Chapter Seven

Chapter Seven.

Lay where you’re laying

Don’t make a sound

I know they’re watching

They’re watching 

All the commotion

The kiddie-like play

Has people talking

They’re talking

You

Your sex is on fire 

The dark of the alley

The breaking of day

Head while I’m driving

I’m driving 

Soft lips are open

Them knuckles are pale

Feels like you’re dying

You’re dying

You

Your sex is on fire

Consumed

With what’s just transpired

Hot as a fever

Rattling bones

I could just taste it

Chased it

But it’s not forever

But it’s just tonight

Oh, we’re still the greatest

The greatest

The greatest

And you

Your sex is on fire

You

Your sex is on fire, ah, ah

Consumed

With what’s just transpired

And you

Your sex is on fire

Consumed

With what’s just transpired

The week before Thanksgiving of 2003 was busy. I had “officially” been laid off from my seasonal landscaping gig for the winter, which meant that my shifts picked up at the bar and the club. Money. The holiday season has been good to me and my co-workers the last couple years. I’m fine with being the benefactor of generosity. The bills don’t stop to celebrate, unfortunately. I had asked for this weekend off in advance, and I’d make it up in double shifts during the upcoming weeks.

I’d just driven into Hoboken, and was cursing the unavailable parking opportunities in the covered garage at the Columbus apartment complex. I needed a spot to park the Firebird for at least two nights, maybe three, and I would prefer to come back to a car with in-tact windows and my stereo system still attached. Fingers crossed! I had about ten minutes before the Path train departed for the city and if I didn’t hustle I’d be outta luck. My printed out MapQuest subway directions were in my bag, along with some clothes and little toiletry things for the weekend. Always prepared. Luckily, after some literal last-minute lurking, I spotted a man walking to a parking spot that I’d hoped he’d be vacating. Like a circling shark, I zoomed over, cutting someone else off and receiving the well deserved horn honk, expletives, and middle finger. That’s Jersey driving for ya. He pulled out and I headed in, seeing the lights of the Path rolling towards me. Hurriedly, I popped my trunk and grabbed my bags, locked the car with a chirp and dipped towards the station platform. I waited for the doors to open, found a seat, pulled my Ipod and headphones out, and placed my bags next to me. Operation Ivy’s Hoboken seemed fitting, so I rolled with that. Every single song on their 1989 album “Energy” was dope. I wore that shit out. Bad Town is a classic fav.

Twenty minutes later I was pulling into Penn Station (NYC), and from there I walked to 34th St. to hop on the 3 heading towards Rockaway Ave Station eventually arriving in Brownsville, Brooklyn where my chariot was awaiting.

Not exactly a chariot, but a champagne Ford Explorer with two passengers parked waiting for my arrival, exactly where it said it would be. Lou was holding the door to the back seat open for me. I dropped my bags and engulfed him in an embrace. He looked great, despite the soft cast on his right arm and healing broken nose. Acqua di Gio, one of my favorites, sent a sizeable rush to my senses. Gawsh, I love that smell. With a beaming smile he expressed his excitement “Thanks for coming, City. I’m happy to see you.” I closed the door behind me and casted a courteous wink and nod. “Ditto, kiddo.” His cousin, Jamie, who was probably 10 years my senior, was driving and extended a hand from the driver’s seat. We’ve met once before, and exchanged “Hi’s & How ya doin’s”.

Lou looked back at me, placing his hand on my knee, and I smiled warmly from the middle of the backseat. It was so good to see him. And I was gratified for the invite & opportunity, finally, to discuss what the hell happened that early October morning. It had been a little over 6 weeks since his accident, and besides that cryptic call I received at Chili’s we hadn’t spoken. He’d been paranoid post arrest, rightfully so.

“You need smokes or anything before we get back?” I’d prepped and picked up a few packs so I told him that I was fine. In all honesty, I wasn’t sure what was allowed. My nerves were kind of fluttery, and my thoughts were all over the place. A drink sounded really good right now and I wanted to suggest picking up a bottle of Bourban…or even a sixer, but I didn’t want to overstep my boundaries. Since we hadn’t really spoken I wasn’t really sure where his sobriety stood. There were murmurs of course, people who thought they knew Lou, and thought they knew what was happening with him. I knew better than to listen to gossip, especially from peeps he hardly knew. We’d spent that night at my crib celebrating the “changes” he seemed intent on making, just not before crashing into a cop with a rolling pharmacy in his tahoe just the next day. I guess I’ll know what’s up soon enough.

We rode in silence for a few blocks until we reached his cousin’s casa. Jaime opened my door and offered assistance with my bags. I accepted and followed Lou into the two story brownstone. We walked into a living room with a pretty woman sitting on the couch. Jaime placed my bags down, walked to the woman, extended his hand to help her off the couch and kissed her forehead. She thanked Jaime, stood and Lou introduced us. “Stella, this is Carmen, Carmen this is the girl I…” but before he finished Carmen embraced me. “I’ve heard so much about you,” she said. I looked her in the eyes, beautifully soft & hazel in color. “I’m Stella” She had an incredibly bright smile. Infectious. “I know, Lou never shuts up about his friend from Jersey. I’m Carmen. Nice to meet you.” We laughed, and hugged. She smelled like gingerbread, and she was gorgeous. 5’5 with hazel eyes, smile like the sunrise, caramel complexion. City high, for sure. Lou looked sheepish and told me he was bringing my bags downstairs. As he left, Carmen waited for him to be out of listening distance to grab my hands, look me straight in the eyes and tell me “That boy is crazy for you, you know?” I laughed, probably uncomfortably. “We’ve been friends for a long time,” I told her. “You are even prettier than he described! I’m glad you accepted the invitation, and I want you to make yourself at home.” I thanked her, bashfully of course. She smiled and tilted her head, before she could speak again Lou had walked back up and requested my presence downstairs. Carmen winked at me. I squeezed her hands, and she embraced me once more. “If you need anything at all, please don’t hesitate to call Jamie or I. Lou told you we’ll be doing an early Thanksgiving party Sunday, right? Just some close friends and family. We’ll have fun.” I kissed her on the cheek and thanked her, and turned to Jaime to extend my hand in gratitude. So welcoming and kind. And what a beauty! Wowza!

