Meds

by Ray Garton

  He told her about the attack he’d witnessed on Third Street.

  “Oh, my God, that’s awful,” she said. “Could you tell if they were badly hurt?”

  “It looked like the mother was unconscious. I was going to call the police, but a lot of people were on their cell phones and I assumed that’s what they were doing. It was so unexpected, so... bizarre.”

  Chloe sat down at her desk and made a quick note on her pad. “I’ll look into it. Thanks for letting me know. Wonder what that guy’s story is.”

  “The guy in the suit? Who knows.”

  “Are you okay, honey?”

  “Yeah, I’m fine. Why?”

  “I don’t know, you sound... worried, I guess. But I’m sure that was upsetting.”

  “I’m fine. Just wanted to call and tell you I love you.”

  She smiled and closed her eyes, a feeling of warmth moving through her. After saying goodbye, her eyes turned to the framed photograph on her desk. It was a picture of the two of them—Chloe sitting in Eli’s lap, their cheeks pressed together, both smiling, with Roger standing in the shadows behind them. The picture had been taken at Eli’s birthday party in the spring, back when Roger had been dating that crazy woman who claimed to be a medium and was always giving people messages from the Other Side. Of course, most of the women Roger dated were crazy—but they all had big tits, long legs, and gorgeous faces. He went through women the way most men go through socks. Chloe and Eli would be having dinner that night with Roger and his new girlfriend, whom they had not yet met.

  Chloe often marveled at how close and compatible Eli and Roger were, and yet how vastly different. Though very funny, and fun to be with, Eli was a pretty serious guy. Roger, on the other hand, took nothing seriously. Of course, he was a rich man who had fallen into a pile of money and could afford to take nothing seriously. Chloe liked him, but if she had to choose between his wealth and Eli, she would not hesitate for a moment. Eli had become her world.

  Will this be your first? Russ had asked.

  Chloe had been in love before, and she’d been proposed to before. The love had been real—she still believed that—but the engagement had shattered, and Chloe’s life had fallen to pieces. She’d nearly destroyed herself. And it turned out to be the best thing that could have happened to her.

  Chloe had met Dr. James Plimpton there at the station when he’d come for an in-studio interview. He was a gynecologist by profession but a salesman by nature, and he’d parlayed his medical knowledge into a series of bestselling books for women about how to have better sex. She’d hated him at first—cocky, arrogant, full of himself. He somehow got her phone number and kept asking her out, sometimes flying up from his San Francisco home in his small plane just to ask her on a date. When she finally gave in, hoping one uncomfortable evening out together would get rid of him, she was surprised by his behavior on the date. He was sweet, polite, even vulnerable—a different person. After a second and third date, she discovered that was the real James, that his bluster and arrogance were part of a character he’d created. She thought of it as his “bestselling writer character.” The real James was riddled with insecurities instilled during his childhood by a tyrannical, abusive father.

  Their relationship had been fun. James had found an apartment in Santa Vermelha and spent half of his time there with her. Whenever she wasn’t working, he spoiled her with gifts, trips, parties in San Francisco, Los Angeles, New York. They reminded Chloe of Nick and Nora Charles in the old Thin Man movies—always laughing, having a good time, surrounded by happy, beautiful people, always holding a drink.

  Always holding a drink. Oh, the drinks. Looking back on the relationship, Chloe tried to find the point at which the drinking became a problem. All she knew with any certainty was when she realized it had become a problem. It was when she woke up in a hotel room with James snoring in bed beside her and she couldn’t remember how she got there or in what city the hotel was located. That was not the last time Chloe found herself unable to remember where she was or how she got there.

  The problem only grew worse for her—and much worse for James. What started out as social drinking and then drinking whenever they were together became a need to drink. James plunged into the addiction faster and deeper than Chloe, but she was no less damaged by it. Drinking began to interfere with her work. She was horrified by her own behavior when she began to put little bottles of vodka in her purse just to get through her work day without her hands trembling and her head aching. James stopped writing and began to miss, and then cancel, speaking engagements and book signings. At the time, Chloe thought it might be easier if she were losing him to another woman. But she lost him to a substance, to alcohol.

