Sell By Day, Write By Night

 

Sell By Day, Write By Night

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

Randolph sat in his car at the parking lot of Gretchen’s yoga studio. “I must be losing my mind,” he thought. “She’s forty-five years younger than me, getting married in a week, and here I am lurking with a bouquet of roses. Like I’m going to sweep her off her feet — wrinkled old timer like me.”

He sat with the engine running, his finger tapping between news and sports talk AM radio. The retired agriculture exec had been attending her classes for a year, even though he believed yoga to be a useless art form for liberal America who drank wheatgrass and bought into NPR propaganda.

One afternoon, he had met Gretchen in line at the DMV and conversed about work and family life. Enamored with her physical beauty and entrepreneurial spirit, he started attending her classes five days a week.

Randolph Billingsley had amassed his fortune as a grain tycoon, and now at the ripe old age of seventy-eight, refused his mind and body to slow down, countering the laws of nature as best he could. He’d wake up every morning at 5:00 AM, work out for an hour on the elliptical, and eat a very healthy breakfast — usually low-fat yogurt or shredded wheat. But his workaholic lifestyle as CEO of a major food corporation had caused a major rift in his family life. Now a stranger to Tabitha, his wife of sixty years, and estranged to his children and grandchildren, his only other pursuit in life was this thirty-three year old yoga instructor in Dayton, OH.

Gretchen canceled Monday’s class, announcing via group-text that her grandmother had passed away, and she would be out of town for the funeral.

He observed Gretchen locking the studio door, rolling down the window of his brand new Mercedes coupe.

“Hello Gretchen.”

“Oh hi Randolph,” she replied with a smile, “I thought that was your car.”

“My sincerest condolences for your loss,” he said, handing her a bouquet of red roses he had picked up at the floral shop in town. “You two must have been very close.”

“We were. Thank you so much,” she said, accepting the flowers. “It was her time. She was very special to us all, but you didn’t have to do this.”

“It’s only right,” he said. “Gretchen, you’ve made such an impact on my life in such a constructive manner.”

“Well thank you. They’re exquisite.”

“You’re welcome and I won’t keep you. Undoubtedly you have to pack for the trip to — Chicago you said it was?”

“Yes that’s right, Chicago. I also have to finish preparing for the eulogy.”

“There won’t be a dry eye at the service. I assume classes will resume on Tuesday?”

“Yes they will.”

“In that case I will see you on Tuesday,” he said, kissing her hand.

Gretchen Willis had married Mark Grand, a very successful stock broker. Two years into their marriage, she met Judah Durant at a fundraiser dinner for Parkinson’s disease. Judah and Gretchen conversed at the table about their experiences in Mantra meditation over a five-hundred dollar Cornish Hen.

“I try to commit to at least twenty minutes a day,” said Gretchen picking at the string beans on her plate. “For me, it’s so much more than a form of relaxation.”

“I agree,” said Judah, placing a cloth napkin across his lap. “Since college, I’ve used it as a means to stop smoking.”

“Yes,” she nodded. “It’s excellent replacement therapy. Life is full on distractions. Everyday. Not all bad ones, but it has helped become more organized.”

“Some of that clutter is my fault,” chimed in Mark.

Everyone at the table burst into laughter.

“Sorry babe,” he said, pulling her close, kissing her on the cheek.

After the meal they enjoyed espresso. Gretchen invited Judah to attend her yoga class to which he accepted.

The following Monday, Judah arrived at her studio fifteen minutes early. He began to mingle with some of the other students before the class began. It was an eclectic group. One by one, two by two they filed in. They unrolled their mats, preparing themselves with breathing and stretching exercises.

“Hi everyone,” said Gretchen, positioning herself in front of the group, the cross-talk evaporating. “I know I’m running late. I do apologize. I had the most incredible dream last night though. It was all right before I woke up. I was holding a little boy. It was one of those dreams that seem real. I could feel his little movements against my chest. I could smell his baby scent. So — ”

She paused, a few tender sighs.

“Let’s begin.”

Judah was in love. He thought about Gretchen and her dream throughout the rest of the day, and had one of his own. He was back in high school playing a basketball game on his old varsity team. His teammates were there and Judah was the guy nailing all the shots. They all went in, even the one he threw up during a flagrant foul from behind the three point arc.

And one.

If I make this shot, he thought, sweating at the free throw line, I fight for Gretchen. I will not give up. I will marry her and there will be a greater purpose — fighting tooth and nail to win the wife of another man. The fate of a little boy is at stake here. The little boy in Gretchen’s dream.

Nothing but net.

Judah woke up the following morning feeling better than usual. He sang in the shower — something he rarely did. Took 50mg of Adderall — something he always did. And thought about marrying Gretchen — something he planned on doing.

But then he thought about Mark. Ah yes. Mark. A formidable obstacle and opponent. Could he have been the one who fouled me last night?

After a Wednesday afternoon yoga session, Judah approached Gretchen who was filing away a new shipment of textbooks.

“Can I give you a hand with that?” he asked.

“No, I’m fine,” she said. “This is the last box.”

“Ok,” he said leaning against the wall. “It must be very fulfilling — owning your own business. You know, I have some ideas for starting up my own auto repair business.”

“You should,” she said, breaking down the cardboard box. “It’s quite an undertaking. Very stressful at times too. Ironic.”

“Funny,” he laughed. “Pretty low overhead I’d imagine. Right?”

“It is — comparatively speaking. It’s one of those things I fell into. My aunt used to own a floral business in this unit. When she was ready to retire, Shauna and I asked if we could pick up the last year of her lease. At the time, this was the only yoga studio in town so we had a steady stream of clients. We’ve been lucky.”

“What do you do on the marketing side of things?”

“Not as much as we’d like. Some social media campaigns, but mostly referrals.”

“Sure. Word of mouth is the best kind of marketing there is.”

“I agree. Are you in advertising?”

“Well I was a finance major at Ohio Wesleyan, but I minored in marketing. My office is right up the street. You should swing by for an hour or so with Shauna. I’d love to talk strategy with you. There’s a ton of search volume for yoga.”

“I’d love that,” she said. “I’ll have a talk with her tomorrow and let you know some time later this week.”

“Awesome.”

Judah knew he had his work cut out for him. Winning the heart of a married woman would pose many challenges. On the exterior, Mark and Gretchen seemed to have a happy marriage — at least in his mind.

Gretchen never did mention the meeting to Shauna. Mark had a frustrating day with a difficult client and was out for the count after two glasses of Petit Verdot. Gretchen went into the kitchen and wiped corn starch from the screen of her iPad before starting an email to Judah.

Judah,

Would love to get together for that consultation soon. Are you busy tomorrow? I only have one class in the morning, so my afternoon is completely open. Hope to hear from you soon.

Gretchen

Judah read the email and responded quickly:

Gretchen,

Can you swing by around 2:00 PM? I can give you material to go over with Shauna at your leisure. Let me know if this works.

Judah

Two minutes later:

2PM it is. See you tomorrow!

One minute later:

See you then!

Judah and Gretchen began an affair that lasted for two months. When Mark found out, he simply left a note and wished her all the luck. There was never any shouting or fighting. No one shed a tear. By all accounts, the divorce was a very simple legal process and Judah moved into her apartment by early spring. After they cohabitated for a period of time, Gretchen made the announcement before a morning class. Randolph pretended to be happy for her. So much so, he bought the newlyweds a brand new two story condo in one of the more desirable locations in the city — paid in full. Their only financial responsibility would be the utilities and property taxes.

Judah’s parents them an all-inclusive honeymoon vacation in Cabo San Lucas. They lived like royalty for two weeks eating steak and lobster tail. They drank bottles of wine expensive as a mortgage payment. Parasailing, massages, pedicures and manicures. Profuse amounts of unbridled lovemaking.

The plane landed and began taxiing the tarmac. One by one the passengers turned off airplane mode, reading their texts and emails, listening to voicemails. Gretchen read an email from Randolph with the subject header titled: Very Urgent! It read:

My Dearest Gretchen,

By the time you are reading this, I will no longer be on this earth. I do not want you to feel as though my self destruction was your fault. By no means! I had an unhealthy obsession with you. Going on with the notion of spending my life with you would have been nothing short of delusional on my end. I have failed my family as of recent and in no way do I want to see your happiness compromised. I lived a long life and cherished our friendship. May you and Judah enjoy a long a fruitful marriage.

