“Where were you?” Lewis asked when Jeremy returned to his desk.
He leaned in toward Lewis, and whispered, “Chris Dowd’s office.” Jeremy sat back with a smirk, and watched as Lewis blinked his droopy eyes.
In eleven seasons at the same desk, three different managers, and two directors, Lewis had seen it all. “That’s good,” Lewis said. “People who get in good with them upstairs usually wind up there themselves.”
3
Chapter 3
December 2010
Jeremy had never felt the need to drink. Offer him a joint and he’d smoke it without hesitation. But in high school his friends drank before every football game, and they acted like complete assholes. Booze had never interested him.
“Maybe on my twenty-first,” he often told his best friend, Ronnie. That day was fast approaching in January, and he would inevitably have his first drink.
But what Jeremy was most excited about had nothing to do with liquor.
Poker.
Over the past two years he’d played in friends’ home games and some weekly games run in bars that Lewis helped him get into. “We don’t play for money, so it’s not considered gambling,” one of the bar owners told him early on. “As long as you don’t drink, I don’t have an issue with you here.” Jeremy always respected the rules, grateful for the opportunity.
Even though money wasn’t involved, he took the games seriously. He had learned how to read tells and practiced some of the advanced strategies he had read in books written by the pros. In the bars, he learned the most important lesson: Never play poker drunk. So many times, a respectable opponent would build up a stack of chips early, only to see them diminish as the night carried on and the whiskey flowed.
As Lewis said, “This is a game of judgment, and if your ability to judge is impaired, you lose. Plain and simple.”
From the time Jeremy won his first live tournament, he was hooked. Beating his friends and winning their money was fun, but the look on people’s faces when an underage kid came in and beat them out of a free bar tab was the best.
Bar tournaments consisted of three types of players: regulars, beginners, and poker players. The regulars had the biggest motivation to win, as the prize was typically a fifty-dollar credit toward their tab. They understood the basics of the game and could outlast many beginners and some of the poker players. Of the thirty or so players that participated, this group made up half.
The beginners usually just happened to be drinking at the bar and figured they would take a crack at playing. They would ask what hand beat what, and would receive a cheat sheet explaining. They always seemed to take their cards off the table and hold them up to their eyes like an old lady trying to read the newspaper. Jeremy referred to these players as “the bank,” since he would gouge them for all their chips right off the bat.
Thank you and drive safe, he would think as the beginners walked away, unsure why they had lost. Every game needed these beginners so everyone else could build up their stacks and get down to business.
The poker players consisted of a handful of players who showed up to sharpen their skills and utilize new strategies, and always ended up at the final table. Jeremy considered himself part of this group; he played to win and learn, and hated the drunks who interrupted the flow of the game with their slow decision-making.
“Don’t come in here on your twenty-first and put me out of business with all those gift cards you have piling up,” his favorite bar owner had recently said with a smirk.
4
Chapter 4
May 2011
“Congrats, man,” Ronnie slurred. “You made it!”
Ronnie squeezed Jeremy, the stench of whiskey oozing from his pores. Jeremy returned a half-hearted embrace, not feeling too sober himself. Five months had passed since his twenty-first birthday, and this was probably the most he’d had to drink in all that time. But Ronnie was almost double Jeremy’s size, and still he leaned on his best friend to keep from face-planting on their living room floor.
The night of partying had finally come to a close, and Jeremy guessed Ronnie had had an entire bottle of Jack Daniels, along with some celebratory shots of tequila.
Ronnie had been the one to volunteer his and Jeremy’s apartment for the after-party—after they closed down the local bar with a group karaoke rendition of “Don’t Stop Believin’.”
“Come over to our place! Let’s keep this party going,” Ronnie had slurred.
Only two others had been able to keep up with Ronnie: Jeremy’s girlfriend, Jamie, and a friend from high school, Eric. The four of them packed into the Toyota Prius that came to pick them up, Ronnie taking shotgun with pleasure. He loved to talk the ear off of the driver, which always made for an entertaining ride home.
