Hope Idiotic | Part 27
Hope Idiotic is a serialized novel. Catch each new part every week on Monday and Thursday.
IT WAS HARD EXPLAINING TO LEXI WHY HE HATED GOING TO INDIANA SO MUCH. To her, Indiana was where her heart was. But she had a lovely family; one that got along and didn’t live in filth or rely on a broke, recovering alcoholic to support it. Chuck and Lexi were from the exact same place—grew up just two blocks away from one another—but they were from completely different worlds. She would never see Cayuga from his point of view, and he would never see it from hers, even if he wanted to.
He also wanted to see what it was like to believe in something. That last trip home really threw him into a mental tailspin. He considered that maybe the reason Lexi was always so calm and collected and had such a happy family life and a positive (though sarcastic) outlook on life was because of her factless faith in a higher power.
Lexi never preached Jesus or bible quotes. She didn’t even identify with one denomination. She belonged to a church that was more like a community center for people with loose faith, unwilling to pay tithes. It was one of those massive churches with the big stage and the movie screen that projected the young preacher to the doting flock. Instead of an organist, there was a pop-rock band that played catchy tunes that could have easily been hits on contemporary radio or VH1. The kind of music Lou liked to listen to on road trips as part of his game, Christian or Pop.
Chuck would never be able to find comfort or understanding in the God of Judeo-Christian thought, but wouldn’t have minded a little bit of that comfortable warm feeling churchgoing people were always talking about.
He began attended services with Lexi at her monster church every Sunday morning. The stories were at least interesting. They were from the same bible that the other religions read from, but this preacher, a twenty-six-year-old married father of two, interpreted them as modern-day lessons taught by men and women of the past. Gone was the fire and brimstone and hocus-pocus Chuck always likened to any sort of spirituality experience.
Over all, it wasn’t a bad way to spend an hour. The people were nice, there was food immediately following the service, and it proved itself to be an aphrodisiac for Lexi because they would screw like animals afterward.
“That’s the problem with all of us. We’re too goddamn sensitive.”
With his mother’s health as good as it could have been, his father ensuring him they were sticking to the menu and shopping regiment, and Lexi happy and horny, Chuck was feeling better than he’d felt in months. Even Melvin had dialed back his micromanagement, which gave Chuck the time to catch up on Liberty work. Yeah, things were good. Was it his going to church that had calmed the waters? Or was it his good efforts paying off? Man was responsible for the actions and the subsequent reactions that occurred in his life. As long as he kept working hard, didn’t overindulge in the beer and could keep Lexi interested in having exciting sex with him, Chuck would be just fine.
But Chuck couldn’t control Gina. So when an email popped up in his work inbox from her that simply said, “Hi,” the rocking increased.
What does an email with no subject and the word “Hi” in the body mean? From anyone else, it would just simply be a stupid greeting. But from a girl who said she once loved him, from a girl who once told him that she couldn’t be there for him during the hard parts, from a girl he hadn’t spoken to in months and was certain was out of his life for good, it had to mean more.
“You’re too sensitive,” I told him as we had a beer during lunch at the Cuban restaurant. “That’s the problem with all of us. We’re too goddamn sensitive.”
After work, Chuck drove to Bella’s. He needed to think. He told Lexi he’d be working late and that she should come over to the house around seven, if she wanted. Having a standing date at home with Lexi was his way of ensuring that he didn’t drink too much. But at Bella’s, as he thought about his sensitivity levels and that damn email, he felt lonely. He missed Lou. He needed a willing ear to listen to him repeat himself over and over until something made sense. He needed Lou to provide advice, which would have just been to keep thinking about it until something made sense. That was the process. Without his friendly therapist and drinking buddy, Chuck was left to his own devices. And those devices got him hammered.
✶
IT WAS A LITTLE PAST TWO IN THE MORNING WHEN I PICKED HIM UP FROM THE HENDERSON POLICE STATION. It cost fifteen hundred to bail him out. Natalie wasn’t happy about paying. But the way I figured it was that it was Chuck’s money anyway, after all of the work he had given me. Besides, Chuck was a friend. And when a friend ends up in the drunk tank after a cop pulls him over for suspicion of driving under the influence, you do what you can to help that friend out. She called it bullshit on the whole, “it-was-Chuck’s-money” thing but had a hard time arguing against helping a friend. Still, she was pissed. Mostly at Chuck. I couldn’t blame her for that.
Lexi had gone home around eleven the night before, after Chuck didn’t show and didn’t respond to one of the ten phone calls and twenty-six texts she sent wondering where he was and whether he was okay. She was clearly unhappy with the news of another DUI staring Chuck in the face. She called Lou the next night—a Friday. He and Michelle, having reconciled following her mea culpa, were having a few drinks at a fancy Near North hotel playing Pick the Hooker, a game he invented with me and Chuck back in Vegas to determine which of the hotel bar’s women were working girls. He let the first call go to voicemail. When Lexi immediately called again, Lou told Michelle, “Maybe something’s wrong. I should take it.”
“Chuck got another DUI last night,” Lexi said. “I don’t know what to do.”
He told her to relax. He told her not to give him a hard time about it; that he probably was kicking his own ass enough. There’s nothing she can do; this is a Chuck thing. Take a breath. Go see a movie. Relax.
“Chuck got a DUI?” Michelle asked when he hung up.
“Looks that way.”
“It’s pathetic,” she said. “I’m tired of your friend ruining things for us.”
“How do you mean?” Lou said.
“It’s not bad enough that he can’t pay you rent, now his girlfriend is interrupting our date night with his problems. Some friend you got there, Lou. Really, a Grade-A kind of guy.”
Lou took a sip of his drink, looked across the lounge and thought to himself, Tall brunette in red with the short, frumpy guy—that’s a whore.
✶
“I ONCE TOLD YOU THAT I DIDN’T THINK YOU HAD TO COMPLETELY QUIT DRINKING,” Lou said to Chuck when they spoke on the phone the next day. It was Saturday and Michelle was at work. “But Jesus, man. Two DUIs? Your luck has run out. Simple as that. You’ve spent all the luck you ever had, and you’re out. Not even running on fumes. Dead in the water. Stalled on the side of the road. You need to stop drinking.”