Janita found herself alone with Maygent once more, yet this time it was in the study with desks and bookshelves and swiveling chairs.
"I sent for the divorce papers," Maygent admitted to Janita, when they were sure that Jim was long gone. He had disappeared into the living room with Frenkie a while ago, and by the sound of things, he was busy.
The desk did look rather enticing, a nice flat place for Janita to lie. Now that she had been awakened to the sexual life, she found she rather liked it, and only desired more.
"Are you really being serious about this? Because if you're just trying to get me—"
"I am serious about this, Janita. I want to be with you."
"I overheard Jiff Daff say you have three children. I'd feel horrible to screw up your fam—"
"It was my doing, Janita. You can't blame yourself for anything bad that should happen. All I know is that I want to continue a relationship with you."
After a life of chastity, including six years of deep friendship with Jim, if you could call it that, Janita had found a normal, red-blooded man. The pair began to kiss once more, leading to another tryst, but on the desk this time.
UUUUUUUUUUUUUUU
Jim awoke to find an utterly exhausted Frenkie fast asleep next to him. Footsteps approached, and he grew fearful.
"Frenkie, wake up," he said, shaking the still man's shoulder. No response, but he could tell by the rise and fall of Frenkie's chest that he was still breathing.
"Frenkie, someone's coming; please wake up," he coaxed, frantically attempting to wake the man next to him.
Just as the door opened, Frenkie awoke, looking pale and exhausted.
"What the f—Jim?"
"Frenkie, you look like hell," a voice came from the doorway. It was Jiff Daff. "I'm calling Dr. Scott in; this has gone on long enough."
As Frenkie tried to sit up in vain, Jim slipped his clothes back on and stood by the bed.
"Could you please tell me what's going on, Frenkie? Are you ill or something?" Jim asked, perplexed.
"Ugh," Frenkie moaned, falling fast asleep once more.
Jim left the room hesitantly, catching up to Jiff Daff on the stairs. "What is wrong with him, Jiff Daff?" he asked the somber, frizzy-haired man.
"Personally, I think he's contracted a disease. However, that cannot be substantiated until Dr. Scott comes by."
He went into the kitchen, dialing up Dr. Scott. "Dr. Scott, please come quickly to Dargen Lodge. Frenkie's sick, and has been for quite some time. He's having problems waking up. Bring that test for that disease he had tested negative for before; I think he might have it. Right. I'll see you soon then."
"What do you think he has, Jiff Daff?"
"I think it is advisable that you should go home. If he is indeed positive for the disease, I assure you that you will not want to be here."
He stood adamantly. "I'm not leaving him," he responded sternly.
"Suit yourself then. Don't say that I didn't warn you." He disappeared into the bathroom.
Jim ascended the stairs to Frenkie's room once again. "Frenkie," he whispered into the dark room. Frenkie was fast asleep.
He stood alongside the sleeping figure, stroking his hair softly. "Frenkie, wake up, please," he said in vain, for Frenkie did not stir.
Bocky then entered the room, looking confused. "What's going on?" He pointed at Frenkie. "Did he pass out?"
"He's having problems waking up," Jim replied.
"Is he… naked?" Bocky asked, suspicious. The comforter was pulled up to waist level, revealing Frenkie's shirtless state.
"Yes."
"Do you realize that he slept with me last night? You're not his only one, you know."
"Yes, I realize that, but I have become fond of him. I want to help him."
"I happen to think you're a bit desperate, my dear. This lifestyle is all wrong for me," Bocky muttered, hastily leaving the room. He headed downstairs in an upset, preparing to suck Frenkie's chardonnay supply dry.
As for Jim and Frenkie, currently in Frenk's bedroom, the situation was highly tense. He wanted to ask Frenkie just what disease to which Jiff Daff had been referring. And, of course, the question of contagiousness entered his mind, for he had experienced intimate things with Frenkie over the past several hours.
After attempting to wake up Frenkie again several times over the course of a half hour, Jim heard the doorbell chimes and rushed out of the room to pose the first questions to the doctor.
He descended the stairwell to find Jiff Daff opening the door for a man in a wheelchair and his assistant, a woman carrying two large black suitcases. The handicapped man had salt and pepper hair, a goatee, rather large bifocals, and spoke with a thick German accent, leading Jim to the conclusion that he was Dr. Scott.
"Just set zose ova zere, Vendy," he told the woman, who proceeded to place the bags by the banister. "You ken go now, if you vish," he said, with a flip of his wrist. The woman proceeded to leave the home, as Dr. Scott, Jiff Daff, and Jim stood at the base of the stairs.
"Now, vere iz Fvenkie?" he asked the quiet frizzy-haired man.
"He's upstairs, Dr. Scott."
The doctor sighed as he gazed at the stairwell. He turned to Jim quickly.
"Unt who iz zis?" he said, signaling to the mustached man.
"That's Jim, Frenkie's new, uh—"
"Never mynt, I unterstant." He shooed the comment with a hand.
"Frenkie has his own personal elevator to his bedroom," Jim mentioned to Dr. Scott. Jiff Daff could only stare.
"Well, shows how close he was to me," Jim scoffed. "I never even knew about the bloody thing. Where is it?"
"It's over this way," Jim said, walking in the direction of the living room. "It branches off of this room." He strode over to a wall of bookshelves and proceeded to lift a red Bible, causing a wall to revolve around and reveal the elevator.
"My gootness, how convenient for me," Dr. Scott said, wheeling himself in. "I'm sorry, but you'll neet to greb my briefcazes; zey are in ze foyer, et ze base of ze staircaze."
Without waiting for a movement from Jiff Daff, Jim trotted off in the direction of the briefcases and brought them into the elevator, where Jiff Daff and Dr. Scott were waiting.
"Ve vould hev vent up vizout you, but ve figurt ze might be heavy," the doctor commented.
Jim thanked them for waiting, and they reached Frenkie's bedroom within a matter of seconds. Dr. Scott wheeled himself to the bed, shaking his head.
"Mein Gott," he murmured, staring at the sleeping figure. "Zis does not look promisink."
I will apologize again if you can't read the German-accented-pronunciation stuff. If you have any question, even one, about the nature of "sumsink" Dr. Scott is saying, email me at myaddy. Again, no detective work, but do review, dearies:P