Chapter 45

Blinding flashes of muddled memory. Nervous system reboot. Pain. Lungs rattle into motion. More pain.

Eyes struggle open. The floor. A bottle. A chair. Unexplained sparkling near the window.

At least I didn’t...

Digestive system reengaged. A desperate and pathetic crawl to the bathroom. Just barely in time.

The cool porcelain whispered of sleep. He listened.

thud

thud

thud

“Ow.”

thud

God, what a horrible taste.

His porcelain savior once again offered comfort. Judging it wiser to remain in place for a while, Luke cuddled the basin as his most loyal friend, resting his sore cheek on the seat. It was wisdom rewarded time and time again. Eventually, with nothing left in his stomach except regret, his religious experience came to an end. Though the urge lingered and revisited for the remainder of the day, he had no more left to give. Only the emptiness of well-earned suffering.

Several rounds of oral cleansing later, his mouth was restored to reasonable tolerability, though about his breath there was little to be done. He probed the throbbing at the back of his skull. The pain turned sharp the moment he touched it, and when he retrieved his fingers they were dusted with flakes of dried blood. More thorough study revealed a small gash that he’d reopened with his exploration. I’m going to lose some hair trying to fix this.

Stripping off his clothes, he discovered even more bruises. His elbow felt like it might be seriously injured, and he shuffled into the kitchen for some ice. It was then that he finally recalled the full measure of the previous night’s carnage. He righted the chair — unlike him, it seemed undamaged — and moved the empty bottles to the counter, but decided to leave the rest of the cleanup for later.

Ten minutes later, he was asleep. In his bed, for a change.

It was early evening when he finally dragged himself out of bed. Judging by the way he felt, he knew he was still a long way from the end of his hangover. A shower and fresh clothing helped little. Nor did cleaning up the damage caused by his anger and desperation. Unpacking his suitcase was more than he could manage in his current state, but he knew he had to at least try to eat. Throwing on a light coat, he made a zombie-like trip to his favorite bodega for a few essentials and an atypically bland sandwich. The owner was so surprised by his order that he began interrogating him, but when Luke mimed the universal sign for drinking too much, the questions were replaced by an empathetic nod. He was back in his apartment, attempting to psych himself up for a meal his stomach was rather forcefully protesting, when his phone chirped.

Luke sent her a heart emoji and put down his phone. I’m not even close to ready for Wendy. It’s a good thing she insisted on a break.

Suddenly, an alcohol-erected dam burst, and a flood of memories stopped his feet and sent him stumbling to the floor in disbelief. Every word of the conversation we just had was exactly as I dreamed it! Or ... was it? He shook his head, trying to cleanse it of such errant nonsense. Impossible. Dreams don’t work that way. There were probably a million differences that’s I’ve already missed. Anyway, there’s every chance that I’m still a little hallucinatory.

She broke several of her promises the very next day, banging on his apartment door far earlier in the morning than he had any intention of experiencing. He stumbled to the door, groggy and confused. Though not as confused as he was when he opened it.

“How did you... ?”

“You get three questions. All must be answerable by a single word. There will be no additional conversation. Is that clear?”

“Yeah.”

She pushed past him and dropped four overstuffed bags of groceries on the counter, then turned to face him. “You look like shit.”

“Of course I do. It’s an accurate representation.”

“So? Questions? Or can I get on with my day?”

“How did you get into the building?”

“Claire.”

“Lover?”

“Former.” She held up two fingers, impatiently tapping her foot.

He took a deep breath. “You brought me a bunch of healthy, restorative things like vegetables, because you knew I’d spend the next two weeks hiding in my cave and existing on a diet of fattening takeout and booze, and you did it because behind all your bitterness, sarcasm, anger, and frustration over the way I’ve been conducting my life, you still care about me.”

Instead of answering, she sighed and walked to the door. Just before it closed behind her, she muttered, “Exactly.”

Weird, he thought, staring at the bags and trying to remember if this was something else about which he’d dreamed, but he was still too wrung out to give it proper consideration.

By the end of the first week, the first slender threads of order had been restored to Luke’s life. With the exception of one far less disruptive relapse, he managed to avoid drinking to excess, though a day-long experiment with abstinence proved beyond his current resilience. Wendy’s groceries helped, and by the time he was in need of more, he was making tentative attempts to exercise. Eventually, though the vehemence of his body’s protests overcame his motivation, and he decided to postpone the effort. I’ll get back to full health soon enough. A few more days of rest and recovery won’t hurt anyone. And I bet I could still run a sexual marathon, he mused, as his sluggish feet dragged him along the sidewalk.

