Claire to get an abortion. He’d just been through one stunning thunderclap in his life: getting married to the woman. He didn’t need another. They had flown to Las Vegas to gamble, stayed at Bellagio, and burned through a ton of cash because Claire looked so hot sitting at the blackjack table and he kept paying out chips to watch her, even if she was losing. If you counted the number of cocktails consumed on the house, they might have broken even. Between the coke and the cocktails, they stayed pretty shitfaced the entire three days. Claire was the girlfriend who was both gorgeous
and
liked to party; usually the two didn’t mix, not in Jude’s experience. They mixed so well in this case that he married her at midnight in one of those Vegas chapels, and though he remembered it the next morning and said what a hoot, Claire told him to stop kidding around—she had a headache.
As soon as they got back home, Jude eased back on the drinking and coke and weed. Being out of control wasn’t such a thrill anymore. You do crazy impulsive things, like get married. But while he eased up, Claire pressed the accelerator. It wasn’t fun cleaning up her puke from his car seat or having her pass out while he was having sex with her. He didn’t mind her partying but did she have to be so excessive? Did she have to raise her voice during minor disagreements when they were having dinner out? Did she have to stick her tongue down his throat when kissing him in public places?
When he tried to talk to her about it, she ridiculed him for getting stodgy overnight. “I thought I married a sexy man who liked to have a good time.”
As for Jude, he didn’t know what he’d married.
He focused on managing the restaurant and the niche dealing he did on the side; he selected customers and suppliers carefully, stayed low-key. He’d do a little, sell a little, risk a little, make a little. Enough to build a cushion. It was all about maintaining control. He didn’t keep anything around the house because of Claire, but she would go out on the nights he was working and score something with her friends or even strangers in other bars.
When she told him she was pregnant, Jude said, “We’ll get it taken care of.”
“I think a baby would be nice to hold. They’re really cute.”
“It’s not a doll, it’s a human,” he shot back at her. “We’re not having a goddamn baby.”
“It’s what we need, to bring us closer together,” Claire said.
“What we need is for you to get your habits under control.”
“I will, sweetie, I promise. I won’t put another bad thing in my body—I can’t, I have a little baby growing in there.” She knew she could do it, she just hadn’t been motivated in the past, hadn’t a reason to come clean. Now she did. Now they were going to have a baby.
He actually let himself believe that Claire would stop drinking and smoking and snorting and popping because she was pregnant. Strike that: he didn’t believe it; he hoped the way a dying man hopes for a miracle cure. The miracle they got: Dana wasn’t born with a bent spine or mottled brain. Yes, she had the vein problem with her eye, but at the time it seemed like a tiny birthmark, and one the doctors predicted would fade.
Then for Claire it was on and off the wagon for the next seven years. Jude didn’t buy in to addiction as a disease and insteadattributed Claire’s problems to weakness of character. He could control and moderate himself; why couldn’t she? Why couldn’t she do
one
line of coke,
one
bong hit? He got her into a rehab program after she’d washed down a handful of Fioricet one night with a bottle of tequila while Dana was taking a bath and Jude was at work. Dana had called for her mother to drain the bath and got no response; she discovered Claire on the floor in her room.
Claire insisted she wasn’t trying to kill herself, she just had a terrible headache and didn’t think she’d be able to sleep, so she took something and
and
liked to party; usually the two didn’t mix, not in Jude’s experience. They mixed so well in this case that he married her at midnight in one of those Vegas chapels, and though he remembered it the next morning and said what a hoot, Claire told him to stop kidding around—she had a headache.
As soon as they got back home, Jude eased back on the drinking and coke and weed. Being out of control wasn’t such a thrill anymore. You do crazy impulsive things, like get married. But while he eased up, Claire pressed the accelerator. It wasn’t fun cleaning up her puke from his car seat or having her pass out while he was having sex with her. He didn’t mind her partying but did she have to be so excessive? Did she have to raise her voice during minor disagreements when they were having dinner out? Did she have to stick her tongue down his throat when kissing him in public places?
When he tried to talk to her about it, she ridiculed him for getting stodgy overnight. “I thought I married a sexy man who liked to have a good time.”
As for Jude, he didn’t know what he’d married.
He focused on managing the restaurant and the niche dealing he did on the side; he selected customers and suppliers carefully, stayed low-key. He’d do a little, sell a little, risk a little, make a little. Enough to build a cushion. It was all about maintaining control. He didn’t keep anything around the house because of Claire, but she would go out on the nights he was working and score something with her friends or even strangers in other bars.
When she told him she was pregnant, Jude said, “We’ll get it taken care of.”
“I think a baby would be nice to hold. They’re really cute.”
“It’s not a doll, it’s a human,” he shot back at her. “We’re not having a goddamn baby.”
“It’s what we need, to bring us closer together,” Claire said.
“What we need is for you to get your habits under control.”
“I will, sweetie, I promise. I won’t put another bad thing in my body—I can’t, I have a little baby growing in there.” She knew she could do it, she just hadn’t been motivated in the past, hadn’t a reason to come clean. Now she did. Now they were going to have a baby.
He actually let himself believe that Claire would stop drinking and smoking and snorting and popping because she was pregnant. Strike that: he didn’t believe it; he hoped the way a dying man hopes for a miracle cure. The miracle they got: Dana wasn’t born with a bent spine or mottled brain. Yes, she had the vein problem with her eye, but at the time it seemed like a tiny birthmark, and one the doctors predicted would fade.
Then for Claire it was on and off the wagon for the next seven years. Jude didn’t buy in to addiction as a disease and insteadattributed Claire’s problems to weakness of character. He could control and moderate himself; why couldn’t she? Why couldn’t she do
one
line of coke,
one
bong hit? He got her into a rehab program after she’d washed down a handful of Fioricet one night with a bottle of tequila while Dana was taking a bath and Jude was at work. Dana had called for her mother to drain the bath and got no response; she discovered Claire on the floor in her room.
Claire insisted she wasn’t trying to kill herself, she just had a terrible headache and didn’t think she’d be able to sleep, so she took something and
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