All Apologies,

Randolph

Gretchen immediately replied asking if it was some sort of joke. She didn’t know what to think. She felt guilty, wondering if there would have been something she could have done to prevent it. How could she not feel some sort of responsibility? In college, she took pleasure in reading sad emails from ex-boyfriends or secret admirers. Some of which alluded to taking their own life, even though no one actually went through with it. She considered showing the email to Judah seated next to her, but put her phone back in her purse and closed her eyes. She sighed, trying to appear calm.

“Anything important?” asked Judah.

“Telemarketer,” she said.

Judah had a prescription for Adderall. He started taking them his senior year of high school. 60 to 80 mg every day. In his teens he was diagnosed ADD/ADHD and found the drug to be a very effective stimulant and appetite suppressant. It also increased his motivation to perform certain tasks and provided him excellent mental clarity and focus.

As he sat in his office analyzing the previous week’s reports, his mind began to drift. He wanted to figure out a way to become a better provider for Gretchen as well as their future children. He knew she didn’t want to be working once they started a family. Kids weren’t cheap. Hospital bills, diapers, formula. Then a prestigious daycare, primary school, scouts, class field trips — and then high school with the expensive clothes, sports teams, trips to Europe — and then Lord have mercy — college.

They’d better earn a full ride like their dad, he thought.

Their marriage took a turn when Gretchen sold the studio to pursue massage therapy as a more flexible career.

“How’s work?” said Gretchen one lazy Sunday afternoon over Chai Tea and Stravinsky, her feet propped up on the arms of the sofa.

Judah didn’t respond right away, staring motionless into an old Thomas Mann novel.

“Fine,” he said.

“Just fine? What are you Judah — ten years old?”

“Is that how I’m acting?”

“That is how you’re acting. Yes.”

“You don’t need to do this. Give massages.”

“We could use the extra money.”

Judah placed his book on the barren coffee table.

“I make plenty of money,” said Judah.

“I have magic fingers,” she said wiggling them.

“That’s what I’m afraid of.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Forget it.”

“No. I want to know. You don’t trust me?”

“I do. But the thought of you giving some random guy a rub down while I’m in my office is what bothers me. You can see where I’m coming from — can’t you?”

“It sounds like you don’t trust me. It’s not like that at all Judah,” said Gretchen.

She walked to the stove and refilled her tea cup with hot water.

“What’s it like then?” asked Judah.

“It’s physical therapy. What if I were a doctor giving prostate exams? Hmm? Would you feel any different?”

“I don’t know. But I didn’t marry a doctor or a masseuse. I married a yoga instructor.”

“I don’t plan on making a career out of either baby. When we have kids, it’ll all be different. You’ll see.”

Judah began to devote more time to Gretchen, and they began to spend less of it devoted to acquiring new clients. This took a toll on them financially as their affinity for the finer things in life hadn’t changed.

Their relationship from an employment standpoint was unique. It was Judah’s job to quickly identify a prospect’s financial standings and explain potential tax loopholes that would legally work out in their favor. Every situation was different, and his own compensation structures were convoluted to explain to anyone. Simply put, it was a mix of hourly, salary, and residuals if he could retain them as clients for the long haul. Gretchen was selling relief — a break from the realities of financial stress.

The couple soon had a son named Luke and the joy that he brought strengthened the bond between them. Judah became a full-time stay-at-home dad, while Gretchen divided her time between teaching yoga and as a massage therapist. Sadly, Judah’s dependency on Adderall began to get out of hand.

“I’m off,” said Gretchen kissing Luke on the cheek. “I’ll see you two for lunch around 11:30.”

“Mph,” grumbled Judah. “Have fun,” he said singsong, rolling over face down, hugging his pillow.

“Oh yeah,” she said. “I almost forgot.”

“What’s that?”

“The gift cards you left at the Christmas party?”

“Oh yeah,” said Judah, “what about ‘em?”

“Your mom slipped them under the door last night. I left them on the kitchen counter. Bye-bye!”

“Bye-bye!”

After an hour of putzing around on YouTube, he rolled out of bed, putting on his jeans from the previous day. Then he gave Luke a bubble bath and got him dressed. After placing him in his playpen, he walked outside on the porch, lighting a cigarette.

He kept close watch on his boy immersed in Saturday morning cartoons.

Afterwards, he grabbed the gift cards from the kitchen counter — one for gas and another for The Cheesecake Factory.

“You hungry for ham and eggs kiddo?” said Judah to his son, buckling him into his car seat.

He pulled into the BP gas station closest to his house, pulling up to an available pump. Then he swiped the gift card and winced as a $0 balance flashed across the LCD display. “Thanks guys,” he said. “Merry Christmas to you too.”

The gift card at The Cheesecake Factory did work, and after breakfast he took Luke to a model train exhibit across the street. It was an elaborate display of tunnels and bridges, hills and houses — miniature farm animals. The roped off landscape acted as a boundary to discourage specators from touching the display.

Little Luke was fascinated. He waddled his way beyond the boundaries after Judah asked him not to. Then he threw a temper tantrum, kicking and screaming on the cold pavement, winning him the argument with his father. As Luke inched his way closer and closer to the model train, a woman in her late fifties and her adult daughter stood nearby observing. They both gave Judah the evil eye as he tried to ignore it. Shrugging, he lit a cigarette.

Luke began climbing onto a platform to get a better view but slipped and fell, landing on his bum-bum in a muddy puddle of water. He didn’t hurt himself or even begin to cry as Judah helped his son to his feet. He began wiping the mud and wet leaves from Luke’s coat and pants. Then Judah stood up and turned around. The woman’s daughter now standing next to him smiling, holding out a promotional flier of the event and an ink pen.

“Can I help you?” asked Judah looking confused.

“Yes,” she said, about to laugh. “Could you please sign it: Worst Parent Ever?”

Judah immediately frowned, taking his son by the hand and said, “We’re going home Luke.”

On the drive home Judah thought to himself, “I don’t deserve arm chair judgment like that about my parenting; especially not from complete and total strangers.”

By the time Judah pulled into the garage, Luke was fast asleep. He put him down in his new bed for a nap. Then he walked downstairs into the basement to find Scott on the porch smoking a cigarette.

Scott was Gretchen’s old boyfriend from six years ago. He was a chubby and good natured guy from London with dark thinning hair and a millenially trimmed beard. After their relationship fizzled, they remained good friends. Scott wasn’t working, but did contribute as a cook and housekeeper of sorts.

Judah didn’t want him moving in for obvious reasons. Gretchen’s parents and Randolph funded their marriage and she had final say in practically every facet. “It’s completely platonic Judah,” she’d say. Fortunately, there weren’t any compatibility issues in the triad.

Judah walked onto the porch, sliding the door shut.

“Hey,” he said in a hush. “Give me a cigarette. I smoked my last one an hour ago.”

“Fine,” said Scott rolling his eyes, knocking one from his soft pack of Winston. “How was breakfast?”

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

“You think I can get that signature from you later?”

“I don’t know yet,” said Judah. I’d love to be able to help you out — haven’t heard back from my attorney yet. But you’ll be the first guy to know.”

“Yeah,” said Scott. “He’s got my email too. I hate to bug the guy about it.”

“Yeah please don’t do that.”

“No sir.”

Scott claimed he was the owner of an offshore commercial real estate company with holdings in Dubai. He also believed himself to be a huge victim of identity theft. He had been asking Judah for months to sign his own name as president of the company in a series of foreign documents.

Something about an extension on his work visa.

Judah had his doubts.

Anthony Dizzo’s girlfriend had left him two months prior. He was one of those guys who always had to be in a relationship and would never wait more than a few days to find another one if the thing didn’t work out.

Anthony led a simple life comprised of landscaping, weightlifting, drinking beer, and shooting pool at the neighborhood drinking hole. He wanted to mix things up for a change and just hang out at his local Starbucks. Well this is where he met Gretchen. It was the nicest one in the city.

He saved Gretchen’s contact info to his phone from her business card pinned to the community board.

He waited about three days to call her back.

