.”

“You’re a renter.”

“
I
pay the rent,”
he snapped.

Helen thought that this conversation was ridiculous, but she
smothered her smiles. She could see that he was obviously in a bad mood,
because of the pain he suffered. She thought that the quickest way to bring him
around to some common sense was to
ask,
“Would you
like me to leave?”

“Yes,” he affirmed loudly without hesitation.

She went to collect her belongings, including the soup.
While she was making preparations to go, Bill thought about what her leaving
meant. The sound of the lid being slammed on the soup kettle helped facilitate
his reflections, as she intended. In a more ingratiating voice than he had
previously used, he said, “Wait a minute. You can go as soon as you bring me my
food. Since I don’t have any pants on, I have to stay here.”

She could have replied it wouldn’t matter what he had on or
off, once she left, and he could eat whatever he pleased, except for her soup,
but she was not a spiteful person. She had come to help him, and even if he
was
irritable and selfish, she would do what she could for
him. However, she was going to have her way a little, too. “Certainly,” she
replied. “And if you don’t mind, I’d like to eat dinner here, too, while it’s
still warm. Is that all right with you?”

As much as he didn’t want to, he saw that he had to agree,
if he wanted dinner. “This time. Never again.”

“I don’t know how you’re going to eat after tonight, you can
barely move,” she answered. She pulled out a tray from a kitchen cabinet to put
his dinner on.

“Don’t worry about me,” he grumbled. “I can manage.” From
the kitchen, she heard him moaning and groaning, as he moved to sit in the bed
with his back against the headboard.

“Are you OK?” she asked, coming out of the kitchen. “You
sound as if you were in a serious car accident. I think you should see a
doctor.”

“All I want is my dinner,” he shot back. “Then you can go.
I’m fine. I don’t want any more medical advice.”

You need more than advice, she thought to herself, going
back into the kitchen. You need a good kick in the rear. But she said nothing
to him. He had put her in a bad mood, too.

Soon she brought him a tray of food. They ate in silence,
she at the table and he in bed. They were so annoyed with each other that they
tried to look anywhere in the apartment, except at each other. Still, from time
to time, despite how angry they were, they glanced in the other’s direction,
immediately looking away, if the other one noticed. Stealing such glances was
the natural thing to do, and it probably meant nothing. After all, they were
the only two people in the room.

Chapter 12

Dinner was not followed by dessert or anything sweet. Saying
few words and receiving only silent gestures in return, Helen collected the
food tray from Bill and carried it to the kitchen, where she left it on the
counter. He could wash the dirty dishes when she was gone, she mused
ironically, since he claimed to feel all right, and she had made dinner. Taking
a more pragmatic view of the situation, she was sure he would let the dirty
dishes pile up again as they had before, so what did it matter if she started
the pile. Cockroaches would be feasting there soon enough. She packed her bags
with the items she had brought, including the soup she had made, and walked
with them to the door. There, a generous, spontaneous urge got hold of her once
more, and she turned toward Bill, saying, “If you need anything, you can ask
the front desk to call me. I’ll be glad to come back. It’s no problem.”

“That won’t be necessary,” he replied, breaking his surly
wordlessness.

“There’s not much codeine in that bottle, but I don’t have
any more. Regular aspirin is all that I have in my apartment.”

“It’ll be enough,” he said, nodding at the bottle on his
dresser.

“I’ll let the front desk know that they should check on
you.”

“That’s not necessary. I don’t need any help. I’m fine,” he
assured her, although signs of pain were clearly visible in his face.

She opened the door, and then turned back to him with a new
thought. “Let me give you my number in case there’s an emergency.”

“No, I don’t need it,” he replied.

“Are you sure you don’t want my number? Your sister doesn’t
live close by. I can be here in minutes.”

“No. I don’t need your number. I’ll be all right. With a
little more sleep, I’ll feel like myself again. I just had a slight fall, when
I lost my footing on a trail,” he explained. He was becoming quite a talker.

“OK, then. Goodnight.” She opened the door again.

“Bye,” he said. Something like sadness or gratitude, or
maybe it was only perfunctory politeness, seized him, and he added, “Thanks for
cleaning the place. It looks better.”

She smiled, turning toward him. She had some friendly advice
to share. “You should have someone clean your apartment every week. You’re too
old to live like a college student. It doesn’t cost much. The woman who comes
to my apartment every other week would probably charge you fifty dollars. She
asks more from me, but I have a two bedroom. Your place is small. Do you want
her number?”

