The Crossover (6 page)

“Wow!”

“Clay, there’s one thing I regret we never did,” Monet said somberly.

“What’s that sweetheart?”

Monet caressed my face moving it closer to hers. I thought she wanted to kiss me as my lips nearly touched hers.

“We never slow-danced together. I want my dance before you leave.”

“Okay, babe. We’ll dance.”

Monet began to reminisce about the old days as we lay in bed.

“Clay, did you finally have the birds and the bees talk with your son? You kept talking about it but did you ever follow through with it?”

I laughed to myself just thinking about it. I went back in time in my mind’s eye.

“Junior, I think it’s about time we had a talk, okay?” I said as I was clearing the dinner table.

“Dad, as long as it’s not
The Talk.”

My son, Clay Jr. was nine at the time and I thought it might be a little too early, but I figured better too early than too late.

“You know Junior, there are some things that men and women can do but are inappropriate for boys and girls.”

“Dad, I know this. Mom and I already had this conversation,” he said as he rose up from the table.

“Oh, really. Sit back down and let me finish.”

Clay Jr. rolled his eyes and folded his arms across his chest.

“Okay, Mister Know-it-all, give me three examples,” I demanded holding up three fingers.

“Sigh,
staying up late, smoking cigarettes and, and... drinking coffee. Dad, I already knooow.”

“Hmm, you know there are some nasty diseases out there. Inappropriate contact has its consequences. You know what I mean?”

“Dad, been there, done that, got the T-shirt, geez.”

I looked at my son out of the corner or my eye.

“What? You’re nine. Nine years old.”

I was shocked. I was speechless after that.

“Mom got me treated. I was itchin’ like crazy.”

“So your mom knows about this? She must think I’m a terrible single father. Was she mad?”

“No, she was relieved. She said since I had it as a kid I couldn’t get it again as an adult. She had it too when she was little.”

Whew,
I thought to myself.

“Dad, are we finished with
The Talk?”

I rubbed my son on the head and responded.

“Yes, we’re finished, for now. Go play.”

Monet and I spent the rest of the night cuddling, talking about our past and reminiscing. The biggest surprise was that she also had a teenage daughter named Michelle who hated every boyfriend that Monet ever had since the divorce. Michelle was a daddy’s girl. I immediately envisioned Michelle throwing rocks at my car to scare me off as I pulled into the driveway. This would be a challenge but not an insurmountable one.

There was a lull in conversation for almost a minute. Then I felt the muscles in her legs twitch. She was in snoozeville with her right arm across my chest. I kissed her lips goodnight. I wasn’t disappointed we didn’t have sex, I was just happy that she wasn’t on the couch, a million miles away. She was where she needed to be, in my arms.

H
ow do I look, honey?” Monet asked as she did a pirouette in front of the full-length mirror.

Monet looked absolutely stunning. She wore a black skirt that hugged her hips and a pink blouse with black buttons. I love that color combination on women, and on Monet it was hypnotic. I wore black slacks, a plum shirt (her favorite color) and a black blazer. I loved date night with Monet because I felt so lucky to have such a beautiful woman on my arm. But more than that, it was how she made me feel.

The expo was held at a new convention center on the outskirts of town.

Every rap song I heard on the radio on the way, I kept asking, “Is it him?”

Cars were backed up waiting to find a spot to park. The new Impala I’d rented didn’t quite measure up to the luxury cars vying for space in the underground lot. Maseratis, Mercedes and a few Ferraris captured my attention. The patrons were dressed in formal wear and had an air of snootiness. I felt like I was under-dressed. I had no idea that a hypnosis and psychic convention would appeal to the upper crust of society. As Monet and I walked toward the underground elevator a few couples looked at us like we didn’t belong. Trophy wives were as far as the eye could see. I was paid a mental compliment when we passed a couple exiting a black limo. The driver and the husband stared at Monet’s gorgeous figure as she strutted by. The wife was not impressed.

The elevator opened up to a swarming crowd of well-dressed and smart-looking couples scurrying about the large ballroom. There were psychic exhibits alongside the walls and rows of brass chairs with red leather seat cushions in front of the stage. There was a large, sparkly chandelier in the center of the hall, complemented with red carpet beneath our feet.

A uniformed member of staff politely handed Monet a program. I was excited about the idea of meeting Mason Tylor, the embodiment of success and confidence. I scanned the area hoping to spot him. I planned on having him autograph my program.

The background music faded as the master of ceremonies approached the stage and people took their seats.

“Ladies and gentlemen! On behalf of
Centerstage Productions,
welcome to tonight’s show. Are you ready?! Who wants to be fearless!?” the emcee exclaimed as he paced the front of the stage with enthusiasm.

The crowd responded to the emcee’s swagger and presentation. He got a well-received standing ovation, with women in the audience doing much fist pumping.

I reached for Monet’s hand and squeezed it. The excitement was infectious and we both were eager to be in the thick of it.

“Tonight, we have a very special guest. Ladies and gentlemen, the world’s fastest hypnotist. The one and only Mason Tylor! Mason Tylor!”

