Excerpt: Red Tales: Play Dates

Wednesday, May 9, 2001. Ian’s drinking was getting worse. He enjoyed being numb all the time. He was not starting for the Stars and that drove him further behind. In the evenings, he would drink till he passed out.
Nasty McDuffy, his teammate and Long Beach roommate, found Ian passed out behind their building on the beach. “Ian, Ian, wake up.” Nasty shook him. There was no response. “Damn it.” McDuffy picked up Ian and slung him over his shoulder in a fireman’s carry. Ian vomited, some of it landing on Nasty’s back. “Damn kid, the things I do for you.”
Nasty slid open the door and carried him inside. He put him in the bathtub and turned on the shower. As he removed his own shirt, he said, “We’ve got to get you sobered up a bit.”
Ian moaned as the lukewarm water washed over him. Nasty removed Ian’s soiled clothes.
“I know you are not going to remember a word I am telling you, but the coach is not starting you because you have this problem. You are about to be cut from the team. I know you are having some issues with the death of Molly. Hell, I would to, from everything I’ve heard you say about her.”
Ian struck the shower wall of the tub. “Bitch! That bitch! She was cheating on me the entire time.”
“Ah ha, so you can understand me through your vodka haze.” Nasty grinned, then frowned. “Look, there is nothing you can do about it now. God punished her with his ultimate stroke. I know that feels like he was punishing you, but you were not in the wrong.”
“How would you know?”
“Brother, I’ve been through it. My wife cheated on me. That’s why I came over here. I go home in the winter, but we cannot get past it. We don’t even have sex anymore. You know why?”
Ian shook his head.
“The bastard she cheated on me with gave her HIV.”
“And you?”
“I get tested every six months and so far I’ve been clean.”
“Wow,” Ian breathed. “Why don’t you divorce her?”
“We’re Catholic; we’re Irish; we just make each other miserable. I just hate that the kids have to see her die.”
“Marty,” mumbled Ian half under his breath.
“Let’s bring him out here.”
Ian shook his head violently. “No, he can’t see me like this.”
“He’s not going to, because I’m going to help you stay straight even if I have to become your Siamese twin.” Nasty turned off the water. “Even if that means I have to be sober, too.”
Nasty left the bathroom. Ian sat naked in the tub for a while before emerging. The Irishman went into the kitchen and started to get rid of all the alcohol he could find. He knew about all of Ian’s hiding places. He had been watching his new teammate for the past six weeks. Ian thought he was being sneaky, but he was not able to hide anything from Nasty. Nasty grew up in Ireland. His mother and her mother were closet drunks. They hid their liquor in the oddest of places, so that their husbands and kids would not find them. But Nasty knew about all of them. He himself enjoyed his drink, but he was classified as a social drinker. Ian was on a rotten path.
“What are you doing?” exclaimed Ian in horror when he saw Nasty pouring vodka down the kitchen sink drain.
“Helping you.” Nasty thrust his free hand toward the couch. “Go sit down. We are going to get you through this.”
Ian started looking in his hiding places. He screamed and yelped. “No! You couldn’t have found them all! No!”
Nasty stopped and pulled Ian back. He guided him to the couch and sat him down. “I watched my mother and grandmother drink themselves to death. I’m not going to watch you do the same.”
Ian pouted. He leaned back and fell over on his side. “I’m sorry,” he muttered and began to cry.
Nasty returned to his task. There were more bottles stashed in the master bathroom and Ian’s bedroom. All in all, Nasty later bagged up three cases worth of empty bottles for recycling in the morning. It was going to look like they had just thrown a huge party, he thought to himself.