Keith was barely awake again when he felt the sting of the needle in his arm - the same place as he had previously felt it. His mind yelled out a fuzzy protest but as the euphoria swept over him, stilling all objections and pulsing through his blood, he subsided, lost in the giddiness and relaxation it provoked. He felt like he was sinking into the softness beneath him, and yet he was floating above his body, all at the same time. His mind seemed to be disconnected from his body - which at first worried him, until he discovered that he couldn't be bothered enough to care. So he just let it all happen, laughing delightedly at the strange shapes which were pressing in on him, the odd sensations which were assaulting him and the sounds which were echoing in his ears. Sounds which he didn't recognise, uttered in a familiar, sibilant voice.
Drifting lazily, he allowed himself to float on a tide of soft fluffiness, feeling sheltered and warm. Reality seemed far away and unimportant. All he knew, all it seemed he had ever known was this lassitude. He wanted to stay here forever.
Joni grinned as she withdrew the needle from Keith's arm for a second time. The wound bled a bit but soon diminished to a trickle as she dabbed at it with a tissue. He was grinning stupidly and singing to himself, although his words were incomprehensible. He was cuter than ever this way. She softly stroked his bare skin, pausing as she reached his navel. He moved slightly, thrusting himself into her touch and a predatory gleam entered her eyes. She was unaware that not only were the two of them being observed but that their watcher was also taking photographs. His camera clicked away silently as the tableau in front of him played itself out to its inevitable conclusion and as Joni moved away from the singer, the shutter clicked ever more furiously.
Greg yawned copiously. Sometimes he hated these parties. Oh sure, they were useful for contacts for later jobs, but the schmoozing he had to do was just tiresome. All he wanted to do now was sleep. He glanced at his watch and then at the sky. Dawn. Well, time for a little shut-eye before they had to commence their current assignment with the Partridge Family. They were nice kids, he reflected, with a great mom who didn't seem to have to come down too heavily on them. Obviously they had been well brought up and had had a lot of care and attention lavished on them with just the right amount of discipline. Despite the odd quirks of one or two of them - that Danny was a real piece of work! Maybe he should ask the kid for stock tips! - they were, to a fault, polite, well-mannered and obviously thought very highly of their mom and each other, despite the teasing he had witnessed. This one was going to be a nice, easy assignment.
He had cause to rue these thoughts when he entered the bus. At the back of the vehicle lay Joni, asleep and, beside her, covered only with a patterned coverlet, the young singer from The Partridge Family. Greg felt his blood boil. He had no doubt as to whom had incited this little scene, nor what had happened. He had warned Joni the last time that any more of this and she would be out. It looked like she hadn't taken his threat seriously. And to do this to the Partridge kid of all people - his mother would sue them for everything they had! For this he would lose it all. Fuming, he strode to the back of the bus and shook her awake.
"Joni! Joni!"
Blearily, she opened her eyes and focussed on the man standing over her. Then awareness crept back and she shot upwards. The anger in his face frightened her. He had warned her last time that one more mistake and she was history - and now it looked like the threat was going to come to fruition. Damn! She had meant to get the kid out of here before anyone came back. Willie was a good guy - he wouldn't have split on her, but obviously Greg had come back early and now she was in big trouble. "Uh … " she managed. "Greg!"
"Yeah!" he snarled back. "Greg! What the hell have you done, Joni?! I warned you last time! This time you've really done it! Do you know what his mother is going to do to us if she finds out about this? Do you?"
She tried for innocence. "Well, she doesn't have to find out, does she? I mean, we just get him back into his little bed in the hotel, no harm, no foul."
He stared at her a moment more, common sense and justice weighted against his entire career. Then he relented. She was still out on her ear but she might as well help him cover up any evidence before he told her that. "Okay," he said. "Get him awake and dressed and let's make sure he gets back into the hotel before his mother notices he's missing. Obviously she hasn't already otherwise we'd have the police swarming all over the place."
She looked relieved. "Okay," she agreed. Leaning over, she attempted to wake the young singer, but he was lax and unresponsive. His face was a ghostly white and he mumbled incoherently. Again she tried to wake him, shaking him violently, to no avail. "Um .. Greg," she whispered. "I think we might have a problem."
"What is it?" He had returned to the back of the bus and now peered down at the unconscious teenager with concern. "What's wrong with him? What did you …. " Dawning realisation turned his face as pale a shade as Keith's. "Oh god, you didn't! Tell me you didn't!" Crouching beside the young singer, he turned over his right arm and stared at the two needletrack marks in complete and total horror. "Oh crap, Joni, you've killed him!"
"No," she said, breathlessly, feeling for the pulse in Keith's neck. It was beating strong and steady, if a little too slow. "I think he's just out of it is all."
"Two shots?" he demanded, studying the marks. "Why in the name of all that's holy did you have to do this? Why? What's this kid ever done to you?"
"I thought it might loosen him up," she faltered. "I just wanted .."
"I know what you wanted!" His voice was vicious, flaying her alive with its venom. "You stupid bitch! You could have killed him! As it is, he's gonna have to come out of this the other side and we both know what he's gonna go through to get there."
