by JD Nixon
“Why is it all the way out here?” I asked aggressively, letting him know that I was no pushover.
“I didn’t want no pricks dinging it, did I?” was his truculent answer. “My boss takes it out on my arse, otherwise.” He gave me the evil eye. “Same with any spew on the inside. You better get to her quick with that sick bag if she even looks like she’s gonna hurl,” and he went to the glove box and shoved a paper bag into my hand.
“Yeah, yeah,” I said, taking the paper bag and throwing my bag into the boot when he opened it. He tossed Felicia’s bag in carelessly after. I settled Felicia into the back seat and I climbed in the other side.
“How long’s the journey going to take?” I asked him.
“Two, three hours, depending on the traffic.”
We should arrive by late afternoon, I calculated, giving us time to settle in and be ready for dinner. I wondered if they had nice food at a rehab clinic.
He slipped into the front seat, pulled on his seatbelt and cranked up the stereo before easing the limo away from the airport. The driver was a big fan of grunge music, my least favourite genre. Fortunately for her, Felicia fell asleep immediately, her head leaning against the side of the limo, only her seatbelt restraining her from sliding to the floor. I really hoped she didn’t hurl.
I put up with the racket from the speakers for about thirty minutes before I was forced to open the glass barrier between the front and back seats and ask the driver politely, but firmly, to turn the music down or off. He did it unwillingly and with a lot of muttering under his breath, dropping the f-bomb frequently.
Unprofessional jerk, I judged, slamming the divider closed. I flopped back on my seat, checking on Felicia – still asleep. Then I spent the next hour looking out the window at the city’s sprawling ugly outskirts, yawning in boredom.
About thirty minutes later, Felicia woke up suddenly. “I need to pee. Now,” she said.
I rammed open the divider and barked an order for the driver to pull over immediately. He quickly managed to find a grassy verge, worried about vomit on the upholstery. I pulled her from the car and guided her away from the busy road to a modicum of privacy behind some woody shrubs. She squatted, hauling up her skirt and relieving herself in a huge gush, pissing all over her panties, feet and shoes in the process.
My shoulders slumped and I threw my head towards the heavens. Sometimes, despite my very generous salary, I truly believed that Heller didn’t pay me enough for what I had to endure during my work. I unhooked the now disgusting sandals off her feet by their back straps and when she wasn’t looking, threw them in the bushes. I helped her out of her soiled panties and gave them the same treatment as the shoes.
Sorry environment, I thought with much guilt, and silently promised to plant twenty trees somewhere to make up for it. Not at the Warehouse though – it didn’t really have any yard.
I begged a small traveller’s box of tissues from the surly driver, who’d taken the opportunity to crank up the stereo again. I was getting twitchy listening to that music again and swabbed at Felicia’s feet with some tissues. She let out another stream of urine all over my hand. I glared at her.
“Any more leaks coming, sweetheart?” I asked her coldly. She looked at me blankly and fell over onto her back, sprawled indecently, asleep again. I used the whole box of tissues mopping up my hand, her feet, legs and private parts. I pulled her up and forced her back into the limo with little sympathy or gentleness. I directed the driver to pop the boot and rummaged in my toiletry bag for the small container of no-water, no-soap antibacterial cleaner that I always carried with me. I plopped a generous blob on my palm and scrubbed both hands vigorously to remove any pee germs. I didn’t want any diseases from Felicia. Afterwards I slammed the boot shut with unnecessary violence and threw myself into the back seat.
“Go!” I yelled at the driver. “And turn that fucking music down!”
He twisted in his seat to look at me with surprise, ready to argue the point. But when he noticed my face, he shut the divider himself, turning down the stereo until I couldn’t hear it, pulling out gently into the traffic. I fumed in silence until we finally reached our destination. Heller definitely did not pay me enough to be pissed on by junkies, I thought angrily.
The rehab clinic was an attractive and grand old building, possibly once a hotel, painted in lemon yellow with crisp white trims. It had probably been built in the Victorian era, the days when wealthy families used to travel to the mountains in the height of summer to escape the rancid city streets in the clean, cooler mountain air.
