by Imani King
I grabbed my phone from the bedside table and clumsily thumbed through my contacts until I found Ollie’s phone number. It only took me one or two tries to actually hit the “call” button on my screen.
“Dorian? Hey, man, did you get ahold of her?”
“I don’t want to talk about it,” I said, my words almost inaudible.
“Are you okay? You sound… I don’t know, drunker than usual. You talked to Gigi, didn’t you?”
Why the hell did I have to have a best friend who was actually perceptive? And why did he have to bring her name up? Couldn’t I have picked some caveman-level-of-stupid frat boy to hang around? No, I had to pick a lawyer with some semblance of common sense, someone who cared about my well-being more than their next fix. Never before had I regretted my wise choice in friends more than that moment.
Common sense, I thought, the ultimate buzz kill.
“I said I don’t want to talk about it, Ollie. I already showed you the annulment. She’s fucking gone.”
“All right, fine. What’d you need me for, then?”
“I need a party. A big party, something that will make all the other shit I’ve thrown look like a pool party for a kindergartener.”
He paused before answering. “Are you sure that’s the best idea, Dorian? I mean, how about you tell me what happened and then we can figure out a plan to deal with it like adults?”
I sighed and let out a frustrated scream of both annoyance and pain—mostly from the headache that still plagued my existence. Again with the common sense and reason, again with the rationality that would only lead to me rethinking this choice of obliterating my brain with alcohol.
“I don’t want to be an adult right now, Ollie. I want to black out for the next couple of months until I can forget all about this stupid plan of mine.”
Ollie sighed. I just imagine him shaking his head—it was what he always did when he went along with one of my stupid ideas against his better judgment. I did this more than I ever wanted to admit, and no matter what, Ollie always tried to make me see reason, to talk me down from doing anything stupid. And in return, I dragged him into all of my harebrained schemes and wild ideas.
But the truth was if it weren’t for Ollie, I’d have probably been dead a few years ago from doing something epically dumb, like the time I drunkenly decided to jump from one of the upper floors of a hotel we’d been staying at and into their pool. He pulled me away from the edge, and it wasn’t until the next morning that I realized it was a fifteen story drop.
I knew Ollie was right about being an adult, but I didn’t care right then. So far, trying to be an adult had only gotten me hurt. I wanted to be the old Dorian and shut everything off for just a little while. The future that I’d been hoping for with the one girl I actually thought I loved had just crumbled in front of my eyes. Fuck being an adult.
“No.”
I sat silently for a moment, Ollie’s voice ringing in my head. “What did you just say to me?”
“I said no, Dorian. I know what you’re trying to do, and I’m not going to be part of it. You’re hurt, and things are messed up right now, but you need your head screwed on straight if you’re going to fix things,” Ollie replied.
“I don’t want to fix things. I don’t want anything,” I said angrily.
“Yes, you do. You want Gigi.”
“Well what the hell am I suppose to do about it Ollie? Gigi sold out. My mother offered her money and she fucking took it,” I replied, my whole body tensing up with every word.
“That doesn’t sound like Gigi, Dorian…” Ollie said quietly. “You need to talk to your mother. Find out what happened.”
“My mother isn’t going to tell me a goddamned thing Ollie. I’ll never know what happened, but what does it matter? Gigi is a golddigger just like all the others.”
I needed another drink. Ollie kept babbling in my ear but I ignored him, carrying the cellphone through my penthouse. I was on a mission. After knocking over a kitchen stool and a standing lamp, I finally made it to the kitchen and then to the mahogany cabinet that housed all of my best booze—even the ones that weren’t technically legal in the United States.
I fumbled with the antique turn-key lock and pulled open the glass doors, grabbing the first bottle that caught my eye—a rare bottle of Legacy rum, made for the celebration of Trinidad and Tobago’s fifty years of independence. My father would have had a fit that I was keeping it out of its specially designed case, but I couldn’t have cared less what my father would have thought—not today. Today, I didn’t want to care about anything.
I tipped the crystal decanter against my lips, tasting the strong mixture of several different aged rums hitting my taste buds at once.
“Dorian, are you even listening to me?” Ollie said as I slumped down against the cabinet. The big decanter fell, spilling tens of thousands of dollars’ worth of irreplaceable liquid across the floor.
“Hey man. Say something. I’m coming over right now,” Ollie continued. His words had meaning, but I couldn’t quite grasp the substance. My vision drew into a tunnel, and the last thing I saw was my security camera’s little red light blinking from its perch on my ceiling.
At least I’ll be able to re-live the moment… I thought to myself as the darkness took me.
Summer Harbor Care Center was more beautiful than any of the pictures on its website. The floors were made to look like hardwood, giving it an almost homey feeling compared to the typical, sterile linoleum tiles you saw in places like this. The walls were all freshly painted and every surface was absolutely spotless.