“Hi, this is Gretchen.”

“Hey Gretchen this is Anthony from Starbucks?”

“Oh hey there.”

“Yeah — hey — uh you still give massages?”

“I sure do. Yep!”

“Great I need one big time,” he laughed.

“OK well my going rate is sixty five dollars an hour. Full body.”

“Great. Do you come to my place or do I drive to yours?”

“Either way works.”

Gretchen pulled over into a gas station parking lot and parked. She reached over grabbing her purse, taking out her leather business planner.

“I’ve had a pretty busy work week,” said Anthony. “Haven’t had a chance to get the place cleaned up. I drive to you. Right?”

“Yeah that works.”

“Well when can you squeeze me in?”

“It’s funny you called right now. One of my clients canceled on me an hour ago for my ten AM time-slot tomorrow. I know it’s kind of short notice, but does that work?”

“Yeah. Sure.”

“Ok. Great. My caller ID says two-two-six-three — is that your cell?”

“That’s it.”

“Awesome,” said Gretchen. “I’m texting you the address right now.”

“Great. See you tomorrow. Oh — by the way — is cash ok?”

“Yes I prefer cash. It just makes it easier.”

“Great,” said Anthony, “see you tomorrow at ten.”

The following morning, Gretchen awoke to breakfast in bed. Fruit and yogurt, a poached egg, herbal tea. It had been a while since Judah had done something special for her in over a week and wanted to put their disagreement to rest.

“Rise and shine!” said Judah, balancing the tray.

“Oh thank you sweetie,” said Gretchen, pulling him close, kissing him on the lips.

“Good morning babe. I’m sorry for the way I’ve been acting. If you want to pursue massage therapy, I want to support you. Can you forgive me?”

Gretchen smiled and laughed.

“Forgiven.”

“I love you so much.”

“I love you too,” she said stroking his hair.

“Hey I have an idea,” said Judah. “I can put off paperwork till later this evening. Luke has been crawling around, putting everything in his mouth recently. We’ll go to the park for a couple of hours while you’re working on Mrs. Davenport’s thighs.”

“She canceled her appointment babe. I got this. I booked someone else in her time slot.”

“Yeah? Who?”

“A new client. Name’s Anthony.”

“Really?” asked Judah, surprised.

“Yeah. He’ll be here in a little over an hour.”

“Ok, let’s rally. Want to meet up for lunch somewhere afterwards?”

“Sure,” said Gretchen, “how about that new sushi restaurant. You know — the one off of Renning Avenue? Next to the Steinmart?”

“Let’s do that. Their tempura intrigues me to no end. Twelve thirty?”

“It’s a date,” she said, smiling.

Judah left with Luke and Gretchen began setting up her massage table. She lit several aroma candles and put some meditation music on the Bose in the living room.

Then the doorbell rang.

“Hi Anthony,” said Gretchen. “Come on in.”

“Hey Gretchen,” he said. “Would you like me to take off my shoes?”

“If you don’t mind.”

“Sure. That’s no problem,” he said removing his tattered Adidas sneakers. “Nice place you have.”

“Thanks. I wish I had more time to decorate. Well if you’ll follow me, I’m all set up in the living room.”

“Here’s the bathroom,” she said. “Go ahead and undress down to your underwear.”

“Thanks,” he said, shutting the door behind him.

Moments later, Gretchen began working the knots out of Anthony’s shoulders.

“Does that hurt?” she said, pushing deep.

“No — it feels great,” he said. “You can go deeper if you like.”

“Let me know when I’m pushing too hard.”

Several moments later, she asked him to turn over and began rubbing oil across his chest and abdomen.

“Are you married Anthony?” she said.

The question surprised him, but he responded.

“No. I bet you are though — pretty girl like you.”

“I am. Thank you. He works all the time,” she said sliding her fingertips under the waistband of his boxer briefs.

“Maybe I can help,” he said reaching behind, caressing her.

The candles flickered in the breeze.

The sushi restaurant was only half full as Gretchen spotted Judah at a corner booth.

“Hey babe,” she said taking a seat across from him, “Where’s Luke?”

“I dropped him off at my mom’s — was kind of hoping for a nice quiet lunch, me and you.”

“An hour or so of peace and quiet is fine by me,” she said perusing the menu.

“I thought I’d wait for you to order.”

“Thanks babe,” she said. “I’m starving.”

“Not me. Wanna split something?” he said sipping his tea.

“Sure.”

“So how was this Anthony guy?”

“He’s nice. You wouldn’t believe the knots I worked out of his shoulders. He’s in construction.”

“Guess it comes with the territory.”

“Yeah.”

A young college-age waitress approached their booth.

“Hi guys,” she said. “Can I start you off with something to drink?”

“Ice water with lemon,” said Gretchen, “and I think I’m ready to order. How’s the eel roll?”

“It’s excellent,” said the waitress. “Very popular here.”

“I’ll have that,” said Gretchen handing her the menu.

“Great — and for you sir?”

“We’re going to split it,” laughed Judah. “But I’ll take another green tea when you get the chance.”

“Got it,” she said scribbling the order down, walking back toward the kitchen.

“So this Anthony,” said Judah. “Is he married?”

“I don’t think so. But I think he’s gay.”

“What makes you say that?”

“A hunch. His teeth are super white.”

“Huh. A gay construction worker with super white teeth.”

“Strange isn’t it?”

“Did you ask if he moonlights in a Village People cover band?”

“Stop it.”

Judah hadn’t slept in three days. He had been on many Adderall binges before, but this particular one had him at an all-time low. His clarity, focus, and motivation had worn off, but not the insomnia — never the insomnia. Frustrated, he took another pill and grabbed the newspaper from the kitchen table. He made a cup of green tea and skimmed over the sports section. As he was flipping through the local section, he noticed a full page ad with a familiar name and face. “You’ve got to be kidding me,” he thought.

It was an ad for a book signing. Ryan Burch. His old childhood classmate.

New York Times Best Selling Author

Ryan Burch

“Own Your Future: Secrets of Today’s Entrepreneur”

April 7th at 7PM

Reinhardt’s Books

606 Main Street

Dayton, OH

Judah and Ryan had known each other since preschool. Their parents were good friends, and active in the community serving in the chamber of commerce and rotary club. Their mothers had enrolled them into early childhood development classes at the local college in town.

Once kindergarten started, Judah’s parents sent him to public school, and Ryan went to a Baptist Christian Academy. By the end of the fourth grade, Ryan’s education had proven to be too costly with rising tuition costs. By the seventh grade they were both attending the same middle school and eventually the same high school. They’d pass each other in the hall saying nothing more than, “Hey dude,” until Judah’s family relocated to Grand Rapids their sophomore year.

Judah cut out the ad and stuck it to the refrigerator door. He glanced at the clock on the wall.

3:04 AM

He brewed another cup of tea and went to the garage to work on his car. He changed the oil, replaced a broken tail-light, cleaned some spark plugs, and fixed a leak in his radiator until the morning sunlight crept through the window.

Gretchen opened the door connecting the condo to the garage. Judah looked up from the hood of his car, his eyes glazed over with a cigarette dangling from his mouth.

“Well, I’m off,” she said.

“Where are you going?”

“To my moms for a few days. We talked about this. Remember? She wants to spend some time with Luke.”

“When will you be back?”

“Probably Tuesday night. Wednesday morning at the latest.” She opened the garage door and walked to her car parked in the driveway. “By the way, I saw the ad you put on the fridge about that Ryan Burch book signing. I assume you’re going?”

“I am,” said Ryan tossing the oily rag into a nearby bucket, following her to her car. “You know we went to school together growing up?”

“You’re kidding,” she said putting her luggage in the trunk.

“Seriously,” laughed Judah. “Middle school and high school. Our younger brothers were in the same grade — our dads coached little league.”

“Small world.”

“Yeah. Our parents were better friends than he and I were. Now that he’s rich and famous — well — it’s too bad we aren’t better friends. Hey maybe I can jar a few old memories and convince him to become a silent investor.”

“For your car repair business?”

“Yeah. Worth a shot.”

“Exploitation,” said Gretchen. “What else is new?”

“Watch me. I’ll put together a solid business plan give him a presentation at a Starbucks or something,” he said strapping his son into his new car seat. “Bye-bye Lukey!” he said kissing him on the cheek.

