Blowing out an exaggerated sigh, I reached for the hand towel next to the sink. All the rest of the towels were in the linen closet in the hall. I dried myself as best as I could with the miniscule piece of cloth before unlocking the bathroom door and stepping out into the hall. I opened the linen closet and peered inside, searching for a larger towel. Standing on tip-toes, I craned my neck toward the back of the second shelf. I couldn’t see clearly enough, so I began hopping up and down to improve my visualization of the shelf.
I heard a low cough and the hairs on my arms stood on end from the unsettling sense of being watched. Slowly, I turned my head toward the kitchen. Simon, in his ratty bathrobe, was standing in front of the microwave with an amused expression on his face.
“Simon! I screeched, covering my body with my hands. “What are you doing here?” I grabbed a blanket from the shelf and threw it over my shoulders.
“I live here, Elizabeth. I’ve been living here, remember?” Simon reminded me in a nasal voice.
“I thought you were leaving someday soon,” I muttered.
“I am, but I am waiting to hear back from this guy on this apartment in Jersey. I promise I will be out of here by July first…July fifteenth at the latest.” He coughed in between nearly every word.
“You have a cold or something?” I asked in an accusatory tone.
He nodded as he placed a bowl inside the open microwave. “Yeah. Doctor said it’s walking pneumonia. Told me I can’t work for a couple days.” He grabbed a handkerchief from the pocket of the robe and loudly blew his nose.
“Just perfect,” I grumbled under my breath as I retreated to my bedroom.
Simon would have to be sick the week Austin would be around. His cousin was getting married tonight, so he was off, but then he would have home games until next Friday. I was going to have to keep him away from the apartment. Which was going to be difficult because he was coming to pick me up in less than two hours.
I groaned as I pulled on my Spanx. Well, more like a cheap Spanx knock-off that I had bought the day before. I tried on my dress for the wedding last week and much to my dismay, it had gotten even tighter. My only hope to get this damn dress zippered was going to be a girdle that sucked it all in.
I threw myself back on the bed and tugged at the rubber material that was tearing at my flesh. Panting, I was finally able to pull it up to my breasts. Sweat was pooling in the crotch area already.
Great. I waddled over to the window and opened it, trying to get some air into the stifling apartment. Yesterday I turned on the air conditioner to find out that, oh yeah, it didn’t work. There was absolutely no money in my budget for a new unit. Sleeping in a New York City apartment in the summer without an air conditioner was going to be akin to sleeping in a garbage dump in Death Valley.
Just then, an excellent idea occurred to me. Why don’t I stay in Austin’s apartment this week? He has a working air conditioner and then I will minimize the risk that he runs into Simon! Of course! That’s perfect!
I smiled at my brilliance while I continued to get ready for the wedding. Until, I thought about my plan. You can’t stay at Austin’s. What if…
I shook the thought from my head. I was going to have to sleep in the same bed with my husband at some point in time. Why not start now?
I stepped into the hallway and headed to the bathroom to put on make-up. The smell of burnt soup permeated the air.
He burnt soup in the microwave? Really? I didn’t even think that was possible. I chuckled to myself as I tried the door handle to the bathroom. It didn’t turn.
“Simon!” I banged on the door impatiently. “I’ve got to dry my hair and get my make-up! Austin is picking me up in an hour!”
“Ughhhh,” I heard Simon groaning on the other side of the door. “I can’t open the door, Lizzie! I’m indisposed right now. I can’t seem to get off the throne.” He started making noises like he was being mauled by a pack of wolves behind the door. “I think I’m even sicker than I thought!”
“Oh no you’re not, Simon! I have some place to be! Open this door right now!” I pounded on the door even harder, as if that would cause him to jump off the bowl and answer.
“I really can’t, Lizzie!” He uttered a guttural cry. “I think I’m dying here! The antibiotics they gave me for the pneumonia are wreaking havoc on my intestines.”
“Jesus Christ, Simon! You can’t jump off for a second and unlock the door? I won’t look, I swear.” I leaned with my back against the door, mind racing.
Why don’t I keep the make-up and hairdryer in my room for times like this? Wait a minute…it’s because there shouldn’t even be times like this because I live alone! Austin doesn’t even stay here.