The thought, of course, filled his mind with images of Kathryn. Not that it was ever entirely free of her, but there were certain moods, situations, and moments that made him unable to focus on anything else. He occasionally experienced mld arousal while revisiting his memories, but — at least so far — he felt no need for sexual release. I guess Wendy didn’t need to buy those two boxes of extra-strength tissues after all.

Early in the second week, he managed to attend his first tasting since his return. Industry colleagues were thrilled to see him back, and peppered him with questions about his absence. He’d prepared for this with an array of responses that he hoped sounded more uninteresting than evasive, and though the interrogation was renewed with every fresh group of old acquaintances, he eventually judged the attempt a success.

And then it was Sunday night, two weeks after his return to the city. He was about to text Wendy and see if she was ready for their planned reunion when his finger stopped, hovering over the screen as he tried to remember if this was how it happened in his dream. While he still recalled the dream’s major events, as the days dragged on the details were starting to fade and muddle together. Is what I’m doing now what I’m supposed to do? Do I slavishly follow my memories like a template that’s already been laid out? Do I treat them like a first draft and try to find a way to fix or avoid the most painful parts? Or do I break free and chart an entirely new path? Not for the first time, he wished he’d written everything down while the details were fresh in his mind, though he’d been so hungover and emotionally wrecked that he doubted he’d have been able to muster the stamina. He stared at the phone in indecision for a while, then started laughing at himself. This is absurd. Dreams aren’t destiny, and I don’t believe in prophecy. That’s not how the universe works. I have got to stop obsessing about the similarities, most of which were probably no more than wishful thinking anyway. As for Wendy, I already knew that we were going to get together two weeks after my return. Why wouldn’t my dream and my reality be similar? He texted her a single word — Tonight? — and she responded in the affirmative.

This time, she kept the first half of her promise, helping him descend into serious inebriation while he opened his heart and succumbed to uncontrollable tears at her bar. But it wasn’t until the next morning that he realized she’d broken the rest of it; when he rolled over, he discovered that she was in bed with him. On top of the covers and fully clothed, but still there.

A little while later, they were sipping coffee at his table. He noted that she was wearing flannel pajamas decorated with anthropomorphic dildos, which meant that she’d brought an overnight bag and that her lingering presence had been planned all along. Or destined? asked a nagging voice in the back of his mind. He shunted it aside.

“Wendy, thank you. You’re my guardian angel.”

“I’m sure as hell no goddamned fucking angel. But you do need one, surrounded as you are by demons. Most of them your own.”

“I’m sorry. I know I dumped a lot on you last night.”

“More like a biblical flood, but yeah, you did. And by the way, the purpose of guardian angels is that you’re supposed to listen to them, dumbass.”

“As you’ve told me many times, I’m slow. So what do you think about... ?”

“No. We’re not having this conversation. First of all, there’s that flood I mentioned, and it’s going to take me a while to avoid drowning in it. Second, there’s the gap between what I think and what you’re prepared to hear. Third, there’s what’s best for you, and that might be completely different than the other two. In any case, none of those thoughts are going to pass my lips until I’ve purged some shit in the direction of your ears. So you can sit there and wait until I’m ready.”

“Okay. Still, I really am grateful for last night. All of it. I certainly didn’t expect you’d still be here this morning.”

She studied her coffee mug for a while. “Luke, I’m going to tell you something about yourself. I don’t want you to get angry, but I need you to think about it for a while. You and I both know that most people in our field are, at least on occasion, high-functioning alcoholics. Yeah, there are some who’ve managed to give it up and stay dry, but not many. Most of us drink to what any rational observer would call excess. It just so happened that your lover fit right in to our world and is more than a bit of a high-functioning alcoholic herself — though I’m sure her situation had a lot to do with that — so you had nothing even close to a respite while you were out there. But when you’re feeling bad about things, or yourself, you drink alone, and you drink a lot. Too much. Way too much. And you definitely have been, so don’t attempt to lie to me about it. I look at you, and I see all the signs you’ve been drinking to excess, night after night.”

Luke scrolled back through his memories, thinking about the times he’d been dangerously drunk. When I first learned that Kathryn was married ... the night of the charity gala, when she gave me the handjob ... the night she and Bill were all over each other at dinner ... when I realized how little time we had left ... the day they spent together on the lake... He saw the pattern, realized she was completely correct, and told her so.

