Is this woman hard of hearing?! I just answered this like four or five times already!
“No, I’m not ready to read you the letter.” He mocked her tone, repeating her words just so as she flipped through some files, then placed a couple on the edge of her desk. Out the corner of his eye, he could see a name scribbled along one with a dark blue marker… Taryn Jones.
“When will you be ready, Nick?” Her tone had a smidgen of an attitude laced across the syllables as she looked him in the eye, bringing him back into focus.
Good…are you mad now, Frieda? Join the damn club!
“Not today and not tonight. Not in the morning, not after breakfast, not at lunchtime, not at snack time, either. Not before dinner, not during dessert, even if it’s chocolate cake. Not tomorrow, next week, or even next month. Not during group, not after group, and definitely not before group. Not during art class, Oliver’s no class ass, or afternoon mass for the religious residents in the building I walk past.”
The woman smirked and shook her head as he continued.
“Not at Pilates, not at karate, not even if you offer me a Starbucks latte. Not for Visitor’s Day, not for Speaker Day, and not for my hay day that’s sailed the fuck away. I’m not reading the letter in English, Spanish, Swahili, Japanese, French, Italian, Portuguese, Russian, Dutch, German, or any other language you can think of, either. I can speak four of those languages I mentioned just fine, too. I’m not reading the letter at any time, Ms. Frieda, because no time is the right time. You got it?!”
The woman burst out laughing as she tapped her chin with her nail and gleamed at him, her eyes squinted with a twinkle.
“You are pretty damn funny today, Nick. First the butt comment, now this. That was good… You thought that all up on the spur on the moment?”
“Yup. You want some more of it, huh? This rappin’ forte and charm? I got plenty more where that came from.” She shook her head, as if disappointed, then stood to her feet and opened up all the blinds. The sun beamed in, blinding him, making him take cover behind the relief of his raised arm. She looked from side to side, then approached her small coffee maker, which still contained a measure of the murky brown liquid in the decanter. With extreme calm, she gripped the glass handle and poured herself a cup.
As she went through her routine, he looked sharply back at her desk, slicked his hands swiftly towards the file, flipped it open, got a good eyeful and snapped it shut just as she turned around to face him, her mug partially full.
“…What if I told you that Taryn wanted you to read the letter?”
She pushed on, ignoring his previous smart aleck performance. He preferred to stay in his funk though, to irk her a bit more, get her annoyed juices flowing. His jaw tightened, and his chest grew heavy as if an enormous weight, vicious in its own right, had landed upon him and demanded his innards. He ran his fingers across his face as his eyes became hazy with confusion, and then, he came to his senses. An idea struck him, too.
“She didn’t say that.” Leaning, he lifted his chin and gently stroked his jawbone with a feathery touch.
“You’re right, she didn’t, but she’s your friend, right?”
“Yeah, but you already know that so why don’t you just get to the point, Frieda?” He peered at his antagonist, daring her to toss him a line covered in manipulative bullshit.
“And you both want each other to succeed, right?”
“Yes.”
“And you need to get over this hurdle, but you’re struggling?”
He simply glared at her, refusing to respond.
“I need you to read this letter to me, Nick.” She took her seat and handed the wrinkled sheets back to him. His fingertips grazed the paper, then he clasped it, wishing nothing more than to crawl under a damn rock with the thing. “I need you to read it because it’s hard for you, and I believe in you. Keeping it to yourself does not help you. You have to have a witness because recovery is not an island, a party of one. Your addiction didn’t only affect you.”
“Would you stop hounding me already?! You’re relentless, Jesus! It’s not a lost treasure, ya know? You act as if people from miles around have been calling you to hear me read this damn thing, like it’s a long lost sonnet from Shakespeare or somethin’! I should tear this shit up into a million little pieces, piss on it, and flush it down the fucking toilet!”
“I already know the gist of what you wrote about now…so I’d make you discuss it either way.”
He sucked his upper teeth so hard, he was certain his gums would tingle and ache once he relinquished the pressure.