  She was pulled over by a traffic cop one morning on her way to work. She’d run through a stop sign. As the officer wrote her ticket, Chloe was afraid he could hear her heart pounding in her chest. She’d had some vodka for breakfast and was buzzing quite pleasantly when she left the house. Fortunately, she’d popped some gum into her mouth before hitting the road. The officer did not ask her if she’d been drinking. He handed over her ticket and sent her on her way. Apparently she’d managed to behave normally and he hadn’t smelled the booze. She drove very carefully the rest of the way, saying repeatedly under her breath, “I have to stop, I have to stop, I have to stop.”

  But she didn’t. Neither did James.

  Chloe had thought her problem was a secret, that she had it under control and no one else was aware of it. That self-delusion was shattered when Kevin came into her office one afternoon with a look on his face that she’d never seen there before. He sat down, stared her directly in the eyes for a long, silent moment, then said, simply and quietly, “You’re an alcoholic. If you don’t do something about it immediately, you’re going to be fired. I’ll do anything I can to help you, just name it. But you have to do something. And you have to do it now. I talked to Sid and he’s willing to give you time to handle this. He doesn’t want to lose you. But if you keep this up, he can’t keep you.”

  “Sid... knows?” she said, her voice a whisper.

  “Sweetie, everybody knows. They’ve known for awhile. You can’t hide something like that. But you can stop it. And you have to, or you’re going to lose everything.”

  She left work early that day and went to James’s apartment. She was going to tell him that she had to stop drinking, that he did, too, that they’d become drunks and it was ruining their lives because they were letting it. James wasn’t there. He’d left her a note explaining that he’d decided to drive home to San Francisco for a few days and he would call her that night.

  James never got to San Francisco and Chloe never saw him again. He either fell asleep or passed out at the wheel of his Porsche while speeding down Interstate 5, veered across the median into oncoming traffic, and slammed into a large pickup truck pulling a trailer carrying four horses. James was killed, along with one of the two passengers of the pickup truck, and the two horses that weren’t killed instantly had to be euthanized.

  Chloe was smothered by feelings of guilt. She should have seen the signs that she and James had a problem... should have put a stop to it early on... should have stopped their descent into alcoholism... should have, should have, should have.

  Kevin was her savior. He set her up with a grief counselor the day after James was killed. She resisted at first, but was grateful later, when she realized how hard she was beating herself up over James’s death. She needed someone to tell her it wasn’t her fault. Kevin wanted to check her into rehab, but she refused. The idea of rehab made Chloe cringe. It had become so trendy, such a status symbol. She wanted no part of it. Instead, she started a 12-step program immediately, attending meetings daily—sometimes twice a day—while she was away from her job. Kevin took some time off from work, too, and stayed with her the first week. The withdrawals were ugly and at first she was afraid they were going to killer. Then she hoped they would kill her. But she got through them with Kevin’s
help. She didn’t think about it. She didn’t tell herself, You’ve got to stop drinking, and she didn’t dwell on the fact that she—Chloe Selaski, perfect kid, straight-A student, college graduate with a degree in journalism, and news director at KNWS, one of the biggest and most successful news-talk stations in California—was an alcoholic. She just did it. Then she kept doing it.

  Kevin nursed her through it. He made her laugh with stories about Russ’s reaction to her problem.

  “He thinks you should be fired immediately,” he said. “He even threatened to quit if you weren’t fired at one point. He said employing an alcoholic could ruin KNWS’s reputation if it got out. ‘And what if she relapses after she comes back?’ he said. ‘She might get drunk and report the news inaccurately! It would ruin us!’”

  Chloe knew she should’ve been angered by that, but it wasn’t worth it. It was just Russ being Russ—an obnoxious, egotistical prick. And it was too funny, so she laughed. And she kept attending meetings.