"It was only two shots, Greg, and it wasn't like they were even full doses," she said, haltingly. "It's not like he's been on the stuff for months!"
"No, not like some I could mention," he snarled. "Get your stuff, Joni - all of it. Get it and get out of here. I don't want to see your face ever again. And don't think I'm not gonna tell Mrs Partridge just what you've done to her boy. You'll be lucky not to be arrested and sent down!"
Joni could only stare at him in a daze as he pulled the insensible Keith to his feet, wrestling the boy into his clothes and dragging him out of the bus.
*****
Reuben was just emerging from the hotel into the cold grey light of the morning when he saw Greg half-carrying an unconscious Keith out of the bus. Cold fear struck his heart with a piercing blow as he ran towards the two. "Keith! Keith!"
Greg looked up. Of all the people to have witnessed this - it had to be the manager! He groaned. He had met Reuben Kincaid when the guy had come to his office to negotiate the contract. The man was no fool. He was also no ordinary manager. The Partridge Family weren't just another 'act' to him. They were more like his family. It was not so much what he had said about them then the way he had spoken of them, individually, as people, outlining their talents, laughing over their escapades, recalling his time with them with a fondness which bordered on familial. And now he was running toward Greg and Keith with a look of complete and utter panic on his face, panic born out of love, not mere professional concerns.
"Reuben … " Greg began.
"What happened?" Reuben demanded frantically. "What happened to him? Keith?" The blond haired manager lifted Keith's head up to stare into his pallid face, even more disturbed once he saw for himself the comatose state of his young charge. He glared at Greg. "What have you done to him!?"
Novak shook his head. "Can we discuss this inside?" he suggested, dryly. "I don't think it's a good idea to have this out on the street where everyone can see us?"
Reuben suddenly seemed to realise that they were out in the open and anyone could se them - including any nosy photographers who might be lurking nearby. His protective instincts took over. "Right," he agreed, and, pausing only long enough to throw Keith's right arm over his shoulder and grab the young singer around the waist, he led the way inside.
"Where …?" Greg asked as they reached the elevator.
"Upstairs. My suite. He's sharing a room with Danny - we can't put him in there."
Greg frowned. "But aren't you sharing with the younger boy - Chris?" he asked.
Reuben nodded curtly. "Yeah," he said. "But he and Danny were playing monopoly in Danny's room earlier and he crashed in there. Shirley didn't want to wake him so I offered to let Keith share with me for the night. I was waiting up for him - guess I fell asleep waiting, otherwise …" He left the threat unspoken, but his expression spoke eloquently enough.
Greg tightened his lips and nodded. "Right."
Together they manoeuvered Keith into the elevatorand Greg pressed the button for the 7th floor. They were at their destination in seconds. Luckily, it was still early enough that no one else was up and around. As they reached Reuben's room, he dug in his pocket and retrieved his key. He was just about to put it in the lock when there was a distressed voice from behind them.
"Keith! Reuben! What's wrong with him?"
"Shirley!" He turned, trying to smile at her reassuringly. But she was in full 'mother' mode and practically ignored him in favour of her son, for whom she reached, feeling his forehead and jumping back in fear at the heat emanating from his ashen face. What's wrong with him?" she demanded again, fearfully. "Reuben …?"
Quickly, Reuben regained his equilibrium. "Let's just get inside, Shirley, and we'll get some explanations from Mr Novak here once we get Keith settled."
Shirley acquiesed to Reuben's suggestion, but as the manager unlocked his door and helped Greg inside with her son, she turned a look of such ferocious anger on Novak that it sent a shudder down his spine. This was one mom who could give lionesses lessons in protecting their cubs.
"All right. I want an explanation. And I want it now. What's wrong with Keith and how did he get in this condition?"
Shirley's voice was cold. It was so cold that Reuben felt the urge to turn up the heating in the room just to thaw it out. However, he too wanted an explanation and the look he himself turned on Novak was far from warm and friendly.
Ambushed by the two adults who cared most about the boy, Greg felt overwhelmed - and furious at Joni for not only putting him in this position, but of condemning the boy's mother to her worst nightmare and Keith himself to the agony of withdrawal from heroin. Belatedly, he remembered that he had overheard Willie mentioning to someone that Joni was trying to get the kid drunk and he groaned inwardly. Alcohol and drugs did not mix well. He only hoped she had had been telling him the truth about not giving the kid a full shot - either time. Otherwise they could be looking at manslaughter charges - and this poor mother would be planning a funeral, not a concert tour.
"Well?" Shirley's voice was querulous, strident, something no-one usually associated with the soft-spoken mother of five. But one of her brood was in serious trouble and she was facing the person she held responsible for his predicament.
Greg took a deep breath. "Well," he began. "I'm sorry to have to tell you … look, maybe you better sit down. This is going to be hard."
"Hard?" Shirley swallowed. What was this man going to tell her? She glanced over at Keith, who lay motionless on the bed, looking so small and frail and young. "Oh god, Mr Novak, just tell us! What's wrong with him! Please!"
