Chapter 17
I drank for two days.
I didn't get drunk. I got sick a few times, but I didn't get drunk. I was sober enough to sit in a bar and look bleary-eyed at the television set and watch the news program and see how nicely Jason got out of the situation. They interviewed him, and he was all broken up over what had happened, and the announcer was most sympathetic, and some guy at the bar said it was a real tough break for Jason because a producer sometimes has to tell actors or actresses that they don't qualify for a part and he can't be held responsible if an actress flips completely and jumps out a window.
When I heard that, I slammed my drink down on the bar so hard that I broke the glass. The bartender and the customers glared at me, and I tossed some money on the bar and walked out and went into another joint down the block.
I kept on drinking, trying to dull my mind, trying to keep myself from thinking But it did no good. I did a lot of thinking in those two days, and I had a chance to look into myself with a clarity that I had never experienced before. I had known all along that Jason was using me, but I had done nothing about it. Jason had used me right up to the very end, calling me to his apartment to try to get me to back him up in that phony story of his, and on top of it all he had even tried to get me to work on Carla so she would agree right away to star in the play. And Jason hadn't missed a trick He had started out by snapping harshly at me, figuring he'd scare me good so I'd do whatever he wanted and then when he saw how hard I'd been bit by the sight of Iris lying all broken and twisted in that alley, he had switched tactics and tried to soft soap me and bribe me with the offer of a contract, something he knew I'd been angling for all along.
Oh, Jason was real good at using people, at playing on their fears and hopes and dreams, and he had been slick enough to turn even Iris's suicide to his own advantage.
And then I suddenly realized that here I was feeling sorry for myself, thinking only of myself, when the one who should have had all my thoughts was Iris, poor Iris, who had been used by Jason, and even used by me and who just had not been strong enough to take the kick in the teeth that Jason had handed her.
I felt myself choking up when I thought of ft, but I didn't cry. Grown men don't cry too often, and to cry in a bar only labels you in everyone's eyes as a crying drunk, and nobody would really know what I was crying about if I did let the tears come. So I swallowed back the choking feeling and held back the tears and left the bar and went to another one.
At the end of the second day, I'd had enough.
I tried to call Carla, but there was no answer on her private phone, so I made my way back to my apartment in a pouring rain, a cold, driving rain, and I let myself into the darkened apartment and slumped down in a chair, not even bothering to put on the lights or to take off my wet clothes.
I don't know how long I sat like that, just staring into the darkness, not moving at all. I didn't even move when the door chimes sounded, and I heard a woman's voice calling my name out in the hall.
The knob rattled, and then the door started to open, and I realized numbly that I hadn't even closed the door tightly enough to have the snap lock work.
I looked up and saw a woman's figure silhouetted in the light from the hall, and then Julie's voice called out, "Phil?"
I stirred in the chair, and I saw her fumble for the light switch and put it on.
"Oh, Phil!" she gasped when she saw me, her hand going to her mouth.
I mumbled something incoherent, but I know I wasn't making any sense. Then Julie was bending over me, helping me to my feet not caring if she got herself soaked from my frigid clothes. After that the rest of it became a sort of blur.
I found myself being led into the bedroom, and I felt Julie stripping off my wet clothes, then drying me with a big towel, then covering me. She went out of the room for a while, and I just lay there in the bed, not sleeping, not passing out, still awake but with everything still all blurred for me. Then Julie came back, and I felt her hold something hot to my lips and the smell of it told me it was coffee, and I swallowed some of it and almost got sick. But I finished the cup and then lay back. I closed my eyes-and swirling blackness took over.
I passed out.
I came to again sometime in the night, and I stirred and moaned, and then I sensed the presence of someone else in the bed with me, and Julie moved over to me, all warm and soft and sweet-smelling, and her voice was whispering in my ear, telling me she wanted to help me, not to take it so hard, that I'd feel better in the morning and that time would take care of everything.
And I reached for her blindly, seeking the warmth and comfort of her arms, and she drew my head down to her breasts and held me there, holding me tightly, stroking my head, comforting me with her body, covering me with her softness, soothing me, until I finally went back to sleep.
The sound of the door chimes woke me up.
I sat up in bed quickly, my head spinning, my eyes blinking in the light that pierced through the drawn shades at the window.
Julie woke up also and looked at me, and the door chimes sounded again.
"I'll see who it is," I said thickly, and I climbed slowly off the bed, found my robe and slipped it on, and stuck my feet in my slippers. I padded out of the bedroom and shut the door while Julie watched me silently from the bed. Then I crossed the living room as the chimes sounded again, and I unlatched and opened the apartment door.
"Hello, Phil," Carla said softly.