It Can Always Be Worse, part 2

Diane was supposed to start her new job on this Thursday morning, but she awoke puking her guts out, sneezing her head off and with a fever that left her soaked in sweat and then alternately shivering from chills which wracked her body. 

She was not going to work, that was obvious, but she also wondered if she would survive at all. It was the worst bout of flu she ever had and when she spoke to the person at the temp agency and told them she was ill the woman's response was as nasty as could be. 

 "If this is the type of service we can expect from you, don't bother calling us anymore. We need serious people who are willing to work despite a little cold."

Diane was about to cry, but her stomach lurched again and she just didn't have the energy after that, even for tears.

It was while her head was in the toilet that she heard her phone ring, but she didn't answer it. She didn't truly think she could handle a talk without something flying out of her mouth. She listened to the message as she lay on the cold tiles of the bathroom hoping it would help cool her fever.

"Hey, it's Stan...uh...this isn't working...we should see other people... uh...see ya."  

It was her so‑called boyfriend being a total wimp by breaking up on the phone. She grimaced and knew that it was good to be getting rid of such a selfish jerk. He probably had found someone willing to let him move in. He had been trying to get her to let him stay with her, but she wouldn’t go there. It was excessively soon, after all, and completely inappropriate, especially when they didn't even seem to like each other very much.

It was apparent to her now that he was just a freeloader and she was happy to be rid of him. The fact that she was more upset about losing her dog than her boyfriend made her realize that it probably was the best thing that happened that week. This fact, however, didn't help her from feeling completely lonely and so very alone in the world. Hot tears trickled down past her nose and onto the cheek she had pressed to the cold tiles as she lay there.

She spent the entire day getting worse with her head in a bucket, but by the next day her stomach had stopped its incessant retching. She was almost pleased. It was as she lay there listless and morose on her bed, curtains drawn and the bed clothes all a tumble on top of her that she mused the only way things could get worse was if someone put a bullet to her head, but then a bullet through the head might be welcome after the turbulent events of this week.

 "Being taken out of my misery would be good just about now,” she mumbled. “Good things don't want to happen to me anymore."

She was so used to talking to Miss Woodhouse about everything that she just kept doing it making. Now she had to wonder about her sanity on top of everything else.

"There can't be anything else. It just has to get better from here. It couldn't possibly get worse!" she whined.

No sooner had these words rolled off her lips when the doorbell rang and with it came the insistent sound of her mother's domineering voice.

"Diane, this is Charlene, your mother. I know you're in there so open up. I have chicken soup and your favorite homemade spearmint tea and it's burning my hands," she bellowed through the door.

Diane groaned into her pillow. She had finally hit bottom. Her mother would insist she come back home after she found out about her losing her dog, losing her job, losing her worthless boyfriend and now losing her health, but at least her mother didn't have to visit her at the state pen where she might have ended up being a biker chick's girlfriend.

 "Always the optimist," she muttered as she pushed off the bed. “Oh, I wish the room would stop spinning.” Stumbling a bit she opened the door with as much dignity as she could muster while trying to stay erect.

"What are you doing out of bed?" her mother demanded nonsensically.

She went right past her daughter and rushed to the kitchen placing her gifts of fortifying food and drink on the counter. She proceeded to remove her coat and hat she tossed these over the back of a chair and searched the cupboard for a bowl and a cup.

"You look dreadful. It's a good thing I came," she said cheerfully.

"Mom, what are you doing here? I'm sick." Diane whined as dizziness over took her. She staggered to the couch where she unceremoniously plopped down onto the couch and slumped sideways onto the pillows. She felt like death and her mother would make her feel worse.

"Well, I know that. That's why I'm here. I have to take care of my baby. You've had such a rough week. First losing that poor puppy, but you must remember Miss Woodhouse was getting on in years and small dogs like that don't last forever."

"But it was so sudden and...wait...how did you know...?" Diane asked, but was interrupted.

"And Darling, don't feel bad about losing that job. It was only a starting point anyway and you can do far better than going to a temp agency that is so unreasonable. For goodness sakes, you are barely able to sit up and they expected you to start a new job like this? I say forget them. It's their loss," Charlene said.

"Mom, how did you know...?" Diane tried, but again couldn't get a word in edgewise.

"Oh, let me see that burn on your arm," she said taking her daughter's arm and pulling up the sleeve of the terrycloth bathrobe. She then checked the skin under the bandage with the most tender touch. "It seems to be healing properly. It won't leave a scar at least. I'll re‑dress it after you have some tea to calm your belly. Then maybe you can have some soup."

"Mom, what in the world...how do you..." Diane said. “Did I call you  when I was delirious?”

Charlene ignored this and continued. "I hope you're not upset about that lousy, good‑for‑nothing Stan. He's not worth one teardrop. I hope you realize that. You'll find someone...perhaps sooner than you think." she said smiling as she pulled a steaming cup of tea out of the microwave and placed it on the coffee table in front of her dazed daughter.