I hustled down the basement stairs and was surprised at what a spread Jaime and Carmen had. Lou ran back upstairs to say goodnight to his cousins and told them we’d see them tomorrow. It was a little after 9pm. Then, he grabbed my hand and asked to show me around. I gladly accepted. Stunning teak floors, a full bar, pool table, foosball, an entertainment center, and a kitchenette with a range top & fridge. There was a cute nook and island with gorgeous marble countertops. We popped into the two extra bedrooms and one full bath towards the back end of the bottom floor. The bathroom revealed his & her sinks made with that same magnificent marble, and a walk-in shower that was massive. 

This basement was like the most perfect apartment. Stylish yet screams comfy-cozy, modern, esoteric & epically furnished. 

His nose was healing, but you could tell it had been broken. When we walked into the bathroom, he turned the light on and out of habit we looked in the mirror, which is where I really saw the difference. His dark brown eyes were almost black in color, but shimmering. I could tell he felt self-conscious, which wasn’t my intention, so I quickly went back to gawking at the bathroom’s beauty. 

On the way out of the bathroom he hip-checked me. Like the kid in elementary school who punched me in the eye to show he had a crush on me. Mature. I laughed. “That’s all you got?” We stepped into the spare bedroom. Charmingly decorated with framed art that depicted old Brooklyn in sepia color. The bridge, the bay, and one of Coney Island from the 50’s. “I’ll save the rough stuff for later, City.” That made me howl. “I’ve missed that laugh,” he said, joyfully grinning. “I’ve missed that smile”, I said, cupping his chin and smushing his lips playfully. 

“Can I place your bags in here for now?” Absolutely. He dropped my things in the spare room, and as we exited I grabbed the box I’d brought for him. A bottle of cologne, a leather bound journal with his name engraved on the inside, and a black Quicksilver bubble goose jacket for the brick winters. Early Christmas gifts for a friend who might have a tough holiday season. The entire basement felt like the first floor of a sublimely cozy home. It was perfect.

As Lou lit a fire I placed his gifts on the glass topped coffee table, and I took a seat on the charcoal colored suede couch. It was buttery soft, elegant and comfortable. I had taken my boots off and pulled my legs up under me. I’d dressed casually – my velour sweatsuit fit my 5’5, 115lb frame pretty well. Tight where it needed to be, without feeling like my curves were suffocated. With a cream colored cami under so that I could unzip the top enough to let the girls breathe. That’s what I liked about sweatsuits, they coupled comfort with refinement. Lou seemed unbothered by the soft cast, like it was just something covering his right arm. His mobility was unbridled. That was good to see. 

He turned back towards me and eyed the wrapped boxes. His lips curled into a curiously cute smile. “What’s this?” he asked, pointing to the table. “A lil’ somethin’-somethin’ for my favorite fugitive. Figured you could use some extra love this Holiday season.” I winked. He pulled me up from the couch and we hugged for what seemed like a minute. He was warm, strong, and his scent was stimulating. We looked at each other after the hug broke, and I felt my face flush crimson. I tried to divert my eyes to the ground unassumingly, brush it off quickly, without him noticing my bashful peeking through. Old habits. He sat on the couch, grabbed my hand to invite me to the spot next to him. He unwrapped the boxes with a boyish coyness, a sweet innocence in his intent. And I could sense his genuine gratitude when he’d finished opening them. “How especially thoughtful. Stell, you didn’t have to do that.” Now he looked reticent, red cheeks and all. He tried the jacket on. It fit him perfectly. The journal was personal, as I knew he liked to write, and figured he may be starting a new chapter at some point. The cologne was Giorgio Armani, his signature scent. “I love it. I’m speechless.” I smiled and told him to cut the sappy shit out. He nudged me, I nudged back. “Thank you for being you, for being a true and dependable friend”. I looked at him and nodded, “You too. No worries.”

The fire crackled and popped. An ember jumped out and landed on the stone faced platform in front. He got up to poke the kindling and to close the screen. I wanted to ask him how he was, and what was going on with the case. I wanted to know what happened that night, and how he was coping. But, when I opened my mouth the words couldn’t come out. The last thing I wanted to do was make him feel uncomfortable, or make things awkward.

He walked over behind the bar and offered me a stool. I accepted. “You look like a natural behind the bar” I joked. I’d mentioned earlier that we had worked together at a shore nightclub, and he was a fantastic bartender. As a matter of fact, he was my favorite person to work with. Not because of our friendship, but because he understood what it took to make money as a bartender on the Shore. Totally confident, boundless energy, worked the crowd – which isn’t a gimme on the Jersey Shore. You get a mixed bag all summer long. Don’t get me wrong, we have regulars, but you also get a massive variety of vacationing shoobies, bennys, and everything in-between. It’s killer cash, but you better be working overtime to guarantee that everyone who sits stays happy, ensure everyone is having a good time, lots of laughs, lots of convo that says, “I totally give a shit” and providing speedy service with dynamic dialogues and dazzling smiles is a must. Until 2am. But, we did it, and we worked incredibly well with one another while making incredible money for 2 summers. I remember scurrying to the basement together to get “supplies” (cases of beer, napkins..) and we’d bust out a few lines on the makeshift tables before running back upstairs to the bar. There was one time, I got so yakked that I threw up right after the line, and he held my hair back for me as I did. Now that’s a good friend!

He must have sensed my waxing nostalgia. A 7 & 7 with light ice, a red cocktail straw, and a lemon wedge was placed on a napkin in front of me. I nodded my thanks. Lou mixed himself one, also, and emerged from behind the bar to take a seat next to me. We clinked glasses. “Cheers to good friends doing bad things while discussing the uncomfortable.” I halted, mid sip. I hadn’t expected that salute, but leave it to Lou to break up the monotony. “I’ll drink to that,” and did. I squeezed the lemon, twisted its pulpy flesh, and dropped it in. The aroma was bright and cheerful, while the flavor was a sour contrast, bitter on my tongue. Lou had brought the bottle of Seagrams 7, a napkin full of lemons and limes, and a 2 liter of 7up within arms reach of us. Smart move. I refilled our glasses, recited the same ritual with my fruit.

