Henry

His head was muddled and it was dark. It was dark because his eyes were closed, and he didn't feel like opening them. His head hurt. He considered that briefly, then became aware that his scalp also hurt. Soon, he added his stomach and his vein to the list, and thought it might be more productive to make a list of what didn't hurt. No, that produced nothing.

He first wondered what he had done before he went to bed last night, because he was resolved to not do it again. He tried to stop thinking about anything, because it hurt to think.

Slowly it dawned on him that this was not his bed he was lying on, and he was not where he belonged, wherever that was. He thought there had been a suave woman, or was it a man who was suave? Anyway, he had some recollection of looking for something in the city. He blindly squinted through one eye. Nothing he saw made sense; not the navy blue walls or the handkerchief or the pillow. He closed his eye and moaned softly.

Just then, he heard the door open. He reopened his eye to see a sprightly man carrying a baseball bat walk into the room. The man laid the baseball bat on the small table beside the door and peered at him. "Yow, looks like Mister Dipstick is coming back to life."

He suppressed another moan and asked, "Where am I? And who are you?"

"Oh my word, two questions at once. Sorry, you're over your limit. I'll answer one. You can call me Henry.

That was all he wanted to try to absorb at the moment anyway, so he closed his eye again and tried to dawdle. He immediately opened both eyes and asked, "What am I here for? Can I have something to drink?"

"Now what?, your questions always come in pairs?" Henry walked to the refrigerator and got a gin fizz. "Maybe this will put a little life in you. How are you feeling after your accident?"

"What accident?" he replied blankly, feeling a bit more obnoxious.

"Well, it wasn't the National Wildlife Federation that sent you here," Henry replied timidly.

"And this doesn't look like a hospital. By the way, where's the bathroom? Who are you working for?" He did need the bathroom, but he also wanted to scope the place out a bit. He wasn't forgetting the baseball bat on the table next to Henry.

"There you go again. That's two questions. The bathroom's over there," he said, gesturing with his head.

Sitting up slowly and gingerly, he looked around the room. The bathroom door was to his left. The other door was in front of him, beside Henry who had sat in a chair next to the small table. There were no windows, and just the bed, the table, the refrigerator, and a pillow in the room. There was a stuffed owl on the pillow.

"If you're thinking about picking up that stuffed owl, just be aware that it's exclusively for my use," Henry accused carelessly.

He wasn't thinking about taking the stuffed owl at the moment. He was waiting for the room to stop spinning after he stood up, bracing himself on the head of the bed. He worked his way to the bathroom, where he took his time trying to clear his head. He splashed some water on his face, then reeled back to the bed and sat down. His pride was beginning to sink.

"If it's not too much trouble, how about you call me a cab now?"

This seemed to genuinely amuse Henry. He laughed out loud, then professed "You won't be needing a cab to get where you're going."

Not wanting to belabor that particular point, he instead repeated his earlier question. "Who are you working for?"

"So let's you tell me who you're working for, and why you were snooping around like a jaguar back there in the antique store." Henry rapped his fingers on the table beside the baseball bat.

"I was looking for my friend. Who hit me?"

"You tripped on an iPhone. You took a bad fall. Who is this friend you were looking for?"

"Fido Bogart," he lied. "Who do you work for, and why are you keeping me here?"

"Nobody's keeping you here. That would be way too much trouble. Who wants to deal with an intelligent guest? We just wanted to chat while we help you get back on your feet."

"Okay, we chatted and I'm on my feet," (barely, he thought to himself), "so I'll just be capering on. Nice talking to you, Henry."

Although his pride was still sinking, he started moving toward the door, his eyes on the baseball bat. Henry stood up and opened the door for him in an oddly fascinating manner. Ignoring Henry's selfish leer, he trustingly slunk out of the room.

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