Instead they found a room in an older motel off Canal near the river that was clean and included a hot breakfast. Landry paid for a week, enough time to assess Jack’s progress.
At Walgreens he bought toiletries, sodas and snacks. After finding clothes at a thrift store, Landry dropped him at the motel, leaving Jack with a list of AA meeting sites and a promise not to drink. There were still parades on Canal Street just two blocks away, and intoxicated revelers would create a perfect scenario for Jack to beg a drink and join them.
“Be careful and stay safe,” Landry warned. “Meet me tomorrow at eight at the station.”
“I’ll be there. One day at a time,” Jack promised.
Alone in the motel room, it seemed to Jack the night would never end. Every sound from the nearby Mississippi River reverberated in his head. It had been three years since he had slept in a bed, and the softness of it kept him awake. After an hour of tossing and turning, he folded his jacket to make a pillow and slept on the floor.
Twice he awoke with the dry heaves, and as he retched into the toilet, he wished he’d asked Landry for money. He needed a drink to stop shaking, but he resisted going to Bourbon Street and begging for a dollar. As he lay on the floor under a clean, warm blanket, he wondered if he’d be able to meet Landry’s expectations. Hell, he wondered if he even wanted to. He willed his trembling body to be still, he forced bad thoughts from his mind, and he tried to sleep.
At last dawn came. The minute the breakfast room opened, he filled a plate with eggs, sausage and toast, and carried it and a cup of coffee to the room. The food smelled delicious and he ate so quickly he vomited within seconds.
Alcohol is what I need, not food. My body isn’t used to a solid meal. I need a drink.
I can’t. I can’t, because this is my only chance. I will not let Landry down. One day at a time. No, one hour. One minute at a time.
Shaking, he went back downstairs, slowly ate a dry piece of toast, sipped coffee, and this time he kept it down.
Freshly showered and clean-shaven, he made sure he arrived at Channel Nine before Landry. Embarrassed at having been so weak, he lied when Landry asked if things went well.
“Sure beats sleeping in a box, although the bed was so soft I ended up sleeping on the floor.”
While Landry worked, Jack hung out in his office. Three times he left for AA meetings. Landry thought he seemed to be doing the right things, but Jack’s situation was far from stable.
After work Landry took Jack to a corner café near the station for a good dinner before going to the motel. As Jack picked at a hamburger and fries, he admitted he’d vomited at breakfast that morning. “I haven’t eaten a decent meal in years,” he said. “I have to be careful, even though this food tastes like heaven.”
That night was hard too. Around eleven as he lay trembling on the floor, Jack decided to go out and beg for money. He was putting on his shoes when he stopped, went into the bathroom, looked in the mirror and said, “You do this and it’s all over. You might as well kiss your life goodbye, because you’re about to ruin everything.”
He drank a Dr Pepper and got back on the floor. Unable to recall the last time he prayed, tonight he asked for peace. As the hours passed, he awoke with the dry heaves twice, but not as bad as last night. At the breakfast table, he ate his toast, drank coffee and said, “Thank you, God.”
At work Jack said he was becoming addicted to Dr Pepper instead of cheap whisky. In between attending several AA meetings a day, he shadowed Landry, who found Jack to be an intelligent guy who could use a computer. He passed off simple tasks and Jack handled them well.
Those forty-eight hours brought remarkable improvement to Tiffany Bertrand, who was sitting up in bed when Landry knocked on her hospital room door. Her face lit up when he came in.
“Thank you for coming to see me. Who’s this with you?”
Landry smiled. “This is my new assistant, Jack. I believe you two have met.”
No way. This guy’s handsome. Way too young for me, but I wouldn’t forget meeting him.
“I haven’t met you.”
He laughed. “You did, when you took the ghost tour.”
“You weren’t on that tour. I’d have remembered you.”
“I was living in a box across the street.”
Her eyes widened in surprise. “You’re —"
“I’m Jack Blair.”
Careful not to embarrass Jack, Landry simply said, “He’s on a fresh life track and he’s my new assistant.” Then he changed the subject. “Do you feel up to talking about what happened to you the other night?”
She nodded, but she recalled very little. “They said you found me inside the building.”
Landry nodded. “Let’s go back a few hours before that. I took you to the airport a little before six. Do you remember that?”
She nodded.
“Okay. Tell me what happened after that. Give me as much detail as you can.”
“I got my boarding pass at the ticket counter. Hardly anyone was in the TSA line, so I got through fast. I walked down the concourse, and with over two hours before the flight, I sat at the Sazerac Bar and ordered a...let’s see. I ordered a
