Chapter Two

Meanwhile, in a mid-sized city in the Pacific Northwest, Rennie Hightower looked up from his Chromebook to check the time on the digital clock on the gas range, barely three feet from his “desk”, which also served as dining table and kitchen counter in his tiny efficiency apartment. 3:15...in the morning! Jesus! He’d been staring at the damned internet since he’d gotten home around 7 the night before. He hadn’t even stopped scrolling long enough to eat.

“I’ve got to get up in 4 hours,” Rennie thought reproachfully to himself, “What is wrong with me?” Not that his job as a janitor at a strip club required much mental alertness or peak physical conditioning. In his self-induced guilt, he thought he’d better throw himself headlong into the bed. It wouldn’t even be hard to do, even from a sitting position. After all, the bed was only about two feet to his right and back a bit. Efficient, indeed.

But having broken the spell held upon him by the siren song of social media, he realized he was too hungry to sleep. Now that he was again aware that he had a body (such as it was), all he could think about was sustenance. As he began the difficult process of prying his carcass from the wooden chair with a foam cushion in which he had been sitting for the past 8 hours, he spied a notification that he had a message from his friend Iris in the UK.

Thoughts of food were immediately pushed from his mind as he settled back onto the chair. Rennie was a little bit in love with Iris. More than a little, if he was honest about it. He was not well acquainted with any females “in real life”. He had “met” Iris on-line in a Facebook group for fans of author P.G. Wodehouse. While they of course loved Bertie and Jeeves, their shared favorite character was Psmith (“the P is silent, as in ‘pshrimp’”). Iris and Rennie would often type this “Psmith-ism” to each other whenever chatting about the character. Rennie laughed every time Iris did it, and he liked to imagine that Iris was laughing when he did it. It would have done his lonely heart no end of good if he could have known that she did laugh. But only we know that, and we mustn’t tell.

He hadn’t heard from Iris for a few weeks. She seemed to have developed some sort of obsession with the doings of her next door neighbors - David or something, and his wife...Angela? No. That couldn’t be it. Oh, well. Nevermind! He rather feverishly clicked onto Iris’ message, and what to his wondering eyes should he see but “Rennie - I need your help!”

Iris had never asked for his help before. His heart skipped a beat, both out of concern for his friend, and the excitement of possible romantic adventure. He began to type to ask how he could be of assistance.