Happy Birthday Read Free Page B

his golden years.
    The woman in the red coat and black shoes pressed the button for her floor and stood near him. “Are you all right?” she asked with concern.
    “Not really, but I’ll live,” he said, and tried to look up at her and winced. She looked vaguely familiar, but he couldn’t remember who she was, and then it hit him. She was the gracious lifestyle guru of the world, and he was hunched over like Quasimodo, in gym clothes, flip-flops, uncombed hair, in need of a shave. He was in so much pain he almost didn’t care. He had always thought she looked a little too perfect on TV, but there was a sympathetic look in her eyes now, which confirmed to him just how bad he looked. It was pathetic. And as he looked at her, he noticed a tiny pinprick of blood on either side of her mouth, barely noticeable, but it caught his eye. “I herniated a disk,” heexplained, “and I think you cut yourself shaving,” he added. She looked startled and touched her face.
    “It’s nothing,” she said vaguely about the pinpricks, as they stopped at his floor. That didn’t always happen, but it had today. She had gone to get her Botox shots after seeing the psychic, and before work. She had no intention of explaining it to him, and wondered if he knew anyway. She knew who he was too, and had seen him around the network, looking handsome. He was a mess today, and seemed very sick or badly injured.
    “Do you need help getting out?” She seemed sorry for him. It was obvious just how much he was hurting.
    “If you could just keep the door open till I get out. If I get hit with it, I’ll probably be a quadriplegic. I had a little too much Halloween last night,” he said as he shuffled through the elevator door. He had been hoping to have a little too much birthday celebration too, but that was clearly no longer in the cards for him, and maybe never would be again, he thought mournfully, as he thanked her, and the doors closed behind him.
    He could hardly move by the time he got to his office and collapsed on the couch and lay down with a loud moan. His favorite production assistant, Norman Waterman, came in and stared at him in amazement. Norman had worshipped him as a kid and knew all the statistics on him better than Jack did himself. He still had all his football cards, and Jack had signed every one of them for him.
    “Holy shit, Jack! What happened to you? You look like you got hit by a train.”
    “Yeah, I did. I had an accident last night. Herniated disk. Is George here? I have to see him about the show tomorrow.”
    “I’ll get him. Hey, happy birthday by the way!”
    “How do you know?” Jack looked at him, distressed.
    “Are you kidding? You’re a legend, man. I’ve always known your birthday, and they announced it on the news this morning.”
    “My birthday or my age?” Jack asked, looking panicked.
    “Both, of course. People know anyway. Anyone who ever followed football knows how old you are. You’re NFL history.”
    “That’s all I need. I’m going to spend the rest of my life in a wheelchair, and now they’re reminding everyone of how old I am. Terrific.” He told most of the girls he went out with that he was thirty-nine, and they weren’t old enough to have followed his career or care. A lot of them believed him, and they were all excited to go out with Jack Adams. Announcing on the news that he was fifty was not going to help his dating career, but neither had Ms. Catwoman, who had reduced him to rubble in one night. He felt like crap. “What are you doing to celebrate tonight?” Norman asked innocently as Jack groaned.
    “Suicide probably. Just get George, will you?”
    “Sure, Jack … and happy birthday again.” He said it with feeling as Jack closed his eyes, lying on the couch in agony, and didn’t answer. Norman’s admiration of him was touching, but all he wanted for this birthday was to be out of pain and to have his life back again. A life of sex and women.
* * *
    At her desk