Rehab Blues

by Adrian Laing

Tim sighed and took a deep breath before embarking upon his number.

  “I’ll tell you my story in a nutshell. I always was so horny, from a very early age. No reason, you know it was just me. I must have been playing with myself in the womb. I was just, if I have to say so myself, pretty damn good at doing the business. I was probably the only young guy where I lived who took his time with the ladies. ‘Adonis’ gets it. You know what I mean? The word spread, I guess. To cut a long story short, I got myself a job from a very young age in adult movies. Anyway after years of being a well paid stud, one day at work I just couldn’t you know… do it. I mean in front of me was this delicious and beautiful lady in all her nakedness, and I just couldn’t. It had never happened to me before, ever. I saw a beautiful person in the whole, not just a beautiful hole in a person.”

  Tim paused as if for dramatic effect.

  “And that’s how me and Tamara first met. It was quite romantic, don’t you think? Pure Karma.”

  Tim’s mini-speech stunned the group into silence. No-one dared make a sound or give any suggestion they wanted to, or could, follow the T ‘n’ T story; it was by any standards a difficult act to follow. Betty was terrified she was about to gag, or, preferably, faint. The bar had been set a tad too high for this group, except for Toni who felt he was among very dear and old friends. The need to share was overwhelming.

  “My name’s Toni, I guess you all know me as an aging rocker but the fact is I’ve sacrificed everything for sex. It’s been my life, now I’m paying the price. I’ve no wife, no children, no family left at all. I’m… frightened.”

  Toni paused as the tears welled up in his eyes. “I don’t want to die a sad and lonely sex addict. There, I’ve said it: I’m a sex addict.” Tim and Tamara clapped and with almost one voice said, “Well, done, Toni, good for you.”

  Toni hadn’t intended to disintegrate so quickly; in fact he hadn’t seen his mini-breakdown coming at all. Making such an unguarded admission, so quickly, took him by surprise. Toni burst into tears, placed his head in his hands and sobbed.

  Tim leaned over and gave Toni a cuddle, and whispered “well done, Toni” and then returned to his space on the floor.

  “OK” said Tamara. “Toni’s already made such progress, that so wonderful. Take your time, Toni, there’s no rush. Anyone want to say anything to Toni?”

  Betty though it was best to get in there before the others.

  “My name’s Betty. I haven’t had a good shag for frigging years.”

  Martin couldn’t quite contain a giggle and pretended to stifle a cough. “Sorry about that guys, it was just the way it came out. Honestly, Betty, I wasn’t being rude or anything.”

  “That’s OK,” said Betty, “I suppose you wouldn’t understand any of this stuff. I mean you probably have to fight off girls all the time. Maybe it’s just an age thing.”

  “It’s a respect-thing Betty” added Annie caustically.

  No one had quite noticed exactly when it was that the deceptively diminutive figure of Huck appeared in the Encounter Area but there he was, loud and proud.

  “Hey guys. I must appear pretty rude just barging in on… this. Helen said I could join in when I was ready, and to tell you what, I really feel ready, so here I am. Hey, Toni, you OK? Hope I haven’t screwed anything up.”

  “Pull up a cushion, Huck. I’m Tim. You’re more than welcome, really – come on, join in. We’re just getting going. I think we’d just touched on the issue of respect. That’s right isn’t it Martin?”

  Huck had developed a habit of clocking the ‘big guy’ whenever he entered a potentially confrontational situation; it was part his training. Huck recognised immediately who the ‘big guy’ was, but kept his reaction in check. He was after all a trained fighter. He had heard all the rumours about the celebrated Martin Howler.

  Huck pulled up a cushion and sat opposite Martin.

  “So, you were talking about respect. Now that’s a subject close to my heart.” Huck sounded strong and confident, almost a touch too macho.

  For the second time that day Martin felt quite sick. It wasn’t just that he was outside his own comfort zone, but realised that he was deep inside someone else’s. Everyone, apart from Martin, seemed enormously pleased to see Huck who was beaming from ear to ear, clearly very happy and raring to go in any direction.