Ryan had been to rehabs, the institutions and treatment facilities growing up. Always for alcohol abuse.

The first was right before his twenty first birthday at the onset of a nervous breakdown. He had been pounding beers and smoking weed as usual one night at a New Year’s Eve party. Then out of the blue, a wave of extreme paranoia came over him. Following it were other delusional thoughts. The TV was speaking to him directly — transmitting him secret messages.

He walked to the corner gas station for a pack of cigarettes, thinking it might help him clear his mind and snap out of it. While standing in line, people started speaking to him without moving their mouths.

After he returned to the party, he made some desperate faces at a few people, but didn’t say goodbye to anyone. He got in his car and zoomed down the highway toward his parent’s house in an attempt to recapture some of his sanity — if there was any left.

The following morning his mom, Francesca, cooked him a big breakfast but he had no hunger to speak of. When Ryan told her the story of his nervous breakdown, she was convinced. It was a case of demonic possession.

She dialed the local minister who had experience in performing exorcisms explaining the situation as best she could. He showed up about an hour later and carried out a normal conversation with Ryan for a short time and prayed with him.

At this point, Ryan started to scream and wail, ripping off every article of clothing until he was completely naked. Then he walked into his bedroom with the minister close behind, speaking in Latin.

Once in his room, Ryan picked up a ruler from his desk, snapped it in half, and held up the two pieces in the shape of a crucifix. As the process unfolded, Ryan passed out, and his parents drove him to the nearest sanitarium for an evaluation.

After months of ongoing therapy, he found work with a construction company and moved into his own studio apartment. Shortly thereafter, he enrolled himself into a local business college where he met Stephany. They began dating and tied the knot two weeks before receiving their B.A.’s in Business Administration.

Ryan’s parents bought the newlyweds a townhouse as a wedding gift. It was old and falling apart, but he enjoyed fixing it up in his spare time.

Ryan and Stephany held off to have kids in order to get a better foothold on their financial situation. Ryan had saved enough money to quit construction and start his own company as a financial strategist.

Despite Stephany’s regular use of birth control, they soon gave birth to their first son, Jackson. Stephany’s career plans were placed on hold, but with Ryan’s six figure income, there was nothing for anyone to complain about.

At Jackson’s second birthday party, they made the announcement there would soon be another addition to the family. Seven months later they had Bryce. He was born six weeks premature, but surprisingly healthy as he grew.

Sadly, Ryan’s flexibility gave him all the time in the world along with every excuse imaginable to start drinking again. His relapse began when Gretchen announced she was going to spend a week at a spa with the members of her book club. She was president and wanted to treat everyone to something special. Ryan thought it was a good idea and that the boys should spend that week with their grandparents. In his mind it would also give him the solitude he’d require to write his second book: Full Steam Ahead: Safeguarding Your Company.

There was some money left in Judah’s checking account from auto parts he had sold on E-bay. He hopped in his car and drove down to Reindhard’s Books to pick up a copy of Ryan’s book. Afterwards, he swung by the pharmacy for some over-the-counter sleeping pills. When he returned home, he spent the rest of the evening reading the book. He found it insightful and intelligent and revised his business plan to match up with Ryan’s concepts and business philosophies.

The event was standing room only. Ryan gave a half-hour lecture followed by Q&A. The line extended into the parking lot full of eager fans waiting for the chance to meet the best-selling author and get their copy autographed. Judah eventually made it to the front of the line.

“Thanks for coming,” said Ryan. “I appreciate the support. Who should I make it out to?” he said, opening the book to the blank first page.

“Judah Durant.”

As Ryan began signing, it occurred to him it was his old classmate from years ago.

“Remember me?” said Judah with a firm handshake.

“Judah Durant!” said Ryan, “man I thought it was you. Boy if it isn’t a small world!”

“It sure is,” said Judah. “Yeah I saw your ad in our local paper and thought I would swing by and say hey. Looks like all those days in Mrs. Veith’s Language Arts classes paid off.”

“Among other things,” said Ryan, handing back the signed book.

“Listen,” said Judah, turning around, glancing at the long line, “obviously you don’t have time to catch up right now. You have a mile’s worth of books to sign. Here,” he said, handing Ryan a black and white business card. “Are you in town for very long?”

“Unfortunately no. Next stop is Lexington tomorrow night,” said Ryan sliding the card inside his blazer pocket.

“Aw shucks,” said Judah. “Well do you have time for coffee later tonight? It’d be great to catch up and fill you in on my new body shop start-up.”

“Yes,” said Ryan. “I’ll call you in a few hours.”

“Great,” said Judah giving the thumbs up.

Several hours later they agreed to meet up at one of Judah’s favorite coffee shops in town.

Ryan arrived first, so he ordered a large black coffee and took a seat near the fireplace. He picked up a real estate publication and flipped through it until Judah arrived.

“There — he — is,” said Ryan. He stood up to greet his long lost classmate. “Let my buy you a coffee.”

“Actually,” said Judah, “a green tea would be great. I’ve quit coffee. Gives me jitters.”

“Green tea it is,” said Ryan. He approached the barista behind the counter and placed the order.

Judah squeezed a teaspoon of honey into his drink at the condiment station before they returned to their seats.

“So,” said Ryan, “are you married?”

“I am. Yes. To a beautiful yoga instructor. Her name is Gretchen — just over three years now.”

“Well congratulations. Any kids?”

“Yep. One son. His name’s Luke — turning three next month. The two of them are visiting her mom this week. But enough about me — you’re the rockstar. Tell me Ryan, how did you get into writing?”

“Great question, uhh — ” said Ryan pausing, collecting his thoughts. “Well after college, Stephany landed a great marketing job with a small airline company. She was the breadwinner for several years. I was bouncing from one low skill job to the next — contributing where I could. I became a master of living on a shoestring budget. I became great friends with her dad and started my own business consulting practice with his financial help. After that took off I had more free time than I knew what to do with so I started writing about the whole experience. I used it as source material for what would become Own Your Future. Then I guess I got lucky and found an agent who went to bat for me on all fronts. It’s been off to the races ever since.”

“That’s incredible,” said Judah. “Needless to say you have a second book in the works.”

“I do. But you wouldn’t believe the pressure that comes from my publisher to release another one so quickly — honestly, I don’t even know if I have it in me — most of the time I feel like I’ve already said all I have to say about growing a business.”

“Could be you just need more experiences under your belt — you know — to help with writer’s block.”

“One hundred percent.”

“Well talk to me more about your family.”

“Sure. As you know, Stephany and I met in college and we married shortly after graduating.” Ryan held his phone in front of Judah, showing him a family picture. “We didn’t plan on having kids right away, but Jackson came unexpectedly — and several years later came Bryce. He’s seven now. And this little guy is Spencer. He’s your son’s age. He turns three in July.”

“Looks like you have your hands full,” said Judah, smiling.

“You’re not kidding. But I couldn’t ask for a better family.”

“For sure — hey Ryan, remember that business start-up I mentioned at your book signing?”

“Sure. Whaddya got?”

“Well I have a couple of friends that are venture capitalists like ourselves. They’re champing at the bit to make something happen.”

Judah slid a glossy binder across the table. Ryan picked it up and flipped through it, somewhat casually at first, then he spoke up: “How long have you been working on cars?”

“About ten years. Give or take. I was working as a financial strategist right up until after Luke was born but then I resigned — Gretchen needed the help. He was really a handful back then.”

Ryan glanced back and forth between Judah and the binder. “That’s commendable. Family first. “Looks like quite a business proposal you have put together here. You mind if I keep this copy?”

“Sure. It’s all yours. One huge favor though — please don’t let other people read it.”

“Oh don’t worry,” said Ryan. “Confidentiality is paramount — it’s one of my core values.”

“Thanks.”

“You bet.”

The two caught up on old times, old friends, sports, movies, and music for the better part of twenty minutes. Then Ryan glanced down at his watch and said, “Judah it’s been great catching up and all, but I’ve gotta run — dinner with publicists in a half hour. I promise I’ll give it an honest read and touch base with you in a week or so.”

“That would be great,” said Judah. “Any insight you have would be great.”

