Animate Me (31 page)

If you’re going to ever win the prize, you’ve got to tell the prize you want it.

I take a deep breath and nod at my reflection. It’s time.

While I still have the nerve, I march out to the kitchen and grab my phone, then quickly dial Brooke’s number. I’m frustrated when her phone goes directly to voicemail, but I attempt to leave a message anyway.

Hey Brooke, it’s Nathan. I’d like to take you to dinner tonight so we can talk. How’s seven p.m.?

I pause for a moment. Was that too pushy, or appropriately direct?
Damn.
I better finish this up.

So give me a call…okay thanks…bye.

I stare at my phone for a moment and then remember that I haven’t hung up, so I nervously hit the
end
button. It occurs to me that maybe I should text her too since I can control my words better, and not sound like an idiot.

Hi Brooke, just left you a voicemail about dinner tonight. Let me know if seven is good.

I hit send. Moments later I get a reply.

Sorry, can’t do dinner, at Arnauld’s now
.

Damn.
A wave of panic washes over me, and my woo-ing plan takes a back seat to my fear. My fingers shake as I type crazy words I shouldn’t text.

Just needed to let you know that I’m not going to let you marry him.

There…I said it. I feel sick and triumphant at the same time. I can’t believe I just texted that.

Is that so?

Thank God she isn’t mad at me. But her calm reply just fuels my fire.

Are you going to marry him?

You just told me that you weren’t going to let that happen

But would you have tried?

I’m curious now…what would you’ve done to stop it?

Ride up on a horse and carry you off in your wedding gown.

Very dramatic

I mean it. You can’t marry that ass.

The ass is getting off the phone. Can we talk about this tomorrow?

Tonight. I insist.

I don’t know how long this argument will take. Tomorrow…please Nathan, I will explain everything then, I promise.

And just like that she’s gone. I watch her words fade back into the screen, the blue background a cold infinity I can’t penetrate.

Instinctively my fingers move over the tiny keyboard, willing the words I had wanted to tell her to materialize. Slowly, deliberately, I spell out my truth as if each letter is a sign I’m posting on the road of this twisted journey.

i l o v e y o u b r o o k e

I get overwhelmed as I reread my message for her. I thought we had more time than this. I’m fighting back waves of frustration to know that she’s with him even if they’re fighting. Couples fight and make up all the time, and there are still enough pieces of their puzzle I’m missing to make me uneasy. There’s a devastating fear of what may never be mine…with the absolute understanding that the only thing I really want, is the one thing I may never have. I keep typing, adding on.

i l o v e y o u b r o o k e w i t h a l l m y h e a r t

I study the words, rubbing my finger across the screen over and over, wishing she could understand that she’s everything to me.

But instead of hitting send, I delete the message and close the screen. This is so much bigger than a text. I need to face her with my truth. Tomorrow will be the day.

“
Look Mack, just what’s going on around here?” ~Daffy Duck
^xviii

I
s five a.m. too early to call? That seems like a perfectly respectable time to call, even if it’s still dark out. I pace back and forth in my kitchen, glancing at my watch every minute or so. I picture Brooke curled up asleep like an angel, and it’s the only thing keeping me from hitting the send button on my cell phone.

At six a.m., after choking down a Pop Tart and my second cup of coffee, my resistance finally fails. With my hands shaking I text her:

Hi Brooke, can I take you to breakfast? I’m craving pancakes. How about you?

Yeah, that sounds good…kind of casual…not like I’m foaming at the mouth from the idea that she may be with Arnold making wedding plans. Maybe they’re online right now setting up one of those gift registry things. Yeah, sure, at six in the morning…maybe I’m losing my mind.

I set my phone in the middle of the kitchen table, and proceed to stare at it for fifteen minutes. There’s no response.

By eight-fifteen I’m dressed for work but a little edgy. Yeah, just a bit. I’ve already worn a path in the rug that runs down my hallway. It occurs to me that maybe she’s lost her phone. I’ve never heard of Brooke losing anything, but it could’ve happened. It’s not impossible. Before I get in the car I call her, reminding myself that if she’s lost her phone, she won’t answer.

