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, listen, I need Dave’s number. You have it?”
“My intern? What for?”
“To fill in for you on the shoot.”
“But Eve said you were meeting with JJ tonight.”
“I’d feel better with Dave.”
“JJ’s good, Brode.”
“Oh, I’m sure she is. Just get me Dave’s number, okay?”
“She’s pretty hot. Are you sure?”
“I’m sure.” That was part of the reason.
“His number’s on my cell. In my bag.” Kirk nodded at the bedside tray, grimacing, as if movement caused him pain.
Brody opened the messenger bag Eve had bought Kirk in an effort to organize the most laid-back guy on the planet.
“While you’re at it, could you do me a favor?” Kirk asked. “There’s a DVD in there I need dropped off.”
The phone in his hand, Brody picked up a generic brown plastic case. “This one?”
“Yeah. Could you drop that off to a guy who’ll be at the Xanadu? He’ll be at a conference there on Thursday—that’s your first night, right?”
He nodded. They launched each shoot with a couple nights at the Xanadu, a landmark resort popular for its proximity to LAX and its business amenities. Kicking off the run at the luxurious old place felt lucky to Brody.
“Freelance project?” Brody asked.
“More or less. I could courier it, but the guy will be at the hotel. His name’s Lars Madden. I’ll tell him to call you. I’d do it myself except for…” He raised his sling-covered arm.
“You just get better, my friend. I’m glad to do it.”
Kirk fell back against the bed, looking exhausted. “I’m sorry to let you down on the taping, Brode.”
“You fell. Not your fault. Just be more careful on the stairs.”
“Yeah.” A peculiar look crossed his face, then he shook it off. “I’ll be
