The Crossover (12 page)

“You’re covered up. You really don’t need that robe,” I pleaded.

“Clay, you’re such a guy. I’m not gonna be your get-off girl.”

“Hmm, well spoken, from the girl who secretly videotape us having sex,” I replied.

“Touché,
but I’m not getting naked. Anyway, I got the promotion at work babe! I’m a department head for
Eastern Financial.
My old office gave me a going away, and I just moved upstairs. Gonna miss my old office.”

“Congratulations, sweetheart. A girl with the three B’s, what more can a guy ask for?”

“Three B’s?”

“Yeah, beauty, brains and booty. I ain’t goin’ nowhere.”

After much reminiscing, Monet mentioned Barbara, a neighbor of hers whom I got to know pretty well back in 1991.

“Clay, remember Barbara?”

“You mean the woman who shot her husband in the middle of the night claiming she thought he was an intruder. I never bought that story.”

“Yeah, but she said something that I never forgot.
Marriage is like a long boring meal where dessert is served first.
I don’t want us to be that boring meal.”

“Monet, everyday I’m with you is a special day. Anyway, we’re soulmates. That’s what Winnie said and I believe her.”

“You think so?”

“I know so. I ain’t goin’ nowhere. I love you for ever.”

“And I love you back Mr. Thompson.”

It was Saturday morning and I did my early morning shopping at
Tesco
to avoid the rush.

“Morning, love. That will be eighty pounds and thirty pence.”

I opened my wallet and began frantically searching every crevice. My VISA wasn’t there. I gave it a shot with my American debit card.

The cashier examined my debit card both front and back.

“I’m so sorry, sir, we only accept chip and pin cards. Do you have a British credit or debit card?”

I looked at the long queue of shoppers behind me and I could tell they were losing patience.

“I have a
Halifax
debit card, but I think I left it at home,” I replied, frustrated.

“I’m sorry, I guess you will have to put your items back.”

I got some really nasty looks from shoppers behind me, especially the ones with only a couple of items in their basket.

I always say life is about timing and timing is everything. This morning would underscore that sentiment. A shopper emerged from the back of the line and presented his card for payment. It was Carl.

“Clay, I’ll sort you out. Eighty quid
²
won’t break the bank,” Carl said, with a carton of
Marlboro
cigarettes in his basket.

I was surprised by Carl’s generosity, but £80 ($120) was a bit much to cover. But Carl insisted and added the carton of cigarettes to the bill. I thanked Carl profusely on the way to the car park and promised to settle the debt that day. Carl didn’t want money as payment he wanted
Mountain Dew.
While visiting
Disneyland
in Florida on holiday last year he got hooked on
Mountain Dew.
Mountain Dew
wasn’t sold anywhere in our area except on the military base and you needed a military ID to get on. Since Carl was on foot I offered him a ride, straight to the base commissary. We had an interesting chat on the way.

“Carl, how much is a carton of cigarettes in England?”

“Prices keep going up, just over £70 ($100) now. Our neighbor Nigel quit smoking and saves enough money to pay his monthly car note and insurance. I’m spending over £300 ($450) a month on these bloody things. I really need to quit once and for all.”

I was tempted to offer my hypnosis services but Carl was well aware of my practice. I had several conversations about volunteering my hypnosis services for law enforcement for free. He always repeated the same old line.

“I’ll get back to you.”

After unloading the 11
^th
case of
Mountain Dew
from my trunk, Carl surprised me.

“Clay, how much do you charge for a session? I really need to quit,” Carl said, panting from multiple trips from the car to the kitchen.

Finally! We had been neighbors since Gabby was an infant and I was delighted he reached out.

“Well, normally I suggest half of whatever you spend on cigarettes in a month,” I responded, while Carl made me a cup of tea.

Smokers who haggle over that fee send a strong message.

I’m not ready to quit.

Carl didn’t blink. He made an appointment for the following Wednesday.

It was a week since I hypnotized Carl and I was confident he quit when he left his cigarettes on my coffee table. I saw him almost twice a day and I was looking for some confirmation that he quit. He never mentioned it. I got confirmation from his wife Louise.

Ring, ring, ring.

“Hiya, love. This is Louise. You hypnotized Carl to stop smoking, yeah?”

“Yes, is there something wrong?”