Her fear filled the room and it made it even harder, but slowly, haltingly, Greg related to them everything he had found out that morning. As he recounted the circumstances in which he had found Keith and Joni (leaving out for the moment the fact that she had seduced the young singer - he didn't think it was time for his mom to know that just yet), and the conversation he had overheard at the party, Shirley turned paler and paler until she was almost as white as the sheets on which her son lay. She didn't even wait for Novak to finish, but instead, practically ran over to the bed, staring down speechlessly at Keith for a long moment. Then, with a sob, she sank onto the mattress and slowly lifted her son into her arms. His head fell limply onto her shoulder and she stroked the gleaming dark hair with a desperate tenderness, crying helplessly.
Novak could only stare remorsefully at Reuben, who regarded him as though he had just crawled out from under a gutter somewhere. "I'm sorry," he said, in a low voice. "I never thought Joni would … I mean, I warned her last time … she …" his words tailed off into an embarrassed silence as the Partridge Family manager simply stared at him as though willing him to disappear.
Then a cold flash of anger lit Reuben's eyes and he exploded. "You mean to tell me that you let a known addict, someone who's 'done this before' get near Keith!!? You let that kid - that innocent young kid near someone who's on drugs, who has a reputation for doing something like this??! Why, I oughta … I oughta …."
"Reuben!" Shirley's voice was possibly the only thing which could have prevented Reuben from committing murder in that very room at that moment. He stopped mid-tirade and turned to her, his face softening as he took in the scene before him.
"Shirley …" he began, but she cut him off, turning to face him as she carefully lowered her son back to the bed, keeping one hand on his face - hoping he might recognise the touch and know that she was there.
"I think he's waking up," she said, her attention once more focussed fully on her firstborn, completely dismissing everyone else from her thoughts as Keith mumbled something and his head tossed to and fro.
Reuben made it to the bed in three strides. His attention too was totally focussed on Keith, his brow furrowed in concern as he watched the boy toss and turn. Novak was left to his own devices, but simply couldn't seem to leave. He felt responsible for what had happened - indeed, ultimately, as Joni's boss, he was responsible - but he had never foreseen these consequences. Never had an inkling that Keith would end up like this. Had he even had a suspicion of what was going to occur then he would have done everything in his power to prevent it. For now, however, he was unable to move, instead transfixed by what was happening at the other end of the room.
Keith moaned as he began to climb toward consciousness. Everything ached and he felt sick. He was also having trouble breathing as his lungs refused to take in sufficient oxygen and he whimpered pitifully as he drew each painful breath.
"Keith?" The voice seemed to be coming from a long way away and it was echoing inside his mind. He felt unconnected somehow, like everything was in the wrong place; his thoughts seemed to be drifting aimlessly and to make matters worse, the pain in his stomach was worsening. "Keith? Honey?" He frowned. He recognised this voice. It was as familiar to him as his own. But he couldn't place it. His mind refused to connect the dots and he felt a moment of panic. Then, slowly, so slowly that he almost screamed in frustration, he realised who it was. Mom. Mom was here. She would make it all go away. The pain, the aching, the sickness, everything. Just like she had when he had had the flu - she had nursed him back to health, comforting him when he felt feverish, holding him when he felt sick, cooling him down, feeding him hot soup to warm his poor abused stomach … but where was she? He could hear her voice but he couldn't see her. And what was she going to think of him when she found out what had happened? He couldn't tell her. He remembered it all now. He remembered the strange sense of disconnection at the party; throwing up into the bushes outside, then the weird sensations back at the bus … Joni! Joni had - oh god, she had injected him with something! It had to have been a drug! And Mom was so dead set against drugs. Had instilled it into her kids never to mess around with them. She would be so angry with him - maybe she would disown him and he'd have to move away - like Fraser Kennedy who'd lived down the street when he'd become a crackhead. He'd been sent away - and they'd never seen him again. His mom had refused to even discuss him, like she'd emptied every memory of him from her life, like he'd never existed. Oh god, would that happen to him? Would his mom be so angry, so disappointed in him that she'd send him away, forget about him, never speak of him again? He couldn't do that to her! Maybe if he stayed asleep and pretended he hadn't heard her voice he wouldn't have to face the inevitable … but the plea came again, "Keith? Sweetheart? Please wake up. I'm here. Keith?" He couldn't ignore it. He couldn't ignore his mother and he couldn't bear to see the look in her eyes when she discovered just what he had done. Oh god … He whimpered again, this time in emotional distress and, as if of their own accord, his eyes slowly opened onto the world and he stared blearily into his mother's face. And then he lost it.
"Mom?" He sounded so broken, Shirley reflected sorrowfully as her desperate entreaties to him were rewarded and he finally opened eyes dulled with pain and misery.
"I'm here, sweetheart," she said, stroking his face tenderly, taking his right hand into her own and squeezing it to reassure him. "It's going to be all right, Keith. Greg has told us everything."
He frowned uncomprehendingly for a moment then looked past her at the grey haired film maker and saw the truth in his eyes. "Oh god … Oh mom … " Then he was in her arms, holding on to her for all he was worth, sobbing brokenly into her shoulder as she wrapped her arms around him and held him tightly. "I'm sorry, mom!" he cried, "I'm sorry! I'm sorry! I'm sorry!"