He swiveled his stool towards me, put his hand on my knee. I turned towards him. He lit two smokes, handing me one. I thanked him on the exhale. “Promise me something” he asks, a roguish, wily smile forming. I’m curious, so I challenged his query, “Shoot”. Lou crunches an ice cube, takes a drag. “This is our Thanksgiving weekend. We’re gonna have a good time, first and foremost. I’m gonna fill you in on what happened, and what the future holds, but none of it affects THIS weekend. Deal?” It was more a statement, less a challenge. He was cleverly smiling, which was infectious, side-eyeing my response. “Deal.” We shook hands, and Lou got up from his stool to hustle back behind the bar.

He refilled our glasses with ice, then crouched down to grab a Montecristo cigar box from one of the shelves under the epoxied mahogany table top. He walked back to our barstools and opened the box. Inside was a plethora of paraphernalia and party supplies. He pulled out a glass pipe, about the length and width of my middle finger, cylindrical, with a tip darkened by lighter burn. He grabbed a cocktail napkin to remove the residue, placed the pipe on the napkin, then went back to exploring the box. Next up, a glassine wrapped bundle in a rubber band, with a Black Jack stamp brightly displayed. That was stacked beside the pipe. Lou pulled out 3 pill bottles, the labels peeled off, contents currently unknown. After that, what looked like a miniature bar of soap wrapped in cellophane graced the table. About the size of a mini lighter, and whitish-yellowish. I could see a few more bundles in the box, probably a bricks worth, or two. And I could have sworn I saw a rig…but before I could confirm that the top to the old cigar box closed.

He started pushing a toothpick through the glass pipe, removing the blackened copper chore from it and applying a new piece.

I’ll be real – this is when I started getting nervous. It had been a month and a half since I had ingested a blue, or done a line of coke. Like I said, it was a sporadic occurrence, emphasis on the sporadic. And I hadn’t touched heroin or crack, ever, and really hadn’t planned to, ever. Who does? 

I had a few friends and a couple of family members who were addicts. Each story different. A cousin who got hooked on pills after back surgery, now using heroin. An old friend I went to HS with who was addicted to heroin – who struggled her whole life with anorexia and bulimia, extremely low self-confidence, major depression, constant family battles, and borderline personality disorder..among other things. A very close family member with an oxy addiction that a very close family friend suggested I start paying close attention to. 

Just because I’d been around it or seen it didn’t mean I wanted to jump head first into “harder” drugs. To be quite honest, I didn’t. A few pills for the weekend? Fine. Heroin & Crack? Not so much. 

That was a line I wasn’t sure I’d wanted to cross. My perception of crack brought me back to the old footage of the City in the 70’s & 80’s. The war on drugs. Those “this is your brain on drugs, any questions” commercials that were intended to freak you the fuck out. 

And it wasn’t pretty – people strung out in vacant buildings, broken glass pipe in their hand lit by a small fire they had constructed (in the building) to keep warm – surrounded by folks laying in the darkened corners, covered by newspaper, empty liquor bottles keeping them company. 

I started sweating, knowing that I wasn’t feeling comfortable with this, and not wanting to be forced into anything. I knew Lou wouldn’t tell a soul, but I’D know, and I did have a conscience believe it or not. He wouldn’t pressure me into anything I wasn’t down to do – that I knew for certain. And as for Lou, I believed he had a problem, but I didn’t know it ran this deep or potentially included everything in the box.

“Quite a plethora of pharmaceuticals, aye?” He eyed me, perceptive to my internal predicament, aware of my unease. “Well, you already know that I’ve got a little problem. And in two weeks I’ll be piss tested every Thursday as a result of my conditional discharge, so I’m getting it out of my system now.” I thought about that for a sec. “I’m entering a rehab, too. Because I want to, it’s not being forced upon me. I made the choice because I knew it was what I needed. I’m not fucking it up, and I cannot fuck it up. No chance. My parents are worried, and I guess I’m kind of worried too. I want to quit, and I’m ready to quit, believe me, but I don’t want to screw up. So, I’m having a last dance of sorts, and you’re the guest of honor. Truth be told, I’ll probably be relying heavily on actual friends during this next chapter, and I know you’ll hold me accountable while having my back. We’re celebrating that union this weekend. If it’s okay with you?” 

I took it all in. I was happy that he’d admitted that things were past the point of an actual problem, and I was also happy that he’d be getting help. A weekend of hard partying wasn’t what I had in mind, truth be told, but I understood where he was coming from, and I was glad he knew he could be real with me; grateful he knew he could count on me during the upcoming storm. Because he could. 

“I’m proud of you.” We dapped. “And you know you can count on me, for anything.” We locked eyes. “I know. That’s why you’re here, that’s why I needed to see you and talk to you about all of it. I appreciate our friendship more than you know, and I know you’ll be there for me. I’d do the same for you.” I squeezed his hand. He stood up and walked over to the fireplace to add more wood. While he did I observed the contents on the table. One weekend of smoking crack or snorting heroin doesn’t avow or affirm you become an instant addict…it doesn’t guarantee you develop a drug problem, right? Addiction is an acquired affliction that takes effort and time. And, I didn’t plan on spending any extra time with crack or heroin past this warrior weekend. Plus, it’s not like anybody was gonna know, just him and I. My conscience would know, and that’s one issue I was battling with. The other? Straight-up – I was scared, afraid of the unknown, panicked by the pipe, perplexed by the powder. My uncle died of a heroin overdose when my father was 18. I’ll never forget him telling my brother and I about how easy heroin was to become addicted to. My mind was racing, uneasy thoughts popping up like a venn diagram. I needed to breathe, so I grabbed my bag, politely excused myself, and dipped into the bathroom. 

