by Jesse Jordan
Inside, I see the normal group of a dozen people, and it looks like Brenda's not going to kill Keith, she's got a caramel crunch donut in her hands and a smear of light brown frosting on her left cheek. Keith's our other self-affirmed sugar junkie, although he's still skinny as a rail from being a former speed freak. He’s actually a bit of a jerk about his sugar, and he can be bitchy if he can’t get one of his three favorite flavors. He's farther along in the Twelve Steps than Brenda or I am though, so I say let the man have his damn donuts.
“Mary, glad to see you made it,” Carl, our group facilitator says as he approaches me. He's handsome, with the perfect California hair and a slight tan. He’s wearing a nice suit like always, pressed and perfect, with his ever present cross on his lapel. He's smiling, and all in all, he looks like he should be on television. “When Brenda came in the way she did, I was worried you'd miss tonight's meeting.”
“No, I missed Monday's, my part-time job you know. By the way, thank you for hooking me up with the recommendation to the boss.” When you've got a drug conviction on your record, it's hard to find any sort of job, and Carl was willing to give me a support letter to take to the owner, who only then agreed to give me a try-out. That was two months ago, and I found out Monday that I've been hired as a permanent part-timer on the staff. Happy days.
“Well, I happen to know Daniel, he and I go way back,” Carl says in a way that rings a few warning bells in my head. I know that even the group facilitators in NA are addicts themselves, but Carl sometimes seems a little too much at peace with who he says he used to be.
“Either way, thank you,” I reply, pouring myself a cup of coffee. Carl gives me a wolfish smirk, and I wonder... he's made passes at me from time to time. You're not supposed to, but then again, Carl never has run his NA meetings quite like how the book says to. “Anything else?”
“Yes. I was thinking that after this you, Brenda and I can go party,” Carl says, raising an eyebrow. “You know, enjoy an early start to the weekend?”
“Should you really be asking me with that cross on your suit?” I reply, raising an eyebrow in return. “I know you're single, but this is a church. Besides Carl, I've got classes tomorrow. Brenda does too.”
“We'll see,” Carl says, another annoying thing about him. He doesn't take no for an answer, in a 'I don't give a fuck if you like it or not' way. “Take a seat, the meeting's about to start.”
I sit next to Brenda, who's hands are still a little shaky, worrying more about her. This is more than just the stress from classes, it's something else I think. We start with the normal shit, a few announcements, and Yolanda, the crackhead, gets her two-year coin. She's looking twitchy, though, I wonder if she's being as honest about her sobriety as she says she is. Still, she's got proof, she's on parole just like I am and gets piss-tested every month. If she's backsliding, she knows how to fool the police.
During the one on one time, I get together with Brenda, who's looking twitchier than ever. “Talk with me babe, what's my favorite panda dealing with?”
Brenda shakes her head and smiles, but I know that smile. I saw it in her face too many times when she and I were in jail together, cut off cold-turkey from the exact same thing, heroin. I saw it on my face then too. It's the smile of the hurting junkie who's jonesin' badly and is about ready to do fucking anything, as long as it leads to a little relief.
“I'm good, babe, just a little more caramel that's all,” Brenda says, shaking her blue-tipped hair back and forth. She changes the color about once a month, and it gives her a funky look. I think it makes her cuter too. “I'm good.”
“Brenda, come on,” I whisper, leaning in close. “Who's talking to you?”
“Nobody!” Brenda says, still shaking. “Well, Carl said he wanted to show me the donut shop, maybe that's all it is. I was thinking his idea of the three of us grabbing a late-night donut is a good one.”
“He told me a party,” I retort, concerned. Changing stories on us, Carl? What are you up to? “So, is it a donut or a party?”
“Come on, you don't have to be such a pessimistic bitch!” Brenda says, her eyes desperate. “Fuck, I just want a fucking donut! You're like my fucking mother!”
“Brenda... come on,” I plead, trying to calm her down. She's my best friend, and we've held each other through some of the roughest times, and I don't want to hurt that now. I follow her to the door, taking her by the arm. “Come on, please. I wasn't trying to say anything. Just sit down, please?”
