Total Eclipse of the Heart

by Zane

  “I want you to get some sleep. To get out of this dismal place for a while. To live life.”

  About an hour and a half after Carleigh had left the hospital, the phone rang in my room. I was surprised because even in the hospital everyone that I knew had been calling on my cell number. I assumed that it was something pertaining to hospital business and started not to answer. Yet, something compelled me to pick it up.

  “Hello.”

  “Hello.” The voice on the other end of the line was soft and female. “May I please speak to Damon Johnson?”

  “This is Damon.”

  I braced the phone on my shoulder so I could free up my hand to turn down the volume on the television. I was watching an episode of Judge Mathis. I’d always been a fan of his, but after reading his memoir, Inner City Miracle, I realized how cool the brother truly was.

  The woman had yet to say another word so I repeated, “This is Damon. Who’s this?”

  “My name is Brooke. Brooke Alexander. I wanted to thank you.”

  The lady in red!

  “There’s no need to thank me. I did what anyone would’ve done.”

  “That’s not necessarily true. There are a lot of heartless people on this planet, and even though I realize that your main purpose was in saving your wife, a lot of men would’ve stood by and done nothing.”

  “Not this man.”

  “That’s apparent.”

  I sat there, listening to her breathe, possibly trying to figure out what to say next.

  “I appreciate you calling. That means a lot.”

  “But it’s not enough. How can I ever repay you?” She sighed. “That’s a stupid question, isn’t it? I could never repay you. Not in the true sense of the word. If I could, I would give you my arm to replace the one you lost.”

  The sincerity in her voice was overwhelming. Somehow, I knew that she actually meant it. A lot of people might have thanked me, but most wouldn’t have felt so obligated. She was really hurt about my amputation.

  “You really want to do something for me, Brooke?”

  “I’ll do anything—anything at all.”

  “Be happy from this day on. Appreciate life as much as it appreciates you. Wake up every morning and embrace each day as a gift. Don’t waste any time. Don’t let anyone hurt you. That’s what you can do for me.”

  “That’s really deep, Damon. I’m going to try my best to honor your request. I wish that we were in the same hospital. I would come see you and thank you in person.”

  “Your phone call has touched me. I wasn’t expecting it.”

  “Then that means you are truly a giver. You give and don’t feel entitled to anything in return. That’s rare. Very rare.”

  “You take care of yourself. You’re a beautiful woman, Brooke.”

  It is strange, but I swear that I could feel her smile through the phone.

  “You think that I’m beautiful?”

  “I know that you’re beautiful. This might sound crazy, but the other day isn’t the first time that I’ve seen you.”

  “You remember me from the gym?”

  I am not sure who was more stunned. Her or me.

  “Yes, I remember you, and you obviously remember me,” I said, blushing.

  “You’re a hard man to forget.”

  We both grew quiet.

  “I’d better go,” Brooke said. “Would it be all right if I call you again?”

  “Sure, but let me give you my cell number. I don’t know how long I’ll be here; in this room or in the hospital.”

  After I gave Brooke my phone number, we hung up, but I didn’t want to end the conversation. She sent me a text message with her number and I found myself looking forward to using it. That was not a good thought for a married man and I knew it. What the hell was going on?

  Brooke

  September 18, 2007

  EVERYONE thought that I was plum foolish; including me. Foolish for even considering Patrick’s offer to stay with him after I left the hospital. For the past week, he had shown up at the hospital daily, expressing his undying love and concern. He would take a pencil and scratch the itches inside the cast on my leg. Give me sponge baths with my favorite shower gel because I couldn’t stand what the nurses used. Patrick would rub me down with lotion, every inch of me except for the part of my leg covered by the cast; so gently, so lovingly.