I’d taken half a xanax right before I got off the train but it hadn’t completely quelled the anxiety of the “unknown” – I’d been worried about Lou, about what he was going to tell me, about what his future held..and yada yada. Now I had a fresh wave of anxiety. Yes, I was content to finally know for sure that he did indeed have a sizable problem, but more importantly that he was handling it. And handling it in the best way he saw fit for himself, without being forced into anything. I was proud of him for acknowledging the problem, and for his desire to fix it. I was a little shocked to know how deep he’d gotten, although Dre had told me a few weeks back that he’d heard some things about the crickety and Lou. The heroin wasn’t as surprising, but still startling – especially if he was booting it. A lot of people were using. It’s not something you’re ever expectant or elated to hear, and it doesn’t condone the usage, but it was happening.  

My shame for the decision I knew I was about to make was glaring & intense, like the luminous glow of the bathroom lighting. I felt vulnerable under them. My altoids tin of xanax was right on the top of my purse. I couldn’t pop the top fast enough, like the dissolving benzo could absolve me of the sins I knew I’d be making. It couldn’t do that, but enough of it would completely dull, dissipate & evaporate the events about to take place. And that was exactly what I wanted. No guilt, no memory, no occupancy. Wishful thinking while my anxiolytic begins convincing myself that I’m just a reluctant weekend warrior, the saint of circumstance, an unenthusiastic participant who will walk away from this weekend no different than the person who walked into this weekend, who just walked into this bathroom, looking herself in the mirror promising that nothing bad will come of this. Nothing about me was going to change. I’m not going to suddenly get hooked on crack or heroin. I’m stronger than that. I took 2 bars, and hoped for the best.

I quickly brushed my hair, reapplied my lipgloss and mascara. The worry began to vanish as I hustled back out and into happenstance.

Lou had an auroral luster broiling in his black eyes. An enkindled grin to accompany his glow.

He was back behind the bar. He walked up to me with a remote in his hand. An offering for me to suggest I pick out something to listen to. While I clicked the receiver on he got to work like a mad scientist, prepping the contents of the cigar box. Easy choice: Reasonable Doubt. When in Brooklyn..?

We’d sat back down at the bar, and I set us up with fresh drinks. He got right to it and crushed up a few blues. 3 & 3. He unwrapped a rubberband from a bundle and plucked out two glassine packs, ripped the bags and poured the brownish powder on top of the crushed blues. We made eye contact again, and there was inquiry in his casted gaze.

He was about to pass me a rolled up bill, but asked first if I was okay with what his expectations were for the weekend. I’m sure he saw the hesitancy on my face earlier when he’d made the “no surrender” proclamation. I laughed and without qualm chirped, “Yeah, I’m good. I get it, and I’m in. Let’s have an awesome weekend!” We clinked glasses, again, and I could see an immediate melting of tension in his body language. I accepted the bill, dropped my head to the table and let my nose inhale the concoction. Woosh!  Lou next. We both licked our fingers and eliminated any residue from the table.

It wasn’t long before I could literally feel every misgiving, indecision & reluctance departing my cells & my mind. Vaporized, gone. Replaced now with a torridity of excitement. I’m sure the xany and drinks didn’t hurt either. Euphoria is bitch, right? Liability, regrets, and dereliction were defeated. Mind & Body enraptured, in-sync, and floating. 

Life slowed wayyy down. 

He started talking about the rehab he was checking into, the tough conversations he’s had with his folks. I listened intently, asking questions and offering opinions when necessary. 

My body became overcome by delirious delightfulness. Seriously, it’s hard to describe, but an intoxication that is purely zestful & jubilant. 

He’d be hitting an out-of-state facility in Florida. Palm Beach to be exact. I was torn on rehab, mainly because the people I had known who’ve gone had come back and relapsed. To be fair, it was usually court coerced or family forced, and when that happens you’re no longer doing it for you. You do it because you have to, not because you want to. I’m hoping that because Lou requested rehab his programmed path back would be rewarding. Between you and I? I had faith in him that he’d pull it off. He’s a tough kid. Mentally fit. What I worried about most was people, places & things. I felt better about his rehabilitation knowing that he’d be leaving this area, leaving the people and the connections. Although, I’m not completely naive and realize that drugs are everywhere. Wherever you go..there you are?

We took turns sharing a pint of Americone Dream, and we’d almost polished off a bottle of Seagrams 7. Not bad. An hour had passed, and I felt like we’d been talking forever. Lou was explaining the rehab of his broken arm. Compartment syndrome had set in while he was in the hospital, which is a scary phenomenon. Other than that, it seemed to have healed quickly. As he brought up his broken ribs he grabbed the box, pulled out 2 blues and 2 more glassine bags. Tiny opaque rectangles with the words “Black Jack” on the face above a tiny illustration of spades and diamonds. I watched him pluck the tape from the back as he unwrapped the rectangle bag. He’d crushed the blues and emptied the off-white contents of these 2 packets onto the blue pile. Then, he used a card to distribute the powder into two lines. He wasn’t finished. The mini soap bar was lifted out of the box along with the newly chored glass pipe. He chipped a corner chunk off and loaded the pipe with the crack.

“Ladies first” as he handed me the rolled bill. I pulled my hair to one side, held it, and inhaled. He followed, minus the hair holding. He handed me a lighter and the pipe. I stopped him mid-offer. “You first”. 

The cd was skipping and had been for like 20 mins. That’s how locked in we were. I had to pee, so I volunteered to fix it. Behind me I heard, “catch” so instinctively I turned around prepared to field a ball as Lou tossed me a soft rainbow. I snatch the xanax out of the air smoothly, and keep it moving to the spare room. “Thanks” I called over my shoulder.