The limo crunched up the semi-circular gravel drive, stopping in front of the ornate portico jutting out from the front of the clinic. The driver didn’t even bother to get out and open the doors for us, just popped the boot and remained in his seat.
“Thanks so much for your assistance. You’re a real gentleman,” I said, my voice dripping with caustic sarcasm as I opened my door.
He ignored me and turned the stereo up to ear-bleeding volume. I went to the boot and hauled out our two bags, taking them to the first step of the portico, then returned to the limo and opened Felicia’s door. She had roused herself when the limo stopped moving and sat in her seat blinking groggily. I could see the driver’s eyes goggling in the rear view mirror when he caught a glimpse of her panty-less privates as she struggled to step out of the back seat in her miniskirt. A dirty smile crossed his face.
I rapped on his window, startling him. He wound it down and I smiled less than sweetly at him.
“Keep your eyes to yourself, you filthy pervert,” I suggested helpfully.
He gave me the finger and the second that Felicia was out of the limo and I shut the door, he screeched off down the drive, showering us in gravel flicked up by his tyres. I watched him travel down the drive, where he jauntily flipped me off out of the window again, before fishtailing out into the street and disappearing from view. I sincerely hoped we didn’t get him again for the return journey in a week’s time.
“Come on,” I said to Felicia and took her arm, leading her towards the front stairs. She pulled her miniskirt down, noticed something amiss and shot me a contemptuous look.
“Did you fuck me when I was asleep?” she demanded in a hostile voice. “I don’t do tricks for free, you know.”
“No, I bloody well didn’t!” I exploded, disgusted by the accusation. Even if I was a lesbian, she was the last woman on earth I would have shagged. I would never be attracted to a skank like her under any circumstances.
“Where are my knickers then? I was wearing them when I got into the car.” Still hostile.
“You pissed on them and I threw them away. Don’t you remember?” I was fairly hostile myself by then.
“No,” she said sullenly. “Where are my shoes?”
“You pissed on them too so I threw them away as well.”
“Bitch! My boyfriend bought me those for my birthday. You’re going to buy me another pair. I fucking loved those shoes. They got me attention from the punters.”
“Well, if you loved them so much, you shouldn’t have pissed on them, should you? I’m not here to clean up after your little accidents.”
“I don’t like you. You’re a fucking cow.”
“I’m not here to be loved either, so bring on the hating, sister. I’ve heard it all before,” I snapped and picked up both our bags, nudging her up the stairs towards the ornate, double glass and timber doors. When I moved the shiny brass door handle, I realised that the doors were locked, then noticed the intercom to the right of the door. I pressed on the buzzer.
“Mountain View Clinic. Glenda speaking,” said an eerie, electronic female voice from the speaker. “How may I help you?”
“Hi Glenda. My name’s Tilly Chalmers and I’ve brought Felicia Heyne for the week,” I replied, spelling out her name carefully.
“Jorge will be there in a moment to show you in.”
“Thanks.” As we waited for Jorge, Felicia stared at me.
&
nbsp; “Wouldn’t you want to fuck me?” she asked, now sounding hurt.
“No Felicia, I wouldn’t,” I said gently, suddenly realising that her whole current fragile self-worth was centred on her ability to pull in customers. So I lied, shrugging apologetically. “I’m not attracted to women. I’m sorry. But you’re very beautiful and if I did swing that way, I’m sure you’d be first on my list.”
“Oh, okay. No sweat. We’re cool,” she said, friendly again. “I bet you’d love my boyfriend though. He is hot! God, I just want to fuck him all day long.” I smiled briefly at her devotion to her pimping boyfriend. Then she spoiled it again. “Cause if I do, he’ll give me more junk. And I really need it.”
“You have to stop thinking about it, Felicia. You’re here for rehab, remember? No heroin, not anymore. You’re better than that.”
I didn’t know if she heard me, but I decided to keep up a positive no-drugs patter while we were together. It might encourage her or it might piss her off, I didn’t know. But it was difficult to look at a nineteen-year-old woman and not care that she was throwing her life away on a needle and a sleazy pimp who’d probably never done an honest day’s work in his life. No wonder her parents were so despairing and had given her so many chances.
