Honest Addict, Chapter Fourteen

14

It was a bottomless sickness that brought him from the depths of a dreamless sleep. A sharp, stabbing pain emanated from his stomach. The bed was drenched with a cold, clammy sweat that also covered his face and body. He dashed to the bathroom and vomited so ferociously that much of it came back out of the toilet and splashed on the floor. Here he remained positioned – prostrate over the porcelain bowl – for much of the next hour, retching into the cloudy soup, still able to taste the acrid smoke from the night before.

After a spell he felt secure in returning to bed. Chills ran up and down his body as he shook uncontrollably under the covers. This was a sign, he thought to himself, an omen. It was time to make a change. This day would mark the beginning of a new life, free from the shackles of his myriad vices. Sure, he had made this same promise a thousand times before, but this instance was different. This time he had hit rock bottom. That was all he had needed, after all. As he fell back asleep he was comforted by the notion that when he awoke he would be a new man.

When he opened his eyes again it was nighttime. His stomach was still in pain, but now it ached with hunger. What he needed was sustenance and a strong drink. The thoughts that had so reassured him as he fell asleep hours before were now curiously dislodged from his memory. Somehow it was always this way. The minutes spent in the shower and clothing himself were almost unbearable, his physical need for food screaming every moment for satiation.

The blue neon martini glass across the street from the hotel beckoned to Peter as he emerged into the cool night. He entered the apparently nameless dive, a dank, depressing place filled with patrons who matched perfectly the environs. The bartender approached and spoke laconically.

“Whatcha like, sir.”
“You serve food in this place?”
The bartender pointed to a dirty sign that advertised the faire:
Pizza: $3.50 (Cheese or Pepperoni)
Hamburger: $2.50
Hot Dog: $2.00
Pickle: $1.00
Hard-Boiled Egg: $.75
Chips: $.75
Nuts: $.75

Peter considered his options, which appeared surprisingly appetizing in his weakened condition. “I’ll have a pepperoni pizza, a hamburger, some potato chips and a couple of hard boiled eggs to start out. And get me a shot of Jack Daniels and a Budweiser. Please.”

The bartender returned with the shot, beer, chips and eggs, as well as a couple packets of salt. Peter unpeeled and consumed a well salted egg first, then downed his shot. After his second egg he started in on the Budweiser, which was quickly consumed. Simultaneous with the arrival of the second beer was the presentation of the pizza which was followed shortly by the hamburger, steaming hot from the microwave. He squeezed packaged ketchup, mustard and mayonnaise on the burger and then topped it with a handful of crushed chips. His food thus properly prepared, he descended on the feast with complete abandon, blind to everything in the universe outside of his own satisfaction.

Upon finishing he was panting slightly from the physical exertion of the meal and the roof of his mouth was burned from the molten cheese of the pizza. Nevertheless, he felt very good. A pleasurable chill went down his spine as his body digested the food. All the best meals happened this way, he thought.

Peter ordered a brandy and drank half of it in one gulp, heating his upper chest. It was at this point that he heard her from across the room.

Her laughter was really more a cackle, an almost offensive sound coming from a woman. She was tall, practically six feet in high heels, with straight black hair that hung around her shoulders. She wore a skirt and light blue blouse with high sheen, a professional-looking outfit, totally out of synch with the general attire of the room. Her face was more intriguing than beautiful, but striking, especially on someone so tall. In between bursts of loud conversation she took long, deep pulls off the straw that descended to the bottom of a clear cocktail contained in a pint glass customarily reserved for draft beer.

He felt compelled to approach her but was also strangely afraid to do so, not so much because of her two roughneck companions, but rather because of her flaming aura, which was palpable from anywhere in the room. And though he procrastinated and might have missed his opportunity, she made it easy by coming to the bar and taking the seat next to his.

“Gimme another double, Tommy,” she said, slamming the heavy glass down on the bar.
“May I please pay for your drink?” Peter inquired.
She looked at him, confused by the formality of his offer. “Sure dude, anybody can by me a drink. Put it on his tab, Tommy.”
“You got it, babe,” the bartender replied.
“My name is Peter,” he said, extending his hand.
“Caroline,” she replied brusquely.
“I know this is going to sound stupid, but do you come here often?”
She started laughing and Tommy joined in.
“The reason I ask is, I’m not from around here.” The moment he spoke, a feeling of absolute humiliation filled his heart and his face turned a deep red.
“Oh, that’s okay honey,” she said, noticing his embarrassment. “We’re not laughing at you. We’re more laughing at me.”
“All right.”

She turned in her stool toward him and genuinely engaged. It might have been pity at first, recompense for his blushing, he didn’t know. But after a little while and many drinks the conversation flowed nicely. Peter learned that she worked for a local Honda dealership and was the top salesperson for the last three quarters. She aspired to “climb the ladder” and secure employment at Mercedes or BMW.

“I harass each of them once a month for a gig,” she said assertively.

As they continued talking Peter was overcome by strong feelings. She was unlike anyone he had ever met: brash, impolite, loud and nasty, yet brimming with life and vitality. Her capacity for alcohol was immense. She outpaced him four drinks to three, despite the fact that she was imbibing from a much bigger glass. With each passing moment his affection for her grew, until he was at last enamored. There was no turning back. Closing time came; it seemed too quick but they had been talking for over two hours. As Peter paid the tab she got up to leave.

“Wait,” he said, grabbing her by the arm. “Don’t leave just yet.”
“I’ve got to be at work early. It’s fucking two a.m.”
“I have to see you again. Can I have your number or something?”
“To tell you the truth dude, you’re not really my type.”
He was undeterred. “How can it hurt? Worst case scenario, you drink for free.”
“You’re a nice guy. So I’m going to cut you a break and say no.”
“I can’t accept that.”
She sighed. “I’m not giving you my number. But I can’t stop you from coming in here if you insist. And like I said, anybody can buy me a drink anytime they want to.”

She walked out of the bar, her ample hips and rear swinging in metronomic harmony with his imagination.