Double Dippin': Misty Part 2

"No, I'm good," he told her, though his growling stomach begged to differ.

Disappointment flickered across Thomasina's face, and Brick was confused about her intentions. Was she merely trying to be civil or was she plotting on a way to cause problems between him and Misty?

He picked up Little Baron and kissed him on the cheek. "Daddy has to go, but I'll see you in a couple of days."

"Oh, no you won't," Thomasina interjected in a hostile tone. "You can't drop by whenever it suits you. You have visitation once a week until you get stable housing," she reminded Brick.

Obviously, Thomasina wasn't going to make it easy for Brick and his son to have a healthy relations.h.i.+p. She was las.h.i.+ng out and trying to hurt him the only way she knew how. Realizing it would be a long time before Thomasina got over her bitterness, he decided not to argue with her. He lowered Little Baron to the floor, and said, "I'll see you next week, man. Okay? Are we good?"

"We're good," Little Baron replied.

"High-five!" Brick slapped palms with his son. "Be good, and I'll see you later, man."

"Bye, Daddy."

"Have a good evening, Thomasina," Brick said respectfully, and then sauntered toward the door.

He drove straight to a neighborhood bar on Lancaster Avenue that served food that tasted homemade. He had a newspaper in front of him and was eager to check the cla.s.sified ads to look for a place for Misty and him. His face was buried in the paper when the waitress came over to take his order. He looked up, noticing that she was a big-boned chick, coffee-colored with sultry, full lips that glistened with cherry red lip gloss. Those lips looked like they could do things that would relieve a lot of stress. She gave him a ready smile that was unmistakably flirtatious.

"What's good?" Brick asked, without looking at the menu.

"I am," the flirty waitress replied with a hand on her hip.

Her body language and the way her lips spread into a s.e.xy smile informed him that she was either a d.i.c.k tease or she was hot in the a.s.s and looking for a good time. Whatever the case, he hadn't come here to hook up; he'd come to get something to eat.

"In all seriousness, what do you recommend from the menu?" He had too much on his mind; too many pressing obligations to play games with the waitress, who was clearly hitting on him.

Disappointed that her attempt at seduction had failed, her hand fell away from her hip. Mirroring Brick's serious demeanor, the waitress spoke in a more professional tone. "I like the grilled salmon and the crabmeat mashed potatoes. The green beans are good, too," she said without a trace of the smile she'd previously displayed.

"That's what I'll have, then," Brick said.

"What're you drinking?"

"Heineken."

"You look a little down, like maybe you need more than a beer. Will my phone number cheer you up?" she added, making another flagrant attempt to hook up.

Emotionally preparing himself for the hard life with Misty that Thomasina had predicted, he didn't have it in him to start f.u.c.king around and getting phone numbers from random chicks. "No, I'm good," Brick responded with an apologetic smile.

The waitress shrugged as if to say, "your loss," and then grabbed the menu and trotted off toward the kitchen.

Left with his thoughts, Brick attempted to make a mental list of Misty's home care needs. She was going to need visiting nurse services, physical therapy, a wheelchair, and a host of adaptive equipment for disabled people. It was a lot to deal with, but he was in for the long haul.

He wondered what the long haul involved. Not a s.e.x life! He winced at the idea of giving up s.e.x completely, and wondered if he was capable. It wasn't likely; he was too young to live the rest of his life jacking off to p.o.r.n for s.e.xual release. Having a side chick seemed like the reasonable alternative, but he'd learned a valuable lesson after being in a relations.h.i.+p with his former lover and partner in crime, Anya. No matter how much a person believed they could be in a s.e.xual relations.h.i.+p with no strings attached, emotions had a way of creeping into the picture.

Truth be told, Anya wasn't the only one who had caught feelings. Brick had strong feelings for her too, but he'd never admitted how much he cared for her. Believing that he was headed for jail, he didn't want to involve Anya in his chaotic life. One of the hardest things he'd ever done was to part ways with her when she pleaded with him to stay.