  9

  ‘Are you sure this is a secure line, Henry? Talking over the ‘phone makes me feel very uneasy, I mean I know how easy it is to access calls; but hell I guess I’m talking to the market leader in hacking so just tell me we’re ok. I mean that’s how it all went tits up the last time when the hackers were hacked.”

  “Listen Ralph, we’re ok. Believe me. I’ve told you one hundred times that it’s better to talk over the ‘phone and not leave messages or send texts. I know Simon will have your guts for garters if I don’t deliver the goods. I promised you I’d find some photographs you might add in, as I recall. Are you listening? Ok, here it is and I’ll be quick. I’ve got some pictures which will add some spice. The great thing is that the lawyers aren’t going to give you grief over this. I’ve pictures of the Gootsy guy when he was a young guy. They’re hilarious; he looks like a twenty year old mad professor. And some photos of Helen when she was a teenager have popped up on Facebook. They’re priceless, she looks so frigging hot for a thirteen year old. And wait for it – I’ve a snap of God, David I mean, looking like a member of a chain gang. That took some digging I can tell you. When he was on the inside he had a sort of day out helping in the community. The old lady whose garden he was clearing up took some snaps. Can’t see any privacy issues with that one. You gotta see it, there he is in the front garden with a rack looking like he’s an extra from Porridge. Don’t ask me how I got that one, you don’t want to know. And I ain’t finished yet, got one or two more tricks up my sleeve.”

  Ralph sighed with relief. “Look, don’t send anything in the post for god’s sake. Let’s meet and you can give me a USB stick with digitised images. Is that do-able? Great, and thanks. You’re doing a grand job, Henry.”

  ***

  “OK, Richard” Helen looked at what she called the ‘score sheet’. “Do you realise that of the fifty-one birthdays you’ve had in your life the score looks like this: there are fourteen, fourteen Richard you can’t remember; there are seven you appear to have enjoyed as you put it ‘to some extent’. Then there are thirty that you can remember and ‘positively loathed.’ What does that tell you, Richard?”

  Richard was too tired to say anything. He had thought this exercise would last less than one hour. That thought was now over two hours old, due to the number of times Richard had to stop ‘the game’ and collect himself. He had been to hell and back and to hell again.

  “Richard, you looked a bit tired. Do you want to call it a day, or carry on?”

  “What would you recommend, Helen?”

  Helen studied the score sheet once again, and sighed.

  “I recommend that we start again. This time we’re going to start from the other end, at year zero Richard, and work upwards. I know in the early days you can’t remember much. That’s not the point. Tell me where you think you are living, who you are living with, something about your mum, your dad and your brother. Tell me how you felt. You know what I’m asking for, Richard. OK, we’ll spend one minute on each birthday, starting with the day you were born. Are you up for this, Richard?”

  Richard took a deep breath, took off his glasses and rubbed his weary eyes.

  “Guess this is why I’m here, Helen. Sure, I’m up for it.”

  ***

  Martin was beginning to feel increasingly nauseous in the Encounter Area. Tim and Tamara seemed to have not one ounce of inhibition between them. Toni was coming back to some kind of stability and was now difficult to stop, once he got going. Betty had been through the tears and had confessed to her ‘bigness’ being a useful
barrier to avoid sexual situations. Tamara was impressed; this group was making progress in leaps and bounds.

  Annie was still cagey. But, as Tim remarked later, it had become clear that Annie wanted to keep back her contribution as if she waiting to deliver the great finale. The last to blow often blew loudest; T ‘n’ T knew that from experience.

  Huck had kept unusually quiet following his grand entrance. He knew this wasn’t a Huck day; it was a Martin day.

  Huck had decided that direct confrontation wasn’t the correct form, in these particular circumstances. How could he come out with the fact that he hated Martin’s team, as Huck’s dad and his dad had before him? Looking at Martin he could hear the below-the-belt chants from Martin’s yob-boy bully-boy supporters. Huck had no chance of an honest encounter with Martin Howler. Besides, there were very specific and clear conditions attached to staying at The Place. The most important of which, as David had said from the beginning, was the fundamental ‘Darcy Rule’, or the concept of ‘DRC’: discretion, respect, confidentiality. The guests of course were expected, encouraged even, to share and discuss experiences together while at The Place, but that was the ‘first amendment’ to the otherwise strict Darcy Rule. The fundamental principle came down to this: ‘what goes on in The Place, stays in The Place’.

