That first night they took away everything--my drugs, my booze, even my wallet, car keys and New Yorker magazine--and left me nothing but the "Big Book" of Alcoholics Anonymous and the promise (or was it a warning?) that I was under medical supervision. I was shown to a cold hospital detox room with rubberized sheets.
When the lights were turned off, I was overwhelmed by the feeling that I'd made a terrible mistake. So it was a relief the next morning when I was introduced to a strapping, 6-ft., blond-haired, freckled, grinning, giddy fellow named Jay Moloney. He was an agent...
To continue reading:
or
Log-In
