The Wolf Of Wall Street Part 34

Doug Talbot turned out to be a decent-enough guy, and we spent a good hour exchanging war stories. In fact, as I was soon to find out, virtually all recovering drug addicts share a morbid desire to play a game of "Can You Top the Insanity of My Addiction." Obviously, it didn't take long for Doug to realize that he was seriously outmatched, and by the time I'd gotten to the part where I'd cut open my furniture with a butcher knife he'd heard enough.

So he changed the subject and began explaining how he was in the midst of taking his company public. Then he handed me some doc.u.ments, to ill.u.s.trate what a terrific deal he was getting. I studied them dutifully, although I found it difficult to focus. Apparently something had clicked off in my brain insofar as Wall Street was concerned too, and I failed to get that usual rush as I looked through his papers.

Then we climbed into his black Mercedes and he drove me to my condo, which was just down the road from the rehab. It wasn't actually part of Talbot Marsh, but Doug had a deal worked out with the management company that ran the complex, and about a third of the fifty semiattached units were occupied by Talbot's patients. Another profit center, I figured.

As I was getting out of his Mercedes, Doug said, "If there's anything I can do for you, or if any of the staff or the patients aren't treating you right, just let me know and I'll take care of it."

I thanked him, figuring there was a ninety-nine percent chance I would be speaking to him about that very issue before the four weeks were out. Then I headed into the lion's den.

There were six separate apartments in each town house, and my particular unit was on the second floor. I walked up a short flight of stairs and found the front door to my unit wide open. My two roommates were inside, sitting at a circular dining-room table made of some very cheap-looking bleached wood. They were writing furiously in spiral notebooks.

"Hi, I'm Jordan," I said. "Nice to meet you guys."

Before they even introduced themselves, one of them, a tall, blond man in his early forties, said, "What did Doug Talbot want?"

Then the other one, who was actually very good-looking, added, "Yeah, how do you know Doug Talbot?"

I smiled at them and said, "Yeah, well, it's nice to meet you guys too." Then I walked past them without saying another word, went into the bedroom, and closed the door. There were three beds inside, one of which was unmade. I threw my suitcase next to it and sat down on the mattress. On the other side of the room was a cheap TV on a cheap wooden stand. I flicked it on and turned on the news.

A minute later my roommates were on me. The blond one said, "Watching TV during the day is frowned upon."

"It's feeding your disease," said the good-looking one. "It's not considered right thinking."

Right thinking? Holy Christ! Holy Christ! If they only knew how demented my mind was! "Well, I appreciate your concern over my disease," I snapped, "but I haven't watched TV in almost a week, so if you don't mind, why don't you just keep out of my f.u.c.king hair and worry about your own disease? If I want to engage in wrong thinking, then that's what I'm gonna do." If they only knew how demented my mind was! "Well, I appreciate your concern over my disease," I snapped, "but I haven't watched TV in almost a week, so if you don't mind, why don't you just keep out of my f.u.c.king hair and worry about your own disease? If I want to engage in wrong thinking, then that's what I'm gonna do."

"What kind of doctor are you, anyway?" asked the blond one accusingly.

"I'm not a doctor, and what's the story with that phone over there?" I motioned to a tan Trimline phone sitting on a wooden desk. Above it was a small rectangular window in desperate need of a cleaning. "Are we allowed to use it or would that be considered wrong thinking too?"

"No, you can use it," said the good-looking one, "but it's for collect calls only."

I nodded. "What kind of doctor are you?"

"I used to be an ophthalmologist, but I lost my license."

"And how about you?" I asked the blond one, who was definitely a member of the Hitler youth. "Did you lose your license too?"

He nodded. "I'm a dentist, and I deserved to lose my license." His tone was entirely robotic. "I'm suffering from a terrible disease and I need to be cured. Thanks to the staff at Talbot Marsh I've made great strides in my recovery. Once they tell me I'm cured, I'll try to get my license back."

I shook my head as if I'd just heard something that defied logic, then I picked up the phone and started dialing Old Brookville.

The dentist said, "Talking for more than five minutes is frowned upon. It's not good for your recovery."

The eye doctor added, "The staff will sanction you for it."

"Oh, really?" I said. "How the f.u.c.k are they gonna find out?"

They both raised their eyebrows and shrugged innocently.

I smiled a dead smile at them. "Well, excuse me, because I got a couple a phone calls to make. I should be off in about an hour."

The blond one nodded, looking at his watch. Then the two of them headed back into the dining room and plunged back into their recoveries.

