Monty peeked over the counter. Suddenly, a tall, blond woman shot up like a rocket upon ignition. She was out of breath, wide-eyed and grinning, struggling to pull her jeans up over her skimpy, black lace panties. “Hi,” she said, wheezing exasperatedly, like she’d just got done with an aerobics class at Bally’s. “Your name’s Monty?”
Monty nodded and took a step backward, scowling at the little red lesions speckled across her forehead.
“My name’s Angie, how do you do?”
Monty glanced at Dave then back at Angie. He couldn’t believe it. In the detox trailer? “Jesus Dave,” he said, holding his stomach, the thought of the two screwing making him feel a bit nauseous, “don’t you have any self control?”
Dave pursed his lips together and started to snigger. He looked like a kid who just got caught smoking in the boy’s room. “Aw come on now, Monty, we’re not hurting anybody. I mean, just ‘cause we’re in rehab doesn’t mean we can’t have a little fun, right?”
“Uh, yeah, actually, it does. That’s the whole point of rehab. Not to have fun.”
Dave reared his head back and started laughing. “Come on, kid. Don’t tell me you wouldn’t do the same thing. I mean, look at this woman.” He wrapped his arm around Angie’s shoulder and pulled her face in close to his lips. “Have you ever seen a more beautiful specimen in all your life?”
Angie slapped him playfully and pushed him off of her. “Stop it, Dave. You’re embarrassing me.”
“Well it’s true. You’re beautiful. You’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.”
“You really mean that?”
“Of course, I do baby. Why else would I say it?” Dave leaned in and kissed her forehead, then licked his thumb and wiped the mascara that was running down her cheek. “Now, come on, let’s get out of here before that nurse comes back.”
Angie smiled and locked her arms tightly around Dave’s waist, and using one another for balance, they staggered like a pair of drunks through the swinging saloon doors.
“What time you got, Monty?” Dave said, as he limped by him, stopping to pull open the front trailer door. “You think we got time for a smoke?”
“I don’t know, I guess.”
Once they got outside, Angie squealed and took off running down the trailer steps into the snow.
“What’s she doing?” Monty said, watching her running as if she was a mental patient who’d just been let out of the institution.
“Fuck if I know.” Dave cupped his hands around his mouth and shouted. His voice was like a dynamite stick detonating in the snow. “Yo Angie! What are you doing?”
Angie spun around and looked back at the trailer, throwing her hands up above her head. “I’m gonna go see if Sarah called.”
“What?”
“I said, I’m gonna go see if Sarah called!”
“Oh, alright, well, me and Monty are gonna hang back a bit and have a smoke, but we’ll see you over there for group, okay?”
“Okay! I love you, Dave!”
“I love you too, Angie.”
Angie smiled and pulled her red hood up over her head, skipping off towards the house like Little Red Riding Hood.
Dave laughed and turned to Monty, knocking a pack of red Marlboros against the side of his wrist. “You want one?” he asked, as he pulled one out of the package and stabbed it in between his lips.
“No thanks. I don’t smoke.”
“Oh shit. That’s right. I forgot.”
Monty watched as Dave pulled out his lighter, rolled the flint, and sparked up the flame. Something wasn’t right with him. He looked like a junkie, like he’d just smoked an eight ball or done a line of coke. His eyes were black and round like pieces of polished charcoal, and he had drops of saliva glistening the cleft of his chin. “Are you alright, Dave?” Monty said.
“Fuck yeah dude. I’ve never felt better in my entire life. You were right. They got a bunch of good shit back there. I felt like a fat kid in a candy store.”
“You’re pretty messed up, aren’t you Dave?”
Dave smiled and reached into his pocket and pulled out a bottle of pills. “Fuck yeah dude. I’m fucking trashed. Check this shit out.”
He handed the bottle over. Monty took it and read the label taped to the side: Suboxone. He’d heard of it before. It was similar to methadone, used for treating opiate withdrawal.