“
Hey Brooke, are you free for lunch? There’s this great little place in Toluca Lake I’d like to take you to. How’s noon, or even better eleven-thirty?”

Good, that was direct. Now I better figure out a great little place. It sure as hell can’t be Taco Bell. It occurs to me that she usually doesn’t eat until one p.m. but I’ll go stark raving mad if I have to wait that long to see her.

When I pull into the parking garage, Mojo’s car’s there, but not Brooke’s. Did she ride in with him? Or does he have her tied down, drugged up and locked in his attic so she can’t return my calls? I consider knocking on the lid of his trunk to make sure she isn’t in there. I don’t find my fears unfounded considering the last time she didn’t return a call, the monkey had kidnapped her, forced her to go to Santa Barbara, and proceeded to brainwash her.

Upstairs, before I’ve unloaded my workbag, I pick up the office phone and dial.

“Hi Morgan.”

“Hey, Nathan. What’s up?”

“Hey, thanks again for your help on Saturday. I really appreciated it.”

“Glad to do it,” she replies. “So, are you doing okay?”

“Yeah, I’m okay. But I’m wondering is Brooke in yet? I wanted to ask her something.”

“No, she’s not in yet…but it’s still a bit early for her. You want me to tell her that you called?”

“Yes, please do…as soon as you see her.”

At nine thirty I sneak out the front and check the parking lot again. Her car still isn’t there. Nine forty-five I text her:

Hey Brooke, are you having car problems? Do you need a ride?

Nothing.

At ten twenty Morgan calls me.

“I just heard from her. She’s not coming in.”

“Did she say why?”

“No, and she sounded really stressed out. Did you talk to her yesterday?”

“No we texted, but she was busy with Arnold, so we couldn’t talk.”

“Weird…I wonder what’s going on,” Morgan says.

Her tone makes me even more nervous.

I’m not sure exactly when I lose all semblance of rational thought and control, but the texts start flying fast and furious. Her phone must be on fire with all my attempts to reach her, each text about fifteen minutes apart.

Hey Brooke, how about a late lunch? In-N-Out? I know you can’t turn that down.

Are you feeling okay? Did Arnold feed you some bad fish or something?

Can I bring you some chicken soup? How about some nachos?

Have I done something wrong? Is this some kind of weird test?

Is there a reason you’re avoiding me? Am I in the doghouse?

I’m freaking out. Can you please text me back?

I’m about to follow that one up with an even more desperate text when I hear someone clear their throat. I look up and see Nick watching me.

“What’s up, dude? You’re suddenly a texting fiend. I’ve been hearing that little
beep, beep, beep
all morning.”

Defeated, I lay the phone down on my drawing table and hang my head. “I’ve been trying to reach Brooke.”

“I see. Well…has it occurred to you that maybe she doesn’t want to be reached?”

“But I haven’t done anything to her,” I point out. “I don’t understand why she won’t talk to me.”

“Maybe she’s avoiding everyone, not just you. That was quite a scene at the club on Saturday.”

I just nod my head.

“Was that for real?” Nick asks. “Is she going to marry him? I mean I just can’t see it…he seems so completely wrong for her.”

“I haven’t been able to talk to her to find out.” I rub my hands over my face.

“No wonder you’ve been texting so much. I’d be going nuts too.”

“I don’t want to lose her, Nick,” The despair weighs heavy in my voice.

He studies me for a moment, with a concerned expression. “Hey, come to lunch with me and Dani,” he says, waving his hand in a motion to follow him as he takes a step out of the cubicle. “We’ll go to Tin Horn Flats and get beers with our burgers.”

It almost sounds good, but I shake my head. “You guys just got back together. You need to be alone, not with me tagging along.”

“Come on, I insist,” he says, grabbing my arm. “Besides you and your antics are responsible for getting us back together.”

I can’t hide my surprise. “She told you?”

“Sure, we told each other everything. You know that was a really stupid idea, Nathan.”

“Yeah? Well, it worked out for you.”

“Yes, it did.” He smiles and steps behind me and gently pushes me forward. “Now let’s get your shit figured out too.”