  Of course, I was still pissed off about Mandawhore. But I also remembered what Destiny had said to me that day at the Carter Barron. How all women have to share dick at some point if they want a man in their life. Now I was not about to sit there and allow Patrick to parade other pussy in front of me and have some kind of open relationship. I guess that I was prepared to accept the circumstances and understand that the possibility of his straying again existed. For all I knew, he might still have been tied up with Mandawhore, only denying it.

  Nevertheless, he insisted on my “staying with” him as I refused to make it official and move back in—lock, stock, and barrel.

  The first day went well. Roses everywhere; a $1,500 bottle of Dom. Romane Conti 1997; the latest Will Downing CD blaring through the speakers. Patrick had surprised me by purchasing an Esse, a luxury chaise lounge made expressly for fucking the daylights out of somebody. He claimed it was for my benefit, but I am sure that he wanted to make sure he could get some unrestricted pussy, even with my leg in a cast.

  The Esse did make life a lot easier. My head, neck, and back were cradled in the soft, black material while the rest of me was perfectly positioned for him to try to knock my insides out. Patrick’s dick felt different, better. I am not sure if it was because I had had a close call with death. Or maybe something had shifted in my pussy during the accident. It sounds ridiculous, but our organs do tend to shift in our bodies over time. That is why so many women started wearing that body shaper, to put everything back into place. Maybe my pussy had fallen out of place and now Patrick could hit it at a different angle.

  I made the mistake of mentioning my theory to Patrick, and once he stopped laughing uncontrollably, he told me his own theory.

  “Maybe you just finally realize that I have some good-ass dick!” We were in the kitchen eating vegetarian omelets that Patrick had prepared after a long, drawn-out night of fucking. “I’ve been trying to tell you that all along.”

  I snickered. “Whatever, baby. I’m telling you though, there’s something different about my pussy. You didn’t notice anything?”

  “I noticed that I missed it, that I missed you.” Patrick reached over the table and took my hand. “If I had lost you, I wouldn’t have been able to survive, Brooke. I mean that.”

  I hesitated, then pulled my hand back away from him. “Funny how you never appreciated me until I almost got killed.”

  “That’s not true.”

  “It is true, Patrick. Sure, you had your good days and your bad days, but for the most part, you never truly respected me as a person.” I sighed. “I only hope you mean what you say and that you’ve changed.”

  “I have changed. I’m going to be the man you need, from this moment on. I promise.”

  I gazed into his eyes. “Please don’t make promises you can’t keep.”

  “I’m not.”

  We finished eating the rest of our breakfast in silence, then Patrick left for his law office.

  I sat down on the sofa and flicked through the channels. I hated being on crutches, hated having a cast, and hated the world for my problems. Everyone but Damon Johnson; he had saved my life.

  The Tyra Banks Show was on and I watched about thirty minutes of it. My mind kept drifting off to Damon though, wondering if he was still in the hospital and how much pain he was going through … because of me.

  I decided to call him, telling myself that it was simply to check on him, but something else about the mysterious stranger drew me to him. No one had ever given me a gift like the one he had bestowed upon me.

  “Hello, this is Damon,” he answered on the second ring,
sounding cheerful and shocking the hell out of me. “Hello?”

  “Hey, Damon. It’s Brooke. Brooke Alexander.”

  “Nice to hear from you, Brooke.” He paused. “I knew it was you. I plugged your number into my phone.”

  But you haven’t called me! Why am I bothering this man!

  “Oh, did I catch you at a bad time? I was just calling to see how you’re doing. Are you still in the hospital? How’s your arm?” Stupid-ass Brooke! His arm is gone! “I mean, um …”

  He must have deciphered my apprehension. “I still have part of it, at the top. It hurts, but, all things considered, I’d rather lose my arm than my life.”

  “Well, I for one, am glad that you didn’t lose your life. I’m sure your wife is delighted to still have you around. You’re a great man.”

  I could hear him suck in a breath on the other end of the line; I was not quite sure what to make out of it.

  “I don’t know about great. I did what anyone would do.”