“I knew there’d be no stopping you on your first night back, but this is why I had to check on you. Still, it was way worse than even I’d predicted, which is part of why I brought you food the next day. But the more I started thinking about last night, the more I realized I didn’t quite trust you to stop drinking once I got you home, bucket alongside the bed or not. That’s why I decided to stay.”

“I didn’t...”

“I know you didn’t, and that’s because I made sure you were too drunk to keep drinking long before we left the bar. Do you remember falling asleep in the corner while we cleaned?”

“Uh, not exactly, but there are some gaps...”

“That’s fine, I didn’t figure you’d remember. I feel like I had to carry your fat ass all the way from my bar to your bed. By the way, you have got to lose some weight. And I mean that; you’re kind of a blob these days, and I can’t imagine that’s sexy, even to deluded heteros. Anyway, my point is that it’s fine when it’s with me or other people you can trust. One day, when everything’s back to normal between us, you and I can get drunk together just like we used to. But you have to be a lot more careful about your solo binges, Luke. They’re a little scary, and from what you told me last night, they’re getting more frequent.”

He nodded. “You’re right, they are. Thank you for warning me. I’m still suffering, and it’s hard, but I’ll try to be careful.”

“Speaking of hard, have you blown a hole in those tissues yet?”

“Haven’t even opened the boxes.”

“Really? I mean, even through you’re especially gross and unattractive right now, and you have to reacquaint yourself with a razor, you’re usually good for a solo rubdown now and then. What happened?”

“No interest.”

She stared at him, considering. “Luke, it’s time to listen to your guardian demoness for a change: you need to get laid. Well, get back in shape first. And then get back on the horse. Anyone’s horse.”

“I don’t suppose...”

“Don’t you dare finish that sentence.”

“Okay, okay. But I’m not exactly in the mood to date, and...”

“Who the fuck said anything about dating? Just go bang someone. Jesus, hire a fucking hooker if you have to.” His face clearly expressed his indecision, and she grew audibly frustrated. “She may be the best, but she’s not the only. Even if Tinkerbell comes and waves her magic vibrator at the two of you, it’s not going to be soon. You told me she wants you to do this. I want you to to do this. I know there have to be girls who are so desperate that they want you to do this. Why are you the only one who doesn’t?”

“Because they won’t measure up. Because I’ll either be comparing them to her, or thinking about her while I’m with them. And because I’m afraid that if I don’t, I might not even be able to ... you know.”

“Get it up? Then don’t call someone who’s going to give you grief about it. What about your unapologetically slutty friend? If anyone can raise your mast, it’s her.”

“Liz? After last time, I can’t...”

“It’s been, what, about four months? A lot can change. Give her a ring. I bet she’ll be up for it.”

“Speaking of dating...”

“It was nice. We had fun. That’s all you need to know. Don’t push.”

“Sorry.”

It took him several days to drum up the courage, but when he did, he learned that Wendy was right.

“Luke!“ Liz squealed, exploding in laughter at the volume of her outburst. “Okay, now all my coworkers know what I sound like when you make me come,” she whispered, still laughing. “Can I call you back in a few minutes? I’ll find an empty conference room or something.”

His phone rang before he’d even finished putting it down. “Before we start, is this a touching or a no-touching call?”

“Seriously?”

“I just need to know if should lock the door or not.”

He’d forgotten just how brazen she could be, and it made him smile. “Let’s say it’s a call about touching. Or rather, inquiring about the possibility of touching.”

“Baby, does that mean your dick’s back on the market?”

“Well, it’s so much more complicated than that, but the short answer’s yes. For now, at least. After our last time, though, I...”

“Oh, don’t worry about it. I missed you so much that you can call out whatever name you want. I haven’t had a worthwhile ass-fucking since you left — your gender is populated by fumbling cretins — so expect to be doing a lot of that. Name your night and I’ll be there. Or you can come over, if you’d rather.”

His own burst of laughter was as much a release of tension as it was delight at her lighthearted sexuality. “I didn’t think it would be this easy, so I didn’t have one in mind.”

“I’m hurt, Luke. Because I really am this easy, and you forgot. Anyway ... and I really don’t mean to put you off, but I just remembered that there’s a reason ... how about next Tuesday or Wednesday? I just had an extended fling with a super-hot designer that was working with one of our clients, and the last week of it was bareback; so while we were both tested before we got to that stage, I’d like to be sure. And baby, while you know that I trust you...”

“No, you’re right, and it’s a good idea, considering it’s been a long and very interesting while. I’ll take care of it tomorrow.”

