Free Timothy by Greg Herren

of Valerie’s whining voice in my ear, I closed my eyes and pictured myself entering a Broadway theater on opening night of some major play, dressed in the black suit with the electric blue shirt on underneath, my hand tucked into the crook of Carlo’s arm. Flashbulbs popped as we walked into the theater lobby, which was crowded with the most fabulous people in Manhattan, dressed to the teeth and dripping with jewels. I received a hug and an air-kiss from a Broadway diva, and said hello to the mayor and his wife as Carlo led me through the glittering throng. He pressed a flute of champagne into my hand and smiled at me. “You’ve made me so happy—I can’t believe how empty my life would be had I not run into you that day on South Beach.”
    Valerie’s rant was winding down, and I was brought back into the present from my wonderful daydream. “Get those things taken care of, and you can have the rest of the day to yourself,” she groused. “At least you’re getting a little vacation time out of this.” She laughed, which triggered another coughing spasm. When she was finished, she said, “And I won’t count any of this against your vacation time. It’s not your fault that rotten little bastard got me so sick.” She hung up.
    â€œHow kind of you to not count this as vacation for me,” I said into the phone, my tone dripping with sarcasm. I tossed the phone onto the bed and sat down at the desk, logging into my computer. I read her e-mail and smiled to myself. Sometimes the fact she really thought I was an incompetent idiot who couldn’t handle the smallest task without having her hold my hand came in handy—the things she needed me to do took me just a little under ten minutes. I went ahead and spent another half hour answering e-mails and made certain that I had, indeed, cleared her calendar for the rest of our stay.
    It was almost nine when I put the tray back out in the hall.
    The entire day stretched out in front of me.
    I picked up my phone, tempted to call Carlo.
    I went back and forth, arguing with myself until I decided there was no harm—I needed to thank him for the clothes anyway.
    He answered on the second ring. “Church Mouse! I was hoping you’d call.” His voice sounded sincere, and I could myself blushing with pleasure.
    â€œI wanted to thank you for the clothes,” I said, amazed that my voice wasn’t as shaky as I felt. “That was very kind of you.”
    â€œIt was my pleasure,” he replied. “What you need, Mouse, is someone to take care of you and spoil you.” He lowered his voice—in the background I could hear silverware clinking and the low murmur of people talking. “All night long after I said good-bye to you, all I could think about was how much more fun I’d be having were I with you rather than the bores I was with, and regretting not canceling out on them.” He laughed. “I won’t make that mistake again.”
    My heart was pounding so hard I was afraid it might burst through my ribs.
    â€œIn fact, I woke up this morning thanking God that Valerie is so sick—I know that’s terrible, but her bad luck is my good luck, after all, and I won’t dim my joy by feeling bad about her illness. Please tell me you haven’t any plans for the day?”
    â€œNo, I don’t,” I replied. “I was thinking about maybe lying on the beach for a bit this morning and getting some sun, but—”
    â€œPlease come for a ride with me,” he said. “I have something things I need to do, and of course, I’ll treat you to lunch and dinner, if you wouldn’t mind spending so much time with me.”
    â€œI’d like that very much.”
    â€œGood, you can be my adviser.” He laughed. “If I don’t bore you to death, I’m afraid I just might monopolize you during your stay here. I have some houses I want to