“Where is Taryn at?” He looked over his shoulder, almost expecting to see her burst in through the door wearing a black sequin top hat and twirling a sparkly red cane in a newfangled rendition of, ‘Putting On the Ritz’. His paranoia began to spread like a rash, made him itch all over. The little voices in his head told him to be on alert, to be ready… something was coming down the pike.
“She is in her group, Nick. She won’t always be around, you know.” The woman’s eyes narrowed on him, matching her deprecatory tone. “You will have to do this on your own. No crutch.”
“Then why in the hell did you bring her up to me just a minute ago? To manipulate me? It’s no secret; Oliver let everyone know that I care about her, okay? I didn’t correct him. It is what it is and just so you don’t think you got over, I know that stinking fuck face ran back and told you that he saw me and her outside the other night, okay? So what! We didn’t do anything wrong and we’re adults.”
“It’s against the rules. You all were reportedly in an embrace. Taryn was warned as well.”
“Yeah, yeah, an embrace… God forbid we touch someone!” He leaned forward, lowered his head and ran his hand roughly through his messy locks. “We’re all radioactive, zinging folks as they walk by like we’re human stun guns! Zap! Gotcha! Watch out for ol’ Nick, I tell ya! You’ll catch his dirty alcoholism, it’s contagious!” He threw up his hands and waved them around.
“Your sarcasm is really ramped up this evening,” she stated behind twisted lips.
“You like it? It’s a special blend of ‘so what’ cognac and ‘I’m tired of this shit’ brandy, aged to perfection. It’s got a nice tang, right? Anyway.” He rolled his eyes. “I got my little warning sheet slipped under the door like some hotel bill. Oliver is you guys’ little mule, your informant. I’m onto what’s going on now and you have the audacity to expect me to keep opening up in front of that man, like I’m some damn idiot.” He pointed in back of him, as if the Pied sneaky Piper were standing within arm’s reach. “The only thing I’ll be exposing to him from now on is the silent treatment… Bastard is still talking about he might press charges.”
“And he very well may, Nick. You assaulted him. Just because we’ve given you a second chance doesn’t mean that he has.” She raised her chin and crossed her hands over top of one another.
“Second chance? Not buying it—and as far as him telling what happened, I’m not betting on it because then his own dirty laundry would be exposed, too. That’s the only reason he hasn’t gone ahead and done anything, but he wants to keep saying it to other people so that I’ll feel threatened. He’s not as stupid as he looks!” He quickly got to his feet.
“Where are you going, Nick? We still have some minutes left and you haven’t read your letter.” She tapped her desk with a chewed up pen, demanding his attention once more.
“No, we’re not doing this, Frieda.”
It was written all over her face. She knew she’d lost this battle, but she kept a cool exterior. She’d keep on top of him like a little rodeo clown on a wayward bull. Well, the ride was over, and neither of them was amused.
“Oh, and no worries. No need to call a meeting or anything about me. It will get read. You told me you want me to read it aloud, that it needs to be witnessed, so I will follow your instructions. I’m going to read it to Taryn, Frieda. That’s harder than reading it to you, believe it or not, but I feel
safer that way.”
“Progress doesn’t always feel safe, Nick.” She shook her head, apparently disapproving of his new cooked up plans.
“But I can’t make any damn progress unless I can talk to someone I trust and I don’t trust you, not after this.” He pointed his finger in her direction, his anger simmering at the forefront. He shrugged as his palm circled the doorknob to open the thing, the coolness of the brass bringing him a sense of re-awakening. “Taryn… I do trust her. She’s my witness, and that’s final…”
“Come in here…” Her alluring eyes hooded as she causally leaned against her doorframe in her black and vibrant yellow printed Batman pajamas.
Nick looked both ways up and down the shiny hall and saw people milling about, a sheer look of boredom across many of their lifeless faces. Nevertheless, he made quick judgments, assessments, and internal declarations.
