CHAPTER TEN

The following is an excerpt from the book Stream of Unconsciousness available on the Amazon and Barnes and Noble websites.

The name on the door read Dallas Taylor, C.A.S. — Certified Addiction Specialist. Any doubt in my mind about what was going to be discussed in the meeting was removed. We were going to be talking about drugs. I had never met him before but already he was the enemy. A professional who had experience in interventions and who would help me get my life back to “normal.” In my mind he would preside as judge in the trial of my life. I would be defending myself, and Lauren was the lead prosecutor.

Intervention. The nerve of these people. How dare they orchestrate an intervention on me? What business did they have calling such a meeting? I should walk right in, tell Mr. Taylor to shove it up his ass and to go milk some money out of someone else. If Lauren was so concerned about me, then she could talk to me directly. We certainly didn’t need the services of some quasi-shrink.

The alcoholic/addict in me was trying to defend and preserve the sickness I had lived for so many years. This intervention was a monumental threat to my lifestyle, and I didn’t like it. Not one bit.

I took a deep breath and knocked on the door. After I heard a muffled, “Come in,” I opened the door to his tiny office, and there he was in all his majesty. Sitting in a plush shrink chair, no doubt sizing me up as I entered. To my left was Lauren, sitting at the far end of the lone coach in the room facing Mr. Interventionist.

“Come in Steven,” The Interventionist said, getting up and extending his hand to me. Reflexively, I took it. “I’m Dallas Taylor. Sit down. Can I get you something to drink?” A slight beat. “Soft drink? Water?”

I had something a little more potent in mind. My friend Johnnie Red would be nice. This was stressful already, and we hadn’t even started. If we were going to sit around and chat about my “problem,” why not relax a little and loosen up with a few shots of whiskey?

“No thanks. I’m okay”

I sat down on the other end of the sofa. Lauren and I couldn’t have been farther apart, literally and figuratively. It was like a living metaphor of what our relationship had become. She just sat at the opposite end of the couch staring at a rather large file that was in her lap. I could see about a half-inch of papers inside it. If this was the evidence she had on me, it wasn’t looking good. I had a dress rehearsal with Rick at the restaurant, but we covered only generalities. Lauren’s file was thick, and it looked as though it contained a lot of details. I was going to have to be creative and quick with my thinking if I was to have any success deflecting her allegations. I would have to be on my game. Thank Christ I didn’t do any blow after I left Rick at the restaurant.

I looked around the Spartan-like office and noticed some album covers and gold records on the wall. Upon closer examination I saw that Mr. Dallas Taylor had been the original drummer for Crosby, Stills, Nash and Young.

Great. Just what I needed. Some burned-out, late 60s hippie is going to give me a sermon about the evils of drugs and alcohol. I guess the rock and roll tribute to him on his wall was designed to let victims, such as myself, know that “he’s been there and knows what this is all about.” My plan was to turn the tables on him and let him know what I thought this thing was about: bullshit! An invasion of my privacy. I was going to let him and Lauren know that their little intervention was unnecessary, a waste of time and offensive to me.

“Steven, do you know why this meeting was called?” Dallas began in his calming, therapeutic voice.

I had heard that question about an hour earlier when I was with Rick. This was going to be easy. My dress rehearsal was going to pay off.

“Yes. You people seem to think I have a problem.”

Mr. Taylor had a rather perplexed look on his face.
“What do you mean ‘problem?”

OK, I was getting a little sick of this word game. “I just came from the restaurant downstairs where I had a conversation with Rick — I’m sure you know that already,” I said, defensively, looking him right in the face. “I’m sure you think you know a lot of things. Apparently this is about drinking.” I looked over at Lauren. She hadn’t moved or said a word. She just sat there staring at her folder.

“Yes,” Dallas said. “There is a drinking component, but Lauren believes that drugs are also involved. Do you want to tell us about it?”

Here was my first opportunity to control the meeting. I remembered an axiom of sales strategy I had heard while employed as a clerk at some clothing store while in high school. It had to do with closing the deal: “He who speaks first loses.” I don’t have any clue how that trivial piece of information entered my mind or whether it would be useful, but I was thankful for it. I simply was not going to be the person starting out the conversation. I needed to hear from them first and learn what was in her file. I did not want to box myself in, only to have them shove some piece of hard evidence to the contrary in my face, thereby destroying a brilliantly crafted lie.

“Actually, no,” I said, folding my arms. “You guys organized this meeting. There must be something on your mind to go through all this effort and expense to call this thing. Why don’t you fill me in?”

Brilliant! They looked at each other and seemed a little taken back by the boldness of my suggestion.

“Lauren,” Dallas said, soothingly. “Do you have something to say to Steven?”

This guy was really bugging me. He had soft, caring eyes and a calm voice. He was gentle. Relaxed. He obviously had done the intervention thing many times before, but that would not deter me. Even though he was a worthy opponent, I’d find a way to come out on top….