“Go ahead and take some if you want, man. I’ve got plenty.”
“No thanks.”
“You sure? You look like you could use it. You’re startin’ to shake and shit.”
“I’m fine.”
“Alright, man. More for me.”
Monty shook his head in disgust and handed back the bottle, looking around the yard to make sure no one was coming in or out of the house. He didn’t want to get caught with this guy. The counselors would probably think he had something to do with it. They’d probably think he helped him steal it. What if he got kicked out of here? Where would they send him? What if they made him do his five days over as some kind of punishment?
“Are you an idiot?” Monty said, turning back to face him, clenching his fists to try and suppress the rage.
“What?” Dave said, looking innocent, like this was no big deal, like this was just another day in rehab.
“I thought you said you were court ordered.”
“Yeah. So?”
“So what if you got caught? What do you think would happen?”
Dave’s eyes lit up like a Fourth of July sparkler. He turned toward Monty with a big, tobacco-stained smile. “Oh shit, man, I forgot to tell you. It doesn’t matter anymore.”
“What doesn’t?”
“My parole—I don’t have to worry about it anymore. Remember when I was telling you about how I got pulled over?”
“Yeah.”
“Well, it just so happens that that chick Angie’s got this daughter named Sarah who just so happens to be the captain of my volleyball team.”
“So?”
“Sooooo, once we get a hold of her—if we can ever get her to answer her fucking cell phone—we’re gonna get her to go to the courthouse and testify and get me the fuck out of here free of charge.”
Monty scowled. What the hell was he blathering about? He wasn’t making any sense. So what if he knew that woman’s daughter? “I’m not sure I follow you, Dave.”
Dave sighed and dropped his shoulders, looking at Monty as though he was the dumbest person in the entire world. “Sarah was there when those bastards pulled me over.”
“Okay.”
“She saw the whole god damn thing.”
“I still don’t get it.”
“She can tell the courts what really happened. She can get me out of here. She can get me free.”
“Testify to what?”
“Jesus Monty, weren’t you listening to my story earlier?”
“Well, yeah, but—”
“¬Those cops had no right to pull me over. And they sure as hell had no right to shoot my son with a fucking Taser gun.”
“But I thought you said you were smoking.”
“That’s irrelevant.”
“Irrelevant? What do you mean irrelevant? You were smoking crack and driving a school bus. The cops were well within their right to pull you over. In fact, you’re probably lucky they pulled you over when they did. You could’ve driven that bus right off the highway. You could’ve killed all those kids.”
Dave laughed. “Listen to you, man. You sound just like my wife, Cheryl. I swear, if I didn’t know any better I’d say you two were related.” Dave bent forward and closed one nostril then blew the contents of the other out into the snow. “Aw fuck, that hurt.” He threw his head back and sniffled up the mucus while squeezing the bridge of his nose. He bent forward again then did the other nostril. It looked like alien earthworms slithering out into the snow.
Monty just stood there shocked and speechless. He didn’t know what else he could say to this guy. He was obviously deranged.
“Don’t take this the wrong way,” Monty said, taking a step back away from him, not sure how he would react to this next bit of wisdom. “But I think you may need some serious help. And I’m not talking about AA or religion or some bullshit twelve-step program, I’m talking about psychiatric counseling and a whole lot of medication.”
Dave just laughed. “What the hell are you talking about? I don’t need any medication. There’s nothing wrong with me. I’m perfectly normal.”
“No, you’re not, Dave. You are definitely not normal. Look at you. Look at what you’re doing.”
“What?”
“You’re stealing drugs from a detox trailer. You’re getting high in rehab.”
“Well, I can’t help it. I have a condition.”
“Yeah, no shit. You’re an addict, just like everyone else in here.”
“No, no, no, I am not an addict. I have a serious condition. I need it for my leg. I’m in serious pain.”