Shirley squeezed him as tightly as she dared, tears rolling unheeded down her cheeks, trying to reassure her terrified son with all the love she felt. It didn't seem to be enough. He continued sobbing in her arms for a long time, only stopping as his voice began to give out and he had exhausted his meagre supply of strength. He had continued apologising through his tears, seemingly desperate for her to forgive him. It didn't seem to matter how much she assured him that none of this was his fault - that he was the victim here - he still seemed convinced that he had screwed up, screwed up so badly that he didn't deserve to be forgiven. It broke her heart to see him in this state. Needing her so badly. It wasn't like he had never needed her in the past, of course. All her children knew they could come to her for help and advice whenever they needed it, and Keith was no exception. Of course, as he had grown older he had tried to be self-sufficient and to a large extent he had managed that. But it had warmed her heart when he had come to her for guidance or just to talk things over, to get a clearer perspective on what he should do. It was a sign that he still needed her. That he hadn't grown away from her love and support. But this … she had never seen him so wretched. He seemed to have lost every iota of self-control, and his complete and total vulnerability terrified her. But she was here for him. She would always be here for him. She would help him through this, ensure that he recovered both physically and emotionally from all this pain. And then she would kill the person responsible for bringing her son to this state.
Finally worn out by his exertions, Keith eventually fell asleep in his mother's arms. He was still burning up and as she held him a moment longer, she realised that his hitching breaths were not just the result of his emotional breakdown, but that his breathing seemed suppressed. Her fear for his life almost overwhelmed her as she eased her son back onto the bed, adjusting the pillows beneath his head and lovingly wiping away the last vestiges of his tears with her thumb. "Reuben, we have to get a doctor," she whispered, finally turning to the manager, who had remained standing loyally beside the bed, watching as Shirley tried in vain to comfort the distraught Keith. He had been forced to wipe away a few tears of his own over the last few minutes.
"I'm not sure whether that's a good idea," Greg offered, from where he was still standing, across the room. "What about the publicity this will generate?"
Shirley turned slowly and had expressions been bullets, Greg would have been filled full of lead. "Mr Novak," she said, in an icy, controlled voice, "I don't think anything you say right now has any value whatsoever. In fact, I don't know what you're still doing here."
But Reuben had considered Greg's words and now he broke in. "Shirley, he's right," he said, "We can't take Keith to a hospital. Someone will find out - I'll get reported in the press and Keith's reputation will be ruined."
"You think I care about reputations?" Shirley was appalled at the very suggestion. "Reuben, he's been given heroin! He could die! We have to get him to a doctor!"
The manager was torn. On the one hand, he wanted to protect Keith - for no other reason than that the young singer would have to live with the false tag of 'junkie' or 'ex-addict'. His professional concerns about the group and the regard in which they were held were secondary. He was more concerned about what effect such a character slur would have on Keith - it could be potentially more destructive to him personally than any amount of drug. On the other hand, he wasn't about to stand by and watch the kid die, nor suffer any more than he had to. He was no fool. He had been around and seen other kids go through heroin addiction and withdrawal. No that Keith had had long enough to get addicted, fortunately, but the after effects of even one shot, let alone two, could be devastating and excruciating.
"We could get the hotel doctor?" he suggested.
Shirley nodded mutely, her attention quickly returning to her eldest son now that this had been decided.
Greg chewed his lip thoughtfully. He wasn't at all convinced that this was a good idea. A hotel doctor was still bound by his civic duty to report something like this and, whilst he no longer cared whether Joni got herself into trouble, was arrested, hell, shot for all he knew, he found he did care about these three people and the other kids. If any of this got out it could destroy them and Keith would undoubtedly feel responsible for that - that kid seemed to have some kind of guilt complex going which he didn't understand and which the drug only heightened.
"Look, isn't there someone - a doctor - that you know, and who you trust?" he queried. "Someone who won't report this to the police, where it will then become public knowledge?"
Reuben's gaze swivelled to him. An iceberg would have been warmer than his expression. But he was nodding in slow agreement. "He is right, Shirl," he said, grudgingly. "If we get the hotel doctor then he's duty bound to inform the police of a drug case and the police records of something like this could be made public. You know it's not your professional reputation I'm concerned about here. Just think about what this could do to Keith if people found out about this. I'm not sure he'd ever get over it."
Shirley choked back a sob. Could this get any worse? Her poor baby - tricked into getting drunk, injected with heroin - twice! - destined to go through the agony of withdrawal and now the threat of all of it being made public. Reuben was right. It would simply destroy him. And none of this was his fault. Slowly, she turned, her gaze finally focussing on Greg. He took an involuntary step back at the sheer loathing he saw there. "You see this?" she demanded, indicating her comatose son. She still held his hand in her own. "You see what you and your precious Joni have done to him? I hope you're satisfied, Mr Novak. I hope you're happy now. And I hope Joni rots in hell for this!" With that, she broke down, and Reuben rushed round the bed to pull her to his chest, wrapping his arms around her as she had done for Keith not scan moments before.
"Now see what you've done!" Reuben added his own voice of censure to Shirley's. "Mr Novak, I think you'd better go. This is private. We don't want anyone other than family here."
Greg nodded, feeling very close to breaking down himself. He had witnessed heartbreak before - but not in such close personal circumstances. He wanted to kill Joni himself for what she had done. As he left he vowed to ensure that she would never do this to another human being. Or their family.
