VI. The Lovers. [Reversed]

Our Rooming House—NIGHT

Andrea has put on her pajamas and is making herself comfortable in the bed. As always, I am pleased that she seems at ease and content in my presence. But anything or everything else in the Universe is unsure. Even if I wanted to risk further romantic advances, I have run out of opportunities for the evening.

Heading to the bathroom to brush my teeth, piss, etc. for the night, I hear voices outside the door. Looking through the spyglass in the front room, I see a couple of technicians from my office, Mary, an older woman, and the other one. The redheaded one.

They are coming down the hall to our door. With clenched fists, I continue back to the bathroom, urinating as I dread the inevitable knock. It comes.

“Just a minute,” I cry, not wanting Andrea to answer it. Coming back into the room amid more knocks, Andrea is half out of bed. I open the door a crack and the women push their way in past me.

“What’s going on Francis Trautman? Who’s this?” the redhead calls. She thinks it is cute to call me by my full name and pretend to be surprised that I am not alone in my apartment.

It is cute.

“What? How’d you even know I was here?” I stammer as they make themselves at home. After all, why wouldn’t I be here? Why am I panicking? I can see Andrea in the bedroom, is now up and is throwing on a robe, embarrassed to be caught in her extremely modest nightware.

“Who are they? What are they doing here?” she chirps innocently enough.

“I don’t know! Don’t come out here!” I plead, shoving the door closed, “She’s nothing to me. I haven’t loved her for a long time!”

I am suddenly struck down sick is some vague and painful manner, and collapse near but not on the chaise lounge.

“Oats!” I exclaim. Randomly. Incoherently. “Cereal Oats!”

Mary is quickly is there, clucking.

“There, there, poor baby,” she coos, “Let me help you.” She plucks the filthy glasses, smudged on the couch as I fell, from my face and begins to clean them on her blouse.

“Hello? Francis Trautman? You all there?” I hear the voice and know the redheaded one is there too. What is going on? I bat Mary’s hands away and get back up.

“Why are you in my apartment?” Seeing me up and coherent again, the redhead scoots away from my desk and I fumble to shut the drawers. How long had she been poking around on it? How long had I been out? Where is Andrea?