This time it was Monty’s turn to laugh. He tried to fight it, but he couldn’t help it. This guy was utterly insane. “Yeah right,” he said. “That’s a good one. Your leg hurts, so that’s why you get high. Have you ever listened to yourself? You sound like a lunatic. How can you honestly believe that you’re not an addict? I mean, I hate myself, you know? I’m a fucking despicable person, but at least I have the balls to admit my own faults.”
“What the hell, dude? Why are you being such an asshole? I thought we were cool. I thought we were friends.”
“Friends? What do you mean? I just met you. We’ve only known each other for a few days.”
“Fuck you, kid. You’re an asshole.”
“Yeah, maybe, but at least I can admit it.”
“Go to hell.” Dave reared his head back and hocked up a big loogie then sent it flying through the air. Monty had to jump out of the way so it wouldn’t hit him. It landed only a few inches from his right shoe. “Jesus,” Monty said. “Are you trying to spit on me? What are you, ten years old?”
“So what if I am?”
Dave bowed his shoulders and walked right up to Monty, his fists clenched together, his nostrils flared outward like a bull’s. “What are you gonna do about it?” he said, then took a drag from his cigarette and blew the smoke right in Monty’s face.
Monty stepped back, waving the smoke away from him. Was this guy trying to pick a fight with him? What was he, in the third grade?
Monty just shook his head in disgust then turned away from him. He didn’t have time for this shit. He was getting out of here today.
As he trudged across the yard, he could hear Dave shouting out after him. He couldn’t understand what he was saying, but he didn’t really care. Only a few more hours and he’d be out of here. He couldn’t wait to get back home. This place was a joke.
Chapter 27
One-on-One
WHEN Monty got to the main house, he went right to Dexter’s office, but Dexter wasn’t there. Where the hell was he? He walked out of the foyer and into the main hallway then down the steps of the kitchen and out onto the back porch. He wasn’t outside either. And he wasn’t in the kitchen. He wasn’t in the meeting hall. Where the hell was he?
Immediately, Monty began to feel the compression of panic coiling like a boa constrictor around his throat. What if he wasn’t here today? What if this was his day off or something? No, no, no, that couldn’t be possible. He had to be here. Who else was going to check him out?
He went back inside and sat down at one of the tables, his eyes glued to the patients coming in and out of the sliding patio doors. After about ten minutes of waiting, he decided to give up and retreat to the trailer. But, just as he stood up and made his way towards the patio, Dexter called out his name and came bouncing down from the kitchen. “Hey Monty. What’s up buddy?”
Oh thank God. Monty was never so happy to see a rehab counselor. Now, he could get finally his wallet and keys and get the fuck out of here. “Hey Dexter,” he said, trying to withhold his excitement. “How’s it going? I was wondering where you were.”
“Oh you were, were you?”
“Yep.”
“Well, I was up front for our morning meeting. We were going over our new patient inventory…you know, trying to figure out who we got. Actually, it’s a good thing we ran into one another. I needed to talk to you. We have some new patients coming in today and it looks like you’re almost finished with your detox.”
“I sure am.”
“Oh so you know already?”
“Yep.”
“You been keeping track?”
“Of course.”
“That’s good, good, I’m glad you’re on top of things. Well, come on then, let’s get you processed.”
“Alright.”
When they got into the office, Dexter flipped on the light switch then closed the door behind them and walked around to his desk. “Alright sir, go ahead and make yourself comfy. I just need to get myself oriented here.”
Monty nodded and eased into the armchair, his eyes focused on the safe wedged up against the wall. There it was, just sitting there waiting for him. His keys, his debit card, his wallet…everything he needed to get home and drink himself into oblivion.
Dexter’s head disappeared as he bent forward and started opening and closing his bottom desk drawers. “Where is it? Where is it? Ahaa! There it is.” He reappeared with a fountain pen and pad of paper then he kicked off his dress shoes and let them clunk to the floor. “Ahh. That’s better. You don’t mind if I go shoeless, do you?”
“I don’t care.”