“No. He doesn’t smoke anymore but…”

“But, what?” I asked.

“Well, it’s personal. But I have to ask...”

“Fire away, Louise.”

“Well, every time we make love now he gulps down loads of orange juice immediately afterward. Why is that? He never did that before.”

I put Louise on hold and reviewed the notes from our session.

“Louise, I can explain. I asked Carl to choose an alternative for cigarettes while he was in trance. He chose orange juice.”

Louise was satisfied and she kept the fridge stocked. At the end of the day, Carl quit and that’s what mattered.

²
Slang for British Pound

C
lay, adjust your camera. All I can see is the top of your head. That’s much better.”

“Hey, babe,” I replied, deflated.

“Why the long face? I’ve never seen you like this before.”

“I miss my old neighbors Jim and Gloria. They were so nice to me. I wish they could’ve stayed. My new neighbor. arrgh. She gets on my damn nerves. I just got my new car insurance policy and I lost my no claims bonus. And, of course, my premiums went up. I always thought if you got hit from the rear, it was the other person’s fault. I’m glad you called babe, I needed a pick-me-up.”

“Well, I have some news that might make your day. Ms. Deveraux our CEO flew in to present our department an award. After the presentation she treated a few of us to lunch. When she mentioned she was trying to quit smoking I mentioned you. She wants to know how much you charge.”

“That’s great, but I live seven thousand miles away. I’ve flown to Germany for a session but that was only an hour flight.”

“That’s too bad. She was really excited when I told her about your success rate with smokers. She asked me a million questions about my session with you. She’s minted in money. What if she flew you here? Then I could see you again.”

“I’m in the hole as it is. I’d have to take leave without pay.”

I was talking myself out of it and I realized I needed to stop making excuses. If I really wanted to do this how would I approach it?

“Mr. Thompson, I see those neurons firing. What are you thinking?” Monet asked.

“There is one way I could do this. I’ve never done it before but I feel confident I can pull it off,” I replied, stroking my mustache.

“Fill me in.”

“Skypenosis. Years ago I hypnotized someone over the phone but it took a while to induce trance. Email her my number and I will take it from there.”

“Okay, hun. But she will ask you for a guarantee before she commits. That’s just how she is.”

While a student at the hypnosis academy we were taught never to offer a guarantee. However, this was an opportunity I couldn’t pass.

“Clay Thompson, this is Crystal Deveraux. I believe we have a mutual acquaintance, Monet Dawson.”

“Ms. Deveraux, I’m very glad you called. How can I help?”

“I’ve heard good things about you and I am very interested. I’m a bit anxious and edgy. I haven’t had a cigarette in four days and it’s pure hell. You can name your price, but I want a money-back guarantee. Is that acceptable?”

Against my better judgment and training I accepted.

“You have your guarantee. My fee is $300. You can make the check out to Monet Dawson. Do you have any cigarettes lying around?”

“Of course I have cigarettes lying around. I can hear them calling my name. Crystal, smoke me, please.”

“All right. If you are free we can do this today. Here is my
Skype
number xxx-xxxx. There is one thing I’d like you to do before we
Skype.”

“I’m listening.”

“Smoke your cigarette before the session and enjoy.”

My instruction confused Ms. Deveraux. I explained the amount of nicotine in her system had no bearing on the success. However, her ability to relax had everything to do with a successful trance session. She understood my unorthodox approach and lit up. We skyped.

Every time I came home and saw Joanne’s car in her drive it put me in a foul mood. I needed a diversion, a way to vent my frustration. I decided to self-medicate, and I knew just what my vice would be, writing. Monet would not approve of me writing a novel about our relationship so I would write it just for my eyes only.

I mentally prepared myself to write by listening to
YouTube
videos of our favorite artists. It was the perfect escape because I could relive all of those beautiful memories in 3D and Technicolor in my mind’s eye. I blasted the music in my study and found myself typing to the beat. My passion for writing trumped my angst for Joanne.

I was rocking to Bobby Brown’s
My Prerogative
and my flow was interrupted by a knock at the door. I turned the music down and hustled downstairs to investigate. It was a community police officer.

“Mr. Thompson? There has been a complaint filed about the volume of your music. This citation is only a warning, please keep it down. Cheers.”

I poked my head out and I saw Joanne duck into her house.