Brenda stops, then nods, letting me lead her back to the chairs and sitting down. We sit silently, holding hands as one-on-one time concludes, saying nothing until the end, where I look at Brenda and say what I need to say. It's something that I've learned here in NA, and I know Brenda needs to hear. “Brenda... I love you. You're my best friend, my only friend. I love you.”
“I know,” Brenda whispers, but she's still twitchy and angry as we wrap up the meeting and head to the door, although we’re supposed to help clean up today. Service, it's one of the important rules of NA.
“I gotta get out of here,” Brenda says, continuing toward the door. I go to follow, when Carl steps in front, shaking his head.
“You've caused her enough stress today, Mary. Back off, I'll take care of her,” Carl says firmly. “Remember, the common welfare comes first.”
Despite my worries, I finish up, heading outside and realizing my problem.
“Fuck!” I yell, remembering Brenda was my ride as the rain splatters on my face. I turn my head up to the sky, yelling. “You really want to push my fucking buttons today, don't you? Are you trying to balance out the good Monday?”
I don't know who I'm really yelling at, but it helps clear my head enough, and I remember that there's a phone inside the church, I always leave my cell at my apartment on meeting nights. Maybe I can get ahold of Brenda. Or maybe one of the other NA people might be willing to give me a ride to the bus stop, I don't trust any of them enough to show them where I live.
I go back into the church and turn right, my wet shoes squeaking on the tile. I’m not even watching where I’m going, when suddenly I'm stopped, running head first into what at first feels like a brick wall but is actually a human being. I stumble back, my neck creaking as I look up higher and higher, still.
What looks back at me is a man who doesn’t look like he should exist any more. Immense is the first word that comes to mind, he’s easily six and a half feet tall, with a massive chest, a blonde tangle of mop top, and rough hewn features that are rugged and handsome in a primal way. Damn… I ran into Bigfoot’s sexy California cousin.
“You should be careful, wet shoes could mean you'll fall,” the giant of a man says, giving me an amused smile. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah. Hey, wait a second,” I reply, the man's messy blond hair and immense, muscular arms triggering a connection in my brain. “Hey, I know this is crazy, but is your name Ian?”
I know it's the wrong thing to say as soon as it comes out of my mouth. With three of the four groups that meet at the church on Thursdays being addiction support groups, even if it is Ian Ivory, drummer for the Fragments, there's no way that he'd want to...
“Yeah, my name's Ian,” he says, offering a hand. “Nice to meet you.”
I feel slightly dizzy when I shake hands with him, my hand nearly swallowed in his big hands, but then his smile changes, and I can't help it, I smile back. “Nice to meet you too. I'm Mary.”
“Well Mary, you're half soaked already, what's going on?” Ian asks. “I mean, it's a little late for the meetings, I think my group is the last one wrapping up tonight. Actually, Pastor Dan asked me to hit the lights on my way out.”
“Oh? Shit. I...” I start, feeling the frustration, fear, and worry start to bubble up again. I wipe at my eyes, knowing that my eyeliner's probably already all fucked up anyway from the rain, I most likely look like a raccoon. “My friend sort of ditched me. Uh, I'm worried about her.”
“Okay. Well, I know this is we
ird and that I'm a stranger and all, but would you like to go get a coffee? You can warm up, use my cell phone, try and see if your friend is okay at least? There's a little wing joint just down the street I know.”
I know I shouldn't. What if Ian's here because he's an alcoholic? Or what if he's a sex fiend who happens to like skinny white girls with black hair and tattoos?
That last part isn't so bad. It’s been a long time for me, and Ian's handsome in an unconventional way, sort of like GQ meets caveman. I take a deep breath and then square up. “Can you tell me what you came here for tonight?”
Ian's easy smile relieves me as he leans he head back and laughs. It's booming and friendly, not at all like the image I'd gotten of him from television. He always sort of came off as grumpy and bored. “I'm part of the sleep apnea group.”