“No problem — matter of fact we should all get together. I’ve got five more stops on this tour and then I’m taking some time to write. Let’s plan on the three of you spending a weekend at our summer home in Virginia.”

“That’d be great Ryan.”

“Do you think Gretchen will be able to take off from work?”

“Shouldn’t be an issue. Her best friend is co-owner of the company.”

Moments later they shook hands, parting ways.

On the drive home, Judah began coming down from his Adderall bender. He took a couple of sleeping pills to be sure he could get some rest. He slept for about seven hours, waking up to Scott fighting with his father over the phone.

Judah didn’t ask what the argument was about. He had all the problems he could handle. Judah and Scott lounged around the next couple of days watching movies and playing chess.

When Gretchen and Luke returned from their trip, Judah was ecstatic to tell her the news.

“So Ryan and I had a great meeting,” said Judah.

“That’s nice,” said Gretchen. “What was said?”

“Oh — you know, mostly catching up on old times. I didn’t bog him down with the details of my business, but I did give him a proposal to read at his own pace. He said he’d get back to me on it in about a week or so. He also invited us to their summer home in Virginia next month.”

“Please tell me you didn’t say Luke and I would come.”

“I entertained the idea — but no — I didn’t commit anyone to anything.”

Gretchen made her way to the kitchen and poured herself a glass of Merlot.

“This — us?” said Gretchen.

She laughed to herself between sips.

“Luke is the only reason we still live under the same roof,” she said.

“Lots of families operate that way. Not to sound like a complete pessimist, but I’d say most — and some people marry to further their careers. It’s cold and exploitative I know — but reality for many.”

“No Judah.” Gretchen’s face was turning red with anger and frustration. “You’re cold and exploitative. You’re — ” She turned around holding back other things she wanted to say, gulping down the rest of her wine. “I’m done. I’m going to bed.”

Judah wasn’t up for an argument either. He’d set a new record. Five days and four nights.

The next day, Gretchen said she was taking Luke for a haircut. Judah thought nothing of it, piddling around on his Samsung tablet.

Gretchen pulled up to a red light as Luke continued to fuss in the backseat. She dialed her sister’s number.

“Kristen?”

“Hey girl. Everything OK so far?”

“Hang on a sec. My little guy is driving me nuts.”

She turned around in her seat facing Luke, her index finger pressed to her lips. “Shh Lukey — mommy’s talking.” Luke yawned and stared out the window. “Good boy. Sorry. Yeah — I don’t think he suspects a thing.”

“You’re making the right decision. How far out are you?”

“Twelve — fifteen minutes tops.”

When they arrived, Kristen greeted them at the front door.

“Hey you two,” said Kristen.

“Hi Kwisten,” said Luke giving her a hug.

“Good to see you too. How are you today?”

“Good,” said Luke. “Is Hannah here?”

“She is Lukey, and she is sooooo excited to see you. There’s fresh chocolate chip cookies we baked too! She’s in the kitchen — go surprise her.”

“OK,” he said as Gretchen picked him up.

“Not without a kiss first,” said Gretchen, pecking her boy on the cheek. “You be a good boy while mommy runs some errands and listen to Kristen.”

“I will mommy. I promise!”

“You’re a lifesaver,” said Gretchen, handing her Luke’s diaper bag.

“No problem. Hey I thought he was potty trained.”

“He’s still working on it. He’s been having a few accidents with all the arguing going on at home. There’s a couple of pull-ups in there and a few of his favorite toys. I’ll only be a couple of hours. You’re the best.”

Judah’s parents and brothers piled into the family SUV and drove to the condo. They parked at the lot near the tennis courts, waiting for Gretchen to arrive. Once she did, they walked the rest of the way to the house.

“Hey guys,” said Judah. Each family member filed into the living room. “Gretchen, you didn’t tell me we were having a party.” He knew what was about to happen.

Judah’s father, Charles, addressed his son as serious gets.

“What?” said Judah, taking a seat on the recliner. “Where’s Luke? Gretchen?”

“He’s fine,” said Gretchen.

She took her seat on the sofa next to Judah’s mom, Stacey. “He’s at Kristen’s. He’ll be fine there for a couple of hours.”

“You didn’t mention she started cutting kids’ hair on the side.”

“Luke doesn’t need to be here for this,” said Stacey. She placed her hand gently on Gretchen’s knee as if to say she fully supported the meeting.

“This?” said Judah. “You mean my intervention? My big fat Adderall intervention. Right? That’s what this is. Right?”

“We love you Judah,” said Charles. “Gretchen — your mother and I — your brothers — Luke. Think of how your poor decisions have affected everyone. What are we supposed to do? Stand around and watch you kill yourself?”

Judah slapped his hands to his forehead in disbelief. “This is absurd. All of you coming over here accusing me of being some kind of drug addict.”

“You are a drug addict,” said Preston. “Look man, you’re my big brother and I love you. You need help.”

“No I don’t. You’re all way out of line here.”

“Are we?” said Gretchen. Her eyebrows crashed through the ceiling. “You’ve had us all fooled before. Ashley stopped prescribing them after you got home from the hospital. You’ve been getting them on the streets. Haven’t you?”

“No,” said Judah.

Stacey’s tears ran slowly down her cheek.

“We’re not going to even ask you who’s been dealing them to you. Your father and I have decided to get you some professional help.”

“I don’t believe this,” said Judah. Head in hands. Eyes to feet. “I’m not going to rehab.”

“God, grant us the serenity to accept the things we cannot change, the courage to change the things we can, and the wisdom to know the difference. Just for today.”

Paula, the heavy set counselor in her mid-forties, began tapping her pen to a clipboard. “Everyone is here except for — Judah. Judah Durant?”

“He told me to tell you he’s not feeling well again,” said Richard, the scrawny nineteen year old from Alabama.

“Oh that’s right,” said Paula. “He’s still on bed rest. When you reconnect Richard, please let him know I’d like to have a word with him.”

“Sure thing.”

“Alright everyone — let’s have a meeting.”

Judah distanced himself from group therapy as much as he could. “How could they do this to me?” he’d think to himself. “How could I let this kind of thing happen? I don’t have anything to do with these junkies. I’m nothing like them. But I don’t have a choice — gonna have to suck it up for a month.”

He felt betrayed and manipulated. Richard walked into the room, placing his Narcotics Anonymous book inside his locker, snapping the MasterLock in place.

“What’s your deal man?” asked Richard, collapsing on his bed.

“I’m sick.”

“You don’t look sick.”

“I don’t feel well.”

“I’m sick,” said Richard. “Sick in the head.”

Judah didn’t say much. He knew he needed Richard on his side if he was going to muddle his way through the program.

“I shouldn’t even be here,” said Judah.

“I do,” said Richard. He sat up in his bed ripping inked up sheets from his spiral-bound notebook, wadding them up one by one, tossing them into the wastebasket on the other side of the room. “I almost OD’d last month. This is my third? Yeah third rehab.”

“H?”

“Opiates in general. You?”

“Adderall. Allegedly,” said Judah.

Richard shot a few more baskets in silence before speaking up.

“A word of advice Judah — and you can take this with a grain of salt. Stay away from the NA meetings. If you gonna go to a meeting, and you should, well, find a good AA homegroup.”

“I’m not addicted to Adderall. Yeah — there were a few occasions when I went overboard. Poor judgement on my part. But aren’t social drinkers allowed to get a little tipsy on occasion?”

“That sounds like a great question for your counselor. It might be denial. I have a hard time believing functioning members of society wake up one day in the confines of walls such as these for no reason at all. It took years for them to get here.”

“OK Richard. For the sake of argument, let’s assume I have a major drug problem. Wouldn’t it make more sense to go to the NA meetings?”

“You would think that to be the case. But personally — I’ve reaped more benefits from AA for several reasons.”

“Oh yeah? Like what?”

“Well for one, you don’t hear about folks relapsing as much. There are more tales of success and hope. That’s so critical in a fellowship of recovery. You don’t have this aura of defeat and negativity. Just don’t ever introduce yourself as an addict at an AA meeting.”

“Why’s that?”

“AA members are purists. Alcoholism only. If you start talking about addiction to narcotics, they’ll more often than not cut you off mid-sentence. So say, ‘My name is Judah and I’m an alcoholic,’ and in your mind replace the word alcohol with Adderall.”