  “No, some people wouldn’t have done a thing. In fact, there were a bunch of other people there and no one else reacted but you.”

  “I’m sure there were others that day who prevented somebody else from being hurt, but I drew the shortest straw.”

  He had a valid point. Lisa Grant had had herself a field day using people in the crowd as human bowling pins. Someone else was probably pushed out of the way and slammed to the ground just in time to avoid being hit.

  “Possibly,” I said. “But you’re the one who intervened on my behalf, and for that I will be eternally grateful.”

  “Aw, you’re so sweet.”

  There was a long silence as I struggled for something to add. I could hear someone in his hospital room—a nurse asking if he needed any more water—which answered my question about whether he had been released. I waited patiently until he finished their conversation.

  “So, I see you’re still in the hospital.”

  “Yes, but I’ll be out in a few days. I can’t wait either. I’m not used to being waited on hand and foot.”

  “I hope you’re not one of those alpha men who’s going to rush your recuperation and act a fool.”

  “You sound like my wife. She’s already fussing about me going back to work months from now.”

  “What do you do?”

  “I’m a human resources director. You?”

  “Nothing worth mentioning.”

  “Why do you say that?”

  “You have a career. I make ends meet. It’s not the same thing.”

  I was really ashamed of being a common waitress. I hated to admit it, but Mrs. Sterling was right. I was not doing enough with my life. Even though I hadn’t been afforded the same opportunities as Patrick, that was no excuse for not pursuing a dream. Too many people spend the majority of their lives hoping for a change but do nothing to evolve. Their biggest fear is taking the risk to be alive. I needed to begin my evolution and become a risk-taker.

  “Brooke, tell me, what you do? You have a job, right?”

  “Yes, I have a job.”

  “Then that puts you in front of legions of other people. Come on; tell me.”

  “Why’s it so important?”

  “It’s not. At least, it wasn’t until you seemed like you don’t care to discuss it.”

  How dare him! “I’m not a hooker or a stripper or anything like that, if that’s what you’re thinking,” I lashed out at him.

  He laughed and I frowned.

  “What’s so funny?”

  “Even if you were a hooker or a stripper, it’s no big deal. People are just people, and they do what they have to do to, like you said, to make ends meet.”

  “So, if I told you that I lay on my back and went through four sets of kneepads a month, you wouldn’t judge me?”

  “No, I’d probably find it fascinating.”

  Fascinating!

  “Brooke? What do you do for a living?”

  “I’m a waitress,” I blurted out. “At a diner.”

  Damon chuckled. I wondered if he was making fun of me.

  “That’s a great profession, and it is a career. It takes a lot of skill to wait tables without dropping dishes, dropping trays on someone’s head, and keeping up the pace … especially in a diner. Everyone’s always in a hurry.”

  “You know what? What you said makes a lot of sense. I guess that I never thought about it like that. It’s just …”

  “Just what?”

  “I used to work at more upscale places and my tips were a lot bigger. I feel like I got a demotion.”

  “Have you applied other places, Brooke?”

  “No, not really.” Not at all! “My schedule’s so crazy that I really don’t have the time.”

  “Didn’t you injure your leg?”

  “Yes, it’s in a cast.”

  “While you’re laid up, apply for some other jobs. You don’t have to confine your search to waitressing either. You have internet access?”

  “I’m not that destitute!” I exclaimed. “I didn’t mean to come off like that. I can get on the internet.”

  “Then there are a lot of websites where you can search for a new job, and they’re open twenty-four/seven.”

  “You’re really trying to make me feel bad.” I sighed. “I get what you’re saying.”

  “I didn’t mean to make you feel bad. I’m sorry. It’s that human-resources part of me that kicked in. But seriously, it’s a lot easier to find a new job when you already have one. A lot of people don’t realize that.”

  “True. True.”

  “As the primary decision-maker at our corporation, when someone comes in with a huge gap in his employment history, sometimes even a small gap, it sends up a red flag. Unless, of course, a woman’s been taking care of kids, or a sick parent.”