  Huck looked at Martin once more and thought of little Tracy before they split off for the ponds. He remembered what had happened and, for some reason, unfairly or fairly, blamed the ‘Martin the scum-bag two-timer’ for all of Tracy’s woes.

  Huck wasn’t going to let a delicate situation get between him and Martin; this opportunity might never, ever come again.

  “I’ll tell you what Tamara” said Huck at the first opening he had. “A man who screws around is a slag. He’s not really a man; he’s a tart, a male tart. If he’s married or you know committed, he’s also a man without honour, a scum-bag and a coward. That’s what I think.”

  Martin lowered his head; this was fighting talk coming from a freshed-up, reborn, cage fighter.

  Annie however had no fear of Huck and could smell the fun to be had.

  “But Huck, isn’t that a bit rich coming from a guy who wears woman’s clothing? I mean who’s the tart in this room?”

  Martin tried very hard to hide a snigger.

  Huck was on a roll. “OK, I’ll tell you what, dressing up as a woman is a matter of respect. It takes courage to be who you want yourself to be. It’s not about being right or wrong. It’s about having the balls to express yourself. I mean I bet Martin here doesn’t have the balls to dress up as anything other than a school boy.”

  Huck stared at Martin for the first time. “Isn’t that right, Martin, you just don’t have the balls to put a dress on, do you? It’s about fear.”

  Tamara was beginning to feel that the session was taking a bit of a wrong turn.

  “Huck, maybe we’ve had enough for one day. I don’t feel we’re making constructive progress any more. Perhaps we should warm down with a few exercises and move on. How does the group feel?”

  Before the group could respond, Martin not unexpectedly, decided to swallow the bait.

  “I ain’t afraid of nothing.” Martin jumped to his feet and suddenly sounded – and looked – like a giant ten year old. “I’ll tell you what, get me the kit – any kit – and I’ll show you I can strut it like the best of you lot. Let’s do it.”

  Martin betrayed more than he wanted with the use of the word ‘lot’ which caused Huck to smile broadly; in fact Huck was back to where he was when he first came into the Encounter Area.

  “Oh god” said Betty. “If you think I’m getting back into that whale suit under that tent thing, you’ve got another thing coming. Any chance I can skip forward to the Movie Therapy, maybe even a nice cup of hot chocolate? I’ve been looking forward to that one. Maybe even a chocolate hobnob. Oh god I’d do anything for a chocolate hobnob.”

  Toni put his hands over his ears and muttered ‘tmi’, tmi’.

  “Fine, Betty, off you go. Tim, would you mind escorting Betty and sorting this out with JC? You’re a sweetie, Tim, thanks.” Tamara felt Betty deserved a break, and a chocolate hobnob.

  Tamara surveyed the group and reckoned everyone present was OK with the next challenge, late as it was. “Now, looks like we’re heading into the role-reversal zone a bit sooner than we thought. OK, Tim let’s get the kits out, looks like it’s going to be a long night; I feel some serious role playing coming on. Sisterly love, here we come.”

  ***

  “Today is such a very special and happy day. This doesn’t always happen. We – David, JC and I – would like it to happen far more often and if we had our way, we’d make it compulsory. Only joking, everyone. It doesn’t always work out like this, but when it does it’s a real joy. Now, in accordance with our Darcy Rule, I’ve discussed this with Richard who knows what to expect, don’t you Richard?”

  Helen looked over to Richard who was positively beaming. Standing besides Richard was Martin, Huck, Toni, Annie, Betty, and a nervous looking new arrival, Davy Crocket. Everyone had been asked to wear fancy dress clothes from the store room and their collective appearance in the conservatory overlooking the garden on such an unexpected warm and sunny day was a sight to lift the spirits.

  “Today”, Helen continued “is Richard’s ‘Graduation Day’.” The group spontaneously applauded and lifted their champagne flutes, filled with chilled organic grenadine, in Richard’s direction.