I grabbed my bag from the bedroom and entered the gorgeous bath. Here’s the thing. My receptors were flooded. I felt like I was Literally floating around. When I looked into the mirror you wouldn’t know that I had pupils. All I saw were cornflower blue circles, and a relaxation you could see on my face, and feel pulsing from the hairs on my head to the tips of my toes. Loose. I tinkled, washed my hands, and opened my makeup bag. I put the xany away and pulled out my brush. Even that felt amazing. I re-lined my lips lightly, added some gloss, and finger fluffed my long hair. I felt sexy. I felt invincible. The drip had started coating my throat, a taste that’s hard to explain, but let me try. As you pull it from your nostrils and into the back of your mouth it’s harsh, almost chemical. But, it leaves a soft covering of a medicinal tasting layer all down your throat. Couple that with the cool menthol of a ‘Port and you have yourself quite a distinctively delicious burnish brilliance, believe it or not. What it does to your opiate receptors is off the wall, obviously.

And I skipped back to the bar. Lou eyed me, looked me up and down. I grabbed the Newport right out of the boy’s mouth. Fucking Euphoria. That first drag, delightful. Our drinks were empty, and I never fixed that skipped cd. I felt his eyes on me, aware of my movement. Or was I just locked in? Either way, I knew I didn’t want to stop feeling this way. I hit the next button on the receiver remote and waited. He liked hip-hop and his collection reflected that. Perfect, ‘cause that was the mood I was in. He called out, “Go to the next one, it’s a mix my brother made” and I did as I was told. First up? The Lox. I sauntered back to the bar, opened the fridge, pulled out 2 Mike’s hard lemonades and sat back down. “Switched the steez” as I popped his top and handed him the bottle.

In return? He handed me the glass pipe, and I must have looked like a deer in headlights. “First timer?” he asked. I eyed him apprehensively. “Was it that obvious?” Here’s the problem. Between the pills and the drinks I was feeling invincible. That stoicism I had boasted about when I noticed the pipe earlier had turned into curiosity. Curiosity turned into confidence that a few hits between my friend on his way to rehab to prevent future hits and myself were probably no biggie.

He took it back, “The last thing I want to do is to be a bad influence.” He looked sincere, almost disappointed in himself, and I knew he meant it. He started packing the pipe back into the box. “I’ll go into the spare room”. I put my hand up. “You go first, show me what to do.” I softened, buckled. If you can’t beat ‘em? What was I going to do all weekend? Watch him get inebriated alone? “Are you 100% positive? Because -” I nudged him. “No, no, just walk me through this” I requested. He lit one end of the clear, slim pipe and after a second or two he inhaled, then blew out a large cloud that smelled like buttered popcorn. I waited for him to shrivel into what I imagined a “crack head” looked like. I closed my eyes, opened them. Nothing. Still Lou. He hit it again, and I waited. “Don’t suck too hard” He handed me the pipe and laughed at his crude humor. “And do not touch the end of the pipe.” I nodded, took it, held it about halfway between the chore and the lip, lit it and blasted off into a universe I’d never been to. It sent a sensation throughout my body, instantly. Up my spine. My body warmed. I got goosebumps, like all over. My brain buzzed. It was that bitch euphoria again. Buzzing. Buzzing. So, I lit it again. I could hear a crackling, as I inhaled, deeply. Whoa. I handed it off. My mind started running, like the last lap in the 440 relay, baton in hand sprinting towards the finish line, nobody even on my heels, running. Exhilaration.

“So?” he looked at me expectantly. “Wow” was all I said. “Now you see why I’ve got a problem, ” he joked. Everything sped up. The music, the time, our conversation..my heart rate. Geeked. Lou opened the box, pinched out two white sticks. “It’s a necessity,” he promised. I accepted. 

Within the next 10 minutes I felt less jittery, less shaky, but still as gleeful and jovial. We were talking over each other with such excitable, intense energy. Howling laughter, literally rolling on the floor, recalling old times, old stories. Endless, Unadulterated Elation. 

From there, he emptied 3 bags and I formed a line of the powder from the glassine Black Jack packet. It rushed right to the dopamine and serotonin receptors, which were overloaded in what felt like the most chaotic, delirious way. The drip tasted fantastic, as did the Newport. Smoking back to back ciggys, we’d been talking sports, music, and work like a couple of prophetic hippies. Waxing poetic on life, friendship, family. I felt like I’d borrowed a body from the land of rhapsody. Everything was beyond perfect, from my mood to the sensations of my movements. For a moment I completely understood addiction. How could you NOT want to feel like THIS all of the time? Seriously. It was fervent and frenzied. Exuberantly carefree. The mixture was magic. Period, exclamation point.

I had a hard time drinking at first, but the sensation came back after the heroin hit in. And from there, we just rotated drugs like we rotated topics. Finally, we got to what happened the night of the accident. “Oh, City it was awful,” he started, then ashed his butt. “Earlier in the night, I’d been running around, re-upping.” I stopped him, and while I hated to kill the vibe (which I hoped I wouldn’t) I was curious and inquired, “What happened to “taking a break”? When you came to the bar that night you’d proposed a plan to pull back. We had great talks that night and you seemed intent on discontinuance.” He didn’t seem bothered by my asking, but he did take a minute to chew on the question. “City, I’m ashamed that I made a promise I couldn’t keep. I hope you don’t think that you can’t trust me. That night was legit, my intentions were legit, and I need you to know that it’s more important to me to have your respect and friendship than it is to have anything!” He took a swig from his Mike’s and continued, “I still owed money to my guy, and I needed to unload to pay him and make enough money to see the Doc and get on Subs. I wanted to make sure I had a surplus of scripts so that I wouldn’t be tempted. I wasn’t going to get high on my supply this time, and I didn’t. He was having a party and I had a few too many drinks. There was no reason I should have gotten into my whip and drove, and it sucked knowing that nobody there cared enough to stop me. Anyways, it was me who drove fucked up, nobody forced me to do that. I had re-upped which is why I was riding dirty, but they did a blood test and accused me of being on everything I was in possession of. I wasn’t! I didn’t take anything that night, word is bond! Of course shit is gonna be in my system – you and I were doing shit the night before, and I smoked earlier in the day before I met you at the bar, but that was the last time. They got me on all sorts of charges – possession of a CDS, inebriation on a CDS, dui, dwi…fleeing the scene of an accident.” He was worked up, cheeks flushed, forehead dotted with slick sweat. He reloaded the pipe, probably not the route I’d have taken, but people handle stress differently.

