Bone in the Throat - Anthony Bourdain [38]
"Amphetamines? Speed?"
"No. Never."
"Street methadone?"
"A couple of times I've bought it when I can't get heroin."
"How about alcohol?"
"I can't. I can't drink when I'm doing dope. It doesn't sit in my stomach right."
"What about when you don't have heroin?"
"Like a fish. To excess. Whatever it takes to knock myself out."
"Marijuana?"
"Yeah. Every day."
Mr. James wrote something in the file.
"Prescription drugs. Are you currently being treated by a doctor for any illness or condition with prescription drugs?"
"No."
"Okay," said Mr. James, slamming the file shut. "Mr. Ricard, as you know, as I explained on the phone, there's a waiting list to enter this program. There are a lot of people who'd like to get in, and most of them have drug problems far more serious than yours. Many of them have been on other programs. Have you been on any other program?"
"No," said the chef.
Mr. James opened the file and made a small notation before shutting it again. "As I said on the phone, there's a waiting list."
"I had hoped, I like to think that I would be a patient with a good chance of success," said the chef.
"You say you're serious about rehabilitating yourself—" continued Mr. James, oblivious to the pleading tone creeping into the chef's voice.
"Very serious," said the chef eagerly. "I have to get out of the life. As soon as I can."
Mr. James continued as if he hadn't heard him. "You know this program, this clinic in particular, has been recognized by the state as the best, most effective in the country" He pointed to a state-issued license and a certificate of commendation in a frame on the wall. "You were sensible to come here."
"I'd like to know if—"
Mr. James cut him off. "You know what methadone maintenance is? You know what that means?"
"It means I get on and stay on, for an extended period."
"Exactly. You're sure that's the right option for you? There's counseling and various detox programs."
"Mr. James, I'm a chef. I can't get away and go to Minneapolis. I can't do that."
"You say you're a chef?"
"Yes."
"My son's a chef," said Mr. James, warming to the subject. "He's a garde-manger at the Sheraton."
"Oh, really?"
"He went to school for it, too. He graduated from the New York School of Restaurant Arts."
"Yeah? I've seen their ads on TV. They're supposed to be good," lied the chef.
"Once you're in the program—assuming the doctor sees you, I okay you—-it's usually a long-term commitment. We encourage patients to stay with it, sometimes for many years. We have found that the longer a person stays on the program, the less likely he or she will return to heroin."
"I've read the literature," said the chef.
"So you understand."
"I'm a desperate man, Mr. James," said the chef, half smiling, trying his best to be disarming. He looked for encouragement in Mr. James's eyes, saw only zeal, a faraway look, like that of a religious fanatic. "I want to get off dope. I don't want to find myself, in a few months or a year, slipping back into it. I want to be sure. I want out of the life. I don't want to have to score on the street anymore. I want to stop having to look for dope every day If that means staying on the program for life, that's fine. I don't want any chance—any chance that I could fall back. I don't want to risk it. I don't want to have to think about it." The chef looked Mr. James in the face. "I don't want to have to trust myself."
"You understand, once you're admitted, you'll have to give a urine sample on a weekly basis. Or more frequently if requested by your counselor."
"That's fine.
"That means no other drugs. If your urine comes up positive for any other drugs, then you're going to have a big problem. If it comes up negative for methadone you'll have a problem. No messing around with your dose—you must take your medication every day. If we find, if the counselor assigned to you thinks you have misused your medication, you can be thrown out of the program. That means, not taking your methadone, selling your methadone, losing your take-home