CHAPTER 21

A.J. awoke the next morning and realized Keesha had left for work. He was in his bedroom getting ready to see his father when he saw the note she had left him on his pillow. "I had sweet dreams in your bed last night," he read. "I'll be thinking of you.

Hope it goes well. Love you, Keesha."

"I hope it goes well, too, Keesha," A.J. said out loud. In the light of day, he was having second thoughts about confronting his father, but he knew he had to.

Convinced he was ready, A.J. called the house; Ned answered the phone.

"Is my dad there?" he asked, not even bothering to say "hello".

"A.J.?" Ned asked, knowing it was him.

"Yes, it's me. Is my father there?" he asked again.

"I heard you were out of the hospital. Is your tummy feeling better?"

"If my father's there, give him the damn phone. If he's not, stop wasting my time!" A.J. grew exasperated quickly.

"Ooh, I think someone needs to return to the hospital for an attitude adjustment."

Ned couldn't resist pushing A.J.'s buttons, especially since they were so easily pushed.

"Ned, I swear..." A.J. said, his patience spent. This was hard enough, he thought. Why do I have to deal with this?

"Calm down, Junior. I'll check if he's here."

Ned took his time looking for Alan, causing A.J. more aggravation, and then reported that he wasn't there.

"Thank you so much for all your help," A.J. said sarcastically and slammed down the phone.

He was about to dial the hospital when Monica called and said Alan had made it to work.

"I'm on my way."

Alan didn't know how he had made it through the night, much less in to work that morning, but he was there, and he was determined to find hydrocodone if it killed him. And he was afraid it probably would. After Monica and Emily had fled, he had spent the night drinking, trying to numb himself from feeling his rage and his withdrawal pains. He had finally passed out but awoke this morning craving his pills. He knew he had to go in to work if he were to have any chance of obtaining hydrocodone.

Unable to sit still, he rose from his desk, trying to figure out how he could discreetly confiscate the drug he needed when A.J. entered his office. Alan turned and was shocked to see him.

"How did you get in here?" he demanded. "I told my secretary I wanted no interruptions."

"I didn't see her, and your door was unlocked," A.J. said and shrugged. "Seemed simple enough to me."

"Whatever it is you want, A.J., today is not the day."

"I think it is," A.J. said seriously.

He had never seen his father in such a disheveled state. His suit looked as though it had been slept in, and it probably had, A.J. thought, his hair was uncombed, his eyes were blood shot, and his face was pale. A.J. recognized the signs and knew that his father could not pretend much longer.

"We need to talk about last night, Dad."

"*We* don't need to talk about anything."

"Mom and Emily came to see me. I know what you did. And I know why, too. It's because of your addiction, Dad. You're hooked on those pain pills you take every chance you get."

"How dare you stand there and pronounce judgment on me, young man."

A.J. refused to relent. "It's because I've been where you are that I can say these things to you."

"What do you mean 'have been where I am'? You're still an alcoholic, A.J. Nothing has changed."

"I don't want to turn this around so that it's about me because the focus needs to stay on you, but if it validates anything for you, Dad, I am a *recovering* alcoholic and have been sober for six months."

"A.J., why are you doing this? You are the last person I want to have any kind of a conversation with, you go on about your take on things, and then you lie. We both know that there is no way you've been sober for six months."

"Yes, I have. I did not slip that night in August. I was set up and drugged by a person who had her own agenda and wanted me out of the picture. She made it seem as though I had been drinking and called you and Mom with the news."

"You're saying that some lady drugged you and dumped you in that alley where your mother and I found you?! That's stretching it, A.J. Even for you."

"Whether you believe me or not doesn't change the truth. I was set up, and I have not had a drink for over six months. What about you? Can you say the same for your pills?"

"My *prescription* pills have nothing to do with this conversation, A.J. There's nothing even remotely similar about the two."

"Of course, there is. You purchase a prescription; I purchased alcohol. You take the pills to feel better; I drank alcohol to feel better. You become dependent on the pills to get through the day; I depended on alcohol for the same reason. What's the difference?"

"The difference is you have a problem. I don't."

"Then why did you attack Mom in search of your pills?"