“Yay! If we’re gonna be at your place, remember to stock up on lube. I’m in a serious drought when it comes to butt stuff, and you’re the best I’ve ever had back there.”

“The designer wan’t interested?”

“He thought it was nasty.”

“His loss.”

“Exactly! Okay, baby, I’m gonna rub one out while thinking about you bending me over this conference table, but then I have to get back to work. I’m so excited! Mmmwah!“

He was still grinning at the phone when Wendy texted.

Remember what we talked about?

I’ve kept it to a half-bottle or two cocktails. It was a lie, but since it was only letters on a screen, he got away with it.

He stared at his phone, realizing that he didn’t get away with it after all. Was that how it went in my dream? I can’t remember anymore. It feels like it was, but...

Deciding that getting out of the apartment was its own worthy goal, Luke met Liz at her place for an early dinner of takeout sushi. At around four in the morning, she weakly shoved him away and did something she’d never done before: begged him to stop.

“You were really, really good before, but now you’re a fucking sex god. I’m not going to be able to walk straight for a week, I’m sore everywhere, and I squirted so much I might have to replace another mattress. I should just have them delivered on a monthly schedule or something. Who in the hell is this woman, and when can I meet her? Never mind. But baby, one thing? You’ve gotten ... I don’t want to say doughy, but you’re definitely a little softer around the edges than you used to be. What’s up? Never mind, too tired to talk about this now, spoon me and let me get at least a little sleep. Set an alarm for seven. No, fifteen minutes of. Gives us time for a morning quickie. ‘night!”

Luke smiled at the barrage of words, tapped his phone a few times, and embraced her from behind. While Kathryn had indeed popped into his mind on occasion, especially at the beginning, it was far less often than he’d feared. As he drifted into sleep, however, he wondered if that was a good or a bad thing.

Whatever energy he’d driven out of her the night before, she recovered it for a frenetic morning reprise. As she bustled around her apartment getting ready for work, she asked if he had any plans for later. When he admitted that he didn’t, she invited herself over to his place for another round. “No need to follow me out. For now, just relax. Sleep in if you want, shower whenever. I don’t think there’s much food, but help yourself. And I give you permission to dig through my drawers in an attempt to discover all my naughty secrets. There are a few here and there, though all the real action’s on my laptop, and you’re going to have to figure out the password yourself. If you find something sufficiently interesting, promise that you’ll use something I wear or sleep on and leave me a little gift. Bye!”

Their sexual escapades that night — at his apartment, this time — were even more exhausting than the night before, and as she rolled back and forth in post-orgasmic ecstasy, guarding her ravaged holes with shaking hands, he asked her something he didn’t think she’d agree to.

“Can we make this a regular thing?”

“I’m absolutely not saying no, but I’m not saying yes, either. The sex is incredible, but there’s something ... I dunno, off about you. Are you working out at all? Sleeping? Seeing a therapist, or at least talking to someone?”

“I haven’t really gotten back into the...”

“So you’re not. Luke, baby, I’m hardly obsessed with fitness, but this is so unlike you. It’s like a physical manifestation of everything that’s wrong in your head, and if I’m noticing that sort of thing, you know it’s gotta be pretty bad. There’s definitely something decaying behind the scenes, and while I’m happy to let you talk at me for a while, you know I’m not going to be any help when it comes to fixing the problem. I’m good for one and only one kind of solution, so let unfettered access to my pussy be your motivation. Go work out, run, do hot yoga, sit on a block of ice and meditate, go get a massage with a happy ending, whatever the hell it is that you need do to work through your stuff, and then call me again so we can get back to fucking. Sex this great is hard to give up, but you seem like you might need a little kick in the ass, and I’m just the girl to do it. Though if what you really need is a big kick in the ass, I can always ask Michelle to come over.” She was already out of bed and half-dressed.

“Liz, I...”

“Mmmwah! Gotta go, hon. Early start tomorrow. Get healthy, hear me?”

As he was drifting into sleep, Luke realized that, for the first time since waking up on his floor, an event had significantly diverged from the way he remembered it happening in his dream. I knew it was all nonsense, he assured himself as he lost consciousness.

Despite Liz’s scolding, Luke didn’t get healthy. His drinking, in particular, only got worse. He stuck to his professional routines and kept getting new work, but he was no longer the in-demand superstar he’d been before he met Kathryn, and as his energy and efficiency suffered, so did his enthusiasm. It was a vicious cycle, but he was too dazed and indifferent to break out of it.

