No Stopping Now. Dawn Atkins
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me fits.” He lapsed into a description of what he’d done so far and what he planned.
“You’ll get it. I’m sure you will.”
“Got to before your mother drags me on that cruise.”
“You’ll like it, Pop. There’s bingo and dancing and the food never stops.”
“That’s no good for me, son. Gotta watch my ticker now.”
“They have heart-healthy crap, don’t worry.”
“If it makes your ma happy, what choice do I have?”
He smiled, letting his dad’s voice fill his head, listening as he talked about Ma’s plans for the garden, how good her chiles were, how hard it was to get good help at his auto shop these days, and why the hell was everything so computerized?
Brody was just glad his pop was still around to complain about cruises and carburetors and computers. It had been his pop’s heart attack six months ago that had made Brody decide to change his life.
After a bit, his father yawned.
“You getting sleepy?”
“Guess so. Good to hear your voice. Keep in touch now.”
“I will, Pop.” In fact, he’d put a reminder on his calendar so he’d make a call every two weeks.
When he’d heard the news about the heart attack, Brody had flown home and raced to the hospital, where he was startled to see his parents in a new light. He’d always thought they despised each other, but watching his mother pat Pop’s hand, promising to hide the Jameson and bake only low-fat pasties, while tears rolled down Pop’s cheeks, he knew he’d been wrong. They clearly adored each other. They’d changed or he’d been blind.
He realized something else. He wanted what they had—a life with one special someone and years and years together. The whole trip had been like that. He’d seen his old friend Cal Taylor differently, too. In his heart, a door opened to a world he’d almost missed.
His contract came due soon and he’d decided not to sign a new one. He’d been letting the idea sink in, become real. He’d made the mistake of confessing his discontent to Eve Gallen, his producer. Now she watched him like a hawk. Are you okay? Happy? What else do you need? What can I do? She’d pumped up the volume on everything, hunting up new show ideas, reminding him of the early days, poking at him constantly, driving him nuts.
With her hassling him and his plans to adjust to, he didn’t need a complication like JJ, tempting as she was. What he needed now was focus and discipline, not temptation.
He would get Kirk’s intern to fill in. Dave would slip easily into the groove of the shoot, leaving Brody’s head clear and giving him plenty of time and energy to work on his book.
The cab was closing in on the hospital, so Brody had the guy pull over to a convenience store, so he could nab two Playboys and the latest Gamer magazine. Kirk’s favorite pastimes were console games and naked women. Some of the newer games combined both, to Kirk’s delight.
Brody grinned. He would miss the hell out of Kirk this trip. The accident had been weird. Kirk falling down stairs? Hurting himself badly enough to need surgery? The man knew how to hold his booze and he kept recreational chemistry to a minimum because of the side video work he did. What a drag.
They’d bumped the operation up to tomorrow—the surgeon probably had a golf game—so tonight was Brody’s last chance to visit the guy, wish him well. He knew Kirk was superstitious about stuff like that, so he had to come. He wanted to talk to Kirk about an HBO project he’d heard about, too.
In the emergency driveway, Brody asked the driver to wait, then eased into the dim lobby. Eve had told him what floor Kirk was on, so he took the elevator up and sauntered to the nurse’s station to coax Kirk’s room number out of the short brunette with the stern face and tired eyes.
At the last second, he remembered to hide the Playboys behind the Gamer so as not to offend the woman, whose ID badge was hidden. He glanced at the duty board, then guessed. “Sue?”
“Yes?” She looked startled that he knew her.
“Sorry to bother you, but I’m here for Kirk Canter? He’s expecting me. Brody Donegan?”
“Mr. Canter is sleeping.”
“Oh, I doubt that. They’re cutting him up at dawn.”
“Which is why he needs his rest.” She gave a prim smile.
“See, that’s where I come in. I’m his security blanket.”
“Oh, really?” She raised her eyebrows.
“Yeah, it’s a superstitious deal. For luck?”
She stared at him and he could see recognition dawning. This happened a lot. People realized they’d seen him somewhere. “You look so familiar…. Aren’t you…?”
“Doctor Nite? Guilty as charged.”
“My brother loves your show.” She smiled now, openly pleased, and stepped back, as if in the presence of someone important. He wanted to reverse that. I’m an ordinary guy, sweetheart. I put my pants on one leg at a time like everyone else. Well, except I do it on TV for all the world to see.
“I’d be happy to sign an autograph,” he said, moving his finger as if with a pen.
“Oh, he’d love that.” She seemed flustered, but handed him a square of hospital notepaper. “His name’s Jordan.”
He wrote, “Jordan, your sister is a dish,” signed it and handed it over.
She read what he’d written and blushed.
“I won’t be long, I promise,” he said. “Kirk just needs to rub my beer gut for luck.” He scrubbed his belly through his shirt. Sue’s eyes followed his movement.
“But you don’t have a gut,” she said, a nurse observing his condition, though her cheeks held color and her eyes shone.
“It’ll have to do.” He winked.
“All right, I guess.” She told him the number and pointed. “Down that hall. If he’s asleep, don’t wake him.”
“Thanks, doll.” He headed off, relieved she’d been agreeable. Women tended to like him. Of course, he liked them back. Was it a crime to use his gift to get what he wanted?
He’d begun to think so. Maybe that made things too easy, allowed him to glide, made him too lazy to work for what mattered. His pop, who’d been humbled out of his own wild ways, had always warned Brody against the easy road.
Brody had no real regrets about his life. It was just time to move on, try something different.
He tapped at the partially open door of the hospital room.
“What? Who is it?” Kirk nearly yelped.
“Just your wingman, buddy.” He moved into the room, dark but for the bluish fluorescent light over Kirk’s bed. “Relax.”
Kirk flopped against his pillow in obvious relief.
“Were you having a nightmare or something?”
“Just freaked about the operation, I guess.”
“Are you in pain? Need meds?”
“I’m okay.”
“I stopped by to wish you good drugs and small scars. Sorry it’s late. I just found out they changed your surgery.”
“Better to get it over with, I figure.”
“Here’s something to kill the time.” He handed over the magazines.
“Excellent,” Kirk said, visibly cheered by the gift. “I don’t have either one.”
“So,