Johnny Blade

by Phillip Tomasso

  “It’s no wonder, working two jobs like you are,” Ellen said. “I’m surprised you’re not too tired for dinner with me this evening.”

  “Well, I am tired,” Michael admitted. “My body just needs time to adjust. I only started at Jack’s on Friday. It’ll get easier. And, hey, you know what happened on Saturday night?”

  Ellen smiled. The facial expression looked odd. Michael thought she might be drunk. She did not look happy. “No. Why don’t you tell me.”

  “You feeling all right?” Michael asked. Ellen picked up her drink and swallowed away half of its contents. “Ellen?”

  “I’m fine Michael.”

  “Did you have a bad day?”

  “You might say that, thank you for asking,” Ellen said.

  “I’m sorry. That was very inconsiderate of me. What happened?” Michael asked, sincerely. He leaned forward to show Ellen he was giving her his complete attention. She stared at him, and he stared back. He felt uneasy meeting her eyes. He looked away.

  “Is something wrong, Michael?”

  “No. You’re just making me uncomfortable.”

  She drank the rest of her drink, just as the waitress returned with their bar orders and a basket of warm bread.

  Michael peeled back the layers of cloth napkin that covered the pre-sliced, intimate-sized loaf of fresh baked bread. “Want a piece?” Michael asked, handing over a thick slice to Ellen, and putting one for him on a plate. “Butter, too?” He gave her one.

  While he buttered his slice, Michael asked her again about her day.

  “I’d rather not get into it, yet. Tell me about Saturday night,” Ellen said, suddenly cheerful. She spread butter on her bread, then took a sip from her new drink.

  Michael told Ellen about the attempted robbery. She listened intently. By the end of the story, she looked scared to death. “My God, Michael. That man that knocked the gun out of the crook’s hand, do you know who he was?”

  Michael leaned back in his chair. “No. I wish I did,” he said, lying about Marcus, even to Ellen.

  “This does not sound like the right job for you. Is that all that happened?”

  “Is that all? Isn’t that enough?”

  “It sure is. I want you to quit, Michael. It’s not safe there. No good can come of you having this job.”

  “Ellen, if I’m going to prove my worth to the people at the paper, I’ve got to show them I can find an interesting story. This place is full of stories. You know the prostitute that was murdered back before the holidays, how she used to stand at the corner there? Yeah, well, these people knew her,” Michael said.

  “I don’t like you hanging around whores. I have to tell you, I don’t like the idea of you being around a killer, either.”

  “Who says I’m around the killer?” Michael asked.

  “You just did,” Ellen said. “I don’t like it.”

  The waitress set their food down in front of them, asked if they needed anything else, and then left them alone with their conversation. “I can’t quit. I won’t quit. I need this job. It’s an experience. As a writer, as a journalist, I feel like I’ve tapped into a entirely new world of stimulation.”

  Ellen started to cry. She placed her elbows on the table and rubbed the heels of her hands against her eyes. “I don’t want to see you again, Michael. I don’t want to ever see you again.”

  Michael felt as if he had been punched in the stomach. This had to be a joke—an elaborate, cruel joke. “Ellen?”

  “I want to tell you about my bad day,” she said. She was drawing attention with her tears, her sobs and with how loud she was talking. She bordered hysteria. “This morning I got a phone call in my office from one of the senior partners in the firm. He says he didn’t know if he was doing the right thing, but he knew he couldn’t just hide the truth from me. Any idea what he might have been talking about, Michael?”

  Michael shrugged. He felt confused. “No.”

  “No? Well, let me continue. Fast forward. I came here tonight and had a few drinks. When you showed up, I planned to wait. I wanted to give you every opportunity,” she said. Now she seemed to have the attention of everyone in the restaurant. A show for their dining pleasure.

  “Me?” Michael said, barely audible.

  “Yes, you. You. I wanted to give you every opportunity to tell me that you were out with another girl on Saturday night,” Ellen screamed, losing control. “And I did give you every opportunity!”

