Nanowrimo - Day 25

A lot of their time together was spent having lunch while Jasmine was on her break from work. She had a solid hour, and Mike would orally meet her in the lobby so they could walk together and eat somewhere. At times it was the park nearby, where they would pick up sandwiches from the vendors, others it was the food trucks outside her building and all the ethnic food, which they would eat sitting on the steps to the lobby, especially on days when she was so busy that lunch was cut short. On Friday, however, Mike was determined to bring flowers for her and have lunch in a nice restaurant nearby. He told her it was for luck, in preparation for the competition that would follow. In reality, he just wanted an excuse to go all out, concerned that her lack of trust might also be a lack of interest.

On this particular Friday, the fourth since his arrival in New York, and his third defense of his title as champion, the two of them returned to the studio hand in hand, which wasn't exactly new to Mike, but always welcome. At the point in the hall where she would normally leave him to go back to work while he headed onward the green room, she stopped him in the hall, smiled into is eyes, and kissed him full on the lips. The kiss was certainly intentional, with enough pressure to make him know that she meant it, but still holding back. It was brief, but still left Mike dazed by its unexpectedness. She looked at him, smiling slyly, as if waiting for a reaction.

"What was that for?" Mike said, rubbing the top of his head, unsure what to do with his hands. "Not that I'm complaining."

She took his hands in hers, first one, and then the other. "Just for luck," she said.

"Good job," Mike squeezed her hands in his, "I've never felt more lucky."

Even trough her light brown skin, Mike could see Jasmine was blushing, most of it coming through in her eyes. She pulled down on his hands once more and let them drop. "Okay," she said, rather abruptly, "back to work."

Mike nodded and watched her as she turned away from him and walked briskly down the hall toward the other side of the floor and the other set of offices there. He watched her go all the way around, unconsciously touching his fingers to his lips as she went. At the end of the hall, when she reached the edge of the reception desk, she turned slightly to the right to go around the circular desk, and looked back over her shoulder at Mike. Seeing him there, still watching her, she quickly jerked her head back to front and quickened her step, disappearing around the bend.

Mike walked to the green room, no longer needing an escort or a guide. In fact more than a few of the clerical workers and assistant producers already knew who he was and greeted him or wished him luck as he went by them. By the time he got to the green room and closed the door behind him, his spirit was as carefree as he could remember it ever being before. His recent success, the accolades and well-wishes, the feeling of destiny and the confluence of events, and Jasmine's kiss still on his lips, all made him feel unstoppable, unassailable. Today's battle would go as triumphantly as every other battle had gone, he knew, and as smoothly as every future battle would go.

He flopped backwards into the soft leather couch against the wall, tossed his jacket into the seat beside him, and dropped his feet onto the coffee table in front of him. A couple of weeks ago, he had learned that avoiding fights wasn't the only reason that the contestants of Freestyle Friday were put into different green rooms. The room for the champions was better stocked and better appointed than the smaller one for challengers, which was little more than a walk-in closet with a love seat and a dorm fridge with water. The champion's room wasn't as nice as the room for the guests of the show, with its spacious floor plan, sixty inch screen to monitor the show, and catering tables with hot food, but it did have a smaller television and some sandwiches on a table near the door. The first time Mike had been left in the new room, he had felt like it was a step up, a sign that he was making progress. Now, it might as well have been a throne room, he felt so confident.

Only an hour remained until the taping would begin, and normally Alex would have been there by now, making sure that Mike was in place and ready to go. So far, he hadn't shown up, but then Mike had noticed that his success had produced a certain kind of ease in Alex. He didn't seem to feel the need to check up on him of guide him around quite so much, finally getting the hint that Mike probably wanted this as much or more than he did. Mike was just starting to think he was on his own for the day when his cell phone rang.

He pulled out his phone, expecting to see Alex's number there in the screen, but surprised instead to see his grandmother's number and picture there. He bit his lip and dropped his hands, holding the phone, into his lap, still looking into that face and listening to the ringtone.

How many days had he been in New York! How many weeks now? He remembered calling her when he first arrived at the hotel, and again after his first win in the competition, but he hadn't called her at all since then. It seemed as if only a few days had passed since then, but as Mike counted it down, it was over three weeks since he had spoken with his grandmother, three weeks since he had called her. While he sat there feeling like a fool and a jerk for leaving her so alone, the phone stopped ringing, her picture disappeared, and the picture of the South Beach shore that was his background returned.

Mike stood up and looked at the door, seriously thinking about neglecting the call until later. He could think of an appropriate excuse and make his apologies by then, and he knew she would forgive him. She always did. But something in him, either a premonition or pang of guilt, pushed him to hit redial.

"Hey, Grandma," he said as soon as the ringing stopped and the line opened, "sorry I didn't pick up quick enough, and sorry ..."

"Is this Mike?" The voice on the other end of the line was a deep, raspy male voice that shocked Mike into silence for a moment. "Mike? Is this you?"

"Who's this?" Mike asked, nervously, only vaguely recognizing the voice.

