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“Always with the jokes,” he said.
I sighed. “Fine, you want to get serious? You know damn well there’s a big difference between me having a drink after work and you being drunk in the middle of a flight. If you can’t see that, you’ve got bigger problems than I thought.”
He stared at me with wide, hollow looking eyes, and his lower lip began to quiver. I couldn’t tell whether he was going to cry or start screaming again. I couldn’t even tell which one would have been worse. All I knew was that I wanted no part of this conversation. I didn’t even want to stop off in the Lounge anymore. I only wanted to go home and be done with this whole fucked up mess.
“You really think you’re better than me, don’t you, Drew? That’s it. You think you’re better than me. You think you deserve to be up in the air, and I don’t.”
"No," I answered tightly, feeling myself losing my grip on my temper and doing my best to keep my grip. "I don’t think I’m better than you. But no, you don’t deserve to be up in the air, not the way you are now. You have a problem, and it’s not my fault or anyone else’s fault but yours. And nobody can fix it for you, either. You're the one who needs to fix it."
“I don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about.”
“You need to get help. It’s a big city, Stevens. There are plenty of meetings, AA and that kind of thing. Go find one. Get yourself back under control. Then you can earn your place back in the sky.”
"You know they took me off all of the flight schedules?” he asked, sounding miserable. “They haven't outright fired me, but they might as well have. My whole fucking life was flying, and now I'm on the ground."
“Good. Maybe that’s the wakeup call you need to get your shit together. Get clean and prove that you deserve another chance. You’ll be back in the air in no time, and better yet, you’ll be flying again without putting people’s lives in jeopardy.”
"But I don't have a problem, Drew. Honest to God, I don't. I just need a little bit to get me through the day, you know? My wife left me six months ago. I think it was six months. Might have been a year. The time blends, you know?"
“Yeah, I bet it does.”
Fred, who had been shuffling back and forth as he spoke, turned on me. He was like a genuine Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde, the way he was acting, which didn't really surprise me. That was how alcoholics were. They turned on a dime. They had no control over their emotions and were willing to do whatever it took to get what they wanted.
Fred was no different. There was feral viciousness in him, and when he heard the sarcasm in my voice, it all came pouring out.
"Listen to me, Drew. You're a fucking child, and I won't let you ruin my life. You think you're some hotshot, but every man bleeds the same way."
“So, you’re threatening me now?” I asked, my voice low and angry.
"Just telling you how it is. You're going to go back and recant the story you told about me. You're going to recant, and you're going to help me get back up in the air, or you're going to be fucking sorry."
"No, Fred, I'm not,” I said, the anger fading from me. He was too pathetic for me to be pissed off at him. “Get yourself some help. Now, if you'll excuse me."
I shoved past him, which was depressingly easy to do. The man was too drunk to try and fight me. Shit, he was drunk enough that I was surprised he could stay on his feet at all. I could hear him muttering behind me as I walked away with clenched fists.
He was a lucky man, whether he knew it or not. If I had as little control over myself as he did, I would have beaten him to a bloody pulp. I was glad I hadn't done it, but I was also ready to go home. Any desire I'd had for a drink in the Lounge was long gone.
The urge to call Jess, though? That was stronger than ever.
Chapter 11: Jess
Everything about my latest date with Drew was more than I could have hoped for. Even the getting ready part had been a blast. How often did a girl get to say a thing like that? Maybe that was just par for the course with most women, but for me, most of the dating I had done after the death of Emma's father had been lukewarm at best.
There hadn't been a lot of it, and there hadn't been any real spark with the men I did go out with. Certainly, nothing that would have driven me to gather my sister and my daughter to help me pick out what to wear. Even an hour after Drew had picked me up, I could still picture Emma standing on my king-sized bed with berry-colored lipstick smeared all over her face as she belted out Beyonce at the top of her lungs.
Normally, it was the kind of thing I would have put a stop to, both the makeup and the standing on the bed, but on this night, I had been delighted. It was the kind of over the top memory a mother cherished. As I took the seat Drew was pulling out for me, I couldn't help but smile.
“What’s that about?” he asked.
“What are you talking about?”
"That smile,” he said. “You've always got a pretty one, but this one is particularly radiant."
"Is it?" I laughed, feeling giddy and buzzed despite having had no alcohol to drink. "Thanks. I was just thinking about my daughter. She's in the middle of a Beyonce phase, and she was in rare form before you came to get me."
“I thought I heard a little Beyonce blaring when you opened the front door. Maybe I should have tried to secure tickets to one of her concerts instead of bringing you here?”
“No way! Are you kidding me? This is amazing!”