Left alone, Shirley and Reuben comforted each other. The manager was close to tears again himself. Gazing down at the forlorn figure on the bed, he wondered how they were all going to get through this in one piece and what the consequences were going to be for this little family whom he loved as his own.
In the end, they called the hotel doctor, who turned out to be a locum from the local hospital who had some knowledge of drug addiction. He was a sweet, older gentleman who, realising what could happen to this nice family if he reported this to the police, assured them that it would go no further and that if they needed him, they should simply call his private number, so as not to draw attention to the situation with the hotel staff. This greatly assuaged the fears of both Reuben and Shirley. He also reassured them, after examining the unconscious young man that, although he would suffer a great deal, it would be nowhere near as bad as they were probably envisioning, although they should be prepared for a lot of anguish in the next few hours. It was lucky, he told them, that Keith seemed to have been given relatively small doses. On top of the alcohol he had been slipped, a full dose or two could have been fatal.
He left them with a prescription which Reuben volunteered to fill at the hotel pharmacy, and ordered them to call him if they needed him for anything.
Keith was still burning up and his breathing was still too slow when Shirley checked on him after the doctor had departed. She glanced anxiously up at Rueben, biting her lip - a nervous habit she had developed over the years that she simply wasn't aware of any longer. "How could anyone do this to him?" she asked him.
The anguish in her voice made him wince. He couldn't answer her. His eyes followed hers to the unconscious boy on the bed. He couldn't imagine why anyone would want to hurt Keith - deliberately or not. Sure, the eldest of the Partridges had, like his younger brother, baited him occasionally over the years and sometimes, they had clashed over some of the venues he had booked them into. But he was basically a good kid with a heart of gold who loved his mom and his brothers and sisters enough to write and perform songs with them to ensure a solid future not only for himself but for the rest of his family. Reuben knew that Keith was well aware that he could be snapped up by any of the major record labels at any time. The kid had a great voice and his looks drew the girls from all over. He was a great crowd puller everywhere he went - and, yes, he knew that too. But he was fiercely loyal to his family and had refused to allow anything - including his teen idol status - to distract him from their joint goal. Besides, Reuben had a feeling that he wasn't quite ready to go out on his own just yet. Despite his outward confidence and showmanship on stage, people tended to forget that he was still just a boy - an idol to millions, perhaps, but a boy who actually liked to have his family around him and got a real kick out of performing with them. Anyone observing him closely during one of the Partridge Family concerts would be able to see that. Above all, he was decent, kind and loveable. Which was why it was so hard to comprehend that someone would want to harm him in this way. And Reuben knew that these same thoughts were running through Shirley's mind - and breaking her heart in the process.
His thoughts were interrupted by a slight moan from the direction of the bed. Shirley had been sitting beside Keith, stroking his hair. Now she leaned forward, peering into his face, which was pulled into a frown. "Keith? Keith, honey?"
"Mom … " It was a voice dredged from hell, and he was beginning to look like he'd been there, too, as he started to writhe around on the bed, curling up on the duvet, his face contorted with pain. "Oh … god … mom … gonna be … " Before he could even get the final word out, a torrent of bile rushed forth from his bluing lips, staining the bed and spilling onto the floor. He uttered a low groan and threw up again, seemingly unaware of where he was and completely unable to help himself. Shirley had jumped back in alarm, but now she helped raise him off the bed so that he didn't choke on his own vomit, and held him tight against her chest as Reuben, having rushed into the bathroom at the first sign of him throwing up returned with the only container he could find - the plastic wastebin. It was a little too late, but was enough to suffice as he expelled everything that was in his stomach until there was nothing left to emerge and he was left dry heaving, his arms wrapped around his midriff, whimpering continuously. Shirley held him firmly in her embrace, her arms locked tight around his shoulders, murmuring soothingly into his left ear. Eventually, even the dry heaves came to an end and he fell back into his mom, her arms enfolding him, his head resting heavily on her shoulder, long dark hair tickling her throat. They remained in that position for some time. At length, Shirley found herself once again with a sleeping teenager in her arms and she exchanged glances with Reuben.
"We better get this cleaned up," he suggested, pragmatically, indicating the mess on the bed and floor. "And I'll get him something more comfortable to wear than his jeans and shirt."
Shirley nodded, seeing the wisdom in their friend's words. She didn't let go of Keith, though. She was too afraid, and besides, he needed her. She could hear his soft, if irregular breathing in her ear and feel his steady heartbeat below her right hand. It was all she needed to reassure her of his continued existence. She was going to hold on to him just as long as she could - and then some.
It took a little time and some physical effort, but eventually, they had everything cleaned up, including the bed, which Reuben stripped, throwing the soiled sheets into a plastic laundry bag he had found in the wardrobe. They used soap from the bathroom mixed with water to clean the floor (and ruined several of the hotel's towels in the process) and Reuben found Keith some of his own pajamas until they could get into the boys' room to retrieve the his own. There were some spare sheets and pillows, not to mention a couple of fluffy blankets on the overhead shelf in the wardrobe, with which they covered the bed. It was at this point that Reuben thanked god they had gone upmarket this time and booked suites, however inadvertently. No expense spared. And what that expense was giving them this time!