But everything happens for a reason. Back then, he had no idea that Misty would wake up. Once she came out of the coma, Brick realized his love for her was stronger than ever, despite her physical condition. What he felt for Misty couldn't be described as romantic love; it was love in the purest sense, and it was unconditional. At least that's what he told himself, but he secretly wondered if he was allowing himself to be tied down with Misty out of a sense of obligation. He quickly shook that negative thought from his mind. Misty was the love of his life. Point blank. Period.

He supposed he'd have to get his carnal needs met by prost.i.tutes. Feelings weren't involved when money was exchanged for s.e.x. He knew that from personal experience, when he used to sell s.e.xual favors back in the day.

Putting aside unpleasant thoughts of his past, he scanned the apartment listings of the newspaper that was spread open on the table. Most of the places that caught his eye were surprisingly expensive, and he was grateful that cash wasn't a problem. He had plenty of money in his pocket due to Anya's generosity. Recalling the many ways Anya had held him down, Brick felt a pang of guilt.

He had refused to accept her offer to give him a portion of her inheritance, telling her he'd be all right. Yet, she'd waited until he was distracted and slipped a thick wad of hundred-dollar bills into his travel bag, making sure he was straight until he got back on his feet.

Anya and her s.e.xy-self had been ride or die while she and Brick were together. In another lifetime, their relations.h.i.+p would have worked perfectly. They had so much in common. Both had lost their mothers young, and they were both damaged by their losses, yet they maintained a huge capacity to love. Unfortunately, the timing hadn't been right for Brick and Anya, and he'd been unable to commit to her. He prayed that Anya was healing from all her past hurt and was finally living her life to the fullest in Trinidad. Hopefully, she'd found some clues from her family members that could lead to finding her pops who'd been missing for years. Most of all, Brick wanted Anya to find the true love a fine woman like her deserved.

By the time the waitress brought the food to the table, Brick had circled five apartments that were in his price range and had an extra bedroom for Little Baron when he stayed over. Once Brick was situated, Thomasina would not be calling the shots about how often he could see his son. He realized his relations.h.i.+p with Misty would be confusing for his son, but over time, Little Baron would adjust and learn to accept that his father and his sister were a couple.

When Brick's fork sc.r.a.ped against the ceramic plate, he looked down in surprise. The plate was empty; he'd practically inhaled the food the waitress had set before him. The meal had been so good, he was tempted to order an extra platter to take out and eat later, but decided against it. He wasn't burning calories like he did while working construction, and until he found a new job, he would have to watch what he ate and also start hitting the gym.

Brick chugged down a second beer, and then motioned for the check. The waitress was busy flirting with four male patrons who were sharing a table.

Brick wasn't in a hurry, and so he settled back in his seat and waited. Alone with his thoughts, he recalled Misty's excitement about starting a profession as a psychic. As far as he was concerned, Misty wasn't any more psychic than he was, but she believed that she'd gained the ability to predict the future. Looking on the bright side, it was good for Misty to feel useful, and he didn't think there was any harm in her trying to build up a clientele. People who sought out psychics did it strictly for entertainment, and if they were nave enough to take a psychic's predictions seriously, then that was on them.

CHAPTER 4.

Word had gotten around the hospital that Misty could see the future, and various employees were finding reasons to peek in her room to get a look at her.

When Johanna McBride, the nurse whom Misty had given the reading, came to check on her, Misty complained, "My room has been like Grand Central Station all morning. People are acting like I'm a circus act or something. If one more person pokes their head in that door, I'm going to file a complaint with whoever runs this place."

"You want to complain to the chief of staff?"

"Yeah, him." Misty didn't want to deal with any underlings; she wanted to take her complaint straight to the top.

"That won't be possible; he's an important man."

"And I'm an important woman," Misty countered.

"Of course you are; what I meant was, most of the employees have never even met him. I'm sorry that hospital staff is invading your privacy. I only told one person, but apparently she couldn't keep the information to herself. I tried to be discreet, but I had to get permission from the nursing supervisor before Sharon was allowed to interview you."

Misty sucked her teeth in disgust. "I can't wait to get discharged; I don't like people staring at me like I'm some kind of a freak show."

"The curiosity is going to increase when the story comes out on Friday," Johanna warned.

"I can't deal with all these d.a.m.n voyeurs who work in this hospital. Can you please put a Do Not Disturb sign on my door? I have a right to privacy, you know."