“Good evening, Mohammed,” Ronnie greeted their driver. “Or should I say good morning!”
The driver nodded skeptically, probably worried about his car’s upholstery.
“I hate to be that guy,” Ronnie continued. “But would you mind stopping at McDonald’s on the way? I could use something in my belly besides booze.” He slapped his gut as he said this and let out an awkward chuckle.
“Yes, sir,” Mohammed responded, revealing a thick Middle Eastern accent.
“My man, Mohammed,” Ronnie said. He ran his hand through his black hair, which was ruffled after the long night of partying. “I know you can’t accept tips, but I might forget a ten-spot when I get out, if you know what I mean.”
Mohammed nodded, but his polite smile suggested he had no clue what Ronnie meant.
Jeremy closed his eyes in the backseat of the Prius, trying to block out the voices at the drive-thru. His churning stomach distracted him from the pounding of his head. He had reached his limit, and he knew his own after-party would have to consist of water if he wanted a chance of avoiding a ferocious hangover.
Ronnie said an enthusiastic good-bye to Mohammed, tucking a ten under the visor with a clumsy swagger, and they all stumbled toward the front door. The porch light revealed a group of moths flickering around in the warm night.
Jamie, Jeremy’s girlfriend, wrapped an arm around his waist to help him from stumbling, though she’d had plenty to drink as well. Her warm body against his, the fruity smell radiating from her dark brown hair… Ronnie once told him that sex prevented hangovers—why not find out? She lived half an hour away, but had brought her overnight bag, which usually had lingerie inside. They’d only been together two months, and they couldn’t keep their hands off each other.
Ronnie jiggled his key into the lock as he swatted at the moths flapping around his head. He flipped on the light switch to reveal the streamers hanging from the ceiling in the living room and the bottles of alcohol covering the dining room table.
The apartment had been immaculate at the beginning of the night. All through high school, Ronnie had kept himself and his car in a respectable state, so it wasn’t until they moved in together during college that Jeremy learned his best friend was a closet slob.
“Welcome to the after party, folks!” Ronnie exclaimed, plopping down on the couch to finish his burger and fries. Ronnie powered on the TV, chose the “'90s hits” channel, and MC Hammer danced across the screen in his parachute pants.
Jamie stepped away to use the bathroom inside Jeremy’s master bedroom. Eric joined Ronnie on the couch and cracked open two cans of beer with a drunken grin.
Ronnie rose from the couch with his beer and wobbled over to Jeremy. He reminded Jeremy of the stereotypical mummy, hands raised in front of his body and a side-to-side stride.
Ronnie wrapped a flabby arm around him. “You’re gonna do big things. Hotshot doctor. Doctor Heston here to mind-fuck you.”
Jeremy had graduated with a bachelor’s degree in psychology, but planned to pursue a master’s and help others fight depression. Ronnie had graduated the week prior with a degree in business and looked forward to helping Jeremy open his future practice.
“Yeah, right
,” Jeremy said. “I’ll have real clients to help. You two dipshits are the only ones I’ll mind-fuck!”
Ronnie slapped him on the back and returned to the couch.
Jeremy pulled his cell phone out and groaned at the 2:35 flashing on the screen. A text message had come in a couple minutes before, from Jamie.
He opened the text and, to his delight, a picture of his naked girlfriend filled up the screen. The photo was mostly dark, with the exception of her face. She looked tired in the eyes but her warm smile seduced him. He could tell she was lying in bed from the way her hair splayed out behind her head, covering most of the pillow beneath her.
The real party is in here, the text read.
Jeremy felt the blood rushing to his crotch.
“Think I’m gonna call it a night,” Jeremy said. Eric was passed out on the arm of the couch, a pool of drool forming on the fake leather.
“Word, bro,” Ronnie replied sleepily. “See you in the morning.”
“Thanks again for tonight, Ron. Good night.”