Despite Shirley's objections, he took on the lone task of wrestling Keith out of his clothes and into the pajamas - although this was made more difficult by the singer's complete lack of co-operation. His flaccid limbs flopped all over the place and Reuben at one point regretted volunteering. But he knew that Keith would be mortified if he ever discovered that his mother had undressed him, despite his present infirmity.
Eventually, everything was once again clean, Keith had been cleaned up and put into Reuben's night clothes and he was once more ensconced in bed, apparently sleeping soundly. But Reuben knew this wouldn't last. Withdrawal, even after only one or two shots of heroin was never easy. There was more - and probably worse to come.
Drifting lazily, he allowed himself to float on a tide of soft fluffiness, feeling sheltered and warm. Reality seemed far away and unimportant. All he knew, all it seemed he had ever known was this lassitude. He wanted to stay here forever.
Joni grinned as she withdrew the needle from Keith's arm for a second time. The wound bled a bit but soon diminished to a trickle as she dabbed at it with a tissue. He was grinning stupidly and singing to himself, although his words were incomprehensible. He was cuter than ever this way. She softly stroked his bare skin, pausing as she reached his navel. He moved slightly, thrusting himself into her touch and a predatory gleam entered her eyes. She was unaware that not only were the two of them being observed but that their watcher was also taking photographs. His camera clicked away silently as the tableau in front of him played itself out to its inevitable conclusion and as Joni moved away from the singer, the shutter clicked ever more furiously.
Greg yawned copiously. Sometimes he hated these parties. Oh sure, they were useful for contacts for later jobs, but the schmoozing he had to do was just tiresome. All he wanted to do now was sleep. He glanced at his watch and then at the sky. Dawn. Well, time for a little shut-eye before they had to commence their current assignment with the Partridge Family. They were nice kids, he reflected, with a great mom who didn't seem to have to come down too heavily on them. Obviously they had been well brought up and had had a lot of care and attention lavished on them with just the right amount of discipline. Despite the odd quirks of one or two of them - that Danny was a real piece of work! Maybe he should ask the kid for stock tips! - they were, to a fault, polite, well-mannered and obviously thought very highly of their mom and each other, despite the teasing he had witnessed. This one was going to be a nice, easy assignment.
He had cause to rue these thoughts when he entered the bus. At the back of the vehicle lay Joni, asleep and, beside her, covered only with a patterned coverlet, the young singer from The Partridge Family. Greg felt his blood boil. He had no doubt as to whom had incited this little scene, nor what had happened. He had warned Joni the last time that any more of this and she would be out. It looked like she hadn't taken his threat seriously. And to do this to the Partridge kid of all people - his mother would sue them for everything they had! For this he would lose it all. Fuming, he strode to the back of the bus and shook her awake.
"Joni! Joni!"
Blearily, she opened her eyes and focussed on the man standing over her. Then awareness crept back and she shot upwards. The anger in his face frightened her. He had warned her last time that one more mistake and she was history - and now it looked like the threat was going to come to fruition. Damn! She had meant to get the kid out of here before anyone came back. Willie was a good guy - he wouldn't have split on her, but obviously Greg had come back early and now she was in big trouble. "Uh … " she managed. "Greg!"
"Yeah!" he snarled back. "Greg! What the hell have you done, Joni?! I warned you last time! This time you've really done it! Do you know what his mother is going to do to us if she finds out about this? Do you?"
She tried for innocence. "Well, she doesn't have to find out, does she? I mean, we just get him back into his little bed in the hotel, no harm, no foul."
He stared at her a moment more, common sense and justice weighted against his entire career. Then he relented. She was still out on her ear but she might as well help him cover up any evidence before he told her that. "Okay," he said. "Get him awake and dressed and let's make sure he gets back into the hotel before his mother notices he's missing. Obviously she hasn't already otherwise we'd have the police swarming all over the place."
She looked relieved. "Okay," she agreed. Leaning over, she attempted to wake the young singer, but he was lax and unresponsive. His face was a ghostly white and he mumbled incoherently. Again she tried to wake him, shaking him violently, to no avail. "Um .. Greg," she whispered. "I think we might have a problem."
"What is it?" He had returned to the back of the bus and now peered down at the unconscious teenager with concern. "What's wrong with him? What did you …. " Dawning realisation turned his face as pale a shade as Keith's. "Oh god, you didn't! Tell me you didn't!" Crouching beside the young singer, he turned over his right arm and stared at the two needletrack marks in complete and total horror. "Oh crap, Joni, you've killed him!"
"No," she said, breathlessly, feeling for the pulse in Keith's neck. It was beating strong and steady, if a little too slow. "I think he's just out of it is all."
"Two shots?" he demanded, studying the marks. "Why in the name of all that's holy did you have to do this? Why? What's this kid ever done to you?"
"I thought it might loosen him up," she faltered. "I just wanted .."
"I know what you wanted!" His voice was vicious, flaying her alive with its venom. "You stupid bitch! You could have killed him! As it is, he's gonna have to come out of this the other side and we both know what he's gonna go through to get there."
