I must have nodded off while waiting for the exterminator… because when he finally knocked on the door, the fellow I let into my apartment was-
…No… That’s impossible.
As he set up his spray-kit, I tilted my head to the side, observing his tell-tale features… That mischievous brow; the scintillating eyes; that boyish little smile. Although I had only seen him in pictures and in full make-up on the stage, I could tell. It was unmistakable.
“Is your name… Jason?” I prod hesitantly, not sure how receptive he is to being recognized. Why on this green globe Jason Mills would be working as an exterminator during his daytime hours is beyond me to begin with.
“-Mills, yes,” he finishes for me, flashing one of those warm smiles that causes the corners of his eyes to pinch up.
“…oh. I- tried to send you a letter…”
“I know! I read it.” He places a hand over his heart. “I was deeply touched by your words.”
My eyebrows raise as I feel a warm flush reach my cheeks. “Oh…” I say again, dumbly, before sighing shakily. His beaming eyes remain on me for another long moment, before-
“Well!” He animates suddenly. “I’d better get to exterminating!”
“Yes…” I say meekly, wrapping my robe around a little tighter as I follow him into the bathroom. Oh crap… I had been trying to figure out a way to tell my landlord that my bathroom ceiling is caving in. “Oh. Oh no, my bathroom ceiling,” I feign, pretending it was the first time I had seen the mess.
“Oh, that’s no problem! I’ll fix it for you,” Jason offers congenially, hopping up on a chair and beginning the repairs. His hands seem to magically seal every crack.
“Oh… Oh that’s so nice of you,” I manage wispily, before drifting back into the main room, lounging back on my bed. Jason Mills is in my bathroom, fixing my bathroom ceiling… This is really happening…
While I lay there, dumbfounded, I hear Jason begin to sing from the other room–some cheerful, slightly corny Broadway tune from the good old days of Hello, Dolly! and My Fair Lady. Nevertheless, I am completely puddled by the sound of that majestic, resonant, charismatic voice, making music of every air molecule in my apartment. Wow. Damn.
“Here,” I hear him say, suddenly, and look up to see him standing over me with a smile, a plate held firmly in his strong hand. “I made you some tacos.” He places the plate of steaming hot tacos in my lap, and I stare down at them for a long moment… before letting out a resounding,
“Aw, crap.”
Jason Mills is bringing me tacos in bed? I’m obviously dreaming.
Sure enough, the realization causes me to open my eyes, and I realize that the real exterminator is knocking loudly on my door. He tips his cap at me and smiles shyly beneath a frizzy mustache before he proceeds to spray my apartment, telling me kindly in his African American dialect that “those spiders sure do love them boiler rooms. I once wen’ in a hallway an’ had three-hundred spiders waitin’ for me!”