Over my second beer, I watch Dani get a faraway look in her eyes while she drums her fingers on the weathered wood tabletop.

“I know, I know…he has that excess hair problem right? My brother’s a genius with equipment. Why don’t we get him to jerry-rig the electrolysis machine at the place Arnauld goes to so that they fry the fucker next time he gets his fur removed!”

I almost spit up my beer. “Ha! That’s brilliant!” But then my smile falls. “Only that won’t work because he gets the fur waxed.”

“Waxed?” Nick asks, horrified.

“Even better, we will give new meaning to
hot
wax!” Dani exclaims.

“Isn’t her devious mind a wondrous thing,” Nick says as he gazes at her lovingly.

Dani’s face lights up again with a new idea.

“I know! Remember that shit he said to Brooke about her figure? Let’s hire some skinny bitch actress with ginormous silicone tits to interrupt an important board meeting and accuse Arnauld of giving her VD.”

“Yeah! And we’ll dress her in a stripper outfit with her huge tits hanging out!” Nick chimes in.

Dani gives him the look, the one with one eyebrow cocked. I guess girls can suggest stuff like that, but not boyfriends unless they want to get into big trouble.

“I don’t know you two,” I respond. “That would reflect poorly on Brooke too since she’s been involved with him. So that’s not such a good idea.”

“I guess you’re right,” Dani agrees. “Okay, give me a little time. I’ll come up with some other ideas.”

“That’s my girl,” Nick says proudly.

Back from our rowdy lunch, the beer buzz and lingering humor holds me over for almost an hour before the panic sets in again. Like a drug addict fresh out of rehab, I weaken and surrender to my next hit. I pull my phone out of my pocket with shaky hands.

Three twenty-two pm:

Hey Brooke, I just wanted you to know that I’m not going to text anymore. So you can have all the space you need today.

Three thirty-eight:

Unless of course you actually want some company, but are afraid to ask for it. Then I’d be happy to text you.

Four-o-two:

I know I said I wouldn’t text, but we’re gathering to go to Starbucks. Are you sure I can’t bring you one?”

Four thirty-seven:

I bought your drink just in case, and I just did the best drawing ever. You want to see it?

Five fifteen:

This cup should go in the Starbucks hall of fame. Seriously. You’re missing out Brooke.

Five seventeen:

Nick just came over and said he’s going to break my fingers if I text you again.

Five fifty-nine (texted from the parking garage)

Leaving work now—I’ll be home soon if you want to talk.

• • •

The crazed beating on my front door is the first indication that this won’t be a pleasant visit.

“What’s wrong with you?” Brooke screeches, waving her hands dramatically as soon as I pull open the door. “Have you lost your mind? Why did you call or text me every fifteen minutes today? Aren’t I under enough stress without you stalking me?”

I step back stunned.

Great…I used to be attentive and caring…now I’m a stalker.

I’ve never seen this side of Brooke and it scares me. With her hands jammed on her hips as she lingers on my doorstep, she looks kind of wild. Despite this, I still feel relief to see her. Angry Brooke is better than no Brooke.

Is this our first fight?

“But, I needed to talk to you right away,” I implore.

“Right. I think I got that. But did you take your head out of Toon Town for just a minute to think what I’ve been going through since Saturday? That maybe I needed some space and silent support, not more pressure?”

Yup, I’m sure of it. This is our first fight. Her face is really red. This must be the Buttercup side to her personality she warned me about.

I take a moment to think about what she’s trying to say.

Toon Town? Been going through? Silent support? Is this that cryptic girl talk I’ve heard they revert to when they’re angry?

I’ve never had a girl be this angry with me before. I’m compelled to defend myself. “What about what I’ve been going through since Saturday night? Have you considered that? You could’ve just responded to any one of the texts and told me that you needed some time,” I explain carefully. “Then I wouldn’t have gone crazy with worry.”

She just stares at me dumbfounded, like I have three heads.

“Right. And you would have given me that time?”

“Maybe not,” I admit.
Damn.
I
am
a stalker.

“Exactly! Look, I don’t mean to be a bitch, but I’m over the edge here. Everything I’ve worked for is ruined. I’m a joke to everyone.”