  That was how she’d met Eli. He’d come to one of the meetings looking exhausted, drained. There was a sadness in his eyes that was almost painful to look at, and it did not fade as he came to meeting after meeting and sat silently, listening, watching, but never participating. He seemed so lost and lonely and looked so desperately in need of a friend that Chloe finally approached him after a meeting and introduced herself.

  She sat at her desk and stared at the photograph of herself and Eli. His eyes no longer held that agonizing sadness and the lost look he’d had when they’d first met was gone. He had come so far in the time she’d known him, worked so hard to bounce back from the hole he’d been in, to better himself and improve his life. Chloe thought he’d had a lot more to overcome than she. After all, she’d done little more than stumble and fall into drunkenness. Eli had crawled out of the rubble of his past life and shed not only an addiction, but a lot of pain and emotional damage. He told her often that she was responsible for his recovery, but she didn’t think that was entirely true. Eli was stronger than he thought. Paaxone seemed to have helped, too.

  Chloe sipped her coffee, then picked up the phone to call the police department and look into the attack Eli had witnessed on Third Street.

  3.

  As Eli drove around the city delivering packages, the day grew hotter, and even though it seemed impossible, the smoke in the air grew thicker. With the radio tuned to KNWS, he listened to Chloe give regular updates on the surrounding fires and announce evacuations in some outlying areas.

  By the end of the day, he was in the southern end of town. His last delivery was on Pine Street, just two blocks from Walgreens. After the delivery, he drove to the drugstore, parked, and went inside.

  The store’s chilling air conditioning was a startling change from the day’s sweltering heat. Eli walked down an aisle of cheap toys, coloring books, and puzzles to the pharmacy that took up most of the back of the store. A few people were sitting in chairs waiting for their prescriptions to be filled, while a few more stood in line at the register under a sign that read “Drop Prescriptions Here.” Eli went to the other end of the counter and stood beneath a sign that read “Pick Up Prescriptions Here,” where a gangly, bored-looking young man with thick glasses and a rather sad attempt at a mustache asked for his name.

  “Eli Dunbar. My pharmacist at ThriftRite transferred my prescription for Paaxone over here earlier today.”

  “Okay, I’ll be right back,” he said. He returned a moment later, empty-handed. “Sorry, but we’re not able to fill that prescription.”

  “Wasn’t it transferred here?”

  “It was, but we can’t fill it because we don’t have any Paaxone right now.”

  Frowning, Eli said, “Do you know when you’ll have more?”

  The young man shrugged. “I don’t know.”

  “Is there someone here who might know?”

  The young man glanced over his shoulder at an older, dark-skinned man in a white lab coat who stood working at a long counter. “Well, um, Amir might know.”

  “Could I speak to Amir, please?”

  “Just a second.”

  Eli watched as the young man spoke to the pharmacist, then returned with him to the counter.

  “May I help you?” Amir said. He sounded distracted.

  “I’m trying to refill my prescription for Paaxone,” Eli said. “My regular pharmacy is ThriftRite, but they tell me that Paaxone isn’t available to them right now, so my prescription was transferred here.”

  Amir began to nod before Eli finished speaking; eyes closed as if this were an exchange he’d already had a number of times. “Yes, yes,” he said with a light Arabic accent. “Paaxone is unavailable to us right now, too, I’m afraid.”

  “Do you know why?”

  “All I know is that our supplier is out of stock.”

  “Your supplier—you mean the manufacturer?”

  “Oh, no, no. Our supplier is Connerly and Macklin in Sacramento. They get the drugs from the manufacturers, we order them, then the supplier hires a delivery service to bring them to us. The supplier has been out of Paaxone since last week.”

  “They’re just... out of it?” Eli said. When Amir simply nodded and did not respond, Eli said, “Then what are people who are taking Paaxone supposed to do?”

  Amir tipped his head to one side and briefly lifted a shoulder. “I don’t know what to tell you. I suggest you call the prescribing doctor. There’s nothing I can do until we’re able to restock.” He turned and went back to his work.

