The Cocktail Club (24 page)

“I'm on my way,” I answered.

IVEE

A
s I sat at my desk, on the phone, a sobering thought flooded my mind. I was very close to the point where I could say I hated my life. It seemed like every day there was a new stipulation related to the damn DWI charge.

“I don't understand why I have to do all of this, and I have an attorney. And let's not forget, it's not like I've admitted guilt. I haven't even had my day in court or anything like that.”

“Ivee, I tried to explain this process to you. This is all part of the fighting process.”

“How is me going to a drug rehab part of the fight? I don't understand. That's like saying I'm guilty!” I yelled.

I heard Ted exhale on the other end, but I didn't care. He was my lawyer. He was the one being paid to make the mess go away, and instead, all he had done was come back with one stipulation after another—none of which had been good for me. What in the hell would've happened if I had gone at it alone?

“It's not drug rehab. It's DWI education classes. There is a huge difference. You simply need to take some alcohol education courses. They're not that expensive, and in all honesty, it's three, four-hour sessions. You can knock that out in one week.”

My eyes burned. I didn't want to go to drunk-driving classes, and I damn sure didn't want to have to pay for the misery of going.

“First, I'm treated like a criminal, handcuffed, and sent to jail. Then, even with a lawyer, I've gotta pay all these damn fines, plus I have to blow into a freakin' device just to start my car, and now I have to go to some meeting like I have a drinking problem. This is all too damn much, and I'm not doing it!”

“And you don't have to. You don't have to do anything you don't want to do. But if you want to be able to drive at your own free will, you will need to complete the ignition interlock program. And, if you want to qualify for probation instead of jail, you will have to show the judge proof that you've successfully completed the alcohol education courses. Then once you get probation, it's still not over. You will get community service, in addition to whatever fine the judge slaps you with.”

I allowed his words to sink in. The lengthy summary made it all hard for me to swallow.

“So many other people have more of a drinking problem than me. I made one mistake. My girlfriend—she carries a flask in her purse,” I said.

Ted chuckled. “Yeah, that's probably a person with a problem, but the difference between you and that person is, she didn't get arrested and charged with DWI. You did. I'm trying to work with you here, Ivee, but if you don't think my services are up to par, I will gladly refer you to another attorney. I've handled enough of these cases to tell you this—gone are the days when you get caught with a DWI and get a slap on the wrist.”

“I'm not looking for a slap on the wrist. All I'm saying is there's all of these stipulations, and I haven't even been convicted yet,” I stressed.

“And you don't want to be either. I'm working on a diversion program, but, Ivee, even with that, you will still have to come out
of pocket, and the judge can still decide to do whatever he wants. That is the reason we are taking all of these precautions. It's our hope that when we go before the judge and he sees what we've already put in place, there will be no doubt in his mind that you've learned your lesson, and that you would be a perfect candidate for probation.”

There was silence.

I sighed hard. Based on what Ted had told me, it didn't appear that I really had a choice. I always thought if I had an attorney, my chances of beating this whole thing would be easier. This all felt like stuff I couldn't have gotten on my own or with a public defender. I couldn't come right out and say that to Ted, but in my heart of hearts, I didn't feel like we were getting our money's worth.

“Probation is a privilege—not a luxury,” he said.

“Okay, Ted, I understand, but there's something that's really bothering me. With all due respect, what would this experience be like for me if I didn't have a lawyer?”

“It wouldn't be good, Ivee. It's like I told you before, if you have any problem with the work I'm doing on your behalf, and you don't think the services I provide are worth the discounted fee I'm charging, I'll gladly refer you to another lawyer. The call is yours.”

I felt like crap after we ended the call. I wasn't sure what I expected him to do. I was confused. I really thought this whole thing would play out differently. I thought with him as my front man, my life would barely be impacted. But as it stood, I rarely drove because of the embarrassment of the ignition lock, and I had all but turned into a hermit.

When my cell phone rang, I didn't even want to answer it. I felt completely helpless. That single mistake had turned my entire life upside down. I thought about my friends and how much we enjoyed
our time at happy hour. I rarely returned their calls, and they were probably wondering whether I had fallen off the face of the earth. Even after we talked at Peta's house about not isolating ourselves, I simply didn't feel like being bothered.

My eyes focused on Felicia's name on my caller ID screen. Voicemail clicked in and the phone stopped ringing.
Why had this happened to me?
Before my mind could answer the question, the phone began to ring again. I rolled my eyes. It was Felicia again. Why couldn't she take no for an answer? I wasn't in the mood to talk to anyone.

The ringing stopped, and I decided to gather my things so I could wait for my ride.

As I picked up the folders from my desk, the cell phone rang yet again. And it was Felicia again.

“Hello?” I answered.

“Dang, Ivee, what's going on with you these days? It's so hard to catch you on the phone,” she complained.

Felicia spoke so fast it was as if she needed to get all of her thoughts out for fear she wouldn't be able to reach me again.

“Lots going on. That's all,” I said.

