Chapter Ten - Michael
555 Words
Chapter Ten - Michael
The clatter and chaos of breakfast drifts along the hallway as I descend the stairs. Nature calls and, without thinking, I push open the door to the guest bathroom at the rear end of the hall.
It’s already occupied…
“Oh, sorry. I didn’t mean…” Then I stall. The occupant is Klempner, face and beard foamed, wielding one of the old-fashioned cut-throat razors.
“Got a problem in Mitch’s place? Something wrong with the plumbing?”
He pauses, a naked stripe of skin visible through the foam, his eyes meeting mine in the mirror. “No, no problem. Mitch has been dissolving herself in the bath for the last hour.”
“Ah… At that ungodly temperature women seem to favour? The ritual usually includes perfume, oils and a lot of steam.”
“That’s the one. I preferred not to venture out into the world radiating roses and lavender. It might give the wrong impression.” He draws the blade down, then frowns. “I’d not thought I’d be in the way here. I’ll only be a minute or so. I’m nearly done.”
Don’t hurry yourself. I’d hate you to make a slip with that thing at your throat.”
He doesn’t reply. Face angled to the mirror, he slips the blade up from under his chin, slicing away foam and stubble to a neat line edging his beard.
“I can lend you a razor if you need one. Or I’ll get one from the guest supplies in the hotel.”
Klempner completes the stroke before speaking. “Thank you, but I prefer to do it this way.”
“Why for God's sake? They invented safety razors to stop us all cutting our own throats.”
Klempner swills the blade clean in the basin, then once more draws it carefully up. before examining his face left and right… “It keeps me in practice for a steady hand.” Swiping away the remaining foam with a towel. he slides a hand under his chin and over the top of his neck, he nods in apparent satisfaction, then tosses the towel in a laundry basket… “Done. All yours.” And he strides past me, out and away, kitchenwards.
*****
In the kitchen, the normal breakfast activities are in full swing. Klempner sits at the table, an empty seat beside him.
James is at the hob. “Larry? Bacon? Mushrooms? Sausage?”
“Eggs are fine, thank you.”
James looks a little crestfallen. “How many?”
“Three sounds good.”
“Scrambled? Fried? Boiled? An omelette?”
“Poached please, if that's no trouble.”
“It's no trouble at all. I just thought you might like a change.”
“No. Poached eggs are fine. I’ll make more toast.”
James turns away, muttering. “Never known a man addicted to poached eggs before.”
Klempner pours coffee from James' pot of devil’s brew, unruffled. “Fond memories, James. Heavenly memories even.”
Richard arrives with Beth, hovers between coffee pots, sniffing at first one, then the other. “Not many people have heavenly memories of hospital.”
Klempner sucks in his cheeks. “I have learned that Heaven comes with clean white sheets and is staffed by angels in starched blue uniforms.”
“Interesting you should mention that…”
“Oh?”
“Yes, I was following up on your visit there, making sure all the bills were paid and so forth. Apparently, the hospital administration is planning an expansion.”
Klempner, his face a mask, watches as Richard chooses a coffee pot, then pours. “Is that right?”
“Yes... An entire new wing after a donation from an anonymous donor.” He sips, then grimaces, marches to the sink and tips the cup.
Klempner’s lips quirk. “Wrong pot.”
*****
- Writer