Every staff member, from the nurses to the janitors, all had smiles on their faces and gave at the very least a polite nod whenever we walked by. The more I saw, the more I liked it, and with the money I’d gotten from Mrs. Lambert, I could keep Dad here until he got himself straightened out again.
“Well, Dad?” I asked him. “What do you think?”
My father let out grunt in response, looking around at the large common area we’d been instructed to occupy while we waited for our guide for the tour of the facility. His expression didn’t give me much confidence.
“That doesn’t sound like an answer to me,” I said, turning my eyes toward him and fixing him with a stare I’d learned from my mother. I watched my father visibly shrink back before he gave his begrudging answer.
“It’s fine… if you like hangin’ around a bunch of rich, old folks.”
“It’s not permanent, Dad, and this is one of the best assisted living centers in the country and they have on-site alcoholics anonymous meetings. You’re here to sober up and change your life. You’re going to like it just fine.”
“If you say so, Gigi.”
Something was up, something that he wasn’t telling me. Did he really not like it here that much? The thought of what might happen if he decided to leave had me nervous.
“Is something the matter, Dad?” I ventured.
“How’re you payin’ for all this?” he asked, raising his bushy eyebrows at me. “Last thing you were telling me someone took your car, and all of those student loans you’d taken out were turning your life into a living hell. But now you’re putting me up in this frou-frou-rich-people old folks home and driving around in a brand new Mercedes. I know you didn’t win no lottery, girl.”
“Don’t worry, Daddy,” I said, “there’s nothing going on—nothing illegal, anyway. Things have been complicated… Tell you what, I’ll explain everything as soon as you’re out of here.”
My father stared at me for a long while, his jaw set as he just seemed to take me in and sigh. I didn’t like that look, not one bit, and I knew from the moment he gave it to me.
“Did I ever tell you about being in the Army?” he asked, putting his hand in his pockets. Something was strange about the way he asked, the look in his eyes as he turned them just slightly away from me, avoiding direct contact.
“Of course you did, Dad. You told me and Tyrell stories all the time whe
never you came home.”
My father shook his head, smiling a wry smile as he turned his eyes toward the ground.
“I meant why I joined the Army,” he said, “why I became a soldier in the first place? I don’t think I’ve ever told anyone that story.”
I frowned. “I don’t understand, Daddy, you joined the Army because you always—”
“Wanted to be a hero? To serve my country?” my father asked, shaking his head. “That was a load of shit I told your mom so y’all wouldn’t worry about me.”
“What do you mean?”
“I joined the Army because it was the only way that I’d ever be able to provide for you, your mother, and your brother. I never wanted to enlist, and I especially didn’t want to fight in no damn war in the desert. I hated the Army.
“But I was young and poor, and there wasn’t a damn thing that I wouldn’t do for my family. So I joined up, went through my training, and started being a soldier. It was fine, at first, but the longer I stayed, the more it started to crush my spirit. I gave up thirty years—sold my soul to Uncle Sam for a few bucks and a nice place to live.”
“It wasn’t like that, Daddy,” I said.
“It was, Gigi. I’d think every day about how miserable I was, how awful working for the military made me feel… but then I’d get home after being so far from you three and I’d remember why I was doing it all. That didn’t make it any better, but I felt like so long as your mother and you kids were happy, then me being miserable would be worth it.”
I stared at him for a long time as he recounted his life from a perspective I have never imagined.
I closed my eyes. “I didn’t know you felt that way...”
“Good,” he gruffed. “That’s the way I wanted it. But going through a life like that, sacrificing your happiness for others—no matter how much you love them—can turn your life into something awful. It’s not worth it—being unhappy, I mean. You deserve better than the life I have. It’ll turn you into a shell of what you were—something you don’t want to see looking back at you in the mirror and you do stupid things to cope with it all… like drinking.”
“I’m so sorry, Dad,” I whispered, wrapping my arms around him as my eyes filled with tears. I couldn’t help feeling responsible for what he’d become, even if I’d never asked it of him myself. I knew my father had made sacrifices for me, for us all, but I’d never realized just how much.
“Don’t be sorry, not for that,” he said, holding me tightly the way he used to when I was a child. “I’d do it all again just to see my little girl smile. You can’t sacrifice happiness for a good life, is what I’m trying to tell you… otherwise, you’re not ever going to live to enjoy it. You have to go after what you want from life, Gigi, and not let it pass you by.”
I closed my eyes, blinking a few tears from them as I held on tight to my father. My hands clutched at his jacket as we held one another close and I laid my head on his shoulder. I couldn’t help but think about Dorian, about what could have been a good life with him and our child. Now all I could imagine was Dorian sitting up in his penthouse, drinking himself to death.