“Weren’t you re-upping the last time you had a run-in with the po-lice?” He seemed to be processing that for a minute while handing me the pipe. Then snaps his fingers, points and exclaims, “Boom! Yes, I was on my way and I’d gotten pulled over!” He ran a hand through his thick, dark  hair. I just blacked out . Boom. Next thing you know I’m sucking in airbag. Slammed right into the Route 36 median by the DMV. I don’t even remember leaving, which is crazy. Once I realized I’d hit the block I panicked and tried to start the truck to dip. It was mad late, nobody on the road. The truck could only reverse, so I started backing up and next thing I knew I heard a loud crunch and felt the impact of hitting something. That something was the fuzz. They swarm me, guns drawn. My body is fucked up, face gushing blood, and worse yet, I’m holding. The whole sitchi sucked. I leave in an ambulance, and end up in Freehold.” He accepted the pipe back, and started to rummage through the Montecristo cigar box with a furied intent. His teeth split a xanax, offering me the other half. He finds the bundle and a bottle of blues looking relieved. Pills are crushed, glassine powder coats the blue hue with brown, lines are divided up & we inhale the contents. I get up from my spot to grab the smokes, light 2 up and hand him one. The drip saturates my throat, covering up the taste from the crack. And it’s delicious. The ciggy, you ask? Still splendid! I felt ridiculously invincible, and I fucking loved it!!

“The cops have been waiting for me to fuck up, and I did. Royally. You know they tried to get me to flip? After the accident, when I was released from the hospital, they chauffeur me to the station, placed me in front of a monitor and clicked through what seemed like hours of pictures, asking me each time if I knew the person on the screen.” He had handed the pipe my way, and I accepted. “Did you dime anyone out?” I’d asked on the exhale. And I’m floating in the most peculiar way, and the clouds look very different, todayyyyy. During my Bowie head trip he looked at me like I kicked his dog. “You gotta be kidding me, right?” One more hit, passed it back. He snatched it. “Had to ask, bruh.” His turn. Exhale. “Naw, c’mon now, I lawyer’d up and worked out this CD. I’m not a snitch. I got myself into this mess, and I’m not gonna fuck someone elses life up over MY mistakes. I chose to buy drugs, and I chose to sell them, too. And, unfortunately, I chose to drive inebriated, which I deeply regret. That’s not me, I made a huge mistake. It’s nobody’s fault but mine.” 

I was happy to hear that he was remorseful over his poor decisions. And, yes, I was totally relieved to hear that he’s not a snitch, just like I’d hoped, just like I knew. “My lawyer pleaded down, and I was offered a conditional discharge. I’ve only had other minor offenses, so it was an option, and I took it. And it’s something positive. I needed this. It’s like God gave me a second chance and I accepted it with complete appreciation.”

Good. We were both raised Roman Catholic, attended Catholic school at some point in our lives, and believed in a higher power we called God. It filled me with relief to hear how dedicated he seemed to fix his life. Led Zeppelin 3 on in the background, a personal favorite. It vibrated through my body, like it was the blood in my veins. Tangerine came on, such a solid soulful symphany. “Tangerine, tangerine, living reflection of a dream, I was her love, she was my queen, and now a thousand years..betweeeeeeeen. Thinking how it used to be, does she still re-mem-ber times like these, to think of us again…and I do.” 

We collapsed with giddy laughter, and decided to take the party to the living room. Lou mixed the drinks, and packed the Montecristo box. I packed the pipe. “So your cousins know what’s happening, obviously?” I assumed. “Oh yeah, where did you think I got my stash from up north? They offered me the opportunity to get outta Jersey, and be surrounded by fam who understand. They have been so kind, and they just want me to have a chance to clear my head before I hit rehab, while understanding that I may feed my head. They get it. They’re good people. I don’t leave the basement, really. I’ve been working remotely, and they give me space. They know I’ve got a lot on my mind, and they are happy I’m here. Carmen is a doll, we talk a lot. It’s therapeutic, you know? She is so genuine, and was psyched that you were coming to spend the weekend with me.” I smiled, “She told me.” 

Lou poked asking, “What did she tell you? Oh, shit, she didn’t tell you everything did she?” He looked sheepish, smiling towards the ground. “She told me enough, and I’m really glad you asked me to come. We’re gonna have a great weekend, kiddo.” He lifted the glass, “Ditto.” Clinking glasses, flirty eye passes. Lou asked me to hop up, then he pulled the bed out of the couch. Then, he lowered the music a bit, and walked into the bedroom to grab blankets and pillows. I offered help but he declined. “You chill, I got it.” From there, he threw a few more logs into the fire, dimmed the lights, and took a seat next to me. “Our camp-out for the weekend,” he explained. I couldn’t be happier. I unzipped my sweatsuit top, just to get a little more comfortable. He looked at me, but not in a creepy way. On the table were a few long brown lines. “I don’t want to sleep,” he told me. “I wanna spend every second just living in the moment.” I agreed, and felt the same way. I didn’t want the weekend to end, and it was only night one. Drugs…that’s why they tell you to never start, right? It’s too perfect, too euphoric, too undeniably fun. And I wanted fun. Suddenly feeling like the most kindred of spirits. Was it the pharmaceuticals? Who gives a shit.

“So, why are you single?” The question caught me off guard. We were huddled under a blanket, a plate and a pipe in front of us. He leaned against the arm of the couch, stretched his legs on the bed. I bent my neck down to the plate, 03 Bonnie + Clyde on the mixed CD started. Not nearly as good as the original, I thought, but Pac wrote about a gun, not a silly romance. 

