Chapter 5: Mice at Play

Rick carried a paper sack to the apartment and rapped on the door. "It's open," he heard Brenda reply.

He stepped inside and she greeted him in another peplos, this one made of a sheer, gauzy fabric.

"How many of those outfits do you have?" he asked.

"You've seen them all. They have no shape, so they fold flat. I have a box of fabrics from Mom's store and I keep them in it." She handed him a piece of off-white cloth. "Here -- I made toggles to fasten it at the shoulders." She handed him a length of cord. "Use this for a belt."

Rick carried the chitoniskos to the bedroom. He undressed and slipped on the garment, tied the belt around his waist and attempted to distribute the surplus fabric. "I thought you said it was knee- length," he said as he stepped into the living room.

"I made it just a bit shorter. You look sexy in it, Rick." She tugged at the garment to make it drape correctly. "You have nice looking legs."

"I wonder why in antiquity the fashion was for men to expose their legs while women covered them," he remarked. "Today it seems the opposite -- not that I'm complaining. I enjoy seeing a lady's pretty, sweet legs."

"Maybe men were expected to run and climb while working while women were expected to stand and sit," she replied.

"I showed your story to Alexis," Rick said as Brenda began laying out the table setting and serving the food he had brought.

"What did he think?"

"He was blown away -- like I am. He wants to publish it in his periodical."

"Really?"

"He said he wouldn't change a word -- wouldn't change a punctuation mark. There is one difficulty, though. He needs it to be in the form of a Word document. I'd be happy to type it up for you, Brenda."

"Would you?"

"I would. You really ought to become computer- literate if you'd like to do more of this."

"We'll see how it's received," she replied and began opening a bottle of wine with a corkscrew.

"Wine? I thought you and Roger don't drink."

"Roger is the one with a problem with alcohol. When he's around, I abstain for his sake. This is a bottle someone gave us and I've kept it under wraps. I figured now would be a good time to open it -- before it goes bad. We don't have wine glasses so we'll use these." She poured into a pair of juice glasses.

Brenda held up her glass and sipped. "This is good lasagna," she remarked.

"Yeah -- I often get carryout there ... too often I think."

"You said we'd have a lot to talk about. I imagine you want to talk about us."

Rick nodded. "You know, all afternoon I was working on what I wanted to say. I've concluded it was all wrong."

"What had you wanted to say?" she asked.

"I was prepared to implore you to leave Roger." He sighed. "I don't know what he's trying to accomplish with his phony French bit. If it's romance, he's missed the mark. You are more romantic than he ever will be. You have more romance in your little finger than he has in his entire being. I could see it in those juvenilia stories and certainly in this one." He tapped the notepad. "But now, I think that would be wrong."

"Why?"

"Brenda -- do you love Roger?"

"It's complicated. I told you he rescued me from a bad situation. I owe him some loyalty for that. We get along ... most of the time. I know he cheats on me ... I thought he reached a new level of audacity when he brought his girlfriend home for dinner the other night."

"Miriam?" Rick asked. "He invited her for my sake, not his."

"Rick -- I hope this isn't some male-tribe cover- up. I really hate it when men do that."

"Oh, no. Roger contrived to have me drive her home, figuring I'd stay the night with her. He was perplexed when I came back, alone." Brenda pursed her lips and narrowed her gaze. "What makes you think he's having a fling with Miriam?"

"Didn't you notice the fragrance she was wearing?"

"Uhh ... No, I didn't."

"Well, that's what was on Roger's clothes when he came home late. I'm not even sure he really went to Philadelphia. He might've been spending time right here with her."

"Anything between Roger and Miriam happened after Saturday evening, not before it," Rick replied.

"I'll take your word for it, Rick. There's no need to shelter him -- I know how he is. I know I can't change him so I must accept it."

"But -- do you love him?"

Brenda looked down at the table and shook her head. "I don't think it's love. I don't feel the same way toward Roger as I'm feeling toward you. I'm feeling real love with you, Rick -- especially this morning."

"That wasn't love. It was passion -- nothing but pure, raw passion."

"Well, then -- I wouldn't underrate pure, raw passion. It felt really good to me."

"I'm attracted to you, Brenda. I admire you and I'm in awe of your talent. I don't think I love you. I could, true love takes time. What happened this morning really shouldn't have."

"Do you think this morning was wrong?" she asked.

"No, but I don't think it was right."

"If it's not right then it's wrong ... isn't it?"

"It occupies some middle territory between right and wrong."

"So -- you're a fence-sitter, too."

"I think we both got caught in the passion of your story. Your seduction of Leda by Zeus is vividly erotic. Reading it was a turn- on for me. I imagine writing it was a turn-on for you." She bit her lip and a blush spread over her cheeks. "You looked sexy in that chiton. I'll bet you felt sexy in it."

"Stop it -- you're making me feel foolish and tawdry."

"Brenda -- I cherish what we did. It was the best sex I can remember."

"For me, too."

"But let's be realistic about what it was -- a combination of events and feelings that enabled our passions to take over."

Her eyes began to fill. "Rick -- are you dumping me?" She wiped tears from her cheeks. "I was sure I was falling in love with you. You've been so tender with me. I've never felt tenderness like that before. I need it. I didn't realize 'til now how much I need it. And now you're telling me it wasn't right?"

"The last thing I want to do is to hurt you. If we move too fast, that's exactly what we risk."

