Page 45 of The Man I Hate

“Everything’s a sign of the virus.” I rolled my eyes. “They want everyone to think they’re infected. If their numbers of infected citizens go up, it validates everything to the general population. At least the everyone that’s buying into this shit.”

“Still think it’s a government conspiracy, huh?” He asked in a sarcastic tone. “You still trying to sell that story?”

“You don’t have to agree with me, but this is a political move. I’m telling you. It is.”

He gave me a look. “The Center for Disease Control, the World Health Organization, and every hospital in the free world that’s got an ICU filled with dying souls are all in on it together, huh?”

I raised my index finger in protest. “I said I’m not going to argue about it.”

“Neither am I. I’ll just go on the record as saying if you make me sick from your travels, I’ll smack you in the head with a hammer.”

“You’re going to hit me with a hammer?”

“Yep. Right between the running lights,” he said with a nod. “For being an idiot.”

“Whatever, Old Man. This’ll be over as soon as they get the economy on the downturn. That’s all they’re after.”

“Let’s change the subject back to the curly-headed gal next door.”

“No.”

“We can talk corona or curls, you pick.”

I didn’t want to talk about either subject. I peered at the home across the street. Normally, there was activity in and out all day. There was no indication of human life, whatsoever. Frustrated with the entire situation, I stared blankly at the front door.

“I’ll take your silence as a no vote.” He finished his beer and grabbed another. “There’s a possibility that the curly-headed gal is still interested. She’s just waiting for you to apologize.”

“Apologize?” I shot him a glare. “For what?”

“For taking off after the producer’s daughter.”

“What else was I supposed to do? That was my reputation—and a hundred grand—running down the street.”

“I’m not saying what you did is wrong. I’m saying you need to apologize.”

“If I didn’t do anything wrong, why would I apologize?”

“Because, that’s what it takes to keep a woman happy. I was married to your mother for 50 years. During that time, I apologized more times than I can count. For the sake of this conversation, let’s call that number…” He sipped his beer for a moment. “18,000 times. Of those 18,000 times—”

“What?” I glared. “18,000?!”

He nodded. “Once a day for 50 years. That’s probably accurate. Anyway, of those 18,000, maybe a dozen of them were heartfelt apologies.”

“A dozen out of 18,000?”

“That’s just a guess, but I’m saying it’s pretty damned accurate.”

“Why’d you apologize the other 17,988 times?”

“Because that’s what it took to keep her happy. When a woman loves a man, and he does something that she takes exception to, it ignites a fire within her that can’t be extinguished by anything other than an apology.”

“When a woman loves a man,” I said. “That theory doesn’t apply to me.”

“It’s not a theory,” he said in a snide tone. “It’s a fact, and it applies, believe me.”

“How so?”

“You poked your dick in her, that’s how so. You can’t go poking your cock in a woman—especially your neighbor—and expect that she’s not going to develop feelings. Screwing a single woman is like feeding a stray cat a bowl of milk. They’ll keep coming back until the milk’s gone. Your milk will never be gone, because you live next door.”