A spotlight scanned the crowd and stopped in the middle of the second row. Mason Tylor stood and turned around waving at all his fans. He was dressed in his signature all black attire with dark glasses. He looked just like he did almost twenty years ago, very much in great shape. He sat between two super models, one was a platinum blonde the other a Hispanic beauty.

The first part of the program featured success stories told by a few celebrities who had recently been hypnotized to overcome anxiety and fear. When I thought of A-listers, I always perceived them as invincible; but they were not. They were plagued by the same fears and phobias as the rest of us.

After a brief break in between segments, I heard the
Rocky
theme song playing. The audience quieted and the lights dimmed slightly. In the rear, a large sports time-counter lit up and it was set at sixty seconds. Sixty seconds flashed in red lights. I was curious about the hype surrounding the next event. The
Rocky
theme song added to the hype.

I looked over Monet’s shoulder at the program. It read
Fearless Demonstration.
We braced ourselves for what might just be the main event.

“Ladies and gentlemen, in keeping with our tradition, who wants to challenge Mason Tylor’s record? One session in one minute? If you want your fifteen minutes of fame, this is your chance.”

The spotlight scanned the crowd looking for volunteers. As the spotlight approached my row I became anxious and was glad when it passed.

Monet looked at me and spoke but I could hardly hear her with the music blaring. She repeated herself, slightly elevating her voice.

“I said, why don’t you give it a try?”

“Yeah, right,” I responded.

“Clay, I’ve never seen you back down from anything. I always enjoyed seeing you do your thing on stage back in the day. Oh, well.”

That cut me deep. I remembered watching Mason Tylor’s videos in the hypnosis academy. His catch phrase motivated and inspired me.

Fear is a choice.

What did I have to lose? I wanted Monet to be proud of me and sitting idly in my chair was becoming less of an option. I knew what had to be done. I closed my eyes and slowed my breathing allowing myself to enter trance. I chose to be empowered over being fearful. I stood. Monet was pleasantly surprised. The spotlight backtracked to where I stood, the disc jockey pumped up the volume. To my surprise the audience applauded my decision to come forward.

The emcee pointed at me and waved for me to accompany him on stage.

My heart was thumping, I mean thumping in my chest. Despite twenty years of performing, this was a challenge. I walked past Monet but she wouldn’t let go of my hand without giving me a kiss for support.

As I proceeded to the stage I clocked Mason Tylor to my right. He was also applauding but in an irregular tempo.

As I walked toward the stage my meek steps became more of a strut of confidence. I had done this a thousand times before.

The emcee placed his arm around me and put the microphone in my face to introduce myself.

My initial instinct was to introduce myself by my stage name, Smokehouse. I caught myself.

“My name is Clay Thompson and I’m here with my lovely woman Monet sitting right there,” I said pointing in Monet’s direction against the bright lights.

The emcee gave a hand signal to the disc jockey. The music stopped and he made a brief announcement.

“How many survivors do we have in the house? Let’s kick it!”

He spun one of the most motivating girl power tunes of all time causing a frenzy.

“I’m a survivor, I’m not gon give up,

I’m not gon stop, I’m gon work harder,

I’m a survivor, I’m gonna make it,

I will survive, Keep on survivin’”

All the ladies in the house stood clapping and some danced in the aisles. It was like a rock concert. Amidst all the chaos and music a timid, redheaded schoolgirl nervously approached the stage. She stood on the opposite side of the emcee. We had a show. What kind of show? I didn’t know but I was happy to be a part of it. What I found most calming was I was about to help someone. Hypnosis was second nature to me and my mindset shifted from Smokehouse the entertainer to Clay the hypnotherapist.

The emcee applauded the young woman’s courage, the audience followed suit. The frenzy slowly faded with the end of the music.

“Good evening, young lady. What’s your name and what brings you here?”

The woman flipped her hair over her shoulder and adjusted her glasses before speaking.

“My name is Sarah and I have a fear of elevators. I took the stairs,” she said pointing to the exit sign at the back of the room.

“Imagine what it would be like to erase that fear for ever?”

“Oh, wow, I would love that more than anything. But I don’t think I can be hypnotized.”

Sarah was very nervous and made little eye contact with me and no eye contact with the audience. I felt empathy for her and wanted nothing more than to help her. I felt a tremendous feeling of humbleness and purpose. I wasn’t concerned about the crowd; my focus was this young, distressed woman.

The audience was absolutely silent and the emcee fitted Sarah and me with headless microphones.

“Clay, just tell me when you are ready to begin and we’ll start the clock.”

I’d completely forgotten this was timed, but I quickly dismissed it. I saw Mason Tylor sitting in his seat slowly stroking his temple with his forefinger. I knew I couldn’t do a conventional induction. I had no other option than to do a rapid induction. But before I could induce her, I had to quickly gain her trust and confidence in my ability.

The emcee backed off the stage leaving me alone with Sarah.

I slowly closed the gap between Sarah and I. I smiled.

“Sarah, look at me. I know you’re nervous but for the next few moments it’s just you and me. We’re gonna do this together. When you leave here you won’t be taking the stairs.”

I deliberately omitted the word elevator from my prehypnotic suggestion.

Sarah slowly raised her head until our eyes locked. She saw no fear or concern which gave her a comfort level.