“Log Sawing Anonymous?” I joke suddenly, knowing it's disrespectful, but I always have had a bit of a sarcastic streak, but Ian doesn't mind at all.
“Something like that. So.... would you like a cup of coffee, a trip to the bus stop, or would you like to wait for Pastor Dan?” Ian says, crossing his arms over his chest. My God, he's big, he nearly fills the whole hallway, and my body is reacting to it in a way that I’ve almost forgotten. I can feel my nipples tingle a little, and between my legs my pussy starts to wake up from it’s slumber too.
“Uh... I guess I could go for a cup of coffee. If you're willing to buy?” I ask, and Ian laughs again. “Sorry, I'm sort of broke.”
“Sure. And if I happen to order a couple dozen wings, I'm sure you won't mind helping me polish them off?” Ian says. “You know, just in case?”
“Maybe,” I admit, feeling a smile on my face. Okay, so I can be turned on and hungry at the same time. He’s being nice, after all. “As long as you don't make them too spicy.”
“Deal. Now, wait on the steps of the church, I can hear the rain still pelting the roof, and no offense... while the rain's great for your look, it looks like you've got to be freezing.”
I look down and realize my t-shirt's starting to cling to my body, but Ian's already heading for the door, and I wait while he goes to his car, a newer model Cadillac that he's able to ease into nicely before he backs up and pulls around, opening the door for me from inside.
“Come on, I've got the heat blasting and if you need it, a jacket in the back,” Ian says over the satisfied rumble of the Caddy's engine. “I didn't realize how cold it was going to be!”
I climb in, thankful for the heat that Ian's already got turned on, and sit back, sighing. “Thanks. Really.”
“Not a problem. Come on, let's get you some coffee, and then see if your friend is okay.”
Chapter 2
Ian
I'm disappointed when I see that the wing joint I told Mary about is actually closed, a sign out front says that they're undergoing some renovations for the next week, but Mary seems okay with it, and I turn left, heading down the road until we come upon a twenty-four-hour diner joint that's been around I think since about the time Ronald Reagan was still making movies. “Sorry, but I think it's this place or McDonald's, and their shit gives me indigestion.”
“No... no, this is great,” Mary says, giving me a hopeful little smile. She's hugging herself despite the heater I've had going full blast, and I know that the long sleeve black shirt she's wearing isn't doing a lot to help her stay warm. Still, it makes her blue eyes even more remarkable, like twin sapphires in the middle of all that black and white.
“Okay, well first, take my jacket. It's probably about ten sizes too big for you, but it'll help,” I insist, reaching into my back seat and grabbing my leather jacket. I've had it for years now, and while it doesn't get a lot of wear around California, it's covered my ass on plenty of road trips with the guys. “Then we can run. Hopefully, the flood won't sweep away my SRX.”
Mary smiles again, and I like it, she's got a pixie look to her that I'll always admit is the sort of girl I find cute. I get out and go around to Mary's door, realizing as I do that I chose the exact wrong parking spot, right outside her door is about three inches of puddle. Fucking California, drainage never is right around here.
“Fuck,” I mutter, then my inner voice takes over and I open Mary's door. “Put your arms around my neck.”
“What?” she asks, shocked, then seeing the water soaking into the bottoms of my jeans. “Your shoes....”
“Are cheap fucking things I got from the Target just down the street,” I say, holding out my arms. “Come on, you don't need to get soaked.”
Mary nods, finishing pulling on my jacket before scooting to the edge of the seat. I scoop her up, lifting her easily as she swipes at the door to get it closed before carrying her to the sidewalk and setting her down. We hurry inside, finding the diner almost totally deserted. Mary looks around, then shrugs. “Guess nobody wants hash browns in this weather.”
“Either that or they forgot to pack their swimsuits before crossing the parking lot,” I gripe, looking down at my feet. “Fuck. No shirt, no shoes, no service too, I bet.”
“Sit at a booth, they won't say nothin',” Mary says, trying to smile. “You know, that was like... what's the word, gallant? Like old-school gentlemanly or something.”