One door of the double doors opened and Jorge stuck out his head. He was gigantic, brown-skinned, mid-forties, completely bald with curiously baby-faced features, chewing gum. He was wearing a generic uniform of white smock and white pants, his nametag the only interesting feature. I wasn’t sure if he was an orderly, a porter, a nurse, a doctor or a counsellor. I greeted him politely and introduced Felicia to him.
He gave her a professional once-over. “Hello, Felicia,” he said, in a slightly accented voice.
“Hi Jorge,” she replied easily.
“What have you been up to since I saw you last?”
“This ‘n’ that.”
“Looks like more that than this,” he said, and laughed uproariously at his own joke. She tittered as an accompaniment. I stood uncomfortably, not getting it.
“I’m Tilly Chalmers. I’ll be staying with Felicia for the week.”
“Oh yeah?” He looked at me with sensuous, heavy-lidded brown eyes, then turned back to Felicia. “Have a companion now, huh?”
“You know my folks,” she replied in a flip tone and shrugged one bony shoulder. “Can’t leave me alone for a second.”
“That’s the truth,” he said. “Got a real nice room for you both, ladies. Follow me.”
He didn’t pick up our luggage, so I ruled out him being a porter, hauling my bag onto my shoulder and handing Felicia hers. It was about time she started pulling her own weight, I thought. She shot me an unimpressed look, but obediently shouldered her bag, struggling with it as if it contained a tonne of bricks. I rolled my eyes in disbelief. She couldn’t possibly be that lame-arsed, could she? She staggered off behind Jorge and I realised that, yes, she really could be that weak and pathetic. That was enough to turn me off drugs for life, not that I’d ever had any interest in them in the first place.
We followed Jorge for a while, into a lift, up a few stories, then through a rabbit warren of corridors and steps. We stepped down five steps, then a few metres later stepped up three steps. What the hell had the architects been thinking to design that? Felicia started sweating badly carrying her load, so I took it off her shoulder (receiving no thanks at all), and kept following Jorge. When he stopped and fumbled with a lock on a door, I studied the fire-escape plan pinned to the wall near our room. I’d been involved in a fire not that long ago and wasn’t keen to tangle with the orange and red flames again anytime soon.
He finally managed to open the door and we trailed him into the room. I dropped the bags in surprise when I viewed the magnificent panorama from the windows. I pressed my face against the glass of one and exclaimed in happiness when I saw the ancient, wonderful mountains and the glorious vista spread in front of us.
“Oh Jorge. It’s so beautiful!” I couldn’t help but exclaim.
He smiled at me delightedly, less pleased when Felicia didn’t even spare it a glance, shrugging off her Elmo jacket and carelessly discarding it on the floor. The old and fresh scarring of needle tracks showed purple on her pale inner arms. She headed straight for the bathroom with her bag. I hoped she was replacing her missing panties. Then I had a sudden and unsettling thought. God, I hoped she didn’t have any drugs in her bag. I’d stupidly neglected to inspect it, taking her word for its contents, despite her father’s repeated warnings to me not to trust her.
Fortunately, Jorge was much more used to dealing with addicts than I was.
“Felicia,” he called out stridently. She paused mid-step. “You know what comes first.” She turned with bad temper and threw her bag on the nearest bed.
Jorge took her bag apart, pulling out every item, examining it carefully, then placing it into one of two piles. After it was empty, he then thoroughly scrutinised the bag itself, testing its seams, feeling around for any hidden compartments, putting the items from the smallest pile into it, before throwing it near the door. Then he turned to Felicia herself.
“Careful, Jorge. I don’t have any panties on,” she said in a revoltingly suggestive voice. He cringed for a microsecond, so fast that she didn’t notice, but I did. I decided then that Jorge was okay by me.
“Sorry, gorgeous. I’m so tempted, you know that. I haven’t had a good screw for ages, but rules are rules and I’m just the staff. I don’t want to get fired,” he fobbed her off professionally, without hurting her feelings or making her feel bad about herself. I liked him even more then.
He patted her down thoroughly, and she shimmied in pretend ecstasy as he quickly touched around her private parts.