“Because I want to be.” I drifted back to the night Dre slept over. Nothing happened, nothing x rated, not even PG13. I let him massage my back, play with my hair, but had enough sense to know that it wasn’t in our best interests to let things travel further. We were both single, and that meant that what we did had no effects on anyone but us. And still, we valued our relationship enough to not cross a line we couldn’t come back from. I enjoyed flirtatious endeavors. It makes you feel human! It reminds you of all of your wonderfully God given senses. It was fun. And, it was basically harmless. Unless your flirt partner catches feelings…that’s when things get murky. So, don’t let things get complicated. 

He must have read my mind. “What’s up with you and Andre?” He was feeling confident, holding his head up, staring me in the eyes. I was taken aback, but not at all afraid to explain our friendship. “He loves you.” That wasn’t what I expected, although I knew we had love for one another, Lou made it sound so definitive, so serious. “And, I have love for him too..” He looked at me with skepticism, and I ignored it. There was no need to defend myself if he wasn’t going to trust my responses. Lou knew about my past relationship with Jr. They knew each other from the neighborhood, and didn’t particularly like one another. He and I were bartending together throughout that relationship, and I’d confided in him about the ups and downs. The entire time, Lou telling me that I deserved better, that Jr. didn’t try as hard as I did, that no 28 year old should be living at home and not helping pay the bills, and that frustration about his father’s invasion irritated him. 

“C’mon, City, you gonna tell me that you’re gonna be single forever?” I knew he was being dramatic, so I rolled my eyes, then elbowed him. “It’s not like I’m pushing 40, kid. I think I’ve got some time to figure it out. And, I’ve got no current suiters, so..” He looked at me like he wanted to cut me off, say something. But, he closed his mouth and smiled to himself. “What about you, McMann? You gonna be the perma-bachelor? Living in your cousin’s basement?” I caught a sharp knuckle to the thigh for that one.

Lou had been in a relationship with this chick in the early phases of us working together. Someone he met at the bar, actually. They dated for almost a year, and the end came about two months after I started working there. I recall her coming in around midnight on Friday and Saturday nights. She’d sit with friends drinking until Lou’s shift ended. Seemed like a nice girl, at first. But when she caught a buzz she invoked a reaction that made you want to tie cinder blocks to her feet and toss her in the canal. Loud, crass, demanding. Lou let me know instantly that she was the jealous type, and that if he acted differently towards me or the customers it’s only because she’d ride him about it the whole way home. I wasn’t having that BS. I told him that maybe it’s not a good idea to have her come to his place of employment. Midnight til’ 2am were power hours. Bottom of the 9th. Half of my tips depended on his behavior towards our customers. If he was being stiff and rigid out of fear his GF would chew him out on the ride home for “flirting” it affected our bottom line, period. 

She perceived Lou’s attention towards me, our crew, and our patrons as “flirtation”. About a week before the breakup I started noticing Ashley going from hammered to enraged fairly quickly and often. She tried to pull some sassy drunk shit with me one night but I promptly put her in her place. That caused a big fight on the ride home that resulted in Lou telling her that he didn’t want her coming in anymore, which obviously didn’t go over well. They didn’t live together (which was a good thing) but Ashley spent the weekends at his crib. And you could tell that it was making him miserable.

During the week, Lou was his normal chipper, whimsical, hard working, entertaining, fun to be around, self. Once Friday & Saturday night came – all bets were off. Something had to give. And finally, it had. A friend of Lou’s from college popped in one Friday night bar-hopping for her bachelorette party. They chatted briefly while he took her order and Ashley lost her shit. Caused a huge scene, totally awkward and insanely humiliating. She was hammered and flung her Vodka cran at the girl & her posse. What she hadn’t expected was the chick being ready to throw down. Homegirl grabs Ashley by the throat and pins her against the back wall. After that all hell broke loose. The entire bachelorette party dog piles Ashley, throwing punches and pulling hair. It took the bouncers 10 minutes to pull the girls off of her, and when they finally got to her she was banged up pretty badly. Ashley’s “friends” watched in horror from their seat at the bar, but did nothing to help. Then she was escorted out and banned for 3 years. I bought a round for the party girls to celebrate. You’ve gotta respect friends who have your back like that.

Ashley didn’t go away easily. At first she stalked Lou and would show up at his house with her goon squad. She’d be in the parking lot when our shift ended screaming like a crazy bitch until one of our customers called the cops, thankfully. Apparently she had a few unpaid ticket warrants and because this was like the 4th time the fuzz had to come out to the bar due to something that had to do with her she was trespassed from the establishment and arrested. That was the last we saw of her. Besides that, things were pretty quiet on the dating front for Lou. Maybe that experience scarred him. I know he had hookups, but nothing serious.

“How’s Ashley?” I had to bust his balls. He laughed out loud. “Fuck you, City.” He looked faded, but he still had that killer, brilliant smile. “You couldn’t handle it, quickie!” That got him, and yeah, it was mildly immature. So what. I was wayyyyy-sted. He took his pill bottle and walked back to the bar, shook out some stuff, crushed some other stuff and enjoyed it alone. I was uninvited after my quick-dick diss. I’d survive.

He acted like it was THE greatest line he’d ever snorted. Then he broke off a huge chunk of that soap bar, added a new chore, put the old one in foil and placed it in the freezer (that was something I’d never seen before!), shoved it into the pipe, lit it and took a huge pull. Then, he walked over to me, got on his knees, pulled my head to his, put his lips to mine and shotgun the smoke into my mouth. I pulled back from him and exhaled. We locked eyes. It was intense and deliberate. My body responded with electrical impulses shooting like fireworks from my head to my tippy toes and every tributary in-between. I liked the way his lips felt on mine. A lot. The energy was intoxicating. We both knew it. 