She regarded him for a long moment. "I'm beginning to understand. You really do care for me, don't you?"

"I still want you, Brenda. I care enough for you to give you up if that's in your best interest. Do you still feel like you're falling in love with me?"

"I don't know. I am attracted to you, too. You're right, though -- real love does take time."

"I'll always be your friend, Brenda. I'll always be your advocate, and I'll always be your admirer. If you decide to leave Roger -- don't do it for me. Do it for you."

"You certainly have made me reassess my feelings toward him. It's dawning on me how I could be independent ... should be independent..."

"Do you want my advice?" he asked.

"Certainly."

"You have a natural talent that would be a shame to waste. Whether you go in the direction of creative writing or toward history, you will succeed. I think you should take advantage of the spousal tuition policy and complete your undergraduate work. You might even decide to pursue an advanced degree. I'm telling you this because I want to see you do something with the awesome talent you were gifted with. Anything less would be a waste, and that would be a shame."

"Now I am feeling some real love flowing from you," she replied. "A different kind of love than this morning."

"If you need to talk or want some advice -- I'll be here for you, Brenda."

"How should we deal with Roger?" she asked.

"Well ... Roger has told me over and over again that if a liaison is sufficiently discreet, then it's as if it never happened at all. I'm not inclined to mention it to him."

"Nor I."

"If you should decide not to go on with Roger and want us to explore a relationship -- I would welcome it."

She nodded. "I need to work that out myself."

"Then -- do we have an understanding?"

"I think we do."

Rick stood and embraced her. She rested her face against his shoulder. "You are the sort of woman with whom I could fall deeply and profoundly in love," he said. "Roger got me to admit that I could fall in love with Eva. You and she are quite a bit alike."

"I'd like to meet her sometime."

"Maybe we can arrange it. Maybe we can make another foursome for whist."

Brenda laughed. "That was quite an evening, wasn't it."

Rick chuckled but stopped when he heard something metallic at the apartment door. It swung open.

"Brenda!" He heard Roger's voice. "Brenda -- zat conference was ze biggest pile of bullshit. I decided to skip ze Friday session and come home early..." Roger stopped short at the sight of Rick releasing Brenda from an embrace. He regarded their costumes and the wine bottle on the table. "I see. When the cat's away the mice play."

"What happened to your accent, Roger?" Rick asked.

"You shut up!"

"It's not what it looks like, Roger," Brenda protested.

"Not what it looks like? Are you saying it's some private fancy dress ball? Trying on costumes to get ready for Halloween?"

"I'd better be going," Rick said.

"Yes -- and I'll come with you," Brenda added.

"No -- you two stay here," Roger growled. He dashed into the bedroom and returned holding Rick's street clothes in his left hand. He threw them to the floor. In his right he held a small-caliber handgun. "No one goes anywhere until we have this out." He glared at Rick. "I'm putting you on notice -- if you touch her ... if you go near her again I won't be responsible for my actions." He held the pistol in Rick's face. "Do you hear me?"

"Put the gun down, Roger," Rick said and advanced toward him.

"You stay back..."

"Rick's been helping me with some writing," Brenda protested.

Roger looked around the room. He picked up the yellow legal pad. "This?" He scanned the words. "More Greek foolishness and I'll bet you're encouraging her."

"I certainly am," Rick replied. "Brenda is a talented writer who needs to pursue her craft."

"Craft!" Roger tore the top page from the pad, wadded it into a ball and threw it to the floor. "This is what I think of her craft!" He tore off the second page, balled it up and tossed it.

"Stop!" Rick yelled. He lunged toward Roger.

"Careful!" Brenda cried.

Rick grabbed Roger's forearm and wrestled him for the tablet. "Give me that!"

The two grappled. Then Rick heard a loud pop and felt a sharp blow to his stomach, followed by searing pain. "Oooof," he exclaimed as he fell to his knees. He reached for his belly and saw blood. A gray haze formed at the periphery of his vision and spread inward.

Rick opened his eyes to an unfamiliar room. He could hear the beeping of a heart monitor. "Welcome back," a voice said to him. Rick tried to sit up but was stopped by intense pain. "Lie still, big guy," the voice said. A young man's face appeared in his field of vision.

"I'm Doctor Rollins -- surgeon. It appears you were on the wrong end of a Walther P22. You know, too many folks think a .22 rimfire simply isn't a big enough cartridge to cause real damage. They don't give it enough respect and in a way that makes it more dangerous. They're wrong, of course. It can be lethal. You're lucky the slug missed your spine and your aorta. If it had hit one, you'd be paralyzed in the former case or dead in the latter. As it is, the most serious outcome is that your body will need to learn to manage without a spleen."

"Spleen? You removed my spleen?"

"The spleen has the consistency of a balloon stuffed with Jell-O," the doctor continued. "Once it's ruptured there's no reassembling it. There are some pretty hefty blood vessels in the vicinity. One of those got severed and consequently you lost quite a bit of blood. Nonetheless, your chances of a complete recovery are excellent."

"Will I need to take some replacement hormones ... or something?" Rick asked.

"The spleen is an important organ but not a vital one. Its primary function is in support of your immune system. Your body will adjust to its loss. In the meantime we're putting you on an antibiotic regimen and we'll make sure your vaccinations are current. I'll get you some data sheets on the protocol for asplenic patients. Right now, we are arranging some accommodations for you upstairs. You'll be our guest here for a few days, at least. Ah ... Here comes the welcome committee."