It wasn’t.
“She exclaimed, ‘I feel better,’ pulling herself up. She held the covers over her breasts which made me smile. I never understood why she hid herself from me. I saw her naked all the time, whether I was with her or not.
‘That’s good. I was going to call a doctor.’
‘You don’t need to do that. I’m fine. I’m just going to get up and take a bath. I think I’m kind of hungry,’ she said weakly.
‘You get a bath and I’ll have Rebecca bring you something to eat,’ I thoughtfully offered, pulling the covers hiding her breasts. She looked past me while my thumb brushed over her nipple. Her skin felt soft and had lost the heat from the fever.
‘I’m really glad you feel better, I’ll see you later,’ I promised, pinching her nipple between my fingers with a little bit of a twist. She didn’t reply. She’d learned that it was best that she didn’t. She seemed to have a hard time replying without saying something smart. I almost wished she would sometimes. She was very quick witted when she wanted to be. Knowing it usually ended in her bent over my lap, she typically refrained.
Trying to listen and go over the last quarter with Derik and Pete, I loosened my tie and unbuttoned the first two buttons of my shirt. It was suddenly hot in the office. I turned the cuff up on my sleeves a couple times and tried to keep up. Sweat beaded off my head, and I suddenly felt a little queasy. Fuck. I couldn’t be sick. I didn’t have time to be sick.
‘You alright, man? You look a little pale,’ Derik asked.
‘Yeah, we’re done here. I think we’ve gone over enough. You can finish it, right, Pete?’
‘Sure, no problem. I’ll report back to you once I’m finished,’ he offered, standing and gathering his things. Derik followed, answering his phone.
I removed my tie walked out to the empty house. I heard Rebecca and Morgan talking in the kitchen but didn’t really care what they were saying at the time. I was on a mission. I hurried to my room, made it to the bathroom and released nasty bile to the toilet. Holy shit. I felt horrible. I wasn’t sick. No. I wasn’t sick, there was no time to be sick. I had a meeting with a client, coming to the house tomorrow. It was big, the owner of Sheffield’s Casino. This would be his third wife. He’d always purchased his rings from Callaway Jewels, and like the Callaways, you didn’t put him off for anything. He’d go buy a half million dollar ring from someone else. I was sure of it.
I didn’t wait until I was down like Morgan. I sat on the edge of my bed and dialed Dr. Reynolds. Of course he was busy and had to call me back. I lay across the bed with my shirt open, trying to cool down. It was so hot in my room; I could feel the sweat run down the back of my neck.
Dr. Reynolds returned my call twenty minutes later, informing there was nothing he could do. It was stomach flu that was being passed around, and the only thing I could do was let it run its course. It should only last forty eight hours or so, I was informed. I didn’t have five hours to be sick, let alone forty eight. Fluids and rest, that was the prescription.
Okay, if I was going to do this, I was getting rid of it as quickly as I could. Walking to the kitchen, Morgan and Rebecca halted their conversation. It was stupid. I listened to all of their conversations, and they knew it. Why they always stopped when I entered the room was beyond me.
‘Do we have more Sprite?’ I asked, pouring the rest in a glass.
‘No, I kind of forced it into Morgan,’ Rebecca explained. ‘Are you sick? I can run out and get more.’
‘Would you? I’m not sick, just a little queasy,’ I tried telling myself more than her.
Slamming the glass to the island, I darted to the bathroom, feeling the inevitable in the back of my throat. This was bad. This was so bad. I felt like I’d been hit by a truck. How the hell did this happen? I didn’t get sick. I hadn’t been sick since like high school.
‘Here, you should get out of those clothes and into something a little more comfortable. You’re not going anywhere for a couple days,’ Morgan assured me, handing me a wet washcloth. I looked up at her peculiarly. Why would she help me? She should be doing some sort of happy dance. I jerked the cloth from her hands, covering my face with the coolness, moaning, sure that I was dying.”
Drew wasn’t lying about that, not that Drew really lied anyway. He always told the truth, whether you liked it or not, but he was right about dying. I prayed that I would die when I felt the way he was feeling. It was horrible, pure hell.
“Morgan coaxed, ‘Come on,’ pulling me from my seated position. I let her help me, thinking we were going to my room. She led me to the living room where I practically fell to the sofa. I felt so drained, like I had no energy at all.