Chapter 4

Still Mimi’s turn:

The shower felt good. Standing there drying myself off – the guy buys good towels. Even getting dressed, hair still damp, sliding into clean underwear, then the feel of the clean cotton of a fresh pair of scrubs, all of it had a normalcy to it. It was like going to work, something that I actually enjoyed on most days.

Today, though. Not work. Friend, or something like it. On the way back to the hospital, I drive by a grocery store with a sign advertising Cajun boudin. I know this is a food that reacts well to refrigeration and reheating and I know that anybody with a name of ‘Fontenot’ was likely raised believing that the ‘B’ in vitamin B stood for ‘boudin’. A quick stop. A purchase.

I walked into the hospital with a couple of grocery bags, stopped at the nurse’s station.

“I’m here to see Marion Fontenot,” I announced.

The ward clerk said, “The nurse is probably with him right now.”

“Okay,” I said. “Brought some boudin and boudin balls. Y’all are welcome to it.”

“Wow! You know we can be bought off with food.” She eyed my scrubs. “You a nurse’re somethin’?”

“RN,” I said. “That’s how I know how food works.”

“We appreciate it,” she smiled.

“We do, too. Doesn’t happen very often, but when it does...” I saw the nurse leaving Buddy’s room. “Lemme go see ‘im. Make sure that others know about the boudin.”

She grinned. “As opposed to hoarding it for myself? I’d feel too guilty.”

“And they can smell it on your breath,” I tossed over my shoulder.

I walked into Buddy’s room.

“Hey, Mimi,” he said, this time with a bit more life.

“Hey yourself. You hungry? I brought boudin. Link or ball?”

“Anything.”

“Let me crank your bed up a bit. Can you stand that?”

“The change in pressure would be welcome,” he said. “As is the boudin.” He managed a brighter smile. “And you.”

“Me? This is payback.”

“All I did was give a pretty girl a boat ride.”

“Pretty? Me?”

“Oh, come on. You look in the mirror.”

“My nose is too big.”

“Nope.”

I was just a little flustered, but I’d been thinking about some of this. That it actually turned up though, well...

He saw my discomfort. “Sorry. Got carried away. It’s the drugs.”

“We’ll buy that, Buddy. What do you want to drink?”

“I’d love some Sprite or 7-Up. I wonder...”

“Let me see what I can do.” The quick escape was a safety valve. I had another bit of data.

I’ve always considered myself to possess adequate looks. The blonde hair is natural – thanks, Mom and Dad – and I carry about ten extra pounds, but that’s it. Blue eyes. One of my former co-workers suggested that I look into breast augmentation, a suggestion that I NEVER entertained.

At the nurse’s station I asked about a soda vending machine.

“For a patient? We keep stuff in that fridge in the break room. There’s an ice machine, too. Get a couple of cups of ice, a couple of cans...” she smacked her lips. “Thanks for the boudin.”

I smiled. “You’re welcome. Thanks for the sodas.”

I went back into Buddy’s room, poured his over ice, stuck a straw in it. He took a bite of spicy boudin, chased it with a sip of soda. Sighed. “Man, Mimi. That’s just perfect!”

“This might just be the place where I’d enjoy a beer,” I said.

“I’m not much of a beer guy, but you’re right. A good, full-blast microbrew, not any of that ‘lite’ crap.”

“I didn’t see any beer in your house. Wasn’t sure how you felt about it,” I said.

“I’m not a regular drinker. I’ve got a bottle of gin that’s three years old,” he said. “Occasionally I’ll buy a six-pack of the good stuff, like if I decide to watch a football game or such.”

“I saw your liquor cabinet,” I said. “I kinda snooped.”

“Uh ... nothing to hide, Mimi. My worst vices are fishing and such. I used to like camping out when I was a kid. I’m not enough of a loner to enjoy it now, though. Have gone to deer camp with a bunch of buddies, but I don’t go for the late night drinking and such. I’m the stick in the mud.”

“Hopelessly boring,” I countered. “Part of the reason I was living by myself in an apartment.” And why am I telling HIM this?

“Me, too. I saw drinking as something you did with friends to kind of smooth off the edges of an evening, not as a means of being able to pull shit in front of your spouse and have alcohol to blame.”

“Ouch. Sore spot, I detect.”

“Astute powers of observation, you have.”

I sighed. “Divorces have a way of doing that, even if you KNOW you made a mistake in the first place.”

“I can blame my lack of inhibition on the Demerol,” he said. “What’s your excuse?”

“You’re a captive audience,” I said. “Not like you can skate off to check out more interesting chicks, not with an IV and a catheter.”

“Other nurses,” he chuckled. “All I have to do is push this button...”