  “And as a little token of our appreciation and in recognition of your very special journey at The Place, we would like you to have this.”

  Helen handed Richard a pretty little package, all wrapped up in gold coloured paper with a little silver bow which Richard immediately but very carefully took off, and with equal care unwrapped the box like a child with the very last, special Christmas present.

  Inside was a little box and inside the little box was the digital counter Helen had used for Richard’s Kaleidoscope Review session.

  Richard kissed and thanked Helen.

  “Look on the back, Richard.”

  Richard turned the timer around and on the back was inscribed the letters: ‘mcmlxxxi’ which Richard, with some pride, read out aloud.

  Richard took a moment and then burst out laughing. “OK, very good; I get it, I like it. 1981, the year I had my twenty-first birthday. Yep, that was the happiest day of my life. Why thank you Helen. It sounds almost embarrassing to admit that I was getting more and more afraid of not being able to face another birthday. Before I came in here I was convinced I was destined to be unhappy forever and I felt there was only one way I could deal with that. Couldn’t even get that right.”

  Richard paused and smiled as if to reassurance his audience that he was ok.

  “Every day I’m waiting for the rain to fall. Even when it’s sunny, I’m waiting for the rain. I guess when all’s said and done, I am bipolar. But you know what? I’m quite happy with that. If you take time to look back at your life and remember the highs and the lows, it’s quite obvious, really. I’m mean what the hell – we’re all a bit bipolar when it comes to it. Praise be, I don’t really give a shit. I mean I know it might rain later, but right now, I mean right now at this very precise moment, it’s such a beautiful day. I just feel so happy. Thank you Helen, thank you all.”

  As speeches go, it wasn’t an Oscar-winning performance. But that didn’t matter. It was from the heart and brief with it. There were no embarrassing moments and no tears.

  Except for Helen’s, who discreetly wiped away a tear or two with the back of her fingers and opened a new box of tissues.

  10

  Martin had been awake for some time; in fact he couldn’t remember sleeping at all, not for one second. In the previous twenty-four hours the glitzy veneer of his glory-filled life had just seemed to fade into dust. He felt strangely exposed and vulnerable; his bravado h
ad, for the moment at least, simply disappeared.

  For hours he had been thinking of the moment before he took his first penalty in front of the very hostile and extremely vocal away crowd. As a seasoned professional he was used to the hand gestures, the jeers, and the verbal abuse. But yesterday, for some reason was different. The hostile crowd had somehow come up with a spontaneous new chant, and it hurt; as if it was designed to hurt. To the melody of ‘glory, glory, hallelujah’ he could hear, loud and clear: ‘who’s yer daddy Tracy junior, who’s yer daddy Tracy junior?’

  As Martin had placed the ball down to take his first penalty, the chant became louder and clearer, as if the whole crowd somehow knew of the open secret that he screwed around at will, and also knew that Tracy now knew. The lyrics seemed strangely cruel but shouted with real feeling as if there was a hidden message.

  Martin knew these were not the right type of thoughts to be having just before taking a penalty; he felt very self-conscious. As he ran up to take the penalty something was wrong, badly wrong. When the ball flew widely high into the baying, jeering mob, and the deafening cheer and laughing had died down, the words of the chant changed: ‘it ain’t that dickhead Martin Howler, it ain’t that dickhead Martin Howler’. Some of the crowd pretended to howl, wolf-like, just for the fun of it.

  The second penalty was even worse. It was the dying moments of extra time and his side was losing one nil. If he scored this time, he could partly at least make up for the first catastrophe; if he missed this one even his own supporters, his team mates and The Boss, would give him quality grief until he won back their respect, all over again.

  The rabble behind the goal had seemed to morph into a well-conducted three part choir, one side starting with ‘who’s yer daddy Tracy junior, who’s yer daddy Tracy junior?’ and sort of cocking an ear to the other side of the crowd who responded with ‘it ain’t that dickhead Martin Howler’. In the meantime, an undefined element of the mob seemed content simply to howl; it was a quite a performance.