“I can’t. Too many people out here right now. If someone sees me come in there…” He leaned further into her doorway, taking a quick visual tour. “They’ll report it and you’ll get either written up or worse. I can’t have you getting in trouble on account of me. One time was enough. Sorry about that. I should’ve known to not do something like that with you outside. I got caught up I guess.”
“Don’t apologize, it was totally consensual and I’d do it again in a heartbeat.” She winked at him, causing him to feel all mushy and strange inside. “I’ll tell you what I want you to do.” She gave the hallway a double take and crossed her thin arms, a plan cooking up inside of her devious mind, no doubt. “I want you to go back to your room and get freshened up.” She pointed past him and out the doorway. “You don’t look so well.” She grimaced.
“Had a one-on-one with Frieda,” he said, frowning. “Let’s just say things didn’t go as either of us wished.” Taryn chuckled and nodded in understanding. “She wants me to read that letter, the one she asked me about in group. I refused. I told her I would read it though… I told her I’d read it to you.”
Taryn’s lips curved upward ever so slightly.
“Well, I’m honored, Nick, and as far as Frieda is concerned, been there, done that, modeled the t-shirt… Anyway, after you relax a bit, I want you to get a bite to eat. I didn’t see you at lunch or dinner today. You have to keep yourself nourished, baby.” She offered a comforting smile.
He nodded, appreciating her concern, but food was the farthest thing from his mind. He’d lost at least seven or eight pounds since being in treatment, and he suspected a few more may come off, too.
“And then, at 2:00 a.m., I want you to go to the hall restroom.”
He looked down the way and pointed.
“That one?”
“Yes. I can’t sleep sometimes, so I know these people’s shifts like the back of my hand. Come out of the bathroom at 2:04 a.m., and you have like 30 seconds to make it to my room without anyone seeing you.”
He looked down the hall of walls at the arsenal of cameras, taking mental inventory.
“Don’t worry about that. The cameras are in blind spots in two areas and one of them is a dummy.” She secretly eyed one, nodding in its direction. “When you come out the restroom and cross over, you will be in front of the one that’s out of view. If you walk close against the wall, you won’t be seen clearly and by the time you reach my room, it will be completely out of range for half of my door. Stay on the left side. Pretend you’re a secret agent.” She chuckled.
He lowered his head and shook it, impressed by her resourcefulness and information gathering.
She should have been a damn police detective… I knew that camera was a dummy, too. I wonder if anyone else knows?
But he kept his thoughts to himself.
“Now you know why I always walk along the walls instead of dead in the center of the hall. I don’t want to be watched…at least not in here. Our privacy is already invaded on a daily basis. Anyway, my door will be unlocked for you. Just come inside and we can talk. If you read me the letter, I’ll let Frieda know, and maybe she’ll let it go, at least for a little while. If she asks when, just say we did it over breakfast or something.”
“Okay, yeah. We can do that,” he stated. “Well, I’ll see you later.” She nodded and closed the door softly behind her, and then, he heard it lock.
He took a deep breath and checked the hall again before walking away. He knew he was on camera at that very second, and the staff was watching him closely after he walked out on Frieda as if he himself were a ‘Dear John’ letter. It was simply the way these things worked. What pissed him off the most were the heaping mounds of hypocrisy and bureaucracy of the place. He couldn’t stomach the enforcement of weak rules, while important ones that should’ve been top priority were ignored. An array of narcotics was being allowed inside the facility on any given day. He knew for a fact several of the people inside the joint were getting higher than summertime kites above a mountaintop at high altitude.
This was common for many rehabilitation centers; he was no new jack to the information, and to how this sort of thing went down. It was also not necessarily a condemnation, for even the best of facilities had occasional breeches of security, but some were far worse than others, lax and almost welcoming. Regardless, he resented the fact that his flourishing love for a woman was under scrutiny, used against him in order to elicit a reaction or two when there were far more important issues that Frieda should have been dealing with—such as the influx of drugs, usage, and narcotic sales in the place.