A moment later, Gwynne answered the phone. We exchanged warm greetings, then she whispered, "I sent you down a thousand dollars in yer yer socks. Did ya get it yet?" socks. Did ya get it yet?"

"Not yet," I said. "Maybe it'll come tomorrow. More importantly, Gwynne, I don't want to put you on the spot anymore with Nadine. I know she's home and that she won't come to the phone, and that's okay. Don't even tell her I called. Just answer the phone each morning and put the kids on for me. I'll call around eight, okay?"

"Okay," said Gwynne. "I hope you and Mrs. Belfort patch things up. It's been very quiet 'round here. And very sad."

"I hope so too, Gwynne. I really hope so." We spoke for a few more minutes before I said good-bye.

Later that evening, just before nine, I received my first personal dose of Talbot Marsh insanity. There was a meeting in the living room for all the town house's residents, where we were supposed to share any resentments that had built up during the day. It was called a ten-step meeting, because it had something to do with the tenth step of Alcoholics Anonymous. But when I picked up the AA book and read the tenth step-which was to continue to take a personal inventory and when you were wrong, to promptly admit it-I couldn't imagine how this meeting applied to it.

Whatever the case, eight of us were now sitting in a circle. The first doctor, a dweeby-looking bald man in his early forties, said, "My name is Steve, and I'm an alcoholic, a drug addict, and a s.e.x addict. I have forty-two days sober."

The other six doctors said, "Hi, Steve!" And they said it with such relish that if I didn't know better, I would've sworn they'd just met Steve for the first time.

Steve said, "I have only one resentment today, and it's toward Jordan."

That woke me up! "Toward me?" I exclaimed. "I haven't said two words to you, pal. How could you possibly resent me?"

My favorite dentist said, "You're not allowed to defend yourself, Jordan. That's not the purpose of this meeting."

"Well, excuse me," I muttered. "And just what is the purpose of this crazy meeting, because for the life of me I can't figure it out."

They all shook their heads in unison, as if I were dense or something. "The purpose of this meeting," explained the n.a.z.i dentist, "is that harboring resentments can interfere with your recovery. So each night we get together and air any resentments that may've built up during the day."

I looked at the group, and every last one of them had turned the corners of his mouth down and was nodding sagely.

I shook my head in disgust. "Well, do I at least get to hear why good old Steve resents me?"

They all nodded, and Steve said, "I resent you over your relations.h.i.+p with Doug Talbot. All of us have been here for months-some of us for close to a year-and none of us has ever gotten to speak to him. Yet he drove you home in his Mercedes."

I started laughing in Steve's face. "And that's why you resent me? Because he drove me home in his f.u.c.king Mercedes?"

He nodded and dropped his head in defeat. A few seconds later the next person in the circle introduced himself, in the same r.e.t.a.r.ded way, and then he said, "I resent you, too, Jordan, for flying here in a private jet. I don't even have money for food and you're flying around in private planes."

I looked around the room and everyone was nodding in agreement. I said, "Any other reasons you resent me?"

"Yes," he said, "I also resent you for your relations.h.i.+p with Doug Talbot." More nodding.

Then the next doctor introduced himself as an alcoholic, a drug addict, and a food addict, and he said, "I have only one resentment, and it is also toward Jordan."

"Well, gee willikers," I muttered, "that's a f.u.c.king surprise! Would you care to humor me as to why?"

He compressed his lips. "For the same reasons they do, and also because you don't have to follow the rules around here because of your relations.h.i.+p with Doug Talbot."

I looked around the room and everyone was nodding in agreement.

One by one, all seven of my fellow patients shared their resentments toward me. When it was my turn to speak, I said, "Hi, my name is Jordan, and I'm alcoholic, a Quaalude addict, and a cocaine addict. I'm also addicted to Xanax and Valium and morphine and Klonopin and GHB and marijuana and Percocet and mescaline and just about everything else, including high-priced hookers, medium-priced hookers, and an occasional streetwalker, but only when I feel like punis.h.i.+ng myself. Sometimes I take an afternoon ma.s.sage at one of those Korean joints, and I have a young Korean girl jerk me off with baby oil. I always offer her a couple hundred extra if she'll stick her tongue up my a.s.s, but it's sort of hit or miss, because of the language barrier. Anyway, I never wear a condom, just on general principles. I've been sober for five whole days now, and I'm walking around with a constant erection. I miss my wife terribly, and if you really really want to resent me I'll show you a picture of her." I shrugged. "Either way, I resent every last one of you for being total f.u.c.king p.u.s.s.ies and trying to take your life's frustrations out on me. If you really want to focus on your own recoveries, stop looking outward and start looking inward, because you're all complete f.u.c.king embarra.s.sments to humanity. And, by the way, you are right about one thing-I want to resent me I'll show you a picture of her." I shrugged. "Either way, I resent every last one of you for being total f.u.c.king p.u.s.s.ies and trying to take your life's frustrations out on me. If you really want to focus on your own recoveries, stop looking outward and start looking inward, because you're all complete f.u.c.king embarra.s.sments to humanity. And, by the way, you are right about one thing-I am am friends with Doug Talbot, so I wish you all good luck when you try ratting me out to the staff tomorrow." With that, I broke from the circle and said, "Excuse me; I gotta make a few phone calls." friends with Doug Talbot, so I wish you all good luck when you try ratting me out to the staff tomorrow." With that, I broke from the circle and said, "Excuse me; I gotta make a few phone calls."