She sat down next to her and hoisted her up giving her a bit of a squeeze. "My poor baby. I hope Michael didn't scare you too much."

"Michael who?" Diane asked distractedly as she reached for the cup, but she just didn't have the energy and she slumped back against the cushions.

"Let me help you, Sweetheart. I've put honey in it. It's supposed to be good for you, although I couldn't tell you why," Charlene said as she held the cup to her lips and allowed her a tiny sip. "Is it too hot?"

Diane shook her head. She loved the feeling of the warm tea slipping down her raw throat and settling comfortingly in her belly. She also liked having her mother hug her just as she had when she was little. When the tea was done she laid her head on her mother's shoulder and allowed her to soothe her weary soul with gentle words of comfort.

After a few minutes Charlene gently pushed her back onto the pillows and got up. "You should lie down. I'll get you a pillow and blanket and then, if you're up to it you can tell me about Michael. He's very handsome, isn't he?" Charlene said as she left the living room and went to the bedroom. She was back in an instant, smiled and proceeded to tuck the homemade quilt around her daughter before caressing her pale cheek and starting to straighten up the room.

"Mom, who are you talking about? I don't know any Michael and how did you know I was sick and about Miss Woodhouse and the job and...did… did you bug my apartment?" she asked with some trepidation. It was all too likely her mother would go to such extremes just to keep tabs on her kid.

Charlene laughed. "Close, but not quite. Betty has been watching out for you and reporting back to me," she replied completely unabashed.

“Who is Betty?”

“Betty, of course.”

Diane's eyes flew open. "She's your spy? Have you been paying her?" she shrieked.

"Don't be ridiculous! She was worried about you… being all on your own. Just like me, mind you. She saw me one day and told me..."

"Wait...where did you see her? You live an hour away. You couldn't have just run into each other at the store. I don't think she ever goes out. I think she's a hermit."

"I came by to visit you, but you must have been out with Miss Woodhouse to the park or something," Charlene replied.

"Visit? And you didn't call first? You came all that way for nothing? You didn't even leave a note or anything. That was dumb, Mom," Diane grumbled.

"It wasn't a wasted trip. Betty saw me and told me you were out and invited me in to wait for you.  I told her I was your mother, but she already knew. It seems that the walls of this place are dreadfully thin. She says you talk to Miss Woodhouse as if she were a person. She told me she used to do that too with her little dog...until he died. But Michael brought her a beautiful long‑haired cat which is much easier for her to care for and is so sweet. She crawls right into your lap and peers into your face as if to see if you are worthy of attention. Isn't that cute?"  

She relayed all this as she happily straightened the pile of newspapers, picked up dirty cups and dishes and placed them in the sick and cleaned all surfaces with a rag.

"Is that when you hatched this plan to have her spy on me? How long has she been doing it?" Diane asked feeling grossly invaded.

"It wasn't like that, Sweetheart. We just started talking about how hard it is for you being on your own with no one to watch out for you and she said she was always making sure you were okay, but that...well, she is extremely shy almost zenophobic now due to a traumatic event in her past and she couldn't bring herself to talk to you."

"Am I that frightening?" Diane asked viciously. "She managed to talk to you."

"I'm closer to her age and so many young people nowadays have nothing but disdain for us old folks. She didn't want to bother you."

"But spying on me was fine? I cannot believe you!" Diane shrieked. "She's been listening to me talking to Miss....wait...Miss Woodhouse was already dead when everything else went on this week so I wasn't talking to her so how did she know all that happened to me? She couldn't know everything just by looking at me as I get in the apartment every day."

"You'd be surprised how good an observer she is. She was a highly respected private investigator in the days when women didn't do such things," Charlene said nodding impressively.

"Is that why she was talking to that detective the other day? I guess all cops stick together or she would have been afraid of him. She's afraid of me, but not that big beast of a man. Go figure!"

Charlene giggled like a little girl. "Now why would she be afraid of... oh, I'll tell you about that later, but she knew about Miss Woodhouse because she said you looked so upset when you left with her and that you were crying for hours after you came back without her. On Sunday she saw the dent on your car and heard you talking to your insurance company and grumbling about incompetent priests who shouldn't be allowed to do whatever they want just because they're holy men. She had a good laugh about that.”

“Oh did she now?” Diane spat.

“Not what you think, sweetie. It’s because, well, you wouldn't believe the number of times she was tailing someone and she would catch ministers and priests coming out of hotel rooms, going into sleasy bars and... well, you can just imagine!" she said with relish.

“Suppose I can.”

"She then saw you coming back holding your arm on Monday and knew from the coffee stain what must have happened and then the next day when you came home from work so early with a box of personal effects and a pile of newspapers...well, you don't need to be a detective to figure out that you lost your job and were looking for a new one. And she heard how sick you were all last night and she called me up to tell me that you probably needed a mother's touch. She said she would have come herself, but she had the same bug only, thankfully, not nearly as bad as you had it. She might be dead if it had been. And oh, did she have mean things to say about Stan! She says you'll be much better off with Michael."