He lifted his foot and cradled it in his lap and started to massage the ends of his toes. “I hate those damn things. They kill my feet. I’d wear sneakers if I could, but you know me.”
“No, not really.”
Dexter chuckled and readjusted his posture, setting his foot back down on the floor. He straightened his tie, flipped to a fresh sheet of paper, picked up his pen, and narrowed his eyes. “Alright sir, let’s get down to business. So, like I said, we have some more patients coming in tomorrow who are going to need to be detoxed, which means were going to need to utilize your bed.”
Monty couldn’t help but smile. He could barely contain his excitement. Here it comes. Finally, he was getting out.
“So, what do you think about moving into the main house? I was thinking about putting you up in Dave Bell’s room.”
For a moment, Monty just sat there as if he was paralyzed, afraid that if he moved he would confirm what was just said. “I’m sorry,” he said, leaning forward slowly, his chin almost touching the top of Dexter’s desk, “I don’t think I heard you right. What did you just say?”
“Dave Bell. How’d you like to room with him? His roommate’s leaving tomorrow and I was thinking you guys would be a good fit.”
Monty looked around the room. Was this some kind of prank? Any moment now, he expected a dozen people to walk out from behind that cherry armoire with balloons and cameras and a big Gotcha! cake. “Wait a minute,” he said, “I thought I was leaving. Today’s my last day. Today’s the fifth day.”
Dexter cracked a smile. “What are you talking about, Monty? You just got here. You’re not leaving yet.”
“No, no, no, no, no, now wait a minute, just wait a god damn minute”—Monty dug into his pocket and fished out the commitment papers and laid them flat on Dexter’s desk—“I have the commitment forms right here. It says five days…five days detox. That’s the maximum amount of time you can keep me here.”
“Unless a petition for involuntary commitment has been filed with the court.”
“What?”
“A petition for involuntary commitment. Your parents and Robby filed one with the court.”
“What the hell are you talking about?”
“It’s right here,” Dexter said, pointing to the commitment form, “at the very bottom, in the last paragraph. In no event may you be held for a period longer than five days unless a petition for involun
tary commitment has been filed with the court.”
Monty looked at the form then back up at Dexter. The son of a bitch was right. It was right there in plain ink. No, this couldn’t be happening. Something had to be wrong. This had to be a mistake.
Dexter reached into his drawer and pulled out a bulky stack of papers. “Now, this was just faxed to me yesterday. It’s the petition for involuntary commitment, and as you can see, it’s already been approved by the judge.”
Monty looked at the stack of papers, but everything was all blurry. He couldn’t see straight. He was having some kind of stroke.
“This gives me, your primary counselor, the final say as to when you can be released from the program. And to be quite honest with you, you haven’t given me any reason as to why I should release you yet. You have not been cooperative, you’ve refused to tell me anything about your history, and when you first got here, you even admitted to wanting to kill yourself. How can I release someone who is suicidal? If you hurt yourself, who do you think will be called into court? Me. That’s who.”
Monty sat there paralyzed, cemented to the armchair, his heart beating faster, his stomach closing in on itself. “You can’t do this to me,” he said, as he clenched the fabric of the armchair, the blood from his stomach flushing to his face. “You can’t keep me here.”
“I’m sorry, but I’m afraid I can.”
“No. This isn’t right. I don’t want to be here. I want to go home. I want to…”
“What?”
Monty looked at Dexter, his mouth wide open, the tears of frustration streaking across his eyes.
“What do you want to do, Monty?”
“Drink! I want to drink!”
“Well, that’s exactly why I can’t let you leave here. Not until you show me that you’re ready to leave.”
“Well, what if I just leave? Huh? What if I just walk out of here?”
“Where you gonna go? You don’t have your wallet, you don’t have any money. How will you get home?”
“I’ll hitch.”
Dexter laughed and reclined backwards, folding his hands behind his head. “Well, good luck. We’re out here in the middle of nowhere. The closest town is forty miles away.”
Some Are Sicker Than Others Page 31