  Eli walked out of the store slower than he’d come in, brow creased. If a huge chain like Walgreens couldn’t get Paaxone, what were the chances it would be available to any other pharmacy in the city? He thought of the orange bottle in the medicine cabinet at home in which only two Paaxone pills remained. As he got back into his truck and started the engine, he wondered what would happen if he were unable to refill the prescription. How long before it left his system entirely and he began to slip back to his old state of mind?

  He drove back to the shipping station only vaguely listening to Russ Campbell’s show on the radio. At the station, he parked his truck, killed the engine, and went inside. He exchanged only brief greetings with his coworkers before checking out and getting into his car. He started his engine, then checked his watch. Twenty minutes after five. Dr. Myerson’s office would be closed, but he could leave a message on her machine. He took his cell phone from his pocket and called her number.

  The recorded message, recited by Dr. Myerson’s receptionist Bonnie, began after the second ring. “You have reached the office of Dr. Erica Myerson. Our office is currently closed. Please call back during regular business hours, or leave a message at the beep. Dr. Myerson is on vacation until September second. In her absence, patients are being referred to Dr. Peter Lewicky.”

  “Shit,” Eli muttered. It had completely slipped his mind that Dr. Myerson was out of the country on vacation for the month. He’d recently decreased his visits to twice a month and his last visit had been almost two weeks ago. She’d told him then that she would be leaving and he could see Dr. Lewicky while she was gone, but Eli had said he could get through a month without a session. Of course, that was before the supply of Paaxone had dried up. He waited for the beep, then said, “Hi, Bonnie, it’s Eli Dunbar. Uh, I’m a little concerned because I can’t get my prescription of Paaxone refilled. Two pharmacies have told me it’s unavailable, and I’m not sure what to do. I have two pills left. If you have any suggestions, I’d appreciate hearing from you.” He left his number. As the engine idled, he chewed on the inside of his cheek and frowned through the windshield at the parking lot’s shrubbery. He made another call.

  Eli had a direct number that bypassed Everett’s office voicemail system and would be answered by one of the girls on the staff. He knew Everett would still be in the office—he invariably ran behind schedule and ended up staying late. The phone was answered by Teresa, his medical assistant. Eli identified himself and
quickly got through the small talk.

  “Is Everett free, by any chance?” he said.

  “He’s with a patient right now. What do you need?”

  He told her about the sudden unavailability of Paaxone. “I’m a little worried because I only have two pills left. Dr. Myerson is on vacation. I thought Everett might have a solution.”

  “Yeah, we’ve heard this from other people lately. Tell you what, Eli. I’ll pass this on to him as soon as he’s done with his patient. I’ll tell him it’s important and have him call you back as soon as possible, okay?”

  Two minutes later, Eli was on his way home. He tuned to a music station—Heart belted out an old tune on Jack FM—and thought about dinner that night at Roger’s. Spending time with Roger always lifted Eli’s spirits, and his dinners were delicious. But his mind kept returning to the problem of refilling his prescription. He decided not to tell Chloe. There was no point in worrying her.

  4.

  As he and Chloe entered Roger’s house, Eli said, “What a dump!”

  Roger had just turned his back to lead them inside, but quickly spun around, snapped his fingers, and pointed at Eli. “Bette Davis.”

  Chloe frowned. “I thought that was Elizabeth Taylor.”

  Eli said, “Taylor quoted the line in Who’s Afraid of Virginia Woolf, but she was imitating Bette Davis.” He turned to Roger. “In what movie?”

  “Uh, the forest, something about a forest,” Roger said, scratching the back of his head as he thought it over. “Was it Out of the For—no, Beyond the Forest!”

  “Right. What year?”

  “Uh... ‘fifty? ‘Fifty-one?”

  Eli frowned. “Come to think of it, I’m not sure of the year myself, so we’ll forget that question.”

  When they were boys, Eli had spent a lot of time at Roger’s house. Roger’s mother Lydia had battled depression and went through periods during which she never left the house. She’d been a great lover of old movies and had spent a lot of time watching them, some over and over again on video or when they were broadcast on TV, reciting the dialogue along with the actors. This had fascinated Eli and Roger as boys, and they’d spent a good deal of time watching the movies with her.