"I keep telling you, I don't know any Michael," Diane insisted weakly. "I'm so dizzy."

"You need some soup. It will give you strength. You need to get better soon. Mrs. Franklin got you a job at the twelfth precinct as a secretary that way you and Michael can get to know each other."

"She got me a job at a police station? Don't you have to be a cop?" she asked frowning slightly. None of this was making any sense and thinking about only made her head hurt.

"Not to be a secretary. She said you and he talked for almost three hours. He must have liked you. He said you were very pretty." Charlene continued as she placed a cup of the chicken soup in the microwave and waited for the ding to signal it was ready.

"I didn't talk to anybody for that ...oh!" Realization struck her forcefully as she remembered the interrogation by the menacingly handsome and foreboding detective. "Please, tell me you do not mean Detective Warrant?"

"Warren, silly girl, Michael Warren," Charlene corrected coming back with the mug of soup, a spoon and a plate of crackers on a small tray.

"So, you know about someone accusing me of running a brothel?" Diane asked. She still stung from the accusation.

"I thought we agreed on a call‑girl organization," she retorted frowning slightly.  "Anyway, it doesn't matter since it worked out fine."

"Sure it did. He terrorized him me for three hours asking very offensive questions about my non‑existent sex life and accusing me of all sorts of hideous things! Why would anyone think that of me? I don't have anyone coming here, not even Stan. The one time I did I regretted it. He thought we were going to... well, I didn't make that mistake again,” Diane muttered.

"Eat your soup, Darling, and don't think about that idiot. You want to get better so you can go to work looking pretty for Michael," Charlene coaxed.

"Are you friends or something? And what makes you think I want anything to do with him when he...well, he definitely doesn't like me judging by the glowering he did all through the interrogation. I just don't see why anyone would say that about me," she whined.

"Well, that was because of me. I got the idea from Betty when she told me her nephew was a detective and was very protective of her."

Diane choked on her soup and after grabbing a napkin and cleaning herself off she stared at her mother's composed face hoping that she was still in bed in a fever‑induced hallucination and not truly hearing this.

"Dear God! What did you do? No wonder he looked at me like he wanted to smash my face in. She's his aunt! I told him he shouldn't listen to anything she says because she's...oh, I insulted his aunt! I'm surprised he didn't plant evidence just to get me in jail and away from her. Oh, my gosh, Mom, you didn't really call in a false report, did you? You realize how much trouble you could get in?" she screamed.

"Calm down. It was nothing like that. We just thought we'd get the ball rolling by getting you two together. Did you like him?" she asked eagerly.

"Are you nuts? I was scared to death. First I thought he was going to rape me. Then I thought he was going to arrest me for prostitution," she shrieked.

"I'm sorry about that, Dear. He just wanted to make sure you weren't an evil presence so near his aunt. It might have worked too well I guess," Charlene mused, frowning slightly. "I only wanted you two to meet. You seem so perfect for each other. Betty and I both think so and then she suggested I go down to the laundry room with her and stage a loud discussion on the curious goings‑on at your apartment and it worked.”

“What worked?” Diane asked, scared to hear the answer.

“Some nosy old biddy called the cops. I was curious that they came up with the call‑girl ring when we didn't say anything like that. We thought they would think drug trafficking. But anyway, being all cops look out for each other they told Michael about it and he came just like we planned. Mrs. Franklin assured him that you were a wonderful person and very sweet and that there was not a chance in the world that you were involved with anything like that, but he obviously didn't want to take the chance. But he now knows you're great and you'll be working together. Isn't that marvelous?" she said brightly, totally unperturbed by the shocked expression on her daughter's face.

Diane stared at her mother with her mouth agape-- and not just because she couldn't breathe through her nose-- but at the sheer gall of these two manipulative women who had nothing better to do than spin their web of lies to trap unsuspecting victims, namely, she and this Michael person.

"What are you thinking?" Diane asked, exasperated. "You can't do this to people and expect...what are you expecting?"

"Well, grandchildren for me and Betty. She's almost like a mother to Michael so they would almost be grandchildren for her too. And we both want to see you happy and if you can be happy together, all the better!"

Years later, as Diane lay in the hospital bed cradling her freshly‑born bundle of joy and she reminded Michael of how they met, they both laughed.

"We should send them a special gift since this little cutie is mainly due to them," Michael said beaming at her. "I remember that week well. Meeting you was the highlight and I'm so sorry I was such a bear to you, but it had been the worst week of my life and I was in a horrible mood."

“Tell me about it. Mine was no better,” Diane said handing the baby to him.

He kissed the baby’s forehead and looked at his lovely wife. "I got into a car accident that week,” he started. “Then my girlfriend dumped me, my dog died and my boss chewed me out for messing up on a case and I got the worst flu I ever had and...what's so funny?"