For those of you who read the first part of Anita, I have to answer my own question: yes, it was all fiction. This second part of the Anita (Annie) story is also fiction. So any resemblance to people living or dead or places are purely coincidental. These stories are purely products of my imagination, produced with the invaluable help of a friend S. who edited and improved my piece. The mistakes that remain are entirely my own.
If you have not read the original Anita, read it to help you make sense of the first part of this story.
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Anita Pt. 2: The mature Annie takes the lead.
"Michael. How y'doing?"
Michael knew for some time this call would come yet he could not form even a simple acknowledgement. He was afraid and confused. He offered only silence as he clenched the phone to his ear.
"Michael y'there? It's Annie here. Speak to me." There was urgency in her voice. Annie's chest knotted. Had Michael had a stroke?
Michael held the silence for a few more seconds. He knew he had to answer. Something. Anything.
"Oh, Annie. Of course. I'm fine. Really. Was just choking off a cough." He lied. Then forced a phlegmy cough.
"I was expecting to hear from you. How have you been?" Annie's voice was gentle and calm.
"OK."
"Just OK?" There was something flat and unresponsive in Michael's voice that worried her. "Michael. I'll be at your front door in twenty minutes. Leave it unlocked." She did not wait for an answer. She swept up her purse and was out of the door in thirty seconds.
Michael was sitting in his living room in his favourite leather chair still dressed in his pajamas and a dressing gown. He had slippers on his feet. He sported a three-day stubble on his chin. Annie could smell him from the doorway. His hair was unkempt. He looked a mess.
"Michael. You're sick." A statement rather than a question based on Annie's immediate assessment of what she could see. "You poor sweetie. You should have let me know."
"No Annie. I was sick, but almost better now."
"Let me make you a coffee or tea. Which?"
"NO, don't bother. I don't need anything,"
Annie was firm. "Coffee or tea"
"Tea," Michael replied meekly.
The kitchen confronted Annie with a wasteland of dirty dishes. Not a single horizontal space had enough room for two cups.
She returned to the living room. "Michael. Here's the plan. You go upstairs, shave, shower or bath, get dressed and then come down. You stink, by the way. While you are upstairs I'll tackle the kitchen, so take your time. Then you'll get your tea and we can chat."
Looking Michael hard in the eyes she challenged, "OK?"
He nodded, rose and headed upstairs without a word.
It took almost forty-five minutes to bring order to the kitchen, fill the dishwasher and hand wash the rest of the dishes. Michael magically appeared at the same moment Annie brought the tea and some cookies into the living room.
"Here you go. Get that inside you. Now tell what's going on."
Michael sipped his tea, ate two cookies and looked at Annie from under his bushy eyebrows. He smiled. "You're right I am a mess. Thank you for this." He gave a genuine thick cough. "Bronchitis. The antibiotics almost have it beat now. Just a small residual cough."
"Walk me through this. You left tired and weakened last Friday week. Then what?"
"I went home and slept until Sunday afternoon. Woke up with tickle in my throat. Started coughing. It was full fledged by Monday morning. I called my Doctor, knowing this led to pneumonia in the past. Saw the Doc in the afternoon. Was given a five day intensive course of antibiotics. Hunkered down with my laptop in bed, came down for some soup, soft boiled eggs, bread and butter, and finally some frozen dinners and got up yesterday for a while, and again today."
"Oh Michael. You should have called. What did the Doc tell you?"
"Oh that was funny. You'd appreciate it. First off my Doc is a good-looking lady in her late forties. Looks like Lauren Bacall if you know who she was."
"The Big Sleep?"
"Right. You know your movies. Sexy as hell. I always flirt with her like crazy. Painted her portrait two years back. Anyway she looked me over and quizzed me on my diet. She wants me to see a nutritionist. Then she continued how did I get so run down, blah, blah, blah. I asked if she really wanted to know. Of course she did. So I told her about our event."
"You what? How much did you tell her," Annie exclaimed.
"No harm. No foul here. Just hear me out for a moment. She had a grin from ear to ear as I told her the outline. She called me an old dog. She looked impressed. Shaking her head from side to side she reached across and grabbed, and rubbed a little bit on my crotch. She declared, 'You have the first case of righteous bronchitis I have ever come across.' So I have my diagnosis."
"She did that? Maybe she is a gal after my own heart. So that's it? If so, why this moping around?"
"That's not quite everything. I referred her to literotica.com. Told her she might want to see the full story. She wrote the name down. I'll be curious if she follows through. I have a check up in two weeks, I will find out then."
"But she might be able to deduce who I am from a story. That's dangerous for me."
"I am sure she is trustworthy. She has more to lose sexually assaulting an old codger like me. There's leverage."
"You still haven't squared up why you have let yourself go so much. Tell me what's going on."