Johanna laughed. "This isn't a hotel, so I can't keep the staff out, but I can make sure that no one comes in here that isn't supposed to."

"Great. Can you take care of that, please?"

"I sure can. By the way, I have some good news," Johanna said, peering over her gla.s.ses at Misty.

"Oh, yeah? What's the news?"

Johanna clasped her hands together in delight and broke into a huge smile. "I got approved for the beach home you saw in your vision. I called Sharon, and told her to add that fact to the piece she's writing about you. Even though the story focuses on the horrible a.s.sault that paralyzed you and injured your face, I'm sure you're not only going to get inundated with donations for cosmetic surgery, but you'll also get requests from people who want personal readings. Are you prepared for that?"

"As long as they're willing to pay for my services, I'm more than prepared for it."

"Speaking of payment, I have something for you." Johanna opened a drawer of her med cart, and withdrew a sleek iPad. "It's time to connect with the world again, and swiping the screen with a finger is much easier than trying to operate the keyboard on a laptop."

Aw, s.h.i.+t; it's on, b.i.t.c.hes, Misty thought to herself. Being paralyzed had robbed her of the will to live, but now she was ready to rebuild her life, piece by piece. She was eager to get the wheels in motion for an exciting new career, and having some use of her right hand, she'd be able to work with the iPad.

"Thanks, Johanna. I'll cherish this," Misty said, her mind racing with ideas. She'd pretended to Brick that she no longer craved the limelight, but that wasn't true. She'd always been an attention wh.o.r.e and being disabled hadn't changed that.

"You can find online support groups to help you learn to live with your disability," Johanna said, offering an encouraging smile.

"Mmm-hmm. Good idea," Misty mumbled distractedly as she tinkered with the iPad and then logged online. She checked out her old website and was relieved that no one had bothered to take it down. She could keep the name: Misty's Place, but she needed to delete the nude photos of the guys who used to work for her and replace them with images of herself-past and present. Like the journalist had said, her facial deformity and paralysis would garner a lot of sympathy. Besides, she wasn't going to be disfigured for long.

Next, she checked her old PayPal account and broke into a smile when she saw the balance left over from her pimping days-a little over three thousand dollars. Not a fortune, but it was something she could put toward her makeover.

Her smile faded when she recalled the small fortune she had hidden inside a safe in her former home. That money could have gone toward her surgery if rapper and entertainment mogul, Smash Hitz, hadn't cleaned her out of all her possessions immediately after the tragedy. He'd wasted no time in getting his people to clear out and reclaim the mini mansion she'd been renting from him. That thief needed to be dealt with, but she decided to leave the past behind her. She was confident that moving on and working as a psychic was going to bring in untold fortune and fame.

Misty glanced up from the screen and asked Johanna, "Is your reporter friend telling readers to send the donations here at the hospital?"

"Yes, this is your home until the social worker finds a facility for you. After you're discharged, the hospital will forward your mail to your new address."

"Nah, that's not gonna work. First of all, I'm not going to any facility for invalids. My man is gonna find a place for us, but I need to ask you a favor."

"Sure, Misty."

Misty glanced at the hospital-issued phone that sat on a table next to her bed. "Would you call Sharon for me and hold the receiver up to my ear?"

"Not a problem. Why don't you use my cell? I'll put it on speaker." Johanna entered the reporter's number in her phone and said, "Hi, Sharon. I'm in Misty's room and she'd like to speak with you." Johanna set the phone on speaker and placed it on Misty's bed.

Not wasting anytime on pleasantries, Misty got right down to business. "I'm not going to be in the hospital much longer, and so I need you to change the address for the donations. I prefer that donations be sent directly to my PayPal account."

"Oh, I didn't know you had PayPal set up, being that you only recently came out of a coma," Sharon said.

"It's an old account, but it's still active." Misty gave her the email address a.s.sociated with the account and then said, "One more thing, I need copies of the photos you're using in the article. You can send them to the same email address. Okay?"