I don’t want to get involved in all of that… That’s not what I’m here for, but damn! This is crazy…
He was certain some family members of the residents meant well and others were just trying to make a buck, but regardless, they were supplying their loved ones with illegal contraband, flushing the recovery process down the drain, and putting others in serious jeopardy. Nowhere was safe, and should one feel especially weak, there was nowhere to hide. One guy was even making liquor out of old cornhusks and mushy, fermented blueberries in his room, selling it in small sandwich bags and passing them out like cupfuls of punch at a high school senior dance. The staff and security pretended to be oblivious as they took their cut of the profits, and it sickened him.
Due to this fact among others, almost everyone in Nick’s eyes became a damn suspect. Initially, when word got out that a cop was in rehab, some people tightened up a bit, guarded themselves. He’d heard of this sort of thing going down. People felt intimidated by his mere presence. Even in group, they’d hold back as if he could suddenly pop up out of his seat and make a citizen’s arrest. He’d spent his initial time making friends, so people would feel more at ease, and assuring them he had no time to dig in their trashcans, when his own rubbish was spread all over the goddamn floor of life for the world to see. Several of the guards he’d caught giving him the side eye, sizing him up. He could see the fear in their faces, and before long, they were asking other residents questions, trying to get the 411 on Officer Nick Vitale. They first wanted to know if he had quit or gotten fired.
Word was spreading like peanut butter across bread and the illegally driven inquiries increased. He hadn’t said a damn word; it wouldn’t prove to be advantageous or helpful but then, a few naively believed he had more to lose than they did—they felt full of themselves, drunk with arrogance, and got a kick out of it, too. So, mouths were sealed, and drugs were dealt, but he never forgot a fucking face… In his mind, calculations, tallies, photos, and notes were being drafted every goddamn minute in regard to the staff, and every motherfucker involved. The residents he had no desire to touch—to make their lives even harder would be a moot point—but those that wore the veil of authority knew the hell better, and he was simply remaining quiet until he got his moment. In the meantime, a new hatred grew within him, and he resented these bastards for putting him in this position in the first place.
Many in the higher up positions weren’t worth a damn! Frieda used to be someone he thought he could confide in, but now even she f
ell under his scrutiny after the whole Oliver debacle. All he had was Taryn, and as far as he was concerned, she was all he needed and wanted. He was in love with her; it wasn’t a question in his mind anymore. He had certainty, and even if she didn’t feel the same, he hoped in time she would. As he walked back to his room, though, he thought about that long and hard…
He’d lied to himself.
No, I need her to love me back…
He couldn’t stay in his little protected cocoon, singing himself sweet nothings, when the truth proved far more brutal and raw.
He walked into his room, straight to the small bathroom that only had a sink and toilet, barely enough room to turn around a full three hundred and sixty degrees. Twisting the faucet, he allowed the water to flow, and splashed himself down, rinsing all the stress away. He ran his fingers down his face, stretching his blue eyes, making them droopy like a hound dog’s. His body was tired, and his mind beyond exhausted. Turning on the light, he sat on the edge of his bed, still not feeling much like eating anything, despite Taryn’s urgings. Seconds passed, and he removed the wrinkly letter from his pocket, but refused to open it just yet.
I want to read it to someone I trust…someone I love. I want to read it to someone who doesn’t feel the need to say the right thing, or give me a clinical diagnosis. I just want to speak freely, get some stuff off my chest, no matter how sick and twisted it is. I need a space in that lady’s world, a front row seat on her lap, and then I can do it. Yeah…then, I can just let go in her arms…’cause I know she just might catch me when I fall… She just might catch me, and if she does, she’ll let me lie there for a minute or two, kiss me, and tell me everything would be alright…
Chapter Ten
She’d known she’d gone too far, but she couldn’t help herself. She stood by the closed door, imagining him still standing on the other side for a moment or two. The invitation had been thrown out there, still warm as it lingered in the air from her lips to his. She’d perfectly plotted and sensibly schemed, used her abilities for evil versus good…or was it good after all? She stepped away from the entrance and slouched down on the nearby chair, causing it to slightly rock back and threaten to take her with it.
In the Nick of Time Page 23
