addict, addiction, alcoholic, BDSM, blog, Ernie, Felicity, Felicity Hines, Humor, Lipstick Lies!, Lucy, Maxwell, Muriel, phone calls, Rehab, role play., Seattle Substance Abuse, Seattle Substance Abuse & Treatment Facility, story
Maxell has a rude awakening…and Felicity lets the cat out of the bag. Welcome to Lipstick Lies!
Oh he was going to be a challenge for sure. Ernie cheerfully grinned as Max began to rant.
“I beg to differ.” Max snapped back, still shaking off the effects of the sedative he was given. “This isn’t exactly the Hilton, so I would have to say no, to answer your question. I had a terrible night and feel as though I have been hit by a lorry. That is a truck, since you probably don’t understand the Queen’s English.”
At that, Ernie let out a deep rumbling laugh that was odd for a man his size. He straightened to his full height, put one hand to his chest and the other in the air as if he were about to give a speech. “My dear boy. I do know what a lorry is. You cheeky little blighter.” Ernie stated in a snobbish, British accent. It was pretty good for a black man like him.
Max noticed the clothes sitting in the chair and his nose went up in the air again. Ernie was beginning to think this man was born with his nose stuck in that position. Of course Max then had to complain about the clothes.
“Well there’s no need to be insulting. None of your own clothing was brought in with you last night, except what you had on and despite what you think, Scotch, we do not ask the residents here to wear these all the time. This is just until we can get some of your own clothing brought in for you.” Ernie took up the clothes before grabbing Max by the arm. It wasn’t often Ernie got angry, but this man had pretty much just insulted the entire facility and he wasn’t going to take that kindly, no matter what Max’s problem was.
He hauled the man to his feet and shoved the clothes into his arms. “Shower, I think. Then you need some food.” Still holding Max by the arm, Ernie began to lead (more like drag) Max off to an area where he could shower. He didn’t know the thoughts running through Max’s head, the poor man thinking it was some type of communal shower.
Max began to babble next to him and Ernie could practically taste the denial in the man’s tone. He definitely needed help.
“I don’t belong here. See, my sister made a terrible mistake. I’m perfectly fine. Not like the rest of these loonies. Look, I have this trust fund at the National bank. I’ll pay you ten thousand, if you get me out of here.”
Ernie snorted. It wasn’t the first time someone tried to bribe him and it certainly wouldn’t be the last. “Sorry, Scotch. Bribery don’t work on me.”
They reached the room where the shower was located. Ernie opened the door to make sure it wasn’t occupied. He pulled out some towels, soap (Irish Spring) and shampoo (Head and Shoulders) from the supply closet next to the bathroom and set them on the bench inside the shower.
“In you go, Scotch. I’ll give you 30 minutes to yourself before I come busting in so make them count.” Ernie grinned, his friendly nature shining through once more.
Ernie turned on his heel and left the room, closing the door behind him. He moved across the hall to the small desk facing the bathroom and sat down to wait, making some notes in Max’s file about his behavior that morning and his own personal observations. Ansel would definitely be interested in Ernie’s findings.
Denise wandered by and stopped at the desk, reading Ernie’s writing over his shoulder. She saw the words “firmly in denial” and shook her head.
“He’s going to be a tough nut to crack.” she murmured.
“Mhm.” Ernie grunted.
“Uh oh. A grunt and a one-word sentence from you. What did he say?”
“First he insulted the facility’s clothes, then he called the patients ‘loony’ then he tried to bribe me.”
“Oooo that’s bad.” Denise groaned. “Well, if it makes you feel better, his sister sent over some of his things earlier this morning. They’re up in his room.”
“I’ll tell him after he’s had breakfast. Man could use a dash of humility.” Denise patted him on the shoulder and continued off down the hall.
Bribery had always worked in the past, when Maxwell had tried to get out of a situation. In this case however, his pleas to be heard by the towering Ernie fell flat, as well as his grand offer of $10,000 to help secure his freedom out of the institution. With rather heavy handed tactics that earnt a weasel like squeal of resistance from Maxwell, the art curator was forced into a special bathroom, that for the best part was for one person, not ten. Still looking like he swallowed something nasty, he shook Ernie’s hand off indignantly as he was released in the small ensuite.
“In you go, Scotch. I’ll give you 30 minutes to yourself before I come busting in so make them count.”
Again with the nickname, instead of his real name. It was like Ernie enjoyed mocking Maxwell at every turn. The snotty art dealer replied.
“Well, since you people took my rolex, its a bit bloody hard to gauge thirty minutes. What am I supposed to do? Times my freckles by my moles and work out the time that way? Hmm? Hmm?”
Course, the door was closed on him and you could hear the turning of a lock. This left Maxwell standing there alone. He wrung his hands together as he knew he was now on this man’s clock. Last thing he wanted was to have the ogre muscle his way in when he was in a state of undress. He slowly took in his surrounds. He could not ever remember being in a place like this. With tiny soaps in packets that were hard to open, and wee little shampoo bottles. Just enough to get the job done.
Maxwell was never usually up this early. He was either sleeping off a hard night on the booze, or having Lucy trying to fill him with enough coffee to bring him around to a near state of normal. Not that he could even remember what normal was. The sobering feeling he had at the moment was one of confusion and fear. There was no control in this situation. His rights having been signed away by his interfering sister to the SSA. What was she doing now? He wondered. Selling off his assets? Putting the Gallery up for sale to pay for his treatment? Horrid thoughts plagued his mind, as he slowly took off the pyjamas and turned on the faucet in the shower cubicle. Maxwell caught a side glimpse of himself in the vanity mirror. He looked….old. Ragged. Tired. He’d never seen himself like this before. Like a bad mug shot that you see on those entertainment tonight shows. Had he truly fallen this far?
