Free Superstar by Roslyn Hardy Holcomb Page B

groups twice and
the Chicago group three times. Last night had been particularly
tough. It always was when she was tired. Their flight out of
Chicago had been delayed twice. Finally Rocky had had to charter a
plane for them. Small engine planes were Sioux’s absolute least
favorite mode of travel. It had been nearly three in the morning
before they arrived and they had a ten o’clock sound check. She
tuned in as their leader Charlotte addressed the woman’s
declaration. Amanda. That was her name, Amanda.
    “You told us what your boyfriend thinks.
What do you think?”
    Amanda shoved her hands into the pockets of
her loose-fitting jeans. Worn with a pair of high top sneakers and
a tank top, her outfit accentuated her slim figure to the point of
making her look like a young boy. “I don’t know. I mean, I think I
should be able to have a glass of wine from time to time.”
    Sioux sighed. She knew this story all too
well. Last night she would have killed for a glass of wine just to
take the edge off the incredible stress she was under. But that was
the scariest part of being an addict. Knowing she could never touch
drugs or alcohol again. Though she really didn’t want to, she spoke
up and said what she knew every other person in the room was
thinking.
    “I don’t know about you, but I know for me
that I can’t do it. I’d have a glass of wine and before the night
was over I’d be looking for a connection.” Other heads around the
group nodded in agreement. Now the pixie turned vicious. Amanda,
who Sioux suspected was younger than herself, though she looked
considerably older, turned to face her.
    “What do you know?” she sneered. “You’re a
rich celebrity. You don’t know shit about the life I’ve lived or
what I’ve been through. How dare you come here and try to tell me
anything? What are you doing here anyway? Did you finally toot all
your money up your nose? You go to rehab just for the publicity and
to cover your fuck-ups. I’ll bet your rehab center cost more than
my car…”
    Charlotte raised a hand to cut Amanda off,
but Sioux shook her head.
    “That’s a fair comment. You’re right, every
one of the six rehab centers I went to cost more than the mortgage
on most people’s houses, let alone their cars. Unfortunately I
couldn’t pay anybody to get clean for me. Believe me, if I could
have I would have. I would have given every dime I have or will
ever have not to go through that. Kicking is the same for everybody
no matter how much money or fame they have.
    I woke up dope sick. I went to sleep dope
sick. I had fever. Chills. Convulsions. I threw up until I eroded
my esophagus and had to have veneers on my teeth. Then I threw up
some more. I hurt from head to toe for so long I prayed for death,
but I didn’t die. Being rich means I never had to suck anybody’s
dick to get my fix, but it’s damned hard to get clean when you can
buy every drug on the planet and pay somebody to bring it to you
and cover your ass.
    Last night we got into town late. I was
exhausted and lonely. I miss my family and friends. I wanted a
glass of wine, but I don’t want to die and I know that glass of
wine will kill me because I can’t kick again. My spirit is worn
out. My soul is worn thin. I have to fight every day just like
every other addict.
    The only thing that keeps me clean is fear
that one day I’ll lose the war and then I’ll die. So, Amanda that’s
my sobriety story; fear. Fear keeps me clean. As far as I’m
concerned, your boyfriend is a fucking idiot. And you’d be an idiot
to listen to him. You have to decide what your sobriety is worth to
you. Are you willing to risk it for the sake of a glass of wine?
And trust me, being famous and rich doesn’t help worth a damn. It
just means everybody on the planet knows when you fail. Every time
you fail.”
    Amanda looked stunned, but said nothing more
and the meeting broke up soon after. Sioux slipped out the side
door of the old, rundown church where