He was also in a sexual drought, and he issued several increasingly desperate invitations until Liz tentatively agreed to another rendezvous. After a few pleasantries, she asked him to strip, gave him a critical once-over, put her coat back on, and headed for the door. “I can’t believe I’m doing this without at least one hard and sweaty fuck, but I’m going home. You look even worse than last time, and you don’t sound any better, either. I really don’t care all that much about the weight, and I’m not the world’s most perceptive slut, but even I can tell that you’re trapped in a bourbon barrel that’s headed over a waterfall, and you know I don’t deal well with drama. Let me know when you’ve finally gotten yourself together.”

“Women. Fuck ‘em,” he grumbled — not for the first time, of late — as he drained the last drops of the bottle of Barbaresco he’d opened right after Liz left. A single bottle was rarely enough to quiet the demons in his head these days, but tonight seemed to be an exception. He woke up in the middle of the night slumped over the table, sighed, and dragged himself to bed.

One night, staring blankly at the cold walls of his apartment while nursing an oversized cocktail, Luke allowed himself one final indulgent retreat to the already significantly frayed threads of his dream. Was it all alcohol-fueled wish fulfillment, or was it how things were supposed to turn out? If the latter, what did I do to fuck it up? Should I have done everything in my power to stick to the script, or is this like one of those stories where knowing what’s going to happen is the very thing that changes the outcome?

He had no answers, only unanswerable questions, and he finally waved it all away and decided to live his life as if the dream had never existed. Any lingering desire to revisit the decision was quelled by the time he reached the dregs of his fourth Gibson and began stirring a fifth.

“Luke, I need you to understand that I’m saying this to you as a friend: I want you to stop coming here.”

“What? But why?”

“Because I can’t watch you do this to yourself, and I certainly can’t be the person responsible for enabling it. It’s not just how much you’re drinking, or that you clearly haven’t exercised at all, or that you’re visibly aging by the day, or that you talk like you’ve given up on life, or that you’re categorically refusing to reenter the dating world and you’re not even having casual sex to pass the time, or even that I’m forced to defend and make excuses for you to people in our industry who see the same things I do and wonder what the hell happened. It’s that I’ve run out of ways to help you, and so I have to settle for denying you things that are hurting you. Sitting here drinking my wine and pretending everything’s okay is one of those things.”

“I’m sorry that people are asking you questions. It’s really none of their...”

“I don’t want you to be sorry about it, I want you to do something about it. I just gave you a list. Pick one and fix it, then move on to the next one. But until you do, I don’t want you drinking here anymore. Nor do I have the time to babysit you while you take up space at my bar making a show of drinking club soda, especially because you’ll just go home and make up for it. If you want to hang out — just the two of us, I mean — let me know and I’ll make time, as long as there are no bars, no restaurants, and no alcohol of any kind involved. And remember that I need more advance notice than I used to.”

“That’s right! How’s it going with Irina?”

“It’s been so long since you’ve asked that I figured you either forgot or stopped caring. It’s going fine. She’s also worried about you, by the way.”

“Only fine?” he asked, puzzled. Their relationship’s supposed to be in great shape right now, or at least it was in the... He scolded himself for the irrelevancy of the thought. I resolved to leave all that behind me and focus on the present.

“Finding time together isn’t easy. Our schedules aren’t exactly compatible, and the geographic challenges are even worse.”

“Isn’t K... ?”

“Don’t ask me questions about Kathryn,” she snapped. “You know better than that.”

“But you’ve seen her.” When Wendy remained tight-lipped, he decided to poke the bear. “You’re using her guesthouse to hook up, aren’t you?”

Her eyes narrowed suspiciously. “How the hell do you know about that?”

“Psychic, I guess.” He was starting to slur his words, and completely missed that she’d just confirmed his guess, especially as he was still stinging from her earlier rejection. “This is all one of your elaborate jokes, isn’t it? You’re not really kicking me out. You’re setting me up for a punchline.”

Her face fell. “Luke, when’s the last time I teased you or made fun of you? When’s the last time I called you a dumbass, or an idiot, or in fact did anything but express sympathy and concern? Have you noticed that we don’t banter anymore? Do you know why we don’t? Because you’re not the person I do that with. You’re someone else, you’re too fragile for the relationship you and I used to have, and you’re breaking my heart.”

“Sorry to be a bother,” he mumbled, dropping several hundred dollars in cash on the bar and clumsily sliding his stool backward. The noise as it grated against the floor caused many of his fellow customers to look their way, which meant more than a few people noticed when she clutched the wad of bills and flung them at him.