“Yeah, yeah,” I grumble, waving it off. I've recently found a deep-seated streak of gentlemanly behavior in me, and to be honest I'm still not always comfortable with being called on it. Although Mary’s notice is pulling me towards her, and I know that I have to be careful. I might want her, but that can be very dangerous considering where we met. “Come on, let's get some warmth in here. I'll deal with my wet toes.”
The waitress comes over, giving me a grin as she flips open her book. “Hey y'all, what can I getcha?”
“Coffee for me,” I say, “along with a Salisbury steak and a side of browns, smothered, covered, and chipped. You guys do that?”
“Honey, I was born in Mississippi. I know jus' what you're talking about, we can do that. How about you darlin'?” she says, turning to Mary. “You want the same?”
“Uh.... just coffee for me. I don't have... never mind,” Mary says, and I know she's too embarrassed to finish her sentence. I can't let a girl suffer like this though, so I stick my hand up.
“She wants the same thing, except... I'd say she's a bacon cheeseburger type, maybe?”
Mary goes to protest but then closes her mouth and nods. The waitress scribbles in her book and heads back to the back, leaving me and Mary alone in the front of the diner. “Ian, you didn't have to... really.”
“You're looking hungry, and I hate eating in front of other people who aren't. Now, here's my phone, give your friend a call. And before you ask... yeah, I am who you think I am,” I comment, passing over my phone. “Do me a favor and don’t troll the guys?”
“I wouldn't,” Mary says slightly breathlessly, taking my phone and dialing a number. She holds it to her ear, biting her lip as she waits, but I can tell nobody answers. Finally, it must kick to voicemail because she talks. “Brenda? It's me, babe. Please, I'm sorry about the fight, and I'm worried about you, that's all. Can you give me a call back on this number, or try my phone at home? Thanks. Please call.”
Mary hangs up, sighing before handing my phone back. I leave it on the table, leaning back. “Your girlfriend?”
Mary blinks, stunned, then shakes her head. “Not in that way. Brenda and I... well, we're good friends. I'm straight.”
“And I'm Ian. Ian Ivory.”
Mary laughs a little, still haunted by worry for her friend, but still, she sounds a little better. “Mary Waller. Let's get this out of the way, I'm a fan. I've got both Four Letters and Limitless downloaded at home. I'd like to say I paid for them both, but....”
“But folks who go to the Thursday night support groups tend to not have a lot of money,” I say, waving it off. “I won't report you to my manager, Cora's a sweetheart who'd probably offer you a bed if she heard that.”
Mary laughs a little, and it’s a cute la
ugh. Sure, she might be dangerous, but with those big blue sapphire eyes and pale skin, she’s turning me on big time. I feel a stirring in my jeans despite the cold of my soaked feet, and I start to weigh the risks of getting to know her. The more I look at her, the better the math’s looking in seeing if she’s anything but a member of Sex Addicts Anonymous.
The waitress brings our coffees, along with the pot. “Y'all just get yourself refills whenever you want. Been in California for going on twenty-five years, and I still don't understand how y'all freak out whenever we get a little rain. Back home this ain't nothin' but a drizzle. I'll have your plates in about three-four minutes.”
She leaves, and Mary sips her coffee, sighing. “Thank you. It helps. You hit it right, most of the Thursday crew isn't exactly rich. So, what're you doing around here? Shouldn’t you be hanging with the Hollywood types?”
It's direct, but charming at the same time, and I smirk. “Two reasons. First, there aren't exactly a lot of apnea support groups out there. I mean, I go to Beverly Hills or Burbank and the most support you get is a phone number to a good ear, nose, and throat doctor. Those idiots think anything can be fixed with enough surgery.”
“It can't?” Mary asks, and I shake my head. “Wow.”
“There's a lot of reasons someone can get apnea,” I say, feeling a bit nerdy like I did when I learned about my problem. “For me, I'm a combination case. Some of it was from a deviated septum that I did actually go in and have surgery for. But, my brain's not wired right to recognize that I need to breathe at the same time most people do and I didn't even know it.”