My favorite dentist said, "We still need to discuss your work detail. Each person in the unit has to clean an area. We have you down for the bathrooms this week."

"I don't think so," I sputtered. "Starting tomorrow there's gonna be maid service in this joint. You can talk to her about it." I walked into the bedroom, slammed the door, and dialed Alan Lipsky to tell him about the very insanity of the Talbot Martians. We laughed for a good fifteen minutes and then started talking about old times.

Before I hung up, I asked if he'd heard anything from the d.u.c.h.ess. He said he hadn't, and I hung up the phone sadder for that fact. It had been almost a week now, and things were looking grim with her. I flicked on the TV and tried shutting my eyes, but, as usual, sleep didn't come easily. Finally, sometime around midnight, I did fall asleep-with another day of sobriety under my belt and a raging hard-on inside my underwear.

The next morning, eight o'clock sharp, I called Old Brookville. The phone was picked up on the first ring.

"h.e.l.lo?" said the d.u.c.h.ess softly.

"Nae? Is that you?"

Sympathetically: "Yes, it's me."

"How are you?"

"I'm okay. Hanging in there, I guess."

I took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "I...I called to say hi to the kids. Are they there?"

"What's wrong?" she said sadly. "You don't wanna talk to me?"

"No, of course course I want to talk to you! There's nothing in the world I want more than to talk to you. I just didn't think you wanted to talk to me." I want to talk to you! There's nothing in the world I want more than to talk to you. I just didn't think you wanted to talk to me."

Kindly: "No, that's not true. I do want to talk to you. For better or worse, you're still my husband. I guess this is the worse worse part, right?" part, right?"

I felt tears coming to my eyes, but I fought them down. "I don't know what to say, Nae. I...I'm so sorry for what happened.... I...I-"

"Don't," she said. "Don't apologize. I understand what happened, and I forgive you. That's the easy part, forgiveness. Forgetting's a different story." She paused. "But I do forgive you. And I want to go on. I want to try to make this marriage work. I still love you, in spite of everything."

"I love you too," I said, through tears. "More than you know, Nae. I...I don't know what to say. I don't know how it happened. I...I hadn't slept in months and"-I took a deep breath-"I didn't know what I was doing. It's all a blur."

"It's my fault as much as yours," she said kindly. "I watched you killing yourself and just stood there and did nothing. I thought I was helping you, but I was really doing the opposite. I didn't know."

"It's not your fault, Nae, it's mine. It's just that it happened so slowly, over so many years, that I didn't see it coming. Before I knew it I was out of control. I've always considered myself a strong person, but the drugs were stronger."

"The kids miss you. I miss you too. I've wanted to speak to you for days now, but Dennis Maynard told me I should wait until you were fully detoxed."

That rat f.u.c.k! I'll get that b.a.s.t.a.r.d! I took a deep breath, trying to calm myself down. The last thing I needed was to lose my temper with the d.u.c.h.ess on the phone. I needed to prove to her that I was still a rational man, that the drugs hadn't permanently altered me. "You know," I said calmly, "it's a good thing you got those second two doctors to come to the hospital"-I refused to use the words I took a deep breath, trying to calm myself down. The last thing I needed was to lose my temper with the d.u.c.h.ess on the phone. I needed to prove to her that I was still a rational man, that the drugs hadn't permanently altered me. "You know," I said calmly, "it's a good thing you got those second two doctors to come to the hospital"-I refused to use the words psych unit psych unit-"because I despised Dennis Maynard more than you can imagine. I almost didn't go to rehab because of him. There was something about him that just rubbed me the wrong way. I think he had a thing for you." I waited for her to call me crazy.

She chuckled. "It's funny you say that, because Laurie thought the same thing."

