Broken Glass

by J. D. Mason

  “What’s the problem?”

  She grimaced in pain and pensively balanced her foot on the tips of her toes. “I twisted it.”

  Nick knelt beside her and gently examined her ankle, being careful not to hurt her if he could help it.

  “Ah,” she exclaimed, when he touched a particularly tender part he knew to be a tendon.

  “It’s starting to swell,” Lanette said, hovering over Nick’s back. “Looks broken.”

  “Can you straighten it and put any weight on it?” he asked.

  She attempted to flatten it and managed to press about forty percent of her foot to the floor.

  “Why’d you wear those shoes?” Lanette blurted out. “You don’t see anybody else in here with no shoes like that.”

  If looks could kill, Terri Dawson had just slayed the hell out of clueless Lanette.

  “How about I take you to the hospital,” Nick offered.

  “I can take her,” Donny chimed in.

  Nick looked at him. “You don’t have a car.”

  “Let me borrow yours.”

  “She’s my best friend,” Lanette snapped. “I’ll take her.”

  “Let’s go,” he said, offering to help the woman up.

  It was evident, as soon as she stood, that she wasn’t walking on that foot. Without thinking, Nick scooped her up and carried her out the door.

  It took ten minutes to fix what he’d been promising to hire someone to fix. Luther came back into the bar, cursing himself under his breath for procrastination that cost him opportunity, just in time to see his son, Nick, holding Terri Dawson in his arms and carrying her out the door.

  A Little Something

  “You sure it’s not broken?” Terri asked the nurse wrapping her swollen ankle, bracing herself for one wrong move by that woman’s hands that would send a shockwave of pain through her whole leg.

  That damn Lanette.

  “Not broken,” Dr. Nick said, casually leaning against the wall with his arms folded.

  Teri’s tall, dark, handsome knight had swept her up in his arms like she was as light as a feather in that club. She felt like a regular damsel in distress for the first time in like, ever. But damn, her ankle still hurt like hell.

  “Lanette Dole is the enemy,” she said out loud, staring at the swelling.

  “As are those shoes you decided to dance in,” he chimed in with a smirk.

  Terri glared at him. “I’ve danced a thousand miles in those shoes.”

  “You can walk a thousand miles across a tightrope over the Grand Canyon,” he explained. “Doesn’t make it safe.”

  “An extreme analogy.”

  So, he was a cute asshole. She’d met plenty of those in her time.

  “But you see my point.”

  She wanted to argue. Terri searched her wit for a snappy comeback but came up blank.

  “You’ll need these,” the nurse said, handing her crutches. “But for the record, those shoes are dope.”

  Terri smiled. “Thank you.”

  Dr. Nick shook his head and said an exasperated, “Wow.”

  “So, you’re a movie star,” he commented on the drive back to her place.

  “Yes,” she responded, simply.

  Terri had acted in some movies. Was she actually considered a “star” among her peers and in the industry? Maybe, not quite, but still…

  “What’s a famous actress doing in Devastation, Louisiana?”

  Something about the way he said it hinted sarcasm, and she found his question a little offensive.

  “I’m semi-retired.”

  “What movies have you been in?”

  Was she offended that he didn’t know? Yes. Yes, she was.

  “Streets of Vegas,” she shot off first. “Beyond Darkness. Lives of Ashford.”

  He cocked a thick eyebrow. “That soap opera?”

  “You’ve seen it?”

  “No, but I heard about it. My great-aunt watches it every day. She’d love to meet you.”

  “Your great-aunt?”

  “Yeah,” he said with a smirk and a side glance. “She’s eighty. I’m sure she’d recognize you if she met you.”

  Terri decided, in that moment, that she didn’t like him.

  “You’ve got this old house looking great,” he said, pulling up to the curb in front of her house.

  “It’s getting there.”

  Dr. Nick helped her out of the car and up the steps to the front door. “Are you going to be okay from here?”

  Terri rummaged through her purse for her keys. “I got it, hero.”