“You’re so hot, baby. I want you so bad,” he said mechanically, not even breaking his concentration as he searched for anything illicit. She was clean and he smiled at her, giving her permission to visit the bathroom, before turning his attention to me.
“No way!” I protested as he headed in my direction.
He stared down at me. “Sorry Tilly. Rules really are rules here and I can’t even take the slightest chance that she’ll be using while she’s here. We’ve failed with her twice before, and we’re one of the best rehab clinics in the country.”
“Jorge,” I protested again as he spilled the contents of my bag on the other bed, deftly sorting them into two piles. I wouldn’t have thought that I’d packed anything contraband, but apparently he thought differently, putting my electronic tablet, expensive makeup, jewellery, hair and skin products to one side. He gave my capsicum spray an especial eyeball, quickly followed by my little black dress and high heels.
“Jorge! All those too? Really?”
“Tilly, you’re not going to need those things here. We provide all your toiletries and needs and we don’t socialise after hours. There’s no shindigs or nightly group gatherings here. All our clients are safely locked away in their rooms, hopefully exhausted, by ten o’clock each night. We’re trying to break them of their late-night bad habits.”
“I want my stuff back when I leave. Some of those products are very expensive,” I complained.
He smiled. “Of course.” He quickly wrote me out a receipt for everything he’d confiscated. “I don’t want you to think that I’m using your hair products for myself.” And I had to laugh then, looking at his shining bald dome. He paused and looked around to check that Felicia was still in the bathroom, lowering his voice. “Besides, she’ll steal anything you have that she can sell. I don’t want you to lose your stuff. Sorry, love, I really am.”
I shrugged philosophically. Once he’d finished with my bag, he commenced the pat down and I stood there, arms and legs out, enduring the indignity. He found my mobile phone and put it in my bag with my other confiscated items.
“Jorge! I have to contact my boss every day, otherwise he’ll drive up here personally to check on me. And trust me, you don’t want that to happen, because he won
’t be happy about it and he’ll bring along a couple of huge men with him. How can I contact him without my phone?”
“No worries, Tilly. You buzz me or another staff member. We’ll accompany you to the manager’s office where you can phone under supervision. I’m sorry it sounds so suspicious, but we have good cause, believe me. We know your particular circumstances, but we have to be careful. I’m so sorry. But Felicia has history.”
I nodded. “As long as I can ring my boss, I don’t mind if you’re listening in. It won’t be private,” I said. “But I really do have to ring him to let him know I’m okay every day. Do you understand?”
“Not really. He sounds intense,” he commented mildly, then pulled me closer to the door by my arm as Felicia exited the bathroom and threw herself on a bed, turning on the TV.
“Listen up, Tilly,” he whispered. “I don’t trust her and you shouldn’t either. We’ve given her a second floor room on purpose, because she’s already escaped from here twice. Be on your guard at all times. I can’t stress that enough. If you need anything, use the room phone. It goes straight to the office. I’m on duty every day for the next week and my comrade Dave is on duty every night. We’re hardcore care for the difficult patients, so nothing will get past us, unless someone murders us. I hope it won’t come to that.” He smiled.
“Holy shit, me too!” I said sincerely, eyes huge at the thought.
He looked at me again. “Oh Tilly, I’m just joking. God, you’re cute. My wife would love you. It’s so rare to meet someone here that I’d like to invite home for dinner to meet my family!” He smiled once more and was about to leave when he paused, hand on the door. “Oh yeah, I almost forgot.” He tapped a small glass-fronted box affixed to the wall. “This is the emergency button. If you press this, we’ll come running, and I do mean running. So only use it in a real emergency.”
He left the room quietly, locking the door behind him. Oh man! I was a prisoner in here with Felicia.
I found the clinic handbook conveniently situated in a plastic display folder, chained to the bedside table that was bolted to the wall between the two beds. I sat on my bed to read it. There was a big introductory blurb on the purpose of the clinic, its philosophy and mission statement that I perused carefully, and a detailed schedule for clients. Dinner would be at six, it stated, breakfast at seven and lunch at one. Lights out at ten, no excuses. Clients who were confined to their rooms would be collected by one of the nurses and taken to the dining area. I guess we were in that category.