Remembering that Ernie was going to bust in after thirty minutes, Maxwell suddenly got a move on and stepped into the shower. The hot streams of water truly waking him up, and he set about washing his hair, then his body till he was thoroughly clean. He turned off the faucets and stepped out onto the mat, drying himself down quickly, before hanging up the wet towel and then staring at the offered pile of clothes. They were like something out of a bland Richard Simmons cardiac video. He held them up and wondered why the colours had been washed out of them. He much rather wear a suit, that some old sweat pants and top. Sighing reluctantly, he put the clothing on. It was ill fitting, and actually made him look like he had shrunk.
Maxwell then sat down on the small chair provided inside, and waited. The grim realization hitting him. He was at the mercy of the man outside. Maxwell glanced up at the small window and saw the bars on it. There was no escape. How depressing. It just couldn’t get any worse, could it?
Meanwhile…Felicity is making a few calls.
On entering the diner, Lucy suddenly felt her cell phone vibrate in her pocket. It was getting late, and she was not expecting any calls at this hour. Excusing herself from Roi and Elias, she took the phone out and faced away from the pair, in case it was a matter to do with the gallery. After Thomas’s sudden exit from his position and the day she had had, Lucy couldn’t possibly handle any more bad news. Or so….she thought.
Phone call from Felicity Hines to Lucy Bardwell…
“Lucy, this is Felicity Hines, Max’s sister. Listen…um…Max is going to be out of commission for a while and since you’re doing such a great job with the gallery, I’m promoting you to executive officer in his stead. Now, don’t get mad or look at your phone oddly. I’ve had to get power-of-attorney over Max’s affairs and business dealings until I know he can handle his responsibilities. I didn’t want to get into this over the phone, but…I have had Max committed to a treatment facility for alcohol abuse. Surely you’ve seen the way he’s been drinking nearly 24/7 and disregarding everything to do with the gallery? You practically run the place anyway. But it’s not healthy for him and I don’t want to see him drink himself into an early grave so I took the steps necessary to get him the help he needs. My parents would never forgive me if I didn’t help him. He’s at the Seattle Substance Abuse & Treatment Facility under the care of Doctor Ansel Monroe, but Dr Monroe recommends no visitors until after the first 2 weeks, but if you wanted to visit him after, I can give you Doctor Monroe’s number. This is the best thing for Max, and I hope like hell he forgives me for it.”
As the call ended, Lucy stood there looking completely dumbfounded. Maxwell was in rehab?! The very shock of hearing this from his sister fueled the idea that this was no hoax, but a very real scenario. Lucy knew he had been in bad shape, hell she nurse maided him for months till even she could no longer get through to him. Of course, Muriel kept tight reigns on Max during that time, so any help was often blocked.
Lucy’s hand came up to cover her mouth as she absorbed every word. She had been promoted in her position, but in hindsight she was already fulfilling that role, just had never had it made official, till now. So here she was, running the whole show and now she was going to have to look at Roisin for help. Her hand lowered as she started to feel physically sick from the whole thing. Lucy somehow managed to find a seat in the booth, and then stared at her phone, knowing it was right and the polite thing to send a message back. Sadly, she put on her most professional voice and returned a message to Felicity.
Phone call to Felicity Hines from Lucy Bardwell
Just got your message, Miss Hines and I do appreciate being told this at what must be a very difficult time for you and your family. Naturally I graciously accept the promotion with the current state of the gallery which is in dire need of good management. I will make sure to go and see Maxwell as soon as his doctor’s allow, and will endeavor to ensure the Gallery runs efficiently in his absence. Again, I am grateful to be in your confidence.
Lucy ended the call and slowly slipped it back into her pocket. Her facial expression said it all. Disappointment in her boss.
“Muriel, it’s Felicity. I know I’m probably one of the last people you ever want to hear from, but this concerns my brother. I have had him committed to the Seattle Substance Abuse & Treatment Facility last night and am taking over all of his affairs until he completes treatment for his addiction to alcohol. He was drinking himself to death, Muriel. I couldn’t watch him waste away like that. My parents would never forgive me. He is in the care of Doctor Ansel Monroe and I trust this man to help my brother. Max can have visitors in about 2 weeks if you’d like to see him. Just call the facility and ask for Doctor Monroe or his assistant, Denise. Max needs help, and this is the only way I can get that to him. Hope to talk to you soon. Bye.”
To say Muriel would be worried or even mildly concerned about Maxwell was a big ask, considering the fact she had moved on and found a new toy boy for her more outrageous fetishes. Little did Felicity realize that the very root of Maxwell’s problems was the woman she was now messaging.
In her apartment, she had her latest submissive tied and kneeling near the fire place, as she finished lacing up her leather bodice. She looked a right sight, with a black lace mask covering much of her face, and her hair wild and teased out to the full. Bright cherry lipstick adorned her aging lips and she looked like something from a twisted version of a mature dominatrix catalog for the perverted.
Smirking to herself as her current colt was whimpering through his ball gag, she heard her cell phone chime merrily. Picking it up, she listened to Felicity on the other end. The poor wretch had finally been sent to rehab. She gave a small shrug and a twisted expression of indifference before sending a message back.
“Let’s hope he doesn’t end up like Lindsay and be splashed about the tabloids., but I am sure you will be there with the scoop. Chow darling.”
She tossed the phone onto her bed and then started to stalk her latest victim.
“You’ve been a bad boy.”
Fade to black…