  “What if a man’s been taking care of kids, or a sick parent?” I found myself asking, getting caught up in the conversation to my own surprise.

  “Then he’s not a real man.”

  “There are plenty of house husbands these days. Women are capable of bringing in the money. Not me, but some women.” I snickered at my own comment. “I could never cover all the bills in a household.”

  “That must mean you don’t live alone. Are you married?”

  “I’m not married. Never been married.” I tried to think of what to say next. “My situation is complicated. I’m kind of between households right now.”

  “You’re not homeless!”

  “No, not that. I was living with this guy but we’re not officially together anymore. I’m staying with my best friend, Destiny, but sometimes I’m back and forth. Is this making any sense whatsoever?”

  “It makes total sense. I only hope you do whatever makes you happy.”

  There was an uncomfortable silence on the phone for a few seconds. Then I said, “Well, Damon, I don’t want to keep you. Thank you for your advice about looking for a new job.”

  “Are you going to do it?”

  Probably not! “Yes, definitely,” I lied.

  “Will you call me again sometime?”

  “Sure, or you can call me.” After all, you have my number!

  “I’ll do that. Maybe we can have lunch one day soon, after I get released from lockup.”

  We both laughed.

  “That sounds like a winner. You take care.”

  “You, too, Brooke.”

  And that was that. We hung up without saying another word.

  Damon had definitely given me some food for thought, but the odds of my stepping outside of my comfort zone and leaving the diner were slim. Hell, Patrick had over and over offered to help me get a better job. Fear was definitely keeping me from doing things. I had to somehow overcome my apprehension. Damon was a nice man, and I hoped that he would call me to have lunch.

  I turned the television back on and Maury was playing. For the life of me, I couldn’t figure out why men would allow themselves to be trapped making moves on other women in the greenroom. Some
of the men would ask for numbers and talk about fucking, but some went as far as to be slobbering the female decoys down. Then there were the paternity shows that Maury did regularly. How could a woman have to test a dozen men for the same child and still not figure out the father? I swear, some of that stuff had to be staged. Either way, it was entertaining, so I turned up the volume, grabbed my Pepsi, and got lost in the madness.

  Damon

  September 22, 2007

  YOU’re making too much of a fuss over me,” I said in protest to Carleigh as she led me through the door to our home. “I can walk.”

  She was holding on to my elbow like I’d lost a leg instead of an arm. It had been bad enough to be escorted out of the hospital in a wheelchair, but it was their policy. I could deal with that. What I didn’t want—and couldn’t stand—was Carleigh babying me.

  “Damon, let me be the wife and chill out,” she said as we entered the dark house.

  “Why are all the lights out? Did you pay the bill? Carleigh, please tell me you paid the bill!”

  I always took care of all the household expenses. Carleigh was a good real estate agent, but when it came to paying bills on time, she was the worst.

  “You haven’t even been in the hospital an entire billing cycle. The electricity’s not off, Damon.”

  “Then why is it so damn dark in here?”

  “Watch your mouth!” I heard my mother yell out from someplace. Then the lights flickered on.

  Everyone stared at my mother as she clasped her hand over her mouth on the living room sofa, then looked at Carleigh and me and yelled, “Surprise!”

  One by one, friends and family members approached me to give me a kiss on the cheek or a hug. Most of them seemed totally uncomfortable as they looked at my arm, or what was left of it, covered by a shirt with a pinned-up sleeve.

  Carleigh’s four-year-old niece, Natalie, came up to me and hugged my leg. She looked up at me and asked, “Uncle Damon, are you contagionic?”

  “No, I’m not contagious.”

  “Good, because my mommy said I have to stay away from kids at day care who are contagionic.”

  Natalie was so proud of the big word that I decided to play along. “Well, don’t worry. I’m not contagionic. I’m still the same old Uncle Damon.”