In fact now that I considered it, Austin I had not even talked about where we were going to live after the wedding. It was a little more than three months away and the only wedding discussions we had embarked upon were about the reception hall and menu. And that was only because his parents were writing the check. As far as everything else, Austin had told me, “You handle it, honey. You’re good at that.”
I had “handled” nearly every detail at this point. The band, the honeymoon, the flowers—my mother and I had taken care of it all, much to her delight. Except for my dress. After the traumatic dress shopping experience, I was reluctant to go into another shop. Even sans Nora.
Mom phoned me every day and each call ended with me saying, “I’m going to make an appointment to look at dresses for next week.” And every day, I blew it off with an excuse that I’d do it in the morning, or the shop must be closed, or I really should work on my novel. But the clock was ticking now. I really did need to make an appointment in the morning.
An odious smell was now wafting underneath the bathroom door. “Oh my God, Simon! Did something die in your ass?”
I heard a weak chuckle from the other side of the door and then, a thud. A thud that sounded like someone falling off the toilet and hitting their head on the tub. I placed both palms on the door and pressed my ear against it.
“Simon?” I called out with trepidation. No answer came from the bathroom. I rapped on the door softly. “Simon, are you okay?” Still, no answer.
Oh good God, please tell me he didn’t really die in there! There’s no way I can explain that one to Austin. I knocked a little louder. “Simon, if you’re okay please say something!” I could hear the panic creeping into my voice. What would I do if he didn’t answer me? Call the police? Ambulance? Fire department to break down the door?
I stepped back and stared at the door as if the answer would be written there or jump out of the wood in code. Okay, take a deep breath. First thing is first. You need to get that door open. But how to do that?
Living a completely sheltered childhood, I had no idea how to open a door with a credit card or pick a lock or anything like that. I briefly considered throwing my body against the door, but I didn’t think it would do any good, and if it did, I would be pissed that the door was broken.
My bangs were now dry, getting in my eyes, annoying me and disturbing my thinking process. I reached into the pocket of my robe and fished around for a barrette to hold my hair back. I came up with a penny, quarter, handful of lint, a receipt for Chinese food, and bobby pin.
Ugh! All my barrettes were in the drawer of the sink! I tapped the bobby pin against my lips until I realized I was holding the answer in my hand. I stared down at the tiny piece of metal and held it toward the lock. Did I really want to find out what was on the other side of this door?
You don’t have a choice, I told myself firmly. You need to get into the bathroom. Simon could be bleeding to death in there. I cringed at the thought. I really didn’t do blood. Once, Simon cut a chunk of skin out of his chin while shaving and I ran from the bathroom screaming like I had poisonous spiders crawling into my orifices. I was a lot like my mother in that respect.
Cautiously, I stuck the pin in the key hole, initially jerking back as if I was going to be electrocuted.
Biting my tongue, I fished around in the hole until I felt it catch on the lock. I turned it and voila! Door opened right up. And what a sight to behold.
Simon was slumped on the floor, pants around his ankles, head hanging into the bowl. Vomit oozed out the side of his mouth. He blinked weakly as I stepped into the room.
“Liz…” he mumbled almost inaudibly.
I put my finger to my lips. “Shhh! Don’t talk. Let’s get you out of here.” I stood behind him and pulled upwards to no avail. He was limp and dead weight. “Come on, Simon, you have to help at least a little bit. Put your hands on the toilet and push up.”
With shaking arms, he heaved himself off the floor into a standing position. After tugging his pants up, I tucked one arm around his back and held the crook of his elbow with the other. With unsteady steps, I led him toward my bedroom. Glancing at him as we entered, I could see he was ghostly white with a twinge of green. Drawing back the comforter, I lowered him to my bed. He laid his head on my pillow, wordlessly.
No snarky comment about getting in my bed? Damn, he really must be sick.
Pulling the blanket up to his chin, I tucked the ends around his body. He smiled weakly as he croaked, “Thanks, Lizzie.”
“That must be some antibiotics they have you on,” I remarked as I dragged the wastepaper basket next to the bed. I was hoping if he threw up again, he would be courteous enough to get it in the pail. Not like the time he threw up in my laundry basket full of clean and pressed work clothes.