“I hear you man. I’m simply not down with the whole twelve-step meeting thing — even if only to get my family off of my back.”

“Hey I’m powerless over my addiction. It’s got me licked man. But it’s one day at a time as we say. One more day of reprieve from my Higher Power. I look at it like this — I’ll take a lifetime of meetings over a lifetime of opiate addiction any day of the week. It’s not much fun at first, but once you get into the habit of going to meetings, you actually start to enjoy them. Sounds crazy I know — looking forward to meeting with your new set of friends.”

As the week progressed, Judah softened up a bit. He attended the meetings, but slept more than anything else, and like a defendant representing himself in court, petitioned to return to his baseline dose of 60mg Adderall per day. None of the staffers would support his request.

Over several days and phone calls to Gretchen and his family, a mutual agreement was reached. Judah would stay home for one week to gather his composure and then return for the remaining twenty-one days.

Ryan finished the preface and the first chapter of the new manuscript. All was peaceful at home. West coast jazz on the stereo mingled with the sound of cicadas. He crossed his arms and sighed with what he believed to be writer’s block. He lied down on the couch and re-read what he had spent an hour writing. Glancing at the clock on the wall, he stood up and made his way to the garage.

He drove with a poker face toward a local liquor store to which he had never been. Once inside, he acknowledged the elderly clerk at the register who was thumbing through a hunting magazine. Ryan sauntered up and down the vodka aisle several times, sighing and scratching his head.

“Anything I can help you find?” said the clerk.

“No thanks.”

He grabbed a bottle of Cîroc from the top shelf and walked to the check-out counter.

“Anything else?”

“That’s it. Thanks.”

“That’ll be $93.96.”

Ryan slipped the clerk a one hundred-dollar bill. Keep the change bud. Have a great night.”

“Same to you.”

On the way back he stopped at a 24-hour grocery store. There he grabbed a bag of ice, two bottles of V8, celery, and hot sauce. Once home, he mixed and slammed three stiff Bloody Mary’s.

All of a sudden his phone rang. Glancing at the caller-ID he noticed it was Stephany. Completely smashed, he let it go to voicemail. He stumbled over to the refrigerator, slapped together a massive roast beef sandwich, and passed out for the next three hours.

He woke up to an infomercial for a vacuum cleaner. His left cheek now in a puddle of drool. Slow, steady drops of urine falling from the leather couch cushion onto the hardwood floor. He slapped his right hand to his forehead and groaned. “What have I done?”

Very slowly, he made his way to the kitchen and brewed a cup of black coffee. Then he started a load of laundry and took a twenty minute shower. His head still pounding, he finished his coffee and went to the refrigerator for some orange juice. He mixed and drank screwdrivers before passing out several hours later.

Ryan had a very sick feeling to his stomach, but not from the liquor. “I’m not doing this again,” he said to himself. He poured the rest of the vodka down the kitchen sink, and all the evidence in the passenger seat of his car.

He went upstairs to his bedroom, packed a week’s worth of clothes, and drove to a lodge out in the middle of nowhere. Once he got to the front desk, he paid for two weeks in advance. In his room he put on his swimsuit and went to the sauna. After a forty-five minute massage it was off to the connecting restaurant. There he ordered a porterhouse steak with garlic mashed potatoes, brussels sprouts, and a large iced tea.

Then it was back to his room for a nap. Closer to dusk, he put on a sweat suit and took a five mile jog down a nature trail connected to the lodge. The cool breeze blowing across the lake filled his lungs. The scent of pine calmed his nerves.

Ryan contracted a bacterial infection during his stay at the lodge. It produced a rash that covered almost every area of his body. As the days progressed, so did the rash. He tried several over-the-counter creams and pills, but nothing seemed to work.

It became painful to the extent of not being able to walk. “I need a dermatologist,” he thought, crawling toward the mini fridge. He downed six airplane vodkas to make it there.

“What you have here Ryan,” said the dermatologist, “is nummular dermatitis. Do you drink?”

“Yes.”

“You ever think about trying to quit?”

“Sure. Several times. Unsuccessfully. I’ve been to a couple of treatment centers over the years, but I always seem to relapse.”

“I know it’s not easy. Listen, it’s not my area of expertise, but it sounds to me like you need long-term treatment. I had a cousin with a similar condition from years of alcoholism before he passed away from sclerosis of the liver.”

“I’m on very thin ice.”

“I can write you a prescription for Prednisone and a topical steroid for the inflammation, but if you drink …”

“It will be an exercise in futility,” said Ryan. “I appreciate your candor.”

The next day, Ryan checked out of the lodge and drove home. He told Stephany about his relapse and explained he needed long-term treatment. She understood.

Ryan committed himself to a year-long program that adhered to the method of Alcoholics Anonymous. He soon had a sponsor and a support network.

Once he earned his phone privileges, he gave Stephany a call.

“Hey babe,” said Ryan.

“Hi sweetie!” said Stephany. “How are you doing?”

“Better. It’s one day at a time. Boy am I glad I took action when I did before things really spun out of control.”

“Me too. I can hear the optimism in your voice. Do you still have the urge to drink?”

“Not now. I know it’s only been a month Steph, but the cravings have subsided. I’m learning coping mechanisms in a group — how to deal with triggers and temptations. I’m working the steps. I’ve got a great sponsor.”

“This is your turning point. When you were traveling last year, I knew you weren’t making time for meetings. Baby, I have some big news. Are you sitting down?”

“Well — yeah. What is it babe?”

“I’m pregnant.”

“Wow … you’re serious. Aren’t you?”

“As a heart attack.”

“When?”

“Seven months. Dr. Martin said everything looks good so far.”

“That means I’ll still be in the program. I’ll have a word with my counselor tomorrow. If everything goes well, they’ll drive me to the hospital on his due date.”

“He might be a her. You know.”

“Right right, you’re right. I love you babe.”

“I love you too.”

“Can you put the boys on the phone?”

“Sure. Hang on.”

“Hi daddy!” said Jackson.

“Hey slugger! You taking good care of mommy?”

“Yeah. I helped rake leaves and I swept out the whole garage all by myself — and you know what?”

“What.”

“I have blisters on both hands!”

“Oh no! Do they hurt?”

“Nah.”

“Good. Hey, great job pitching in today.”

“And I got an A on my math test too!”

“Wow! Keep up the good work tiger!”

“I will. When are you coming home daddy?”

“Well,” said Ryan. “Not for a while. But you and mommy and Bryce and grandma and grandpa are coming to visit soon. We’ll play ping-pong when you get here. Is Bryce there? Can I talk to him?

“Yeah. I love you daddy. Bye!”

“Love you too bud.”

“Daddy!” shrieked Bryce.

“There’s my boy! How’s soccer going?”

“Good! I scored two goals today!”

“You did!” shouted Ryan.

“Yeah and our team won!”

“That’s awesome kiddo! Bring your ball when you come to visit in a couple weeks!”

“I will!”

“Well I hate to cut this short bud, but I have a meeting I can’t be late to. Love you Bryce!”

“I love you too daddy. Bye!”

Ryan’s eyes welled up with tears as he walked to the common area.

Seven months flew right by. Ryan’s counselor had made special arrangements to drive him to the hospital to witness the birth of his third child.

“You have to be enraptured,” said Chuck, Ryan’s counselor as they sped down the highway. “Don’t worry — I spoke to the head nurse about a half hour ago. She said everything looked normal — no complications.”

“That’s good news,” said Ryan, glancing at his watch, “considering this is the first child we’ve tried to have.”

When they arrived at the hospital, Chuck dropped Ryan off at the main entrance and said: “Give me a call when you’re ready for me to pick you up.”

“You bet,” said Ryan.

They shook hands.

As Ryan walked into the waiting room, Jackson and Bryce ran up and gave him a hug. Peter and Francesca said he needed to check in at the nurse’s station immediately. The head nurse said Stephany was due any minute. Judah had to get washed and dressed in scrubs on the double.

In the delivery room, Ryan approached his wife and kissed her on her forehead drenched in sweat.

“Hi honey,” grunted Stephany, pushing with all her might.

“I see the head,” said the doctor.