  Felicia. Their sandwiches. He could get out of it. “It was a friend from Jack's. We went for something to eat after the robbery,” he said. It sounded so melodramatic, going for something to eat after a robbery.

  “I don’t know a thing about what you ate, all I know about is the two of you in the parking lot, standing in front of your car . . . all over each other,” Ellen said. She had the patrons of Tanalo’s on her side, Michael sensed without looking around.

  She stood up, taking her coat in her arm and picked up his beer. Michael knew what was coming. She threw it in his face, then slapped him hard. She stood there, looking unsatisfied. She slapped him again and stormed out.

  Everything in Michael’s vision moved in slow motion. He watched Ellen leave the restaurant. His legs felt more frozen and numb than his hands have ever felt. He wanted to get up and leave, but found himself unable to do so.

  Without being asked, the waitress brought his check. “I appreciate that.” He did not feel good about himself. He felt like a jerk and not just because everyone in the place was staring at him. “Can I get these meals to go?”

  Chapter 18

  None of it made any sense. Knowing he needed to stop and assess things in his life, Michael sat in his car with the motor running. The car had not had time to cool down; the engine was still warm. Heat came out hot from the vents. With the radio off, he sat in silence and tried to concentrate.

  Nothing between him and Ellen had been wrong. Everything between them had been right. They got along, enjoyed the same things—mostly. The biggest difference between them had been the fact that he smoked and she did not. Where did it go wrong? What caused it all to change? Michael knew he felt crushed. His heart ached. He and Ellen had been together for nearly two years. After she graduated from college Ellen landed a nice job with a large law firm as a junior staff attorney. Though they never talked marriage, Michael had been certain that one day the two of them would marry.

  What confused Michael even more was the one thought that kept flip-flopping in his mind, waiting for his attention. Why don’t you try to fix things?

  As though a dangerous enemy, Michael almost refused to go near the question. If he wanted, he could race to Ellen’s place—he had the dinners with him. He knew if they talked things over everything could be worked out. In a way it would be like starting over. She would not trust him for a long time, and rightly so. He would need to prove to her that he was worthy of being trusted again.

  He put the car in reverse. Because the dinners were getting cold, the night was still young, and he imagined lobster tails reheated in a microwave oven tasting awful, Michael pulled out of Tantalo’s and back onto Ridge Road in a hurry.

  _____________________________

  Michael pulled into the parking lot of Ellen’s apartment complex, saw her car and stopped. She would be waiting for him. She would be expecting him to come here and beg for forgiveness. A part of him knew this entire mess was his fault alone and apologizing would be the right thing to do. The other part of him, the part less concerned with doing the right thing, posed a serious question. Is this what you really want?

  It was a far cry from a yes or no answer. At the moment, however, yes was not the answer registering. For reasons unbeknownst to him, being with Felicia struck cords inside him. It had been hell resisting her urges Saturday night, and right now, Michael was not sure he wanted to resist those urges any longer.

  Where would a relationship with a prostitute lead him? Pulling out of Ellen’s parking lot, and driving toward Fe
licia’s Cape-Cod, Michael knew there would be only one way to find out an answer. A lot of his thoughts made little sense. Most men would not entertain the thought of being with a hooker. Michael did not want to be with a hooker, but thought he might want to be with Felicia. Anyone would think he was acting ludicrous. What did he have to gain by pursuing such a unique woman? What consequences could he expect if anything did take form between the two of them? Was he ready for any of this … the unexpected?

  The drive to Felicia’s went quickly. For the most part, Michael could not remember operating the car. His mind, trapped in a whirlwind of emotions, did it’s best to stay focused.

  Stopping in front of Felicia’s house, Michael saw the silhouette of a woman through closed curtains. As best he could, Michael searched his memory trying to remember why he was here. At no point in time did Felicia say, Hey big boy, why don’t you come over and see me some time. If she had, he would have remembered that quite clearly.