Simon nodded weakly. “It’s my second round. The first didn’t do any…” He started coughing uncontrollably.
“Let me get you some water.” I dashed out of the bedroom and grabbed a bottle from the fridge. I twisted the cap as I returned to his side. “Drink this.” Grabbing the back of the pillow, I helped him sit up to take a sip. He coughed and sputtered the second the liquid passed his lips, spraying water all over me and the bed.
“Sorry,” he remarked apologetically.
I winced. “You must really be in bad shape, Simon. I’ve never seen you this sick. Don’t you think you ought to go to the hospital?”
Simon shook his head. “I can’t. My job doesn’t offer insurance.”
“Don’t you have, like, COBRA from your last job?” Since I didn’t have an employer, I knew all about paying for my own insurance. It was the biggest bitch about being unemployed. Every month my healthy self wrote the check out and I felt like I was being robbed at gunpoint. But I reasoned that it was part of being a responsible adult. You just never know what was going to happen.
“It was a ridiculous amount of money. So I figured, ah, I’m young. I’ll gamble.” He leaned back against the pillow, pitiful expression on his face.
“Ah, so the house wins on that wager,” I remarked drily.
Simon attempted to smile as he closed his eyes. “This sucks.”
I agreed as I stepped into the hallway. “Yup. Being sick is a bummer.”
I entered the bathroom with apprehension. It smelled pretty rank in there. I surveyed the mess before me and decided against trying to clean up. Reaching into the drawer, I retrieved my hairdryer and make-up and fled from the room.
Poking my head into the bedroom, I asked, “Do you need anything? I’m going to fix myself up in the living room.”
“Yeah, to die,” Simon mumbled from somewhere underneath the comforter.
“Don’t tempt me,” I responded.
I heard a muffled laugh as I closed the bedroom door. Once I reached the kitchen, I pulled up a chair in front of the shiny toaster. Hey, it wasn’t the Clinique make-up counter, but it would work to get the job done. I unzipped my make-up bag and went to work beautifying myself. After applying foundation and powder, I thickly lined my eyelids with a deep blue. “Simon will hate this,” I found myself considering. Simon hated all eye make-up and detested when I wore it.
I paused as I realized, it didn’t matter what Simon liked and didn’t like. His opinions meant nothing to me anymore. I quickly finished with my eye make-up and brushed a dusting of blush across my cheeks. I fished in the bag and retrieved three different lipsticks—all were too red for my taste. I tossed them back in the bag and opted for a chap stick instead. Okay, maybe it wasn’t very grown-up, but neither is blood red lipstick on my teeth, which is exactly what would happen if I put it on.
I searched the living room for an outlet to plug the hairdryer in. Every last one of them was taken, so I unplugged a lamp and switched on the blow dryer. After about five minutes, I realized it was futile. I needed the big guns. The straightener. Now if I could only remember where I put the damn thing. I was pretty sure it wasn’t in the bathroom. I would have seen it when I retrieved the hairdryer. I rotated in a circle in the middle of the living room as if I could see through walls and find the item.
Tapping the brush against my lips, I stepped over to the hall closet. After opening the door, I gazed at the shelf, stacked precariously high with boxes, bags, and other crap. Yeah, I was pretty sure the straightener was under that mess. In fact, I could see the hot pink box with Revlon written on the side, taunting me from underneath a pile of books.
Sighing, I dragged a kitchen chair over to the closet so that I could retrieve the box. I grabbed as many books as I could fit in my arms and threw them to the floor.
“Sorry,” I apologized to the novels, cringing at the book abuse. Grabbing the box with both hands, I started to tug at the same time that the chair began to wobble.
“What the…” The front door was banging into the chair, causing it to tilt forward.
Oh no! My choices are to grab on to the coat bar or fall face first into this closet. I opted for the former as the chair crashed to the ground and Austin stepped into the apartment to see me gripping the closet bar for dear life.
Oh my God. He’s here already. Panic gripped me as I realized Simon was tucked snuggly in my bed. Oh shit. This is definitely NOT going to look good. I’m in a robe and Simon is lying in my bed. Okay, deep, even breaths. Just remain calm.