He hurriedly ran back to the bar. I could hear bags ripping, pills being crushed. He whistled me over, watching every step I took. I stopped halfway, unzipped my jacket fully, pulled it off and tossed it on the chair. DMX’s “How’s it goin’ down” started. He walks towards me, hooks his finger in my tank top. I’m almost sweating at this point. Goosebumps. Consumed by the rush of it all! Just the simplest graze of his finger felt illicit, and I wanted it so bad. We got to the bar. My turn. I down the lines first. Then I take a mega pull, and it blasts my brain. The combo can’t be beat. Receptor and neurons starting fires. Utter perfection. Bliss like a mother f’cker! Explosion of emotions. I grab the back of his head and lead his lips towards mine. He closes his eyes waiting to feel our lips touch. I exhale. His eyes open as he smells the smoke, and he gives me a look like WTF? But we’re both enjoying this. I lick my lips, then I lick his. Magnetism. Pulsations. I swear the air is vibrating. He presses his body against mine, and I’m pinned up on the bar. I can feel him shaking. He reaches around me, grabs the pipe from the bar top, grabs the box. He pulls my strap again and is leading us towards the couch. Ah, just that brush from his fingertips sends me into a carnal fever

Lou sits and pulls me onto his lap. I wrap my legs around his waist. There is no doubt in my mind that he is enjoying our little game as he makes sure I feel his enjoyment pressed against me. He pulls my hair gently enough to bring us face to face. Lips to lips, eyes to eyes. His hand in my hair, fingers on my neck. Trembling. Sweating. He lights a smoke. His fingers to my lips, gives me a drag. “Do you know how sexy you are?” he whispers, barely audible but I read his lips. No bashfulness now, thanks drugs! Simply this seductive provocation. Taking things to fantasy elevations. Fast. 

I ran my fingers through his hair, gently, knowing that the slightest touch was a tempestuous temptation. Erotic. He offered me another drag, then swapped the ‘port for the pipe. Lou took the first hit for himself. He hooked his finger on my strap again, this time pulling it off my shoulder. I shuddered, goosebumps covered my skin. He pulled me down on him harder. My knees touched behind him, thighs straddled his waist. He was emanating heat like a wildfire. His hands in my hair, our eyes locked. His fingers found their way to my lips where he outlined my pout. Finally, I grabbed his finger, let it into my mouth, sucked on it. That juuuuust about sent us over the edge, but not quite. I knew the game we were playing, and as close as I was to just saying “fuck it, fuck me” I held out. And it was hard! The game was also hard..haha.

He lit the pipe, inhaled deeply, wrapped his hands around my hair, pulled my lips to his, exhaled into my mouth and held me there. His tongue grazed my lips, gently. His hands grazed my hips, rough. I reached for the buckle of his belt. He sucked on my tongue. I was shivering uncontrollably but my senses were ablaze. Ignited, we were conflagrant, flickering flames of instigated eroticism. On the verge of ripping everything off of one another – – – and then this alarm started going off. For real. Things got so hot we set the alarms off. Up we pop in a frenzy trying to figure out wtf happened while trying to pull this thing off the ceiling. Lou knocked it down and smothered it in my jacket, finally pulling the batteries out. We look at each other and can’t help but laugh, hysterically. All of that sexual tension erupts into hysterical laughter. Ah, drugs.

“I’ve gotta hit the girls room.” Behind the closed door I sat on the vanity. I checked my reflection. I expected not to recognize myself, but there I was. Not some crack headed version of myself, either. It was the same ‘ol me. She looked a little tired, maybe, but there was a fire in her eyes and a feeling of being invincibly unassailable. I glossed up and smiled at the girl in the mirror. Tonight had been beyond a blast. And it was far from over. I headed back out. 

There was no awkwardness or weirdness. If anything I couldn’t wait to keep playing. Lou must have read my mind because the couch was now a bed with pillows and blankets. He was in board shorts and looked ridiculously hot sitting on the edge of the couch-bed. There was a little table by the bed with 2 small lines on a plate. He held a rolled bill and asked, “Wanna join me?”

I had changed out of my sweatsuit and into boyshorts and a cami.  Invite accepted. Lou cleared his throat, sat up a little taller, and looked at me. He pointed back and forth from himself to me while asking, “Do you ever wonder if we’d work together?” I laughed and cheesily responded, “Like, work together again? You know you’re my favorite bartender. Shit, I’d trade everyone I currently work with for you. You should apply.” It was the absolute truth. Lou lit a smoke and laid back. “So you don’t ever think about us together?” 

I took a pull from the cig, pondered that for a moment. While I was gone it smelled like he bombed the basement with his new cologne. Look at us trying to impress each other. Now I laid back and turned my head towards his. “I do. I have, yes.” He raised his eyebrows. It was true, I’d thought about us. But right now, this weekend, I just wanted to have fun, and I know he did as well. No need to complicate it. When he gets back from rehab maybe we’ll revisit this conversation, but I knew that what we both wanted now was to be touched, teased, and pleased. He read every bit of that last thought lingering in my mind and obviously in my eyes.

“Help me finish this off?” he sat up and packed the pipe one last time for the “night”. I popped some gum in my mouth, but Lou stuck his fingers in to retrieve it for himself. And it was criminal how much his fingers in my mouth turned me on. He knew that. I re-upped my trident and lit the pipe. He patted his lap and I crawled back on, slowly. Acutely aware of my movements, placing parts perfectly parallel with parts. Moving gently, back and forth, like a wave until I settled on his lap, again straddling him but this time tightening my thighs around his waist. His hands on the top of my hips moving me back and forth gently on top of him. Eyes locked. Begging to be manipulated everywhere, begging to be asphyxiated by his taste, touch and teasing. One last pull. The xanys had caught up to me, and I knew that there was no point in chasing this fallen star. 

I had other things on my mind. Dirty things. And thanks to the pills and the powder I had a seductive prowess that was about to break the levee. Like, bust that bitch open and flood Brooklyn, break. When I tell you that my goosebumps had nerve endings begging to be bribed I meant it. Overload of sexual  intoxication. We were playing a game that I hesitated to fully start because it all felt so f*king good, and I dreaded the thought of it ending. At this point, thankfully, it felt like these particular particulars were just getting going.

Inhaled, exhaled. Enticement. Inhaled, pulled my ass further into his waist, feeling a pulsing, throbbing arousal. Exhale into his mouth. It’s warm, it’s wet, it’s eager. I was all of those things as well.

WARNING* Things Get A Little Graphic! Parental Guidance & A Thorough Confession After Reading Suggested 🙂