  They had a couple of kisses in a parking lot. Nothing more. She kissed a lot of guys—she had sex with a lot of guys. Michael was sure a kiss did not normally amount to an open invitation to drop by anytime, uninvited. “I got twin lobster tails,” he said to himself. “But nothing to drink,” he said. How could he stop by her house and not bring something to drink? “But I have lobster.”

  He found the courage to pull out of the street and up her driveway, switching off his headlights as he did so.

  He saw the figure in the house stand by the window, as if staring through the curtains, trying to figure out who might have pulled up in her driveway, perhaps wondering if she should go to the door, or wait and see if the car would back out again.

  Michael sat in the driveway for a long minute before switching off his car.

  When the front door opened, and Michael saw Felicia standing in the doorway in jeans and a long sleeve, white turtleneck, he thought his heart might stop beating. She looked stunning. With her burgundy colored hair pulled back tight and wrapped in a ponytail, Michael knew he needed to get closer—to see Felicia’s face up close without the hair blocking her features. He opened his door and baring the cold, stood in the triangle space between his door and car.

  “Who is that?” Felicia called out.

  “It’s Michael, from Jack’s,” Michael said. Presumptuously, he held the foam cartons containing the quickly cooling dinners from Tantalo’s.

  “Yeah? And what do you want?”

  “To eat. I’m hungry. I brought some dinner from Tantalo’s, if you’re interested?” Michael realized he was holding his breath. He wanted Felicia to invite him. The way the conversation seemed to be headed, he was not at all sure of how this might turn out. A part of him regretted pulling into her driveway.

  “Like what did you bring?”

  “Lobster tails and Linguini with clams—in a red sauce.”

  “Get the hell out of here,” she said. “Lobster tails.”

  “No, I’m serious. Does that mean you’re hungry?”

  “That means I might be hungry,” she said. She waved him in and disappeared back into her home.

  Michael locked up his car and ran to her front step. He felt funny just walking in, but did so anyway. He closed and locked her house door behind him. He saw her in the next room, the kitchen, setting the table. Where he stood, the family room, he saw that she had a lonely evening planned. The TV guide was opened on the sofa with the remote holding the place in the booklet.

  He kicked off his shoes, set the dinners down, and took off his coat. Felicia placed two wineglasses on the table. “You know, I forgot to pick up wine,” Michael admitted, weakly.

  “I have some. It’s a red homemade wine. My uncle makes it in his basement. He’s always giving me a few bottles,” Felicia said. She emerged from the kitchen with a bottle against her chest, the neck resting between her breasts. “It’s the fruitiest wine I’ve ever had.”

  “Sounds good,” Michael said.

  _____________________________

  Felicia took the dinners out of the microwave, stuck a bowl with a stick of butter into the microwave and set the timer long enough to melt the entire stick. She picked up the dinner plates and brought them to the table. Michael scooped linguini and clams into each plate, then gave Felicia the larger of the two tails.

  “Umm,” he said. “Nuked lobster tails.”

  “It’s still lobster, right? I don’t care if it was prepared in an Easy-Bake Oven,” Felicia said. She poured two glasses of wine and handed one to Michael. She watched him taste it.

  “That is fruity,” he said. “I like it.”

  “I’m telling you, it’s the best wine out there. I told him he should get his own label and market the stuff.” She set the bottle down in the center of the table, and sat down.

  Michael waited for the timer to go off. “I’m so starving.”

  “I wasn’t, but I am now,” Felicia said. The timer went off. Michael removed the bowl of melted butter and set it on the table just as the telephone rang. Giving Michael an apologetic look, she stood up and answered it. “Hello?”

  Michael tried not to appear as if he were eavesdropping. However, watching Felicia’s face change expressions from somewhat happy to grim, told Michael that something was terribly wrong. “Okay, okay. I’m on my way.”

  When she hung up the telephone, Felicia looked like she might cry.

  “Felicia, what’s wrong?”

  “That was my sister. She says my father just had a heart attack.”

