One
B EFORE MY LIFE WENT SUDDENLY pear-shaped, and I slunk, tail tucked between my legs, into a shitty, crowded pub, I had been sober for three… almost four years. That’s a bloody long time to go without a drink, and it seemed I’d lost any tolerance I’d gained during those fucked-up, murky years of constant binge drinking; that night I think I was only on my fifth beer and was already getting tunnel vision.
Thing is, I couldn’t have cared less.
Standing at the bar, I had one hand outstretched over the girls in front of me to take the beer from the bartender when I realized I didn’t actually have any cash left to pay for it. After I yelled something about getting my credit card out, I tried to set the bottle on the bar so I could reach for my wallet, but I only managed to knock the beer sideways and sprayed the folks waiting for a drink. Amidst the cries of dismay, I was shoved back a step, and I flung an arm out so I wouldn’t fall. Thankfully, I managed to grab a post—not someone’s breast or hair—and steadied myself a touch.
“Jesus! What the fuck is your problem?” yelled one of the girls in my ear.
“Sorry… Sorry, love,” I mumbled, disoriented by all the bodies jostling around me. I blinked and tried to focus, but it was like I was having an out-of-body experience… like this wasn’t happening to me. Worse, I was getting flashbacks to the old days—only back then, the crowd had been top-notch and it was a tuxedo I’d been stumbling about in.
I needed to get out of the bar. Now .
Pushing through the crowd, I managed to step on only a few toes on my way to the exit. As I nearly fell through the door, I heard a woman’s voice rise above the throbbing beat: “Hey, isn’t that Stuart Leandro?”
The door swung closed, cutting off the voices and loud music, and I was left in the relative peace of the street.
The cool night air felt bloody great.
I took in a few big lungfuls and tried to orient myself. It wasn’t going so well—I had downed that last beer rather fast, and it was just then starting to hit me. The cold air turned out to have the opposite effect I’d been hoping for; instead of waking up my senses, it sent my drunkenness into a tailspin. The next thing I knew, I was sitting on the curb next to a puddle of vomit, trying to convince myself that lying down on the sidewalk was not in fact a great idea, despite how much it appealed to me. I stared blearily at my hands and wondered how in the hell another beer had gotten there.
“Stuart.”
At the sound of my name, I looked up. Standing over me was someone I didn’t recognize. He had complicated hair. He ? I screwed up my eyes at the figure. No… It was a woman.
Am I that drunk? I wondered, trying to blink away the encroaching darkness.
She looked… worried? Confused, I only stared at her with the weirdest sense of déjà vu.
“Stuart, get up ,” she said and reached for my arm so she could help me.
“M’okay,” I replied, waving her off. I needed to figure out what to do next. Like how I would get back to the hotel. The bottle of beer slipped from my fingers and landed on the street without breaking. Beer ran in a foamy river around my shoe.
“Shit,” she swore, crouching down next to me. “Stuart! Stuart, pay attention and listen to me very carefully . You have to get on your feet now and come with me. Do you understand? There is a group of people right over there who have just figured out who you are. It’s only a matter of seconds before they come over here armed with their phones. Do you want to be on the cover of every shitty tabloid tomorrow? No? Then get up. Now .”
She made sense. I understood the urgency in her voice. The people she was talking about were not far. A big group. One of them was pointing. Bloody hell. I wiped my mouth with the back of my hand, and with the help of the woman, I managed to get to my feet.
Minutes or maybe hours later, I found myself in the back of a taxi with the
B EFORE MY LIFE WENT SUDDENLY pear-shaped, and I slunk, tail tucked between my legs, into a shitty, crowded pub, I had been sober for three… almost four years. That’s a bloody long time to go without a drink, and it seemed I’d lost any tolerance I’d gained during those fucked-up, murky years of constant binge drinking; that night I think I was only on my fifth beer and was already getting tunnel vision.
Thing is, I couldn’t have cared less.
Standing at the bar, I had one hand outstretched over the girls in front of me to take the beer from the bartender when I realized I didn’t actually have any cash left to pay for it. After I yelled something about getting my credit card out, I tried to set the bottle on the bar so I could reach for my wallet, but I only managed to knock the beer sideways and sprayed the folks waiting for a drink. Amidst the cries of dismay, I was shoved back a step, and I flung an arm out so I wouldn’t fall. Thankfully, I managed to grab a post—not someone’s breast or hair—and steadied myself a touch.
“Jesus! What the fuck is your problem?” yelled one of the girls in my ear.
“Sorry… Sorry, love,” I mumbled, disoriented by all the bodies jostling around me. I blinked and tried to focus, but it was like I was having an out-of-body experience… like this wasn’t happening to me. Worse, I was getting flashbacks to the old days—only back then, the crowd had been top-notch and it was a tuxedo I’d been stumbling about in.
I needed to get out of the bar. Now .
Pushing through the crowd, I managed to step on only a few toes on my way to the exit. As I nearly fell through the door, I heard a woman’s voice rise above the throbbing beat: “Hey, isn’t that Stuart Leandro?”
The door swung closed, cutting off the voices and loud music, and I was left in the relative peace of the street.
The cool night air felt bloody great.
I took in a few big lungfuls and tried to orient myself. It wasn’t going so well—I had downed that last beer rather fast, and it was just then starting to hit me. The cold air turned out to have the opposite effect I’d been hoping for; instead of waking up my senses, it sent my drunkenness into a tailspin. The next thing I knew, I was sitting on the curb next to a puddle of vomit, trying to convince myself that lying down on the sidewalk was not in fact a great idea, despite how much it appealed to me. I stared blearily at my hands and wondered how in the hell another beer had gotten there.
“Stuart.”
At the sound of my name, I looked up. Standing over me was someone I didn’t recognize. He had complicated hair. He ? I screwed up my eyes at the figure. No… It was a woman.
Am I that drunk? I wondered, trying to blink away the encroaching darkness.
She looked… worried? Confused, I only stared at her with the weirdest sense of déjà vu.
“Stuart, get up ,” she said and reached for my arm so she could help me.
“M’okay,” I replied, waving her off. I needed to figure out what to do next. Like how I would get back to the hotel. The bottle of beer slipped from my fingers and landed on the street without breaking. Beer ran in a foamy river around my shoe.
“Shit,” she swore, crouching down next to me. “Stuart! Stuart, pay attention and listen to me very carefully . You have to get on your feet now and come with me. Do you understand? There is a group of people right over there who have just figured out who you are. It’s only a matter of seconds before they come over here armed with their phones. Do you want to be on the cover of every shitty tabloid tomorrow? No? Then get up. Now .”
She made sense. I understood the urgency in her voice. The people she was talking about were not far. A big group. One of them was pointing. Bloody hell. I wiped my mouth with the back of my hand, and with the help of the woman, I managed to get to my feet.
Minutes or maybe hours later, I found myself in the back of a taxi with the
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