“And you’ll get Karen. She’s married. Two kids. She showed me the pictures. And you, with a hose in your dong, you’re just dripping masculine attraction, you know...”

“You’re MEAN,” he squeaked.

“You repeat yourself.”

“It’s the drugs.”

“You can do better that that old excuse. I know you can. Sir, I get the feeling that you’re quite the smartass.”

“I think the ex said that while she was going out the door.”

“Big words. That’s what mine said. ‘You always usin’ big words’.” I thought about it when I blurted it out.

The ex reveled in that whole ‘ignorant redneck’ schtick, even though he really wasn’t stupid. It’s how he WANTED to be seen. I wanted to be seen with the side he kept suppressing. And the whole thing got to be more and more of a strain. I’m just glad I didn’t end up with a kid. At the end, I wanted the guy OUT of my life, and it would have been horrible to do that to a child.

I brought myself back into the present situation. “So we got exes. Lots of people do.”

“Yeah...” he said, looking thoughtful. “Just means that we didn’t get it right the first time. Happens.”

“Yeah,” I said.

We spent the day getting along, getting to know each other. I’d hate to think about being cooped up in a hospital room with nobody with me. At least I perform that function.

I slipped out when he dozed off after lunch, got myself something to eat, came back. Spent the rest of the afternoon talking about books and music and food.

After dinner, I knew I couldn’t spend the night. Well, I could, but sleeping in a chair, well, I’d rather not. Discussed it with Buddy.

“You don’t have to be here full time, Mimi. I appreciate it, but you don’t owe me.”

Conversation stopped when the nurse came back in on rounds. “Mister Fontenot, you’re up for a Demerol.”

“Take it,” I said. “It’ll help you sleep. I’ll go home and come back to check on you in the morning.”

“Do it,” Buddy told the nurse.

She unloaded a syringe into his IV, changed out a little empty piggyback bag of antibiotics for a full one, then left.

Me ‘n’ Buddy. I stood. “Buddy, I’ll see you in the morning.”

“Yeah ... Go home. Sleep in my bed. There’s a TV in that room.”

“‘Kay, Buddy.” I squeezed his fingers before I left. He squeezed back.

I did a simple sandwich for my late dinner, then showered (Again! But seriously – I’ve spent the day in a hospital with a guy with a superbug) and dressed.

Dilemma. The room where I’d been sleeping? Or HIS bed? He offered. I don’t mind a little quiet TV show before going to sleep, so, why not?

Neat bedroom. The covers match the pillowcases. That’s worth decorating points for a guy. I turned on the bedside lamp, saw where he had a neat arrangement of chargers. That takes care of my phone. I turned back the covers, plumped a pillow, thought, grabbed a second one to prop up against while I read. Turned the TV on, flipped through the menu to find something relatively unstimulating, then settled in.

Damn that guy. Aftershave on the pillow. I just as well have buried my face in his neck. And Geeze, Mimi, where’d THAT image come from?

Okay, I can do this. It’s a pleasant, comforting smell. I read a chapter, then another, then glanced at the time. I need to go to sleep. Yes, I’m tense and I don’t want to admit why, but I’m a big girl and I know something that will relieve my tensions.

And I masturbated to a very satisfying (for a solo) orgasm in Buddy’s bed. Went to sleep with that glow between my legs, grasping a pillow and ... I tell myself that it’s perfectly natural to have fantasies and to put faces to them.

I got up, rummaged through the kitchen to find some cereal, had that for breakfast. And coffee. And I see that I need to make a grocery stop, at least for milk. I’ll ask Buddy if he needs anything else, and I’ll catch the shopping on the way home later.

I was walking out to the truck when my phone rang. I didn’t recognize the number. “This is Mimi,” I said.

“Uh ... I’m looking for a Marian Clemons” the disembodied voice said.

“Marian is my legal name. May I ask who is speaking?”

“Richard Drayman with Consolidated Insurance. Referring to your claim.”

“Which one? My car? Or my renter’s package.”

“You bought both of them through us. We can discuss both.”

“Let me get back in the house so I can sit, please.”

“Certainly. While you’re going, do you perhaps have pictures?”

I laughed. “Mister Drayman, the last picture I have, the roof of my car is barely visible under the rising water. It was parked in front of my apartment. The water got up to the eaves.” I unlocked the door, went inside, sat in Buddy’s recliner.

“Total immersion, then,” he said.

“Yes, and they’re not letting people back in until the water gets out of the streets. My landlord’s been trying ... I talked with him yesterday. He promises to call me as soon as I can get in.”

“Are you at a shelter?”

“Kinda-sorta,” I said. “One of those Cajun Navy guys rescued me. He’s giving me a place to stay until I get things sorted out.”

“Can you send me that photo of your car under water?”

“Sure can. I’ll send it to this phone number.”