“Cutting it a little close — aren’t we Ryan?” said Stephany.

“I got here as fast as I could Steph,” said Ryan. “Now push!”

“It’s a boy,” said the doctor, cutting the umbilical cord. A few moments later, the nurse placed the swaddled newborn into Stephany’s arms.

“Have you two decided on a name for him yet?” asked the nurse.

“Spencer,” said Ryan and Stephany in unison.

“Spencer Daniel,” laughed Stephany, solidifying his first and middle name.

Several months later, Judah returned home and thought it best to check back into a different rehab facility. Brackenridge — a medical facility in Georgia. He knew it would mitigate any worrying from his family. Over a phone conversation with the program director, Dr. Corban Shallower, they outlined Judah’s schedule to quit amphetamines cold turkey.

“Have a seat,” said Corban. “Thank you for being so articulate in explaining your family situation.”

“Well I appreciate that Corban — thank you. I need a third party opinion on this, and I can do this for a year. I don’t feel condemned here. You have any coffee?”

“Uh — sorry,” said Corban. “Bottled water? Ice cold.”

“Thanks,” said Judah, twisting the cap off.

“Our work and therapy hybrid is a proven model of success for many of our residents. Did you get a chance to read that .pdf I sent you?”

“The testimonial infographic thing?”

“Yeah that.”

“Not in depth. But yes. I took a peek at it.”

“You’re a project man — aren’t you Judah?”

“What do you mean?”

“Did you ever study music?”

“I don’t play xylophone if that’s what you’re wondering.”

“Funny. But seriously — in any capacity?”

“As of recent? Well — I’ve taken on engineering projects in the past. Why do you ask?”

“We renovated our cafeterium last year.”

Corban laughed and cleared his throat. He leaned back in his chair, spun a pen between his fingers — the whole bit.

“I don’t get it.”

“We need someone to operate and maintain our new audio equipment. Are you up for the job?”

“Yeah that soun — ”

“You’ll be drug screened every day. It’s a privilege.”

“I should hope so,” said Judah. “If I could be so blunt Corban — I’m not here to waste the time of people who are willing to work with me in recovery. This isn’t a resort. I don’t need to be coddled. Taco salads, expired birthday cake from Piggly Wiggle. It’s manual labor and group sessions. I get it. I prefer that in this stage of my life. I made this bed and I’ll sleep in it. No offense doc.”

“None taken. You teach philosophy?”

“What?”

“Kidding. Do you have your belongings moved into your dorm?”

“Yeah — the intake folk took real kindly to me.”

“You’re Slim Pickens now?”

“This is rehab?”

“Kidding,” said Corban. He reached into his desk drawer, pulling out a large three-ring binder. “I digress. Here’s your homework should you choose to accept it.”

Corban stood up adjusting his tie in the mirror.

“What’s this?”

“It’s a manual for the program’s audio equipment and P.A. system. It’s been configured by one of the Pro Audio guys from Guitar Center.”

“Oh cool.”

“It’s yours,” said Corban in a very bad Russian accent. “Study it and don’t lose it. Otherwise we call Vladamir back to fix your cranium weeth Phillips head screw gun. Eez theese understood?”

Judah enjoyed tinkering on the old amplifiers and synths that were donated through program supporters. He negotiated parts and labor prices with the financial board and was compensated anywhere from twenty to a hundred dollars per piece that was refurbished. Once these items were repaired, they would usually be sold through the thrift store that was owned and operated by Brackenridge.

He knew his working knowledge of audio equipment was being exploited for major profit. One could only laugh at the palm greasing that kept Brackenridge operational.

If the program residents didn’t want to work landscaping, maintenance, or in the kitchen — there was the car auction, car wash, and the phone room that were all generating money for Brackenridge.

One afternoon, Judah was in the repair shop piecing together a pirate ship in a bottle when Roger, a happy-go-lucky twenty-five year old barged in with a boombox from the 80’s.

“Hey Judah,” said Roger, “do your parents know you’re a gay?”

“Get out of my office — fag.”

“You know how to fix this? My old lady brought it to me on her last visit.”

“What’s wrong with it?”

“Tape deck stopped working.”

“Buy a new one,” said Judah.

“Oh come on. You’ve got time to build the Jolly Roger there. At least take a minute to look it over. You trying to dangle Peter and Tink above the mast?”

“You’re an idiot. Look what you made me do.”

“That? I can fix that sail in five minutes. My grandpa used to build ships in bottles.”

“Good call.”

“Come on,” said Roger. “I know you want to get in the phone room where the real money is.”

“Yeah? What did you clear last week?”

“Two thousand. Best week so far.”

“This job is fun at best, but you’re gonna be rife with cash when you graduate. Put in a good word for me?”

“Sure. It’s a den of wolves though. You sure you can handle it?”

Roger spit Skoal juice into the trash can.

“Don’t do that here,” said Judah. “Use a napkin. I’m not getting a write up for that stuff. But let me get a dip.”

“Boombox first.”

“It’s broke. Let me get a tiny pinch.”

“Fine. Don’t you take an eagle’s claw. That’s all I got till Sunday.”

“Thanks. I’ll look it over tomorrow. Cover it up with those audio cables before you leave. You’re not even supposed to be in here.”

“You got it. Stay up bubba!”

Trang Pham ran the phone room. He was a multi-millionaire real estate mogul who operated a phone room on the side for fun. Timeshare vacation packages. To function in his boiler room you had to know or be a quick learner at painting the all-inclusive dream. The prospect had to be rich and bored. It was cold leads until you could prove yourself a beast closer.

The best were making four grand a week. They’d pass the customer off to a fictitious third party verification company who would double charge the guy for meals that were already included. The verification team dubbed it: The All-Inclusive Experience.

“Let’s see how it goes first,” said Judah. He picked up his headset next to a leaking styrofoam dip-cup. “Sales runs in my blood somewhat. If some of the buffoons I’ve seen around here can make four figures a week — ”

“You don’t have to be a closer to make serious money,” said Roger, “but get off the internet. Like right now.”

“I’m checking my email real quick.”

“You have to earn that privilege. Trang’ll throw you out before you even start.”

“Fine,” said Judah.

Trang spat his Grizzly wintergreen pouch into a very large cooler covered in a hybrid of coffee and liquid nicotine. Then he shut down his cell phone before approaching the crows nest in the center of the room. Most residents dipped at the office, and a lot of them vaped as tobacco wasn’t allowed on the property.

“Round up!” shouted Trang. “Everyone off the internet!”

Everyone gathered around the crow’s nest. This was slang for the place where Trang would stand during work, overseeing the flow of business.

Another newbie who wasn’t a resident continued to text, not paying attention.

“Trevor?” said Trang

“Yes.”

“You can leave. I don’t need you. Get out of my office.”

“What?” said Trevor, putting his phone in his jacket.

“I’m running a business. That’s disrespectful. Sorry to waste each other’s time. Goodbye.”

Trevor mumbled to himself and left.

“As for the rest of you — excellent, excellent, excellent job!”

The room exploded with uproarious shouting and clapping.

“My back room broke a new record. $12,567!”

The clapping continued.

“My top producer for the back room: Max Crocker at $8,522. Paid out $885 for the day.”

Non-stop clapping.

“Justin Angelini at $4,045. Nowhere in the fourth quarter, but nice work — paid out $424 for the day. Let’s keep this momentum back room. Front room? $22,034 — killing it as usual. Matt Davis, you usually do way better than this so let’s step our game up this morning. OK?”

“Yes sir,” said Matt.

“$12,127 — a fluke of a day for you but we’re still on pace to break $150k for the week. Paid out $988 for the day. I want to hear that paper pop a little louder next time. Is that understood?”

“We’re turning it around today Trang,” said Matt. “I had an off day guys. I wasn’t following my steps after the third quarter. Keep getting me on the phone guys and let’s crack some skulls today.”

Matt Davis was a twenty-year-old sales whiz from Michigan with a penchant for opiates. Heroin to be exact. His father was a renowned surgeon, so his childhood was a charmed one. Matt could sell the dream better than anyone else in the room. He didn’t shove the sale down people’s throats or resort to sleaze tactics to get close deals.

