The chair in the corner was empty when I reopened my eyes. Other than that annoying monitor beeping, silence was my only companion. All I could think of was how, little more than a month ago, I’d topped the list of Ebony magazine’s “50 Finest,” their answer to People’s Caucasian-heavy “Fifty Most Beautiful” list. During the entire shoot, the photographer who’d done the spread kept raving about my dark complexion, high cheekbones and deep dimples. I assumed he batted for the other team and just smiled and accepted his compliments
Many of the lists I’d made had nothing to do with my acting skill. And I didn’t care. The recognition of my physical attributes did more for me than a Golden Globe or Oscar ever could. It kept me on the mind of women all over the country, which was all I needed to seal a hookup every night of the year. Just being a working actor in Hollywood was a major accomplishment. It paid the mortgage on my crib in the L.A. Grand condos overlooking downtown Los Angeles, my car note, and filled my closets with designer clothes. That was all the honeys were interested in.
Now everything that gave my life meaning was in jeopardy. I’d wrecked my ride, and since I didn’t have enough clout to give the studio reason to postpone filming until I recovered, my current film role was also about to disappear. The possibility of losing my looks scared the hell out of me. The more I contemplated how my life was falling apart, the more I panicked and had to pull in a couple of deep breaths to keep from hyperventilating.
Almost as if my looming panic attack summoned him, the elusive doctor appeared. “Good afternoon, Mr. Breland. I’m Dr. Liu.” The middle-aged Asian man ran a hand through his short dark hair. “I performed your surgery. How are you feeling?”
The pounding in my head seemed to drown out his words. “I’m hurting now.”
“On a scale of one to ten, with ten being the worst, how would you rate the pain?”
I groaned again. “About seven.”
“I’d like to discuss your condition,” the doctor went on as if a seven wasn’t worth acknowledging. I should’ve said ten. Maybe that would’ve gotten me some sympathy. He glanced in Devon’s direction. “And explain exactly what the surgery accomplished and what your recovery will entail.”
“It’s okay. This is my friend, Devon Burke. He can hear this.”
“Yes, I know.” Dr. Liu extended his hand. “I’ve seen your work.” They shook hands and then Dr. Liu turned back to me. “Do you remember anything about the accident?” the doctor asked, simultaneously scanning the computer screen.
I repeated the story once again. “Not much. I was on 141 and tried to take a curve. Guess I skidded and lost control.”
“The accident happened closer to Montrose Memorial, Mr. Breland, but you were LifeFlighted here. We’re the only twenty-four-hour, Level Five Trauma Center in the region. If you’re up to it, we can talk about the surgery and where we go from here.”
“Okay. Straight, no chaser.”
Questions for our readers:
1. Would you get involved with a movie star? Why or why not?
2. Do you think it's possible for a player to change his ways?
3. If a man is in a situation where he has to ask a woman for help (physical/emotional - not financial), how does that affect their relationship?