  Chapter 19

  Felicia was in no condition to drive. They took Michael’s car. He drove as fast as he could to Park Ridge Hospital. Felicia sat silently beside him. She did not cry, but she looked deeply troubled.

  “What will I do if my father dies?” She asked.

  She was staring out the window when Michael turned to look at her. He was not sure how to respond. His parents were both alive and, at the moment, healthy. “Let’s not worry about that just yet. All right? Let’s get to the hospital and see what’s going on.”

  Felicia reached over and placed her hand on Michael’s leg. She squeezed his thigh. “Thank you for driving me.”

  “Forget about it,” he said, turning onto Long Pond Road. The hospital was less than a mile away. Michael drove a little faster, figuring if a police officer pulled him over, he would be able to provide a reasonable excuse for his excessive speed. “How old is your sister?”

  “Thirteen. Her name’s Marcia.”

  Michael never actually pictured Felicia having a family; an uncle that made wine, a mom and a dad, a sister named Marcia who was only thirteen. It seemed unnatural, like being six and seeing your first grade teacher shopping in a grocery store. He wanted to hear more about Felicia’s family and obviously knew now was not the time to ask questions.

  Following the hospital signs, Michael pulled off Long Pond and drove toward the Emergency entrance. He pulled the car up in the ambulance loop. “You take care, all right. Let me know how things turn out,” Michael said. He wanted to go in with her, but did not want to get in the way.

  “You’re not coming in?” Felicia asked. Tears brimmed around her eyes.

  “Do you want me to come in with you?”

  “Please.”

  “I’ll go park.”

  “I’ll ride with you. I don’t want to walk in there alone,” Felicia said.

  Michael pulled out of the loop and found a spot in Visitor parking. He and Felicia walked toward the Emergency entrance. She wrapped her arm around his and rested her head on his shoulder as they walked. “I’m so scared,” she said. “I’ve never felt this scared before.”

  Inside, Michael immediately recognized Marcia. She looked identical to her older sister. They had matching, long burgundy colored hair, milky complexioned skin, and the largest, most unique gray-blue eyes he had ever seen. Marcia and Felicia even looked about the same height, five-eight. The only visible difference was their weight. Though Felicia was fit, and slim, she might weigh close
to one-twenty. Marcia would be lucky to weigh more than one hundred pounds.

  As the sisters embraced, Michael stayed in the background. Marcia watched him, while hugging Felicia, and did not look happy about his presence.

  “Marcia, how’s dad?”

  Looking away from Michael, Marcia swallowed hard. “Not good. Mom’s with him now. They won’t let me in there,” she said, tears rolling down her cheeks. “I just want to be in there with him.”

  Felicia went to the nurse station. “Excuse me, why can’t my sister and I be in the room with our father. He was just brought in—”

  “I understand the situation, ma’am. Your father’s condition is not stable. As soon as he is, we will let you know. I promise,” said a stern-faced nurse.

  Felicia, too, was crying. “But if my father doesn’t stabilize, if he dies, then you’ve prevented my sister and I from saying good-bye.”

  Felicia’s words caused Marcia to cry even harder. Michael wanted to help. He wanted to comfort the young girl. She looked so much like Felicia it was amazing. He moved closer and held out his arms. Marcia regarded him as if he might be a serial killer. She turned away and walked to a row of seats. She sat and buried her head in her hands and sobbed.

  Michael strolled down to the end of the hall. Felicia was sitting with Marcia and the two seemed to be comforting each other. Michael studied the art on the wall, lighthouses in pencil sketches, then flipped through a magazine that had been left sitting on a windowsill beside the vending machines.

  When he looked down the hall, Felicia was staring at him. She motioned with her head for him to come back and sit with them. Hesitant, Michael bought two sodas. When he walked back, he handed Felicia a can and offered the other to Marcia.

  “No thank you,” she said.

  Michael set the can down on the armrest of her chair. “For later, then.” When the awkward silence lingered, Michael asked: “Any news?”