  She hobbled inside, turned to him, and smiled. “Thank you, Dr. Nick.”

  “Happy to help, Miss Movie Star. Keep it elevated and stay off of it as much as you can. Ice it to help with the swelling.”

  “Ice on my foot sounds unpleasant.” She frowned.

  “It is… but it works wonders.”

  “If you say so.”

  “Can I see you again?” He asked, surprising her.

  Terri’s smile disappeared. “What?”

  “I’d like to check up on you the next time I’m in town, if that’s okay.”

  “Oh, you don’t live here?”

  “Not anymore. I mean, I was born and raised here. It’s home, but I practice in New Orleans.”

  “I see.”

  Did he really just want to come by and check on her or was he sort of, in a roundabout way, asking her out? When was the last time that happened? A long time ago. When was the last time she’d said yes? Even longer.

  “Sure,” she said, trying not to turn this into something weird.

  “I just feel responsible,” he added like he was trying not to make this weird too.

  “Why? You were not the one grabbing hold of me like I was property and making me fall down in a room full of line dancers.”

  Evil Lanette.

  He smiled. Good Lord! All the man’s superpowers were in that smile.

  “Following up with my patients is not only my duty as a professional, but also self-serving.”

  “How so?” she probed, searching for a hint of a come on to emerge from this man.

  “I just like helping… if I can,” he said, humbly and convincingly sincerely.

  “Well, I appreciate it. It’s not often that I get to see a doctor without having to pay a copayment.”

  “Exactly,” he shot back. “I’m saving you twenty dollars.”

  “Awesome.”

  “All right then,” he said, turning to leave. “You take it easy, and I’ll see you in a week or two.”

  “Goodnight,” she called after him. “And safe travels.”

  Just after nine, Terri lay in bed with her foot propped on a stack of pillows, sipping Merlot and watching The Devil Wears Prada, again. She must’ve watched this movie a hundred times, marveling at the artistry of the Magnificent Meryl Streep and how she’d shed her own skin to become Miranda. Performances like that raised her pulse and electrified the desperation in her to raise the bar for herself as an actress and to be better. To always be better. If only she’d landed a role like this. If only, someone would’ve given her a chance, a role where she could’ve truly showcased her talents, then Terri would be up there with the A-list actresses of the world.

  The phone rang, bursting her bubble of wishful thinking and regret. Thank God. Terri answered too hastily and without checking to see who it was.

  “Hello?”

  “Oh, Terri, girl, are you okay? I’ve been so worried.”

  Lanette. Terri rolled her eyes so hard; it was a wonder that they found their rightful place again in her head.

  “I’m fine.”

  “Is it broken? You looked like you were in so much pain…”

  “Not broken.”

  “It was those shoes, Terri. Everybody knows you don’t wear shoes like that to—”

  “It’s late, Lanette,” she said, cutting her off. “I’m tired.”

  “I’m just saying. This ain’t Hollywood and you don
’t have to be extra like that around here,” Lanette said with a bitter version of sympathy. “I’ll come by and check on you in the morning.”

  “Don’t, Lanette.”

  “It’s no problem, Terri. I don’t mind.”

  “Lanette— “”

  “I’ll bring biscuits and bacon. You got eggs?”

  Without saying another word, Terri ended the call.

  She’d made the mistake of being polite to Lanette when she first moved into the house. It didn’t take long for Terri to realize the woman was desperate for interaction because everyone else in town already knew her ass was a lunatic. One simple, “It’s nice to meet you, too,” from Terri was all it took to get hooked by Lanette and dragged out into the sea of her insane mind. But after tonight, Terri knew it was time to stop being nice and to cut the fishing line on this relationship.

  Bright and early the next morning, Terri, balancing on crutches, stared into the face of Lanette Dole. She was standing on Terri’s front porch, holding an aluminum covered plate, grinning from ear to ear.

  “Hey, sweetie,” she practically sang, pulling open the screen door and coming inside without being invited, then had the nerve to stop in front of Terri and deliver air kisses. “How you feeling?”