“Elizabeth?” Austin craned his neck to peer into the closet. “What are you doing?”
I released my grip on the bar and dropped down to the floor with a thud. “Hanging around, waiting for you,” I joked with exaggerated cheerfulness.
“Huh?” Austin scratched his head and crinkled his brow.
Shaking my head, I responded, “Never mind. Poor attempt at humor. Can you get that for me?” I pointed to the coveted box on the shelf. Austin was able to retrieve it with ease and handed it to me.
“You’re here early,” I remarked, trying to sound casual.
Austin consulted his watch. “No, I’m actually five minutes late. Why aren’t you ready?”
Flustered, I glanced at the clock on the DVD player. Shit, he was right! Taking care of Simon must have taken longer than I thought!
“And what is that God awful smell?” Austin asked while wrinkling up his nose.
Thinking quickly, I clutched my abdomen. “I had really bad diarrhea,” I moaned, turning bright red. This is your future husband, Elizabeth. Why are you embarrassed saying you had diarrhea?
“Oh well, are you okay?” Austin stuttered, face equally crimson. Okay, I guess he isn’t comfortable discussing bowel movements with me, either. No poop discussions in the future. Dually noted.
“Yeah. I’m good now. Just took time out of getting ready, I guess. I’ll, um, just straighten my hair and put my dress on and we’ll be on our way.”
Austin looked at his watch again. “Make it fast. My mother will freak out if we’re late for church.” He wandered into the kitchen and opened the fridge. He took a beer and twisted the top off. Oh shit! That’s Simon’s beer! Oh please don’t let him ask why I have Bass Ale in the house.
“Really?” I replied as I stepped into the malodorous bathroom to plug in the straightener. “Why’s that?” Keep him talking.
“She’s crazy about church. I mean, she’s really religious.”
“She is?”
I called back to him with as I gathered a section of my hair to straighten.
“Uh, yeah. My grandfather was a minister.” In the mirror, I could see him lounging on the couch.
Please don’t let there be any remnants of Simon! I usually scanned the room before Austin came over, but I didn’t have a chance with his sudden appearance.
“I didn’t know that,” I remarked as I nearly burnt my finger with the straightener. I was starting to find out that there was a lot about Austin I didn’t know. Last week I discovered he chewed tobacco and I was appalled. In June when I finally cornered him about the band, I found out that he played in a garage band up until we met. While discussing the menu for the wedding, Austin informed me he didn’t eat any dairy because he was lactose intolerant. It was beginning to freak me out that I didn’t know these little nuances about my fiancé.
Austin started to drone on about his grandfather while I straightened my hair. Listening to his tales of his grandfather, I had to admit, a minister’s life sounded exhausting and dull. I could see why he hadn’t mentioned it before. I mumbled an “ah ha” or “oh really” at appropriate times, but just to keep him engaged until I was done.
Surveying my handiwork in the bathroom mirror I considered that my hair could be worse. At least I didn’t singe the ends like last time. Didn’t matter. It wasn’t my wedding after all. Only on my wedding day would it would matter what I looked like.
The thought of my wedding made my pulse race as I broke out into a cold sweat. Are you getting nervous, Elizabeth? I asked myself as I headed to the bedroom to retrieve my dress.
Don’t be ridiculous. I’m not nervous. Just stressed about all that I have left to do, I reassured myself.
Austin jumped up from the couch. “Oh good, you’re out. I have to piss like a racehorse.” He dashed into the bathroom and locked the door before I could protest. “Wow! It’s nasty in here!” he called through the door, but I didn’t respond. I had a bigger problem now.
I stared unhappily into the bedroom where Simon lay half alive under my comforter. I had no choice. I was going to have to change in there. Stepping inside my room, I timidly shut and locked the door. My heart was pounding loudly in my ears as I tip-toed over to the closet and slid the door open quietly. The sequined dress hung on its hanger between my business casual apparel and suits that I never wore anymore. After blinking several times, I stared accusingly at the dress as if I were blaming it for not automatically jumping on to my body.
[2013] Note to Self- Change the Locks Page 19