I awoke that Saturday well afternoon, as was normal for my weekends off, pouring myself into a relaxed position in front of afternoon cartoons, my own private indulgence. I had a slight headache but nothing a bowl of sugared cereal and apple juice couldn't cure, the only real food I could endure after a night like last.
“Good Morning” a small voice amplified by the domed ceiling and my current state.
I turned looking over the island bar that separated my area from the kitchen to find a man much larger than the voice; he too must have been a great time last night.
“You mind if I borrow your shower?” brushing his thick mane of hair out of his eyes.
I wanted to say ‘Yes!’ a stranger using my shower always creeps me out, but it was the least I could do and it would keep him busy for a while until I could figure a way to get rid of him.
“No problem, clean towels in the closet at the end of the hall, just grab one” I yelled back with out looking. ‘Not the plush green one please’ I tried to add but effort was not my friend and the ambition died.
Cartoons are the closest thing to fantasy I allowed myself, I rarely read anything that wasn’t educational material for work and limited TV to days off. I read the newspaper every morning on my way to work and over the past year I had become obsessed with a news story that ran every so often, kind of a human interest story, about a woman in Sacramento CA who was accused of first degree murder and abduction of a fetus. The story read like a novel plot line, a straight laced housewife from Sacramento CA named Debbie Carter faked a seven month pregnancy, broke into the home of Heather Goode, a friend and pregnant hospice nurse, and cut the baby right out of her. Debbie got away, Heather died and only three days later was Mrs Carter arrested for the murder. If these things actually happen why do we need fiction.
I watched two and a half episodes of the Justice League before I heard anything more of Mr. Bathwater. A fog flooded the hall as he walked toward the kitchen entrance, carrying his cloths like a load of laundry and wearing nothing but my plush green towel.
“Cartoons Hey? I haven’t watched these since I was a kid” What an asshole! Why do people always judge me, and better question; why was he still here? “So you have any plans? You want to get a coffee or something?” he says. I turn to find him leaning against the door way, the towel hanging by a thread from his manly torso, God he was beautiful, why not?
“Sure” I jump up “let me get dressed” as I rush to dress Mr. Bathwater walks through the doorway and into his jeans. I grab a Ralph Lauren polo shirt and my Buffalo jeans; I never claimed to be stylish. Mr. BW followed me to the sink, throwing on a belt and pulling a Calvin Klein T-shirt over his Abercrombie body, he watched me brush my teeth. They say that brushing your teeth is the most intimate thing anyone can watch you do. I never understood until now how true this is, I felt invaded, he watched and leaned then moved closer and tried to straighten my shirt popping my collar. Ok a cup of coffee and then back home. Weirdo.
As we left the apartment and began to walk toward downtown, a little drizzle began to fall, it was not uncommon for this time of year to get sporadic rain showers always warm and never lasting more than a few minutes. Mr. BW who had been walking three paces ahead of me, the right distance if you were to ask, able to turn every so often to check my progress or add a comment to our needless conversation, had fallen back to protect me from the rain. The scent of cream soap and Alfred Sung wafted up from his chest, Mr. BW had used my cologne.
On second thought “Oh my gosh,” I made a habit not to swear trying to keep my energies pure “I’m so sorry I totally forgot I was supposed to” think Andre “call my mother this morning.” My mother of all people would never expect a call on a Saturday from me “You go ahead, I’ve got your number, I’ll call you we will go for coffee.”
“A rain check”
“Ha, yes, rain check” Looking up. As he walked away I thought to myself ‘why do all the good ones have to be such assholes?’ turning back toward my house I really did need coffee.