"It was only two shots, Greg, and it wasn't like they were even full doses," she said, haltingly. "It's not like he's been on the stuff for months!"
"No, not like some I could mention," he snarled. "Get your stuff, Joni - all of it. Get it and get out of here. I don't want to see your face ever again. And don't think I'm not gonna tell Mrs Partridge just what you've done to her boy. You'll be lucky not to be arrested and sent down!"
Joni could only stare at him in a daze as he pulled the insensible Keith to his feet, wrestling the boy into his clothes and dragging him out of the bus.
*****
Reuben was just emerging from the hotel into the cold grey light of the morning when he saw Greg half-carrying an unconscious Keith out of the bus. Cold fear struck his heart with a piercing blow as he ran towards the two. "Keith! Keith!"
Greg looked up. Of all the people to have witnessed this - it had to be the manager! He groaned. He had met Reuben Kincaid when the guy had come to his office to negotiate the contract. The man was no fool. He was also no ordinary manager. The Partridge Family weren't just another 'act' to him. They were more like his family. It was not so much what he had said about them then the way he had spoken of them, individually, as people, outlining their talents, laughing over their escapades, recalling his time with them with a fondness which bordered on familial. And now he was running toward Greg and Keith with a look of complete and utter panic on his face, panic born out of love, not mere professional concerns.
"Reuben … " Greg began.
"What happened?" Reuben demanded frantically. "What happened to him? Keith?" The blond haired manager lifted Keith's head up to stare into his pallid face, even more disturbed once he saw for himself the comatose state of his young charge. He glared at Greg. "What have you done to him!?"
Novak shook his head. "Can we discuss this inside?" he suggested, dryly. "I don't think it's a good idea to have this out on the street where everyone can see us?"
Reuben suddenly seemed to realise that they were out in the open and anyone could se them - including any nosy photographers who might be lurking nearby. His protective instincts took over. "Right," he agreed, and, pausing only long enough to throw Keith's right arm over his shoulder and grab the young singer around the waist, he led the way inside.
"Where …?" Greg asked as they reached the elevator.
"Upstairs. My suite. He's sharing a room with Danny - we can't put him in there."
Greg frowned. "But aren't you sharing with the younger boy - Chris?" he asked.
Reuben nodded curtly. "Yeah," he said. "But he and Danny were playing monopoly in Danny's room earlier and he crashed in there. Shirley didn't want to wake him so I offered to let Keith share with me for the night. I was waiting up for him - guess I fell asleep waiting, otherwise …" He left the threat unspoken, but his expression spoke eloquently enough.
Greg tightened his lips and nodded. "Right."
Together they manoeuvered Keith into the elevatorand Greg pressed the button for the 7th floor. They were at their destination in seconds. Luckily, it was still early enough that no one else was up and around. As they reached Reuben's room, he dug in his pocket and retrieved his key. He was just about to put it in the lock when there was a distressed voice from behind them.
"Keith! Reuben! What's wrong with him?"
"Shirley!" He turned, trying to smile at her reassuringly. But she was in full 'mother' mode and practically ignored him in favour of her son, for whom she reached, feeling his forehead and jumping back in fear at the heat emanating from his ashen face. What's wrong with him?" she demanded again, fearfully. "Reuben …?"
Quickly, Reuben regained his equilibrium. "Let's just get inside, Shirley, and we'll get some explanations from Mr Novak here once we get Keith settled."
Shirley acquiesed to Reuben's suggestion, but as the manager unlocked his door and helped Greg inside with her son, she turned a look of such ferocious anger on Novak that it sent a shudder down his spine. This was one mom who could give lionesses lessons in protecting their cubs.
"All right. I want an explanation. And I want it now. What's wrong with Keith and how did he get in this condition?"
Shirley's voice was cold. It was so cold that Reuben felt the urge to turn up the heating in the room just to thaw it out. However, he too wanted an explanation and the look he himself turned on Novak was far from warm and friendly.
Ambushed by the two adults who cared most about the boy, Greg felt overwhelmed - and furious at Joni for not only putting him in this position, but of condemning the boy's mother to her worst nightmare and Keith himself to the agony of withdrawal from heroin. Belatedly, he remembered that he had overheard Willie mentioning to someone that Joni was trying to get the kid drunk and he groaned inwardly. Alcohol and drugs did not mix well. He only hoped she had had been telling him the truth about not giving the kid a full shot - either time. Otherwise they could be looking at manslaughter charges - and this poor mother would be planning a funeral, not a concert tour.
"Well?" Shirley's voice was querulous, strident, something no-one usually associated with the soft-spoken mother of five. But one of her brood was in serious trouble and she was facing the person she held responsible for his predicament.
Greg took a deep breath. "Well," he began. "I'm sorry to have to tell you … look, maybe you better sit down. This is going to be hard."
"Hard?" Shirley swallowed. What was this man going to tell her? She glanced over at Keith, who lay motionless on the bed, looking so small and frail and young. "Oh god, Mr Novak, just tell us! What's wrong with him! Please!"