“Uh, who doesn't have lots going on? You're not the only person going through stuff, you know. When was the last time you talked to anyone? We haven't had a good session for quite some time. It's like happy hour is so dead these days.”

The sudden change in her voice gave me pause.

“Oh, I'm sorry, Ivee. I didn't mean to bring up happy hour.”

“Felicia, you can talk about alcohol. You can even talk about happy hour. I still drink. You act like I'm some delicate alcoholic. I made a simple mistake! How many times have we all stumbled out of the bar and gotten behind the wheel? We've taken that gamble
multiple times. I'm no more of a drunk than Peta, Darby, or even you! The police happened to catch me, and now my life is a living hell,” I said.

When I looked up and saw Geneva who stood in my doorway, I nearly dropped the phone.

“Oh, damn!” I murmured.

PETA

T
he thick, dark curtains were drawn to keep the room gloomy to match my mood. I ignored one call after another, including Gordon's. If I didn't have a daughter who looked up to me, I would've stayed in bed for days at a time. Everything in my world had gone in the wrong direction, and I didn't see a way out.

After the twentieth call in a row, I finally gave in and answered.

“It's about time,” Darby greeted me. “What's wrong with you?”

“Too much. She's running commercials! I've seen them for the past two weeks, and I'm sick over this!” I barked into the phone.

“Calm down.”

For a while longer, Darby filled me in on details about her rendezvous. As she spoke, my mind was on all that was wrong in my own life. If it wasn't Kyle skirting his responsibilities, it was Gordon bitching about me not calling.

“…so just roll with it, that's what I'm doing,” said Darby.

We were supposed to be talking about the strange and awkward affair she was caught up in, but the scream I belted out when Pamela's commercial came on again, brought that conversation to a halt.

“Pamela? Is that the same woman who kept calling you and asking all the doggone questions?”

“Yes, that's her! I swore she was up to something, but for the life
of me, I didn't think she was trying to get next to me so she could become my competition. I'm so tired, Darby. I'm so tired. Every damn thing is falling apart. Kyle keeps trying to make me believe I wanted him to stop supporting his child, and this dirty trick stole my business idea right from under me! I don't know how much more I can handle,” I cried.

“Wait, Peta, don't talk like that. Here, I'm coming over.”

“Oh, God! No, please don't. I'm in no condition to entertain company. My place is a mess. I'm low on food, and I wouldn't make the best company right now.”

“You've got a lot on your plate, and I'm worried about you. You don't get to become a recluse. It's not gonna happen on my watch. Get up and wash your behind. I'll be there in thirty minutes!”

The next thing I knew, the call had ended. I should've kept my mouth shut. I didn't need to vent. I should've kept the thoughts to myself.

It felt more like five minutes instead of thirty had passed when the doorbell rang.

I sighed and pulled myself to the front door.

“Hey, honey,” Darby greeted me. Before I could respond, she grabbed my hand. “C'mon.”

I frowned. “Where are we going?”

“The spa. They were able to squeeze us in. We don't have a lot of time. We need to go.” Darby pulled her purse up on her shoulder.

“The spa? I haven't been to a spa in so long, I wouldn't know what to—”

“Enough of the talking. I've already paid, so we have to go. I don't have money to waste.”

“Oh, Darby. You shouldn't have spent that kind of money. What's gonna happen when Kevin finds out?”

Darby's face clouded over. She pursed her lips and twisted her mouth then spoke.

“He don't know nothing about this money, and this ain't none of his business,” she said with a sassy tone.

“Well, I guess when you put it like that.” The truth was, I didn't feel like going anywhere. I wanted to stay home, monitor my TV for Pamela's flashy, new commercials, and have my own little pity party.

Darby wasn't having it. She all but dragged me out of the house, put me in the passenger seat of her car, and even tried to buckle my seatbelt.

“Ummm, I can handle that,” I said.

“I can't believe Pamela did that to you.” Darby frowned as she drove.

“You can add her to the list of people who act like I'm nothing more than a doormat. You still carry that flask?”

“You know I do.” Darby smiled. “My bag is on the floor behind your seat.”

I reached back and grabbed Darby's Michael Kors bag. I dug in and pulled out the flashy flask. After several swigs from the little bottle, I started to feel better.

“Oh, I'm sorry. We were supposed to be talking about you and Chandler, and you had to come over and rescue me.”

“That Chandler situation is a big ol' funky hot mess!” Darby exited the freeway and prepared to turn right. “I don't know how we've developed such strong feelings for each other over such a short period of time.”

“How often do you guys see each other?”

“At least three times a week,” she admitted. “Sometimes more.”

“Wow!”

“I know. I know, but I go through the motions at home with Kevin and the kids, and the minute I get some free time, I'm rushing off to meet him somewhere,” Darby said. “And it seems like we're meeting even more even after he tried to dump me!”

“Do you think he really cares about you?”

“It doesn't matter whether he does or not. When I'm with him, I feel like I'm the most important woman in the world. He's everything Kevin is not, and I don't know how to pull away from him.”

“Damn, Darby, what are you gonna do?”