And there was nothing I could do.
It was no use. No matter how much I thought about it, nothing could bring Dorian back to me. His mother had already proven how far she was willing to go to keep us apart. I had a family of my own to think about.
“Are you Mr. Devereaux?” came a chipper voice from behind the two of us. “I’m not interrupting anything, am I?”
My father and I both turned to fight a young twenty-something in khaki pants and a powder blue polo emblazoned with the facility’s logo standing there, practically bouncing on her heels.
“No, you weren’t interrupting,” I said, wiping my eyes.
“Oh, good. My name is Tiffany, and I’m going to be showing you around our facility today. It says here that you’re registered for assisted living, but not any medical care, correct?”
“That’s right,” my father said. “I’m not looking for any medical nonsense, I just need a place to live while I’m… gettin’ myself back on my feet.”
“That’s absolutely understandable, sir. We have a variety of different programs here, both treatment and recreational that you can participate in at whatever level you need. Our job is to treat you like family and give you the care you need.”
“How about the AA meetings?” he asked, eyebrows raised. To Tiffany’s credit, she took it in stride.
“Our chapter meets in the West Hall every Wednesday and Sunday night. I’m sure they’ll be eager to see you attend, Mr. Devereaux.”
I smiled, laying my hand on my dad’s back.
“I think this is going to be good for you, Daddy.”
Now if only things would turn around for me and Dorian.
I was home, in my penthouse with no one around me—and even worse, nothing at hand to relieve the horrible condition of my own sobriety. My body wasn’t responding well to amount of alcohol I’d subjected myself to. Even now, my head was pounding as I rolled myself out of the silk sheets. I could vaguely remember Ollie hauling me in here and helping me into bed. I’d been in here a few days now, surrounded by empty Chinese food containers Ollie had brought in. I didn’t want to talk to him. I didn’t want to talk to anyone until I knew the best way forward.
The room still smelled like Gigi’s perfume… I glanced back at the bed as if I would miraculously see her in it. I remembered how those sheets had looked around her body after we made love, how perfectly they fell over her, showing off all the right curves.
God, I thought, sighing as I imagined her beautiful smile, she looked like a goddess whenever we made love.
My head throbbed and my eyes began to sting with the beginnings of tears. I had to fix this. The time we spent couldn’t have been fake. I’d looked into Gigi’s eyes and I’d seen something more than lust… There was only one explanation for all of this.
My mother must have played one of her twisted little games with Gigi’s head.
And now, I knew exactly what to do.
I stumbled out into the living room, bracing myself against the wall with one hand and holding onto my head with the other, trying to keep it from splitting open. The space was too bright after a few days spent in darkness, but it was time to step into the light.
“About time you came,” Ollie said, staring up from the couch. “I took a week off from my studies and this had better be worth it. What the hell were you thinking Dorian?”
“I wasn’t thinking. That was the point,” I replied, throwing myself into a chair.
“Well I’ve solved that problem. I had some of the staff empty your liquor cabinet until you’re back under control,” Ollie said, his face showcasing his concern.
“You didn’t have to do that. I haven’t had that much to drink in years, and I’m not about to jump back into a bottle,” I replied, shaking my head.
Ollie just shrugged. “So… If you’re not going to drink yourself to death, and you’re done hiding in the bedroom, what’s the plan and how can I help?”
“That’s easy Ollie. First, we figure out exactly what my mother said to Gigi.”
“And then maybe we can shake hands with the pope!” Ollie said, laughing.
“If we pull this off, I’ll introduce you personally.”
“You think this is some kind of joke?” my mother snapped, her voice rising to levels that would make dogs whimper in pain. “Your little fake fiancée leaves you and you think you can just ignore your responsibilities? You disappeared before I could get the board to vote in a new CEO. I’ve been running around, taking care of your silly little problems, but it’s like you’re trying to ruin us!”
“If I were trying to ruin us, I could just leave the company in your capable hands Mother,” I said, laughing.
“You are behaving like a child, Dorian! Ever since that awful woman left, you’ve been acting like a toddler throwing a tantrum. You’re just like your father, always acting out when
you don’t get your way.”
I just smiled. “I’m less like my father than you’d like to think. You could control him, and I bet you thought you could control me too. You were wrong, and I’m done playing your games. Tonight, you’re going to sign over my voting shares of the company, and you’re going to leave this damn city. You won’t touch my company ever again.”
There was a moment of silence on her end, followed by a tirade that would’ve made Satan cower. “How dare you! You will not speak to me that way, not now and not ever! I am your mother, I raised you—”
“You didn’t raise me. You hardly even looked at me until I graduated from high school. No, I had nannies who raised me. I had tutors who raised me. I was raised by people you thought were beneath you, because you think that I’m beneath you.”