  Lanette looked like a meadow, wearing a floral maxi dress and a wreath of baby’s breath circling her colorful braids.

  “I hope you’re hungry. I’ve been up since three this morning making these biscuits,” she said, continuing into the kitchen.

  “Lanette,” Terri called out, following her.

  “It’s my great-grand mommy’s recipe,” she continued, unabated. “If I told you what the secret ingredients were, I’d have to kill you.”

  “Lanette,” she said, more insistent.

  “A nice pot of coffee, some scrambled cheese eggs… Mmmmm.” Lanette closed her eyes and sighed.

  “Lanette!”

  “Your foot hurt?” she asked, staring back at Terri with concern.

  “I didn’t invite you over.”

  Lanette smiled. “You know I don’t mind. It’s my pleasure and I had a feeling you wouldn’t be up to cooking. A nice breakfast will make you feel better.”

  “I don’t want a nice breakfast,” Terri snapped.

  What the hell was wrong with this woman? Terri was sending signals, major signals, in the form of arrows, daggers, and bullets. Lanette acted like she was Superman and the damn things just bounced off her chest.

  “Are these dishes clean?” she asked, pulling a plate from the cupboard and scratching the face of it with her finger.

  “I wouldn’t put dirty dishes in the cabinet, Lanette,” Terri snapped.

  Lanette insisted on running it under tap water. “You sure about that? Anyway, you were all anybody was able to talk about last night after you damn near broke your foot.”

  “You damn near broke my foot,” Terri shot back.

  “Oh, shoot,” Lanette exclaimed. “I forgot the preserves.” Lanette immediately opened the refrigerator, found a jar of grape jelly, held the jar out to Terri and grimaced. “This all you got?”

  Terri’s ankle throbbed as she hobbled lover to the woman and snatched the jar from her hand.

  “Did they give you any pain medicine?” Lanette continued, reaching back into Terri’s refrigerator, retrieving eggs. “Pain is making you a little cranky.”

  “No. You’re making me a little cranky. In fact, you’re pissing me off.”

  That got her attention. Lanette stared wide eyed at Terri like she was actually seeing and hearing her for the very first time.

  “I did not invite you over, Lanette. I don’t want your great-grand mommy’s biscuits, and I’d appreciate it if you’d stay the hell out of my refrigerator.”

  Tears? Like real tears? A lip quiver? Seriously?

  “I only came by to help,” she said, her voice quaking.

  Terri had spent months working in reality television with some of the biggest drama queens in the history of drama queens. Lanette was a rookie.

  “I didn’t ask for your help,” Terri continued. “I didn’t ask for you to drag me onto that dance floor and damn near break my leg.”

  “You shouldn’t have worn those shoes,” Lanette shot back. “Out of all the people at the club last night, you were the only one to come strutting in with red-bottoms on, Terri.”

  “I can wear what I want, Lanette. You had no right putting your damn hands on me, just like you have no right bullying your way into my kitchen with biscuits I don’t want.”

  Lanette seemed to fold in on herself and for a brief, millisecond, Terri almost wanted to take back everything she’d just said. Thank God, she knew better.

  “Fine.” Lanette swiped at a tear rolling down her cheek, pushed past Terri and headed for the door. “Keep the biscuits, and you don’t have to worry about hearing from me again.”

  “Good.”

  “May God’s grace continue to shine down upon you, Terri,” she said, letting the door slam shut behind her. It was Lanette’s one last attempt to go for the jugular with her passive-aggressive ass. “I’ma pray for you, girl.”

  Terri took ten deep breaths before finally making her way over to the tray of biscuits and inhaling. She’d been doing pretty good with curtailing emotional eating, lately. Terri slathered a little butter and jam onto one of the biscuits and took a bite.

  Damn. Great-grand mommy’s recipe was to die for.

