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as far as I can, mindlessly fleeing until I drop from exhaustion.
    My entire body trembles. I can’t stand the thought of anyone knowing who and what I am.
    Not to mention what I’ve done.
    A shiver runs through me. I don’t think I can take it.
    André reaches out and his firm hand grasps my arm, grounding me from that moment of near hysteria. Shutting my eyes for a moment, I absorb his touch, holding on to the heat and calming energy of him.
    He feels like a lifeline.
    “Take heart, my friend,” he says quietly, in his soothing velvet voice. “Do not despair. You simply move one step and then another. You keep going. Before you know it,” he snaps his fingers. “ Voila . You have arrived. It took more than one day for you to arrive at this dark place, no? It will take more than one day to escape from here.”
    The elevator arrives. Guiding me, supporting me, he wraps an arm around my shoulder. Two men, one normal and one crazy, we walk into it together like the best of bosom buddies.
    “Be strong, mon ami . I can help you and I will.”
    He puts his hand on his heart dramatically, like pledging allegiance, but it doesn’t seem foolish. It looks as if he’s making me a promise.
    “Together we will triumph,” he says. “I swear this is so. Grant, you have faced countless enemies in your life. Oui, oui, many dangers and difficult circumstances I do not doubt. And yet, here you are. You have overcome them all.”
    “I’ve tried…” I start to say, but my voice cracks. My eyes start to burn. I haven’t cried much throughout my life, even as a child. I was taught only pussies do that—but right now, I feel like crying.
    Ah, Christ.
    Can I get any lower?
    At twenty-nine years old, I’m a pathetic, maudlin and often bitter alcoholic; that’s what I’ve become. Now, I have to add cowardice to that list.
    “With help, you will succeed,” he assures me, patting my back consolingly. He meets my eyes then and frowns gravely. “But it is of the greatest importance that you begin in alcohol rehabilitation immediately,” he says with a serious air.
    Is it?
    André’s been carefree over everything I’ve talked about tonight. Nothing’s fazed him. Now his voice is so solemn. I frown while my muddled mind wonders just what else I have to worry about.
    “Why?” I ask.
    “Oh,” André says blithely. “It is a selfishness, I fear. To me, you are a most interesting case. I have no wish to wait. Go through rehabilitation quickly and come to me, for I very much look forward to working with you.”
    It takes more than a moment for me to get that oddball joke.
    I finally notice the mischievous sparkle in his dark eyes. André grins the second he sees that I get it. At that exact instant, we both burst out laughing.
    Is this French humor?
    André’s so off the wall. I laugh and laugh until my gut hurts. We point at each other and he laughs too. It’s not really not that funny… but it is.
    If I didn’t laugh, I’d cry.
    I’m pretty sure André knows that.
    It’s why he made me laugh.
    André’s not some dumb ass playing mind games and thinking he knows what he’s doing. He really does know what he’s doing.
    I trust this crazy, unconventional Frenchman. It’s then I realize that with his help, I can get through this. I won’t lose my mind. Despite all this madness, I’m not going insane.
    With his help, maybe I can pull myself out of this mess.

Chapter 5.
    “Secrets, silent, stony sit in the dark palaces of our hearts. Secrets weary of their tyranny: tyrants willing to be dethroned.”
    — James Joyce
    ~~~
    The Captain of the Airbus, announcing our imminent arrival in Las Vegas, pulls me out of my memories. Rehab and Alcoholics Anonymous, along with ongoing counseling, has worked. I’ve been stone cold sober for over three months. I know my weakness. I’ll never drink a drop of alcohol again.
    My plane lands and the pretty, blonde stewardess meets my eyes.
    “Thank you, for everything,” she says,