"Really?" I said, with contract murder in my heart. "I thought I was just being paranoid!"

"I don't know," said the luscious d.u.c.h.ess. "At first I was too much in shock to pick up on it, but then he asked me to go to the movies, which I thought was a bit out of line."

"Did you go?" The most appropriate method of death, I figured, would be blood loss through castration.

"No! Of course I didn't go! It was inappropriate for him to ask. Anyway, he left the next day and that was the last I heard of him."

"How come you wouldn't come see me in the hospital, Nae? I missed you so bad. I thought about you all the time."

There was a long silence, but I waited it out. I needed an answer. I was still struggling as to why this woman, my wife-who obviously loved me-wouldn't come visit me after a suicide attempt. It made no sense.

After a good ten seconds, she said, "At first I was scared because of what happened on the stairs. It's hard to explain, but you were like a different person that day, possessed or something. I don't know. And then Dennis Maynard told me I shouldn't come see you until you went to rehab. I didn't know whether he was right or wrong. It wasn't like I had a road map to follow, and he was supposedly the expert. Anyway, all that matters is that you went to rehab, right?"

I wanted to say no, but this wasn't the time to start an argument. I had the rest of my life to argue with her. "Yeah, well, I'm here, and that's the most important thing."

"How bad are the withdrawals?" she asked, changing the subject.

"I haven't really had any withdrawals, or at least any I could feel. Believe it or not, the second I got here I lost the urge to do drugs. It's hard to explain, but I was sitting in the waiting room and all of a sudden the compulsion just left me. Anyway, this place is kind of wacky, to say the least. What's gonna keep me sober is not Talbot Marsh; it's me."

Very nervous now: "But you're still gonna stay there for the twenty-eight days, right?"

I laughed gently. "Yeah, you can relax, sweetie; I'm staying. I need a break from all the madness. Anyway, the AA part is really good. I read the book and it's awesome. I'll go to meetings when I get home, just to make sure I don't relapse."

We spent the next half hour talking on the phone, and by the end of the conversation I had my d.u.c.h.ess back. I knew it. I could feel it in my bones. I told her about all my erections and she promised she would help in that department just as soon as I got home. I asked her if she would have some phone s.e.x with me, but she declined. I would keep after her about that, though. Eventually, I figured, she would break down.

Then we exchanged I love you I love yous and promises to write each other every day. Before I hung up I told her that I would call her three times a day.

The next few days pa.s.sed uneventfully, and before I knew it I had made it a full week without doing drugs.

Each day we were given a few hours of personal time, to go to the gym and such, and I quickly insinuated myself into a small cadre of kiss-a.s.s Martians. One of the doctors-an anesthesiologist who'd had a habit of anesthetizing himself while his patients were on the table under his care-had been at Talbot Marsh for over a year, and he'd had his car s.h.i.+pped down. It was a piece-of-s.h.i.+t gray Toyota hatchback, but it served its purpose.

It was about a ten-minute car ride to the gym, and I was sitting in the right backseat, wearing a pair of gray Adidas shorts and a tank top, when I popped an enormous woody. It was probably the vibrations from the four-cylinder engine, or maybe it was the b.u.mps in the road, but something had sent a couple a pints of blood to my loins. It was a huge, rock-hard erection, the sort that presses against your underwear and needs to be adjusted and then readjusted, lest it drive you insane.

"Check this out," I said, pulling down the front of my gym shorts and showing the Martians my p.e.n.i.s.

They all turned and stared. Yes, I thought, it looked good. Despite my height, G.o.d had been very kind to me in that department. "Not too shabby!" I said to my doctor friends, as I grabbed my p.e.n.i.s and gave it a few yanks. Then I slapped it against my stomach, which created a rather pleasant thud. thud.

Finally, after the fourth thud, thud, everybody started laughing. It was a rare moment of levity at Talbot Marsh, a moment between guys, a moment between Martians, where the normal societal niceties could be stripped away, where h.o.m.ophobia could be entirely ignored, and men could be just that: men! I had a fine workout that afternoon, and the rest of the day pa.s.sed uneventfully. everybody started laughing. It was a rare moment of levity at Talbot Marsh, a moment between guys, a moment between Martians, where the normal societal niceties could be stripped away, where h.o.m.ophobia could be entirely ignored, and men could be just that: men! I had a fine workout that afternoon, and the rest of the day pa.s.sed uneventfully.

The following day, just after lunch, I was sitting in an astonis.h.i.+ngly boring group therapy session. My counselor strolled in, asking to see me.