In his bedroom, Jeremy found Jamie naked under the sheets. He slid into bed with her and her body warmed him up.
Life is good, he thought as Jamie climbed on top of him.
* * *
The sunlight clawed its way through the closed blinds. Jeremy felt like a stake had been driven into his brain. When they were first dating he had joked to Jamie about being a cheap date: two drinks was all it took for him to feel a solid buzz, while a third guaranteed drunkenness.
Ten, he thought back to the prior night. Ten fucking drinks. Regardless, he could clearly recount everything that had happened. From the first shot of tequila to Jamie riding him like a mechanical bull. Twice—though it hadn’t prevented a hangover as Ronnie had promised. Jeremy cursed him internally. Even the muted daylight shot pain into his mind.
The bed sheets had been kicked off, and Jeremy lay naked on the mattress, alone. Jamie was gone, but her duffel bag still rested in the corner of his room.
The clock on his nightstand seemed to judge him. Almost noon.
A whirlpool of alcohol spun in his belly, and his lips were so dry they hurt his tongue when he licked them.
The sound of muffled music came through his closed door. He planted his feet on the carpet and stumbled across piles of clothes and sheets to his bathroom. He pulled his black robe from the door and slung it over himself as he headed for the living room.
The TV shared facts about Justin Timberlake as he sang and danced in the background. Way to go, guys. Left the damn TV on all night. He was too hungover to give a shit. Eric was in the same position, hunched over the arm of the couch. He snored quietly, an idle engine compared to the roaring V8 sound coming from Ronnie’s bedroom.
Drunken nights with Ronnie always included two things: a trip to McDonald’s, and a booming snore loud enough to wake Dracula from his coffin. Some things will never change.
Jeremy noticed his keys were missing from the key rack beside the front door, which meant Jamie had gone out. Please bring me something, anything to help this fucking headache.
He could smell alcohol each time he exhaled, pushing his gag reflex to its limit. He shuffled into the kitchen, and filled a glass with water from the sink.
Eric stirred, then sat up straight, black hair frazzled in every direction, a streak of dried drool white against his brown skin.
“What the fuck happened last night?” he asked in a groggy voice, after turning to see Jeremy standing in the kitchen.
“Well, we went to Shady’s, met some friends, got fucked up, and came here. You and Ronnie kept drinking and you passed out right there, with the TV on all night.”
Eric gave him a blank stare with bloodshot eyes. He pulled his phone from the couch cushions, only to toss it aside when he discovered its dead battery. Mustering his energy, he shouted, “Ron, get your sorry ass out here!”
A sound somewhere between a cough and a dry heave responded from behind the closed door.
“Ron had one of his nights,” Eric said. “Remember the ride home?”
“Poor Mohammed.” Jeremy shook his head.
“Mohammed loved me, dickhead!” Ronnie appeared in his doorway, wearing a too-tight wife-beater and baggy pair of boxers. He crossed his arms as he fought off hiccups. “Sorry you bitches couldn’t hang last night.”
Eric had fallen back to sleep, his body across the whole couch now.
Jeremy heard a car door slam outside, and Ronnie craned his neck to see out the window.
“Damn, bro, you sent her out for breakfast?” Jamie opened the door holding a familiar pink box, from their favorite doughnut place. “Guess she’s not too bad.”
“Shut up, dude,” Jeremy whispered under his breath.
Ronnie and Jamie had clashed on many things, not the least of which was relationships. Their heated discussions had often left Jeremy feeling stuck in the middle.
Ronnie insisted happiness came only from one’s self, not someone else. After a string of failed relationships, Ronnie swore to not enter another relationship until he was thirty, claiming that all girls in their twenties were crazy bitches.
“They’re fun in the sack, but once they try for more, it’s game over,” Ronnie had explained to Jeremy.
Jamie, on the other hand, may as well have lived a life from a cheesy romantic comedy. She thought she’d found true love with Jeremy, even though they had practically just started dating.