"It's Frank Jenkins, from next door," the man said, with frustration bleeding through his gruff voice. "I ain't got but a few seconds, so just listen. Your grandmama ain't well. She been complaining about being tired for the last couple of days, you know, but now she really don't look right. She saying she need to get to the hospital, so I called the 911. They pulling up now."

"Okay, um, thanks, man," Mike stammered, "if she's got a minute, would you let me talk to her?"

"Hold on," Frank said, making no attempt to hide his disdain.

There were a couple of seconds of silence that seemed like hours to Mike. All he could make out was Frank's muffled voice calling his grandmother's name twice.

"Son," Frank said, abruptly getting back on the phone, "you gone have to wait. She done passed out."

Mike drifted down into the couch. The door to the green room opened slowly, and Alex stuck his head inside, smiling, and then walked in, closing the door behind him.

"You ready?" Alex said, moving over to Mike and slapping him on the knees.

Mike waved him off with a violent swipe of his hand and an annoyed look on his face. Alex slid into the couch next to him and furrowed his brow.

"You sure?" Mike said into the phone, turning his head away from Alex.

"She ain't answering," Frank said, "and she look like she sleeping."

"Well, what ...," Mike began.

"Hold up, kid," Frank interrupted, "they coming in now. I'ma have to call you back."

Mike nodded as if Frank could see him.

"Mike," Frank said hesitantly, "if you can get down here, you really ought to. I gotta go, I'm heading to the ER with her."

"Okay, Frank, thanks." Mike said, switching the phone to the other side of his head and turning farther away from Alex. He could hear commotion in the background, what sounded like an ironing board dropping into place and a green stick breaking in half. "Can you keep me posted? Take down the number and give me a call, whatever happens."

"No problem, chief," Frank said, "gotta go." The line closed unceremoniously.

Mike slipped his phone into his lap and looked at the door, right past Alex. After a few moments of silence, he picked up he phone again, and checked the number, as if maybe it had changed.

"Mike?" Alex started.

"I have to go." Mike said, slowly turning towards Alex. "I can't go on today."

"What?" Alex said, scooting to the edge of the couch and facing Mike in one quick movement. "They're already taping. It's thirty minutes in, almost." Alex flipped is wrist over, pulled back the sleeve of his jacket, and looked at his watch. "They'll be calling for you in another ten minutes."

"My grandma's sick, man," Mike said, raising his voice, "I need to get out of here." He stood up and pulled his jacket on, smoothing out his shirt as he pushed his arms through.

Alex stood up after him, stepping between Mike and the door. Locking eyes with him, he nodded and inched closer. "All right," he said, "you're worried, of course."

Mike put his hand on the left side of Alex's chest, pushing him to the side, but Alex moved back in front of him, blocking his way to the door.

"She's in the hospital, man." Mike pleaded.

Alex stood still, looking into Mike's eyes, his eyebrows lowered and squeezed together. Nodding and looking at the ground, Alex stepped out of the way.

"Do you have a flight back home?" Alex said, as Mike passed by him to the door.

Mike stopped, his hand already reaching toward the door knob. He muttered curses under his breath.

Alex pulled out his iPhone and turned it on. "Here's what we do," he said, already scrolling through ages of the Internet and clicking choices with his fingertip, "you go out there and do your thing when they call you. Get your head right and beat this guy. You know you can, and there's no reason to throw the opportunity away. Your grandmother certainly wouldn't want you to."

Mike turned around, a hint of anger and offense in his eyes.

"Do this," Alex continued, "and when you come back to this room, I promise I'll have you booked on the earliest flight back, company expense, and a cab ready to run you to the airport."

Mike glared at Alex, but his face gradually softened.

"Can you get me there before night?" he said.

"Dude," Alex said, "I'll get you there as soon as a plane is ready to go. That's the best I can do, and it's the best you could do anyway."

Mike nodded and walked slowly back to the couch, sinking into it like one who has lost feeling in his legs. "Fine," he said, "but I'm leaving right after."

Alex stopped tapping his phone furiously and looked down at Mike. "I lost a grandmother too once, and a mother." He turned is attention back to the home and scrolled down once more, his finger flapping back and forth like a windsock in a storm. "I'll get you there."

By the time the assistant producer came for him, Mike had calmed down a little, but still felt ambushed and nervous and guilty, three things he hadn't felt for some time now. He got through the competition somehow, the words again coming to him, but couldn't remember a single word of either of his rhymes afterwards. He got a split decision in his favor, the first time the vote had not been unanimous since he had been on the show.

Afterwards, he wandered back to the green room, where Alex met him with tickets and boarding passes already printed out. Mike felt so grateful to see the paperwork all ready to go that he hugged Alex tightly. He hoped that his grandmother was all right, that it was just some kind of dizzy spell or something. He hoped that she would forgive him for not calling her, for forcing her to got to a near stranger for help in her sickness. More than that, he hoped he would not get there and find that he wouldn't get the chance to make it right with her. Without even looking for Jasmine or calling her to say goodbye, he left the lobby and threw himself into a cab that Alex actually had waiting for him, like he had promised.