"Come on, Fran! He was drunk. He didn't know what he was doing!"
"He never knows what he's doing. And for that matter, if he does, he doesn't care! He doesn't care about anything or anyone except for himself, his habit and his sex drive!"
Greg followed me from the living room into the kitchen. Imploring me to have mercy on Mike's soul. To have pity on him. To look past his shortcomings, his weaknesses, and to see that down deep he wasn't a bad guy.
"Tell you what Greg," I seethed as I walked him to my bedroom. "Why don't you see if you can look past this!" I swung my door open and let him see the aftermath of the Technicolor yawn that Mike shared with me last night.
It was truly a multi-sensory experience. The colors had faded but the odor had intensified. I didn't tell Greg to hold his breath on purpose.
"Aw, auugh!" he cried, covering his mouth as he ran out of the room. I closed the door, and released my lungs. It was disgusting in there.
Greg didn't stop until he was outside where he was trying to catch his breath. I plopped myself down and put my arm around him.
"Right there, you're an asshole." He said between heaves. "Why didn't you warn me?"
"Because, Mr. Softheart-Hardpenis, I wanted you to share in the joy of rooming with Mikey. Because he's all yours."
I made Greg help me clean up the bedroom. I would have made Mike do it, but frankly, I didn't trust him. Besides, he was nowhere to be found. Just as well. No telling what I would have done if I saw him.
Greg wouldn't go in my room again until he doused himself with Chanel for Men. Then, he sprayed a half a bottle of Calyx in the room itself.
"Hey! Hey! That stuff's expensive!" I said, grabbing the bottle from his hand.
"Honey, you give me back that bottle unless you want me to add my breakfast to this feast you have on your bed!"
'Nuff said. I handed the bottle back to him.
We stripped the bed. Treated the rug. Wiped down the walls and everything else I could think of that might have been sprayed.
" You haven't let him explain." pleaded Greg, trying to sell me Mike's sob story.
"Excuse me. Excuse me." I said. "How do you explain walking in on your roommate, stinking drunk, trying to get in bed with her AND her date, and then promptly losing your last three meals on them???? 'Gee Fran, I'm sorry. It must have been something I ate.' ??!?"
Greg and I were in the bedroom up to our elbows in Formula 409. "Come on, Fran. Have a heart."
"No. That's all he's gotten is chances. You gave him a chance. I gave him a chance. Hugo gave him a chance. He's blown them all."
We heard a noise. The front door.
We dropped our sponges and looked out into the apartment. "Mike?" I called out.
"Over here." Greg said. There was a bouquet of flowers on the coffee table with a note. He handed me the card. It was from Mike and it read, "Happy Valentine's Day."
