The couch.  Seemed to be the popular place to lounge on, judging by Licorice sneakily stealing his previous spot (which had been still warm) while he loitered with Magdalene out in the hallway.  She did just radiate some Persian attitude while relaxing on her kitty tree house, so it was a mild surprise for Anton to see her elsewhere, namely his former seat.  “Seriously, Lics?” he asked in mock annoyance.  Her response was to stretch to her full length, while also strategically exposing her furry belly.  Can you say belly rubs?  I knew you could.  “You’re pathetic,” he informed her, while sitting next to his feline friend.  Sure enough, and to Licorice’s delight, his right hand snaked toward her welcoming midriff, scritching it up, down, and sideways.<br/><br/>While pampering the four-legged lady of the house, thoughts drifted toward Stella.  His already throbbing head was not aided in any way by the emergence of his upstairs neighbor’s image.  If anything, her face seemed to increase the thumping sensation, as it was another reminder of how he had botched the evening following her concert.  With Stella on his mind, Anton then focused on key points Magdalene had mentioned.<br/><br/><i>But then again, that all depends on how much you care about Stella.  </i>That was one, and although Magdalene never posed it as a question, now was as good a time as any to reflect on that.  Did he care about her?  Yes, he’d have to say that he did care about her.  The removal of his wedding band was for Stella, no one else.  That was the easy part.  Now for the kicker and the $100,000 question: How<i>much</i>did he care about her?  That was a bit more difficult to answer.  How does one quantify such a thing?  Would caring for her as an 8 suffice?  That didn’t sound like much, if a 10 was considered the maximum.  Seemingly struggling with the query, Anton did know one thing.  He cared enough about her to at least attempt in making it up to her, Guthrie or no Guthrie.  What exactly that might entail, he didn’t know, at least not just yet.<br/><br/>A second statement of hers that stood out for him was,<i>Sooner or later, Stella’s gonna find out how much of an asshole he is, or isn’t.  </i>What if Magdalene was wrong about Guthrie and his excessive financial security?  What if he was actually a nice guy?  Well, all of that was clearly out of Anton’s hands.  Knowing he could never compete with Guthrie dollar-for-dollar, Stella would have to be the one to decide.  And if dollar signs filled her eyes, then he already had his answer.<br/><br/>Anton found another proclamation she’d made to be a little disturbing, but mostly annoying.<i> And just so you know, when Stella ultimately chooses him over you, I’ll be there waiting for you, happy to help you pick up the pieces of your broken heart.  </i>How did she know?  Or was it just her dagger in his gut with an extra twist?  He started chuckling, analyzing her statement from another angle.  If Magdalene waited for him following Stella’s predicted choice of Guthrie, didn’t that put her in 2nd place?  Seriously?!  What woman would<i>ever </i>be content to know she’s not the first and only selection?  Plus, that in no way fit Magdalene’s personality, so perhaps she was merely bluffing.  Or more likely, an extra twist of that dagger, which by now, was the size of a katana.<br/><br/>No, he needed to do something, anything.  And he needed to do it today.  Rising from the sofa, Licorice’s head popped up, clearly irritated that the belly scritches had ceased.  He gave her a look prior to retreating toward the bathroom.  Following a much needed hot shower and some aspirin, Anton put on some clean clothes and left his apartment.<br/><br/><div style="text-align: center">&gt; &gt; &gt; &gt; &gt; &gt;&lt; &lt; &lt; &lt; &lt; &lt;​</div><br/>Forty-two minutes later, and Anton was back home, now seated at the dining room table.  He smiled with a shake of his head, noticing Licorice hadn’t moved at all from her previous position.  Must be nice to just sleep the day away, he enviously thought.  Gazing at the solitary red rose, its sweet fragrance pleasingly filled his nostrils.  Now then, about that note.<br/><br/>A blue<i>Flair </i>pen in hand, he stared blankly at the equally blank card.  Geez, what to say and where to start? Anton thought, frustration building ever so slowly.<br/><br/><i><span class="fixed-color" style="color:#0080ff">Stella,</span></i><br/><span class="fixed-color" style="color:#0080ff"></span><br/><i><span class="fixed-color" style="color:#0080ff">I just wanted to apologize at how much I fucked up that evening after your con . . .</span></i><br/><br/>Anton annoyingly flicked the card like a<i>shuriken</i>, watching it sail across the room, eventually plunking against a far wall.  Idiot, he chastised his still hung-over self.  No F-bombs in an apology note!  Note card #2 was now up to bat.<br/><br/><i><span class="fixed-color" style="color:#0080ff">Stella,</span></i><br/><span class="fixed-color" style="color:#0080ff"></span><br/><i><span class="fixed-color" style="color:#0080ff">I hope you can somehow forgive me for the manner in which I botched celebrating with you after your captivating concert.  I see that now, though I obviously failed to see it that night.  I also hope you’ll grant me a chance to make it up to you, if it’s not too late.</span></i><br/><br/>He pictured Guthrie before continuing,<br/><br/><i><span class="fixed-color" style="color:#0080ff">And if it is too late, well, you just let me know that, too.  I’ll not bother you again after that.</span></i><br/><span class="fixed-color" style="color:#0080ff"></span><br/><i><span class="fixed-color" style="color:#0080ff">Anton</span></i><br/><br/>With black ribbon, he securely tied the note card to the rose’s stem, carefully avoiding the few thorns remaining.  Anton hurried up the stair well, with unit #608 presently in clear view.  You’d think he was in a scene outta<i>Mission Impossible</i>, what with all the slinking around and keeping to the shadows he was performing.  He fastened the red rose to Stella’s doorknob in such a way that the entire flower dangled at an angle like the first half of a V, the bottom of the stem resting against the door.<br/><br/>Stella didn’t appear to be home at the moment, but he wasn’t sticking around to find out either way.  Anton slinked back downstairs to his apartment.  And Licorice<i>still </i>hadn’t moved.