Alan did not want to be having this conversation. Why, Alan thought, did A.J. pick today, of all days, to flex his moral muscles and decide to take him on? Couldn't he see that he was not in any condition to do battle with his son? Yet, A.J.'s demeanor and what Alan perceived to be a superior attitude caused him to fight back.

"I did not attack your mother. She had no right to throw away my pills!"

"Just like you had no right to throw my liquor down the drain, but you did. Regularly. When I would ask you why, you'd tell me I didn't need it."

"They're not the same, A.J.! You don't throw away a prescription. It's needed for healing purposes."

"Until too many are taken too often. Then, it becomes an addiction."

"A.J., what are you trying to accomplish here? Our situations are nothing alike."

Alan could hardly focus on A.J. and what he was saying. He wished A.J. would leave him alone. Why was he rambling on about addictions anyway?

"Our situations are very alike. I can see your addiction, and you can't. I couldn't see my dependence on alcohol, either, the way the rest of the family could. I never saw how bad I looked, but everyone else did, and they commented on it. I never knew how strange I was acting, but everybody else did. I never realized I wasn't functioning, but you knew, didn't you? I see the signs, Dad. And as you've said to me on more than one occasion, when are you going to admit it?"

Alan stared at A.J. and could not believe his son was talking to him about being an addict. Yet, he seemed so sure of himself and so strong. He did look wonderful, Alan thought. His eyes were clear, his skin looked healthy, his hair and his clothes were neat and well-kept. He had made a complete recovery, and even in Alan's current state, he had to acknowledge that A.J. did not look as though he had been drinking. By contrast, Alan knew how badly he looked. He didn't need a mirror or A.J. to tell him about his shabby appearance. But something inside Alan would not let him concede anything to his son.

"Are you telling me all this," he asked, "Because of what you *think* caused me to give you the wrong medication, A.J.? Is that what this is all about?"

"That's part of it," A.J. allowed. "I know it probably wouldn't have happened if you hadn't been taking drugs. But there's even more at stake, Dad, such as your career, your marriage, and your family. You stand to lose everything unless you get the help you need. Mom has reached her breaking point. She doesn't intend to be around to see you hit bottom."

"Your mother would never leave me, A.J. How dare you even suggest such a thing!"

"Those are her words, Dad. I'm just the messenger."

"I need to see your mother. She cannot send you to talk to me this way. I won't have it!"

"Who better to talk to you than me? A.J. The alcoholic. The son you can't love because of what he's done to you and to your family. But I'm sober, Dad. I'm recovering. I want the same for you."

"Do you think this is earning you brownie points? Let me assure you, it's not."

"I'm not looking for brownie points, Dad," A.J. said, shaking his head. "I want to help you. I know what you're going through. I've been there."

Alan could no longer hold himself up. He began to tremble and fumbled for his chair so he could sit down. A.J. made his way to kneel next to his father.

"Dad, look at me."

Alan turned away. A.J. crossed to the other side. "I'm not going away, Dad."

"I wish you would," Alan whispered weakly. "I don't want or need you as my conscience."

Alan could not stop shaking, and he felt as though his head were going to explode. He leaned back in his chair. If only he had his pills, he thought. A.J. reached for his father's hand. Alan looked at him for a moment and then let him take it. His hand was cold. Alan was feeling worse by the minute, and he knew he couldn't go on. What he wouldn't give to climb into a nice warm bed and sleep, all day, with no nightmares, no sweats, and no palpitations. Was there such a place? Could A.J. find it for him? He would be forever grateful if A.J. could find a place where he wouldn't be disturbed and the need for his pills wouldn't be so potent.

"Dad," A.J. said for the third time. "Can you hear me?"

"Sleep, A.J.," Alan said hazily. "Can you find a nice place for me to sleep?"

"I can do that, Dad. Hold on."

A.J. massaged his father's shoulders as he paged Monica. She arrived a few minutes later and was stunned to see Alan's condition.

"I think he had a very rough night, Mom. He's asking for a bed."

"I'll get to work finding one. Were you able to talk to him?"

"A little, but I don't think much of it registered. I know the signs, Mom. He can't continue. Especially without his pills. Maybe we can talk more once he's had some sleep and realizes where he is."

