“You know you don’t have a stove top?” I asked him, while I tried to follow the directions on the childproof cap. Down and to the right.
Down and to the right.
“It’s there,” he said, and took a sip of his tea. “What kind is this?”
“Herbal,” I offered, still struggling with the cap.
“All tea is herbal. Why didn’t you go home when I told you?”
“Duh, I wanted an opportunity to crash your place.”
He scowled at me but kept sipping. “Mission accomplished.”
I finally got the cap to turn and was dismayed to find a seal on top. Usually, I took a knife to these things.
“You should have let me know you were sick,” I said, as I picked the foil off with my thumb nail. “I was worried.”
“Worried about what?”
“You.”
“You shouldn’t be.”
There was no point in responding. I peeled the seal off and measured out a capful of syrup.
“Take this,” I told him. “It’s horrible, but it works.”
He took the cap and swallowed it in one gulp. Then he stuck out his now blue tongue and made a face that made him look like he was ten years old. I couldn’t stop my smile.
He coughed again and I thought it really did sound awful. “Maybe I should make an appointment for you to see a doctor. Do you have a primary I can call?”
“I have a private physician on call. If things get worse, I’ll call her.”
“Really? She’ll just come out here, like for a house visit? Fuck me, you’re rich. Is it just you, in this entire house? Alone?”
“No, I have a day staff, obviously,” he said.
“Obviously,” I repeated, only slightly mocking him.
“But I didn’t want them to catch whatever I have, so I sent them home. And look at that, they listened to me.”
“I’m impervious to germs,” I assured him. He was already getting tired. The effort of having to get out of bed and walk all the way to the front door was probably enough to suck up his energy.
There was more art along the wall. The kind with small lights mounted above them. I pointed at one. “I’m pretty sure that should be in a museum.”
“It is, when I lend it to them for a special showing. Now, are we going to sit here and chat, or are you going to let me rest?”
He was getting under the covers. Some kind of silky looking duvet in a jeweled maroon color.
He was a king. A sultan. A warlord. Ruler over all he surveyed. Surrounded by the spoils of big tech war. But his face was flushed with fever, his eyelids were starting to droop, and he looked so human, I had the urge to run my fingers through his messy hair.
“You want me to stay and read to you or something?”
“Fuck no,” he sighed, his head sinking into his plush pillow. “Go home. And take tomorrow off. This way you won’t worry about me if I don’t show up at the office.”
“You could prevent me from worrying with a text that says you’re doing okay.”
He lifted his hand in a motion that possibly signaled agreement.