“Let’s welcome our new guys,” said Trang. “Judah Durant and Mike Thornberg.”

Trang dialed it down a notch and said: “My room is real simple guys. Show up on time, be a quick learn, and most importantly — bring a great attitude everyday. You both can start making some serious money.”

Judah and Mike memorized the script and made $400 in their first week. The rebuttals were easy. Anyone with half a decent work ethic could execute them. Judah took his place at the top of the leaderboard within a month.

His method was simple. Set up as many closeable deals fast. Ask for their credit card number and have a closer nearby. At around five minutes into a conversation, a closer would be standing by to close the deal. Other newbies didn’t appreciate this, but there wasn’t much they could do to stop him.

Trang had one big rule — don’t burn leads.

Sometimes the rep phone hopping got out of control — like an episode of Bozo the Clown. If Trang thought you were burning through leads, he’d pull you aside, give you a stale cookie, and bench you for at least an hour.

One afternoon, during a sales drought, Mike was hopping pretty hard. Trang yelled out for one of his meetings.

“Round up.”

Each rep glanced around the room, disgusted. One by one they peeled off their headsets.

“No more calls!” said Trang. “You’re burning through all my leads!”

A few cleared throats —

“Eh eh eh — there’s no enthusiasm in my room! Who do you think you are — burning through all my leads? Mike — you’re the worst of ’em. I don’t even know where to begin. Take a walk — be back in five minutes.”

“Yes sir,” said Mike.

“As for the rest of you — stop burning all my leads. Is this understood? Judah, you haven’t given me a quality set-up in twenty minutes. Where’s your head today?”

“My rhythm is off.”

“What do we need to do to change it?”

“Let’s turn it up.”

“Turn it up, turn it up,” said Trang. “Everyone here keeps saying that but this — room — is — dead! Where’s the energy guys? This is supposed to be fun! You’re sending these people on vacation! Take your time with these customers. Does anyone have any idea how much these leads cost me? You’re burning through them like they’re nothing!” he said slamming a desktop keyboard onto the floor. “Now — grab their attention. Use your rebuttals with conviction. Take control of the conversation. Everyone back on the phone — let’s go.”

Everyone went back to their position and put their headsets back on. One of the reps took a seat in a chair behind a terminal.

“All reps up!” screamed Trang cranking up “Blurred Lines,” by Robin Thicke. “Every rep on their feet! No sitting for the rest of the day!”

After three months in the Cold Leads Room, Judah earned his way to the Warm Leads Room. This consisted of reaching out to whales about to lose their $1,800 investment if they didn’t renew their membership.

It’s hard to say who the better closer was — Matt or Max. They were both beasts. Most would have said Matt, but his leads were warm.

“I hate to see you throw your money down the drain like this,” said Max. He propped his legs up on the desk. “But eighteen months ago you paid for four days and five nights in Madrid. You never used them. Now I don’t work on commission, so it doesn’t matter to me one way or the other if you extend your membership or not. I value your business Ken — but I don’t need your business.”

“Fine,” said Ken on the other end. “Now that we have time to travel. Geez. I wish you would have called me sooner. How much for one more year?”

“It’s $723.44. Did we want to secure that with a Visa or Mastercard today?”

“Visa.”

“Go ahead with the number whenever you’re ready from left to right.”

“4xxx-xxx-xxxx-xxxx.”

“Great. Expiration?”

“Xx-xxxx”

“That’s Visa number 4xxx-xxxx-xxxx-xxxx with an expiration date of xx-xxxx?”

“That’s it,” said Ken.

“Perfect. The next step in the process is the verification department. They’re going to confirm your shipping and billing information on a recorded line for your protection as well as ours. You will also receive a full-color welcome package mailed within 7 to ten business days. Ken, it’s been my pleasure serving you today and may you have a wonderful trip to Spain.”

“Thanks Max.”

“You bet. Please hold.”

“This is my call,” said Chad Garrett.

“Nope,” said Colby Russell. He was the loud-mouth verification machine — top of the board every week.

“It’s Chad’s call,” said verification manager, Taylor Montrose.

“Fine,” said Colby. “But if you pull anything less than nine-hundo, you owe me ten cigs and a fresh tin. That guy’s a straight duck.”

Max picked up a blank sheet of copy machine paper, walked out to the crow’s nest, popping it four times.

“Don’t screw this one up Chad,” said Max. The guy was a straight lay-down — no resistance. Chad picked up a blank sheet of paper and made his way to the crow’s nest.

Pop! Pop! Pop! Pop!

Everyone applauded and kept pitching.

Judah and Matt shared a cut together in the dorm. They became fast friends and had many conversations involving sales theories.

“Trouble always follows and finds me,” said Matt folding laundry. “I’ve been this rehab weasel for the last five years. But in a sales environment — I’m at the top of the board wherever I go.”

“Yeah?” said Judah. He wasn’t really paying much attention staring into his crossword puzzle.

“You got any instant?” asked Matt. “Those Starbucks Via’s you had last week were bangin’.”

“Yeah,” said Judah. He pointed to the box in his locker. “But it’s Nescafe, so take two. They’re not as strong.”

“You drink mud dude,” said Matt, grabbing two packets. “I’ll split a cig with you later.”

“I don’t smoke on campus,” said Judah. “Only on spiffs.”

Spiffs were special outings for hitting weekly team goals — usually dinner and a movie — but sometimes a trip to Walmart for supplies.

“That’s cool,” said Matt. Then he glanced around, lowering his voice. “So you think we’re good for tonight?”

“Yep,” said Judah.

At 3:30 AM the following morning, Judah and Matt snuck into the office through a window and started surfing for the good leads. The lights were off, but the computer terminals and internet connection were still running. This meant Zillowing as many ballers as quickly as possible.

“Stick to these zip codes,” said Matt in a hush. He scribbled away on a small notebook. “This database is huge and we can’t waste one second while we’re here.”

“Check out this tank,” said Judah.

“Palo Alto. Nice.”

They didn’t want to push their luck, so they slipped out after half an hour.

The following day they got to work calling the new prospects.

“Hello,” said Judah. “May I please speak to Gary?”

“This is Gary.”

“Hi Gary, this is Jason Chasbourne — Vice President of RCI. How are you today?”

“Great. What’s up? I’m busy.”

“Great — yeah hey listen I know your time is valuable, but I just wanted to touch base and see how you’ve been.”

“Busy. Can’t travel right now. Working, working, working. Thanks for the reminder. I know I have Key Largo and Jamaica left. How long do I have?”

“That’s the reason I called. Your account manager and I had a conversation this morning and would love to follow up with you to outline some of your options going forward. Do you have a moment?”

“The place you guys put my wife and I in last year was a complete dump.”

“Gary, some of our properties are undergoing renovation. I know we have some explaining to do.”

“Alright but make it quick. We’ve got people coming over.”

“Great. Hang on for one second Gary.”

“Gary?” said Matt, barging in on the call. “This is Matt Sampson, director of sales in the south-east. How are you?”

“Not so great Matt. Rio was a disaster.”

“And that’s precisely why I wanted to have a word with you and — ”

“Matthew, it was awful. Tigers roaming the hallways — the birds — the lizards. We felt like caged animals at the Brooklyn Zoo. And the food — ”

“Gary, our company is aware of these issues and renovation on that property has been underway since last month. Our top clients have made similar complaints so our board of directors have put together a comprehensive solution to make it right. Gary, it’s my pleasure to tell you that you’ve been selected from the top 1% of our best clients to opt into the platinum upgrade and help give our company some great word of mouth advertising.”

“How much we talking here?”

“Gary, this exclusive upgrade includes five days in four nights in Peru. Five days and four nights in Nova Scotia or Athens. Four days and three nights in Miami, and three — count ’em — three three day two night open vouchers valid at any of our two hundred and fifty plus facilities across the continental U.S. Also, as a platinum member, you’ll never have to worry about getting another call like this again as this upgrade has no expiration date. Gary, it’s only ten eighty six — that’s a one-time fee — let’s get you locked in today into our platinum circle. Can we welcome you aboard?”

“Awfff!” said Gary. He pulled the phone away, slapping his hand to his forehead. “OK alright ok alright — you got me — let’s do it. I’m retiring next year and — so yeah — let me grab my wallet.”