Monica nodded and hugged A.J. "Thank you."

"It isn't going to be easy, Mom."

"Nobody knows that better than me," Monica said ruefully. "I can't believe this is happening again. To another member of my family."

A.J. placed his arm around his mom. "I think I'm a major reason for this one, Mom, but Em and I are successfully fighting our demons. Dad will, too, you'll see."

Alan let out a groan, which made Monica realize she quickly needed to get him a bed.

"I'm going to call Tony and try discreetly to find a room."

"I can stay if you need me to."

"No, it's okay. I'll talk to you later."

A.J. took a long look at his father, who was barely able to hold his head up, and he knew he was nearing the end of his road. A.J. knew the signs too well. Seeing his father in this condition had made his resolve to stay sober even stronger. He knew what this was going to cost his dad, and A.J. never wanted to have to pay that price again. He never wanted Keesha to have to cope with what his mom was about to go through. Monica was trying to get through to Alan when A.J. left.

"Was that our son who was here?" Alan asked Monica, trying to focus.

"Yes, Alan. That was A.J."

"He said he could find a nice place for me to sleep. I just want to sleep."

"I know. And you will in a few minutes."

"A.J. was so good to me. That couldn't have been him."

"It was, Alan. He cares about you. He wanted to help you."

"I have to talk to him."

"You will. But first, we need to find a place for you to sleep."

"Yes," Alan said, quickly fading. "Sleep."

Tony entered the room and told Monica that Bobbie had found a room for Alan that was in a secluded part of the hospital and that Bobbie and Amy had agreed to take care of him.

"But we can't keep this a secret, Monica."

"I know, I know. Once we get him into the bed, I'll think of something. The flu, exhaustion, whatever. But no mention of the pills."

"It's your call."

Bobbie brought in a wheelchair, and among the three of them, they managed to get Alan into it. Fortunately, the room was on the same floor, so when there was no traffic, they wheeled him into the room. With all of them working together, they managed to get him into a hospital gown and into the bed. He wanted to sleep, but they needed to take blood to find out what and how much drugs and alcohol he had in his system. He protested loudly that he wanted to sleep, but Bobbie and Monica managed to get what they needed. She told Bobbie to expedite the lab tests. Tony said he had a friend in the lab who knew how to be discreet.

"Thank you, Tony," Monica said. "I'll be here when you get back."

She let Alan sleep while they waited for the results. Bobbie had taken his vitals; his pulse and heartbeat were racing. Monica repeatedly applied cold compresses to his forehead and cheeks.

"We may need to give him something to slow down his heartbeat and pulse, but I don't know what I can do until we get the results."

Tony returned within the hour and helped to plan their course of action. Bobbie started him on an IV that would slow down his vitals and would keep him from dehydrating. They decided to let him sleep and see how he felt when he woke up. Bobbie said she would continue to monitor his condition and report any changes.

"Thanks for all your help," Monica told Bobbie and Tony.

Tony and Monica left the room.

"I'd like to find A.J. to tell him the latest."

"Are you heading for the gym?"

"I'm not sure where he might be, but yes, I'll check there first."

"I'll walk with you. I'm heading that way, too."

They ran into A.J. near the gym and quickly filled him in on Alan's condition.

"I think it would be nice if you saw him later."

"I will."

"I also want to issue a statement before the rumors start, but I want to tell the family first. Will you be available later?"

"Sure. Page me when you're ready."

Monica nodded.

"If you'll excuse me, I need to make a few phone calls."

Monica left, and A.J. asked Tony if he had a few minutes.

"I do. Is this about your father?"

"No. There's something that I've needed to tell you for quite some time, and I need to do it today. Can we use your office?"

"Of course. This sounds serious."

"It is. I appreciate you taking the time to talk with me."

A.J. followed Tony to his office. He wasn't sure where his courage was coming from, but he knew he needed to take advantage of the situation because it was way past time Tony heard the truth about Carly, the baby she was carrying, and his role in the sordid mess that was playing havoc with their lives.

"I'm sorry it's come to this, Carly," he thought as he entered Tony's office. "But I can no longer protect you and your lies."