They’d met in a creative writing class during their first semester at Denver State University. They were both involved with someone else, but maintained a low-key friendship over the next four years.
And then, on the first day of the spring semester of their senior year, early in the morning, Jeremy was passing through the courtyard behind the library when he noticed Jamie sitting on a bench with her face buried in her hands. For January in Denver, the weather was surprisingly warm. Jeremy crossed the grass, which was still covered with morning dew.
“Jamie?” he asked as he approached. Her dark hair glowed in the sunlight. He noticed her shoulders shaking, and though she kept her face between the palms of her hands, he could hear her muffled sniffles as he approached.
Jamie raised her head, revealing streams of tears down her cheeks. “CJ broke up with me last night,” she managed to say in a composed voice. “He said he doesn’t want to be in a long-distance relationship during college.” Her lips quivered. “It’s fucking senior year, and now it’s a problem?”
“I’m sorry, Jamie.” Jeremy debated embracing her. “I don’t know what to say.”
“It’s fine,” she said, wiping at her face and drawing in a deep inhale. “I’m just glad you’re here.”
Jeremy said, “Bad things always lead to good things, don’t forget.”
Jamie nodded in agreement, even as a new batch of tears rolled down her smooth, soft face.
“How about we skip class and go grab breakfast. I know a great spot.” Jeremy softened his tone.
“But it’s the first d—”
“Exactly. All we do on the first day is read the syllabus. C’mon, let’s go.”
He took a step back and waited to see if she would follow. He was surprised to see Jamie gather her stuff and join him.
“So where are we going?” she asked.
“It’s called The Hen’s Den. They have the best—”
“Pancakes!” Jamie finished. “Fuck, yes, let’s go. I’m gonna eat a whole big stack of the Reese’s pancakes!”
I love a girl who can cuss, Jeremy thought as they crossed the courtyard.
* * *
Jeremy and Ronnie sat on their deck. Their hangovers were finally gone, along with their guests. Above them, on the awning over their heads, the rain fell so hard it sounded like applause.
They sat across from each other at a round table where they spent many summer nights, having a conversation they’d had many times before.
“I don’t get why you wanna go down this road,” Ronnie said, sipping
a bottle of beer. “We’re young. We have so much freedom. No more school. Just work and partying. But you wanna throw it away to be tied down and play house?”
Jeremy paused, then said carefully, “Look. I know we’ll never see eye to eye on this. All I can do is follow my heart.”
Ronnie stared at his bottle, avoiding eye contact. “You’re gonna do what you’re gonna do,” he said in a flat tone, staring out at the rain. “But I can’t support you. I know that’s a fucked-up thing to say, but it’s how I feel.”
Jeremy sat in silence, feeling like Ronnie had punched him in the gut. He rationalized that Ronnie was just tense from Jamie having been around all day. “To each his own,” he managed. You’re pathetic.
“Our lease ends in four months,” Ronnie said roughly. “Maybe you should just move in with her then.”
Jeremy’s background in psychology meant he knew better than to fall for Ronnie’s nonsensical trap. Arguing with him reminded Jeremy of arguing with a teenager: cheap insults and mind games.
“Bro, you just need to chill,” Jeremy tried.
“Don’t even start with your psycho-babble bullshit!” Ronnie snapped. “You’ve already changed since you started seeing her. I used to never be able to shut you up about changing the world or revolutionizing psychology. Now it’s nothing but your cocksucking puppy love!”
Jeremy couldn’t deny it: his focus had shifted to Jamie lately. Interest in his job had faded, and now his friendship with Ronnie had suffered. Their weekly dinner and drinks had stopped as his relationship developed.
“You know what, this is good,” Ronnie said. “I think it’s time to go our separate ways. We don’t agree on anything these days.”
You little bitch, Jeremy thought. “So are we breaking up?” he asked mockingly.
Ronnie didn’t even crack a smile as he continued to gaze out at the rain. “I just don’t think we need to live together anymore.”
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