Page 46 of Blue Umbrella Sky
“Right. That’s it. Get out of here.”
Milt watched him walk away. When he heard the water running, he pulled eggs and half-and-half out of the fridge, along with a block of sharp cheddar and some green onions. Company eggs this morning. He’d make a whole dozen, in case Billy showed up with an appetite.
Just as he was cracking eggs into the pale blue bowl he’d had forever, Dane slipped back into the room. He spun Milt around and engulfed him in a big bear hug. “God, man, I sure have missed you. I keep imagining you’ll give up on this California dream and come home to us.” He squeezed him tighter, and Milt realized maybe Dane was crying, just a little bit. “But now that I see how beautiful it is here and the potential you have for a new life, well….” He let the phrase trail off as he pulled back to hold Milt at arm’s length, to look him in the eye. “Well, brother, I’m happy for you.”
Milt wasn’t sure what to say. He wondered internallyDo I have a new life? Is there really potential?He smiled at his friend because he realized, quite suddenly, that he did and there was. “Yeah, I moved to paradise. But that doesn’t mean I miss you any less. Nor does it mean,” Milt hastened to add, “that I forgot about Corky.”
Dane drew him close again, practically squeezing the life out of him, but it was wonderful anyway. In Milt’s ear Dane said, “No one thinks that. We’ll always know how much you loved Corky. We all did. Moving on, loving again? Sorry, man, but that doesn’t mean you didn’t love Corky. Do you really think he’d want you to throw away your life just because he’s gone?”
And Milt squeezed him back, knowing that Dane had said exactly the right words. True words.
Chapter 16
BILLY STOODoutside Cinq, one of the trendy restaurants lining Palm Canyon Drive in Palm Springs’ downtown. He’d been debating whether he should go inside or not for the last fifteen minutes.
Why debate? Because, for one, he knew he was standing Milt up. He pictured him looking out his window, waiting for Billy to come up the walkway. Checking the time. Again. Wondering why his friend had not shown up.
And then he’d see him in the arms ofthat guyand get furious all over again, even though he knew he had no right. But jealousy, as Billy had learned again and again over the course of his relatively short life, was not reasonable. One could never “talk through” jealousy. That green-eyed emotion always had its own agenda and was as stubborn as all get-out.
The other reason for his internal debate—and standing out here on the sidewalk like some derelict—was he knew what was inside. Temptation. Ruination. Turning away from his higher power.
Vodka.
Once upon a time, Billy had loved nothing more than a good Bloody Mary. He’d been something of an aficionado, before he’d gotten to the point where drinking became all about the quickness and ease of administration over minor details like taste. But back before drinking became a problem (and if he was being honest, he knew deep down that drinking wasalwaysa problem), he’d reveled in concocting the perfect one—rich with a good tomato juice (Spicy V8 was his favorite) and amped up with fresh horseradish, Worcestershire sauce, Tabasco, celery salt, and lots of fresh-ground black pepper on the rim. A celery stick and maybe an olive or a pickled vegetable rounded things out—perfection.
Billy knew, anecdotally, that Cinq, a Palm Springs institution with its hip midcentury modern décor in orange and silver, served the best Bloody in town.
And Billy had gotten the idea in his head to drown his sorrows and jealousy injust oneperfect Bloody Mary.
The reason he didn’t go inside, sit himself down, and order what he was certain would be delicious and horribly overpriced, was one of the AA slogans he’d learned in recovery, one he’d committed to memory.
One is too many, a thousand is never enough.
In his heart of hearts, he knew himself well enough to know he wouldn’t, couldn’t, stop at one. Or two, or even three. No, he’d keep going until he became ugly, angry, maudlin, and was asked, politely—at least at first—to leave the premises.
He’d seen this particular movie so many times, he knew its plot and ending by heart.
Billy sighed and walked down the street a bit. He fished his phone out of his hip pocket. He had a sponsor here in town, a woman named Eliza, who was great, strict, and loving all at once, with years of her own drunken binges to make her both compassionate and forgiving. And no-bullshit. She knew all the lies. All the deception. All the rationalization.
And she tolerated none of it.
But this morning called for someone else—his old sponsor, Jon, back in Chicago.
Jon picked up on the first ring. “What’s going on?” No hello. No long time no hear. No easy pleasantries. That was his Jon McGregor, always direct. Always to the point. It’s what Billy both loved and hated about him.
And Billy knew no how do you dos were needed here, even though it had been over two years since he’d spoken to Jon. “Thinkin’ about having a Bloody Mary this fine Southern California morning.”
“Hang on.”
Billy heard him lighting a cigarette, the friction of the lighter, the snap of it closing—the long exhalation after. He could almost smell the smoke. It made him long for one.Hey! There’s a gas station just a couple blocks north. You can grab a pack there. Smoke a couple and then throw the pack away. Nobody has to know.Billy let the thought ricochet around a bit, a silly grin pulling up the corners of his lips. And then he thoughtShut up!He’d given up the smokes along with the drinking a long time ago, but sometimes a craving could hit him with the same intensity as though he’d just quit yesterday. Now was one of those times. The addict in him never really left.
He knew cigarettes were a trigger, a big one. Lighting up was almost always followed by pouring alcohol down his throat. His was not to question why, only to avoid it.
On another exhale, Jon asked, “You are?”
“Yeah.” Billy could already feel the urge, so fierce only a second ago, begin to evaporate like a cloud of smoke. Amazing what simply reaching out could do.
“Why?”
