was another funeral that afternoon but by closing time no one had lingered near her father's grave. Frank returned to the city, mildly disappointed.
She stopped at the central AA office to pick up a meeting schedule. After eyeing her up and down the cute gay guy helping her pouted. 'You just missed an absolutely fabulous gay and lesbian meeting in the Village. Oh, here's one! Gay, lesbian and trans-gender on West Thirteenth at eight thirty
'Thanks,' she said. 'Maybe I'll check it out.'
'You do that, honey. And good luck!'
Downstairs in the Nova, Frank studied the meeting schedule, deciding on a seven thirty at Trinity Place. In the meantime, she picked up her laundry, then stopped at a breakfast joint, reading her Big Book over coffee and corned beef hash.
She was cool with Step One. Admitting she was powerless over alcohol and that her life had become unmanageable was a no-brainer. Normal people don't sit around downing quarts of whiskey and encouraging themselves to blow their brains out. Step One was simple. But Frank balked at Step Two, which stated, 'Came to believe that a power greater than ourselves could restore us to sanity.' She read the chapter dedicated to agnostics and left the restaurant chewing on more than a toothpick.
She called Mary but got her machine. Frank left a message that she was fine and headed for a meeting. She found Trinity Place but parking was nonexistent. Three blocks away she wedged the Nova into a space and jogged back to Trinity Place. Mary had strict guidelines and one of them was to not be late for meetings. It was distracting to others, it didn't give you a chance to introduce yourself, and worst of all, you missed the readings. She said practically everything you needed to know about getting sober and staying sober were read in the first five minutes of every AA meeting.
Frank got into the room just as the secretary cleared her throat to announce, 'Hi. My name is Jenny and I'm an alcoholic.'
As they finished conversations and fixed coffee, men and women, old and young, punk and square, responded, 'Hi, Jenny!'
Frank slipped into a seat between a woman who looked like a stockbroker and a man who looked like he'd crawled in from out of the gutter. While Jenny read the AA preamble Frank marveled at the contrast between the drunks sitting next to her.
The wino smelled rank but the stockbroker hinted of very elegant perfume. She was immaculately dressed in a tailored wool suit and the wino wore what he'd found in a dumpster. He gripped his hands in his lap but they were still shaking. The stockbroker's hands were steady and clean with buffed pink nails. Contrasts abounded in the small room, reminding Frank to look for the similarities that made her part of the group rather than the differences that kept her apart, a nice idea for humanity in general.
When Jenny asked if there was anyone visiting from out of town or new to the Trinity Place meeting, Frank spoke up. 'My name's Frank. I'm an alcoholic from Los Angeles.'
There were welcomes around the room, then Jenny went on to announcements.
The stockbroker leaned toward Frank, extending her smooth, white hand. 'Hi,' she whispered. 'I'm Margaret. Can I get you a cup of coffee?'
Frank took the hand and accepted the offer. 'Black would be great.'
Leaning around Frank, Margaret touched the wino's knee. 'Mick? Coffee?'
Mick looked up with painfully red eyes and nodded. Margaret rose gracefully, returning with three cups. Frank took her cup and as Margaret turned toward the wino Frank took his cup for him. His hands were shaking so hard he could barely lift them. She settled the milky coffee between them. He smiled his thanks, managing with both hands to bring the cup to his lips.
Frank was struck by an awkward, teary gratitude, thinking that was how it worked in AA—steady hands being held out to those whose were still shaky.
Jenny turned the meeting over to the speaker, a doe-eyed waif who looked like she'd just given up the tit. For the next twenty minutes she told a story of escalating horrors that climaxed with kidnapping her sister for enough ransom to buy a key of heroin and a case of Jack Daniels. When her twelve-year-old sibling looked at her and asked why she was doing this, the waif suddenly took it all in—the stained mattress she was living on, the pain in her sister's eyes, the hole in her gut that she could never fill, and just as suddenly she knew a case and a key would never be enough. That she'd need another case and another key after they ran out until she died like her friend had, with a hot load in her arm.
She kept tears back as she continued. 'My parents took the money they were going to give me for my sister and instead of just writing me off they put me into a ninety-day rehab. That was four years ago and I haven't used or drank since.' Clearing her throat and swiping her knuckles across her eyes she said in a clear voice, 'For those of you that are new, welcome. I hope you keep coming back. When I first started coming into these rooms I did the things that were suggested to me.' She ticked off on her fingers. 'I didn't drink or use between meetings. I went to a lot of meetings. I got a sponsor. I worked the steps with her. I got into service, and, well, eventually I trusted God. That was hard for me. All the other stuff was easy but I was raised in a Baptist household where there was only one, true God. And you can believe it when I say I didn't want anything to do with
Mary told Frank to share when she was called on, and to share a feeling, not the weather or how nicely the speaker was dressed. Heart racing, as if someone had jammed a muzzle against her temple, she said, 'My name's Frank. I'm an alcoholic.'
The room responded, 'Hi, Frank.'
'Good to be in New York. I was born here. Great story. I didn't kidnap anybody, though.'
There were a few chuckles.
'I just put a gun to my head one morning and was trying to convince myself to pull the trigger when I realized what I was doing. Called an old friend who's been sober a long time and he got me into these rooms. Gotta admit it's been an interesting ride so far. I liked what you said about the God business. I'm at Step Two and having trouble with it. Don't know that I can believe in a god but I have to admit that something stayed my trigger finger that morning. I like the idea that God will come to you in a form you can accept. Guess I'm still looking for that form. And I hope I find it because I like being sober and I want to stay that way. Thanks.'
Other people were called on and when the hour was up everyone rose. They held hands in a circle and someone started the serenity prayer. Everyone joined in. Even Frank.
Mick immediately shuffled for the door but Margaret kept Frank's hand. She smiled. 'Welcome home. Literally and figuratively.'
'Thanks.'
Giving Frank's hand a squeeze she said, 'Don't worry about looking for God. If your heart's open, God'll
Margaret moved off and a few other people introduced themselves to Frank, some offering advice.
A big, burly guy said, 'I been sober twenty-eight years and I don't believe a fuckin' word about God. But I believe in AA and the power of the group and that's what gets me through.'
A heavy blonde offered, 'Honey, God's always there. We turn our backs on Him but He's always there waiting with open arms. When you're ready to turn to Him, He'll be right there for you.'
Frank nodded, anxious she'd get cornered by a rabid Christer. But in six months that hadn't happened yet. AA people seemed to have a very laissez faire attitude about God, passionate about what they believed in but never foisting their passions onto her. She appreciated that, because if someone had tried to force-feed her a god she'd have been out the door faster than the old wino.
Edging toward the exit, she bumped into Margaret with a cluster of women.