Her fear filled the room and it made it even harder, but slowly, haltingly, Greg related to them everything he had found out that morning. As he recounted the circumstances in which he had found Keith and Joni (leaving out for the moment the fact that she had seduced the young singer - he didn't think it was time for his mom to know that just yet), and the conversation he had overheard at the party, Shirley turned paler and paler until she was almost as white as the sheets on which her son lay. She didn't even wait for Novak to finish, but instead, practically ran over to the bed, staring down speechlessly at Keith for a long moment. Then, with a sob, she sank onto the mattress and slowly lifted her son into her arms. His head fell limply onto her shoulder and she stroked the gleaming dark hair with a desperate tenderness, crying helplessly.
Novak could only stare remorsefully at Reuben, who regarded him as though he had just crawled out from under a gutter somewhere. "I'm sorry," he said, in a low voice. "I never thought Joni would … I mean, I warned her last time … she …" his words tailed off into an embarrassed silence as the Partridge Family manager simply stared at him as though willing him to disappear.
Then a cold flash of anger lit Reuben's eyes and he exploded. "You mean to tell me that you let a known addict, someone who's 'done this before' get near Keith!!? You let that kid - that innocent young kid near someone who's on drugs, who has a reputation for doing something like this??! Why, I oughta … I oughta …."
"Reuben!" Shirley's voice was possibly the only thing which could have prevented Reuben from committing murder in that very room at that moment. He stopped mid-tirade and turned to her, his face softening as he took in the scene before him.
"Shirley …" he began, but she cut him off, turning to face him as she carefully lowered her son back to the bed, keeping one hand on his face - hoping he might recognise the touch and know that she was there.
"I think he's waking up," she said, her attention once more focussed fully on her firstborn, completely dismissing everyone else from her thoughts as Keith mumbled something and his head tossed to and fro.
Reuben made it to the bed in three strides. His attention too was totally focussed on Keith, his brow furrowed in concern as he watched the boy toss and turn. Novak was left to his own devices, but simply couldn't seem to leave. He felt responsible for what had happened - indeed, ultimately, as Joni's boss, he was responsible - but he had never foreseen these consequences. Never had an inkling that Keith would end up like this. Had he even had a suspicion of what was going to occur then he would have done everything in his power to prevent it. For now, however, he was unable to move, instead transfixed by what was happening at the other end of the room.
Keith moaned as he began to climb toward consciousness. Everything ached and he felt sick. He was also having trouble breathing as his lungs refused to take in sufficient oxygen and he whimpered pitifully as he drew each painful breath.
"Keith?" The voice seemed to be coming from a long way away and it was echoing inside his mind. He felt unconnected somehow, like everything was in the wrong place; his thoughts seemed to be drifting aimlessly and to make matters worse, the pain in his stomach was worsening. "Keith? Honey?" He frowned. He recognised this voice. It was as familiar to him as his own. But he couldn't place it. His mind refused to connect the dots and he felt a moment of panic. Then, slowly, so slowly that he almost screamed in frustration, he realised who it was. Mom. Mom was here. She would make it all go away. The pain, the aching, the sickness, everything. Just like she had when he had had the flu - she had nursed him back to health, comforting him when he felt feverish, holding him when he felt sick, cooling him down, feeding him hot soup to warm his poor abused stomach … but where was she? He could hear her voice but he couldn't see her. And what was she going to think of him when she found out what had happened? He couldn't tell her. He remembered it all now. He remembered the strange sense of disconnection at the party; throwing up into the bushes outside, then the weird sensations back at the bus … Joni! Joni had - oh god, she had injected him with something! It had to have been a drug! And Mom was so dead set against drugs. Had instilled it into her kids never to mess around with them. She would be so angry with him - maybe she would disown him and he'd have to move away - like Fraser Kennedy who'd lived down the street when he'd become a crackhead. He'd been sent away - and they'd never seen him again. His mom had refused to even discuss him, like she'd emptied every memory of him from her life, like he'd never existed. Oh god, would that happen to him? Would his mom be so angry, so disappointed in him that she'd send him away, forget about him, never speak of him again? He couldn't do that to her! Maybe if he stayed asleep and pretended he hadn't heard her voice he wouldn't have to face the inevitable … but the plea came again, "Keith? Sweetheart? Please wake up. I'm here. Keith?" He couldn't ignore it. He couldn't ignore his mother and he couldn't bear to see the look in her eyes when she discovered just what he had done. Oh god … He whimpered again, this time in emotional distress and, as if of their own accord, his eyes slowly opened onto the world and he stared blearily into his mother's face. And then he lost it.
"Mom?" He sounded so broken, Shirley reflected sorrowfully as her desperate entreaties to him were rewarded and he finally opened eyes dulled with pain and misery.
"I'm here, sweetheart," she said, stroking his face tenderly, taking his right hand into her own and squeezing it to reassure him. "It's going to be all right, Keith. Greg has told us everything."
He frowned uncomprehendingly for a moment then looked past her at the grey haired film maker and saw the truth in his eyes. "Oh god … Oh mom … " Then he was in her arms, holding on to her for all he was worth, sobbing brokenly into her shoulder as she wrapped her arms around him and held him tightly. "I'm sorry, mom!" he cried, "I'm sorry! I'm sorry! I'm sorry!"
Shirley squeezed him as tightly as she dared, tears rolling unheeded