"Sure." Sharon sounded a little uncertain. From her tone, she was somewhat taken aback by Misty's aggressive att.i.tude, but Misty was too busy wheeling and dealing to care what the reporter thought of her. She gave a head nod to Johanna, indicating that she was through with the conversation. Johanna picked up the phone and sheepishly told her friend that she'd talk to her later. Then, she stared at Misty.

"What?" Misty asked, playing innocent.

"I didn't realize you were such a go-getter. The way you're handling your situation is commendable; I'm impressed."

"I don't mess around when it comes to making money. And right now, I need a lot of it. How much do think it's gonna cost to get my face fixed?"

"You'd have to talk to a plastic surgeon about facial reconstructive surgery, but I'd estimate it's going to cost somewhere in the neighborhood of twenty or thirty thousand."

"That's not a problem. I'll have that amount in no time," Misty said with a.s.surance.

"I like your confidence, but it might not be a good idea to get your hopes up. Getting that kind of money may take a lot longer than you expect."

"You don't know me very well," Misty commented, the finger of her impaired hand swiping the iPad screen with remarkable dexterity.

"The reading you gave was so fascinating, I'm eager to tell my friends to book a session with you after you're discharged and settled in your new place. Who knows, with the article and word-of-mouth recommendations, you may get more money than you need."

"I'm banking on it. Anyway, thanks again for the iPad, Johanna. Having Internet access was exactly what I needed to start getting my life back on track. I've been down and out for so long, I forgot how much can be accomplished by simply logging online."

Two sharp raps on the door drew Misty's attention away from the iPad. It was about time people started knocking instead of barging in like she was still in a coma with no say-so over the foot traffic that trampled in and out of her room. "Come in," she said with reluctance. She was busy researching plastic surgeons, and didn't feel like being bothered by any of the medical staff. In no hurry to have her blood drawn or to choke down the horse pills the nurses peddled to her several times a day, she kept her head down, avoiding eye contact with the intruder as she viewed the iPad screen.

"How you doing today, Miss Delagardo?" said a familiar male voice.

Misty looked up and smiled in recognition at the cleaning dude, pus.h.i.+ng a mop and bucket. "Call me Misty; you don't have to be so formal." Momentarily forgetting how unattractive she was, Misty looked him up and down appraisingly. He appeared to be in his early thirties, but had a shy, boyish quality that was appealing. "What's your name?" she asked softly.

Instead of sounding s.e.xy as she'd intended, her words came out in a horrible lisp, due to the many missing teeth that had been knocked out by the tire iron of her a.s.sailant.

"Uh, my name's David," the cleaning guy stammered. From the look he gave her, he was appalled by her flirtatiousness. His look of revulsion was an instant reminder that she was no longer pretty.

Yanked back to the reality of her grotesque appearance, she could have cried. But I still have Brick, and it's not like I'm hard up for companions.h.i.+p, she reminded herself. Nevertheless, getting male attention was something she'd always taken for granted. It was her birth right, and she felt ent.i.tled to appreciative looks from all members of the opposite s.e.x. This is f.u.c.ked up! I don't know how much longer I can handle being ugly. I gotta start stacking money quick, so I can get my looks back.

"I suppose you've heard what people are saying about me."

"I heard some talk, but I didn't press anyone for details. I do my work and mind my business."

"Good to know. Actually, I'm glad you stopped in; I want to talk to you about something."

He gestured for her to continue, and something in his hand flick was so smooth, confident, and s.e.xy, she was momentarily mesmerized. David had the kind of s.e.x appeal that you didn't see right away; it had a way of sneaking up on you.

Holding onto the handle of the mop, he leaned to the side, waiting for Misty to speak her mind. Her eyes traveled down to his slightly bowed legs, and she was briefly mesmerized. Bowlegged men were known to be well hung; she bet he was a beast in bed. Oh, G.o.d, I want my life back. I can't deal with being a gruesome invalid; I want to be pretty, again!

"What did you want to talk to me about?" David prompted.

"As you know, I was in a coma..."

He nodded.

"And when I came out, I was blessed with the ability to prophesize."

"I heard a little something about that, but I figured it was only a rumor."

"It's true. Remember when you were standing close to me yesterday, you know, with the rose..."

"Yeah?"

"Did you feel a shock when your hand brushed against mine?"