The momentary improvement in Bill’s disposition disappeared.
He felt insulted. It was more than he could stand, because she seemed to him
entirely unconscious of her triple attack upon him. First—and most
importantly—he was not old. Second, the maid was too expensive. Third,
his apartment was large enough, more than large enough. His face froze into a
mask of glaring granite, like the twisted grimace of an angry god carved by
ancient Mayan sculptors. “No,” he rebuked her in a thundering voice with
flashing eyes. “You can go now.” He motioned her out of his apartment, as if he
were commanding a victim to ascend the steps of an Aztec temple to be
sacrificed.

“OK. It was just a suggestion,” she replied,
unawed
by his imperious manner and unsurprised by his
response, since what she had suggested would be an expense, and she knew how he
felt about spending. “I hope you feel better soon,” she said cheerfully. Those
words placated the minor deity a little, but he was still glad to see her exit
his apartment, taking all of her advice with her.

Just before the door closed, Helen stuck her head back
inside. “Are you sure you can lock up?” she asked. “I can ask the front desk to
do it.”

“I’ll be there, as soon as you close the door,” he answered
impatiently.

“OK. Just thought I should check. It’s a long way from the
bed to the door,” she pointed out.

“I can make it,” he said curtly.

Helen was unconvinced, but she stepped back into the
hallway, firmly pulling his door closed. She wanted to see how long it would
take him to lock it, if he could. “I’ll give him five minutes,” she said to
herself. “Then I’ll get Jonathan. I ought to call an ambulance for that sick
puppy.” She put her bags on the floor, while she waited.

From where she stood, his moans and groans, as he forced
himself to stand, were clearly audible. She thought about calling out to him, insisting
on his staying where he was, because she was going to have Jonathan lock the
door, but she kept quiet. Next she heard an extended bellowing, somewhat
similar to the sound of a moose in mating season, as Bill hobbled the length of
the apartment toward the door, as fast as he could. When he slammed into the
door, pressing his whole body against it to support himself, the thud made
Helen jump. When she heard the lock turn, she said to
herself
,
“I can scarcely believe it. That big puppy dog has more strength and willpower
than it seems, although he can’t take much care of himself.” She wasn’t sure
what he was doing, when she heard him moaning and groaning again. She listened
closely, trying to make sense of his noises. At that time, he was turning his body
around until his back was against the door, in an attempt to return to the bed.
When he slid to the floor, whimpering, too weak from pain to make the journey
back from where he came, she realized what situation his stubbornness had put
him in.

“Men,” she said to herself, with a feeling of superiority.
“They’re all the same. He’s just like George was.” Picking up her bags, which
she had set down to listen, she walked proudly to her apartment, leaving Bill
to contemplate his
femaleless
condition from the
vantage point of his sparkling-clean parquet floor.

The next morning at the office, Katie was busy updating her
friends with all of her likes and dislikes from the weekend, which were
numerous and more of a priority than any work-related task, when her desk phone
rang. She checked the phone’s screen and recognized Bill’s number. He usually
was one of the first people to come into the office, arriving nearly an hour
before she did, so she expected that he was calling in sick. Claire, Debbie,
and Matt had been wondering where he might be, so Katie thought she might as
well satisfy all of their curiosity at once. Otherwise, they would be bothering
her until they found out everything that she learned from talking with Bill.
She wanted to be able to focus on her personal matters again as soon as
possible, without further interruption. She didn’t understand why her coworkers
were so interested in what Bill did or where he was, but she was not going to
discourage them or try to analyze them. She had better things to do.

“
Shhhh
,” Katie hissed, before
picking up her phone. “It’s
loverboy
.” Claire,
Debbie, and Matt immediately perked up and stopped chatting among themselves to
listen. After Katie answered her phone and traded greetings with Bill, she put
her phone on speaker, so everyone could hear. Bill did not perceive the switch
to speakerphone from her use of the handset.

“I won’t be coming in today. I had a little accident on
Saturday,” Bill explained to Katie, which the others all heard. “Don’t tell
anyone.”

“I won’t say anything to anyone,” Katie truthfully promised.

“The others will think I’m old,” Bill said.

“He is old,” Claire whispered.

“And in denial,” Debbie added.

“But young at heart,” Matt cracked. The women looked at him
with straight faces, as if he were Bill. “Joke,” Matt said to them. “It was a
joke.
Ha
ha
.”

“I can move, but it won’t be until tomorrow or later this
week that I can make it in,” Bill continued.

Bill’s coworkers looked at each other with quizzical looks, unable
to guess what had happened to him.

“OK, Bill,”
Katie
replied. “Take it
easy. Did you see a doctor?”

“I was with a doctor when it happened,” he answered grimly.

Raucous bursts of laughter came from Claire, Debbie, and
Matt in unison. They all had some insight now into what might have occurred on
Saturday, and they remembered how Bill had said on Friday that he was never
going to see Linda again. Katie tried to stifle their boisterous sounds with
hand gestures. “You mean Linda?” she asked Bill.