  Come My Way

  Nick Hunt wanted to impress a woman. He’d been thinking about Terri Dawson since meeting her a few weeks ago and decided to go online to find out everything he could about her. He’d teased her the first time they met, pretending not to recognize her. She absolutely looked familiar, but in all honesty, he couldn’t pin down seeing her on television. He pulled up her IMDb page, streamed some movie clips and scenes from that soap opera she was in. Nick even downloaded and watched a sci-fi flick she’d been in. By the time he’d finished, Nick was definitely impressed. She’d recently been fired from some reality show, though. The article mentioned words like “uninteresting”, “flat”, and “dull”. He figured that firing might have something to do with why she ended up “semi-retired”.

  “It’s still tender but at least I don’t need those damn crutches to get around the house.”

  Pretty legs.

  Terri walked back and forth demonstrating her recovery to Nick wearing a pair of cut off jean shorts and a fitted New Orleans Saints tee shirt. Her lovely halo of dark curls was pulled back, framing a pretty heart shaped face and wide, brown eyes. He’d made his way back to New Orleans and as soon as he had a few days off, he was back in Devastation.

  “Good,” he said, trying to sound more impressed by her healing than all of her. “But don’t overdo it. If you have to be on your feet for long periods of time, please use your crutches.”

  “Oh, yeah,” she assured him. “Thankfully, I work from home.”

  Terri sat on the sofa across from him.

  “So, what do you do now that you’re semi-retired from acting?” he probed.

  Terri blinked in confusion. “Do?”

  “I mean”— he shrugged — “you work some other type of job?”

  Beautiful eyes darted back and forth between Nick and a beautiful philodendron plant on the windowsill across the room.

  “I’m considering some things,” she offered. “Voice over opportunities… things like that.”

  “Yeah. That’s cool.”

  “I sold my condo in Atlanta, and I still collect royalties from— “”

  “I wasn’t prying,” he interjected. “I’m just trying to get to know you better.”

  She raised a brow. “Why? I thought you just came to check on my ankle.”

  “Well, I did, but… it’s not obvious?”

  Terri sighed, “I mean, I could speculate that this is a come on, but I’d rather not.”

  He couldn’t help it. Nick laughed.

  “What’s so funny?”
<
br />   He stopped laughing, composed himself and sighed, “Will you have dinner with me?”

  “I was going to speculate that you wanted to ask me out,” she said, smirking.

  “Well?”

  Terri turned her head slightly, narrowed her gaze as if sizing him up. “How old are you, Dr. Nick?”

  He resisted the urge to ask the dumb question, ‘how old do I look?’ but it was hard not to feel dejected by her response. Still, Terri was a straight shooter, so Nick decided to shoot back in a straight line.

  “Thirty-five. How old are you?”

  Yeah. No. He hadn’t really paid attention to that part during his research, or, maybe he just hadn’t cared.

  “Forty-three. A little too old for you.” She smiled.

  Was she being apologetic? Condescending? He couldn’t tell.

  “I disagree,” he said, returning a smile of his own.

  Confidence. Nick reached down deep and pulled it from his ass. She was a grown woman. A beautiful woman. A woman who’d probably dated her share of leading men, and Nick had to believe, no, he had to know that he was a leading man in his own right. Shit! Since when had he ever felt insecure with a woman?

  “I am flattered,” she chuckled.

  “Is that a yes? You’ll have dinner with me?”

  “Didn’t I just tell you that you’re far too young for me?”

  “No. You indicated that you thought you were a little too old for me, and I disagree.”

  “Semantics, Dr. Nick, but the fact remains that there’s nearly a decade between us.”

  “What difference would it make over dinner?” Nick felt damn proud of himself for that response. Witty. Mature. “I’ve given you free medical care,” he continued. “I’ve even gone so far as to make a house call. Who does that?”

  “No one that I’m aware of,” she reasoned.

  “Exactly. So, in return, I’m just asking you to have dinner with me. That’s all.”

  “Free medical care, a house call, and you want to buy me dinner? Or am I supposed to buy you dinner?”

  “That’s totally up to you,” he responded.

  “Since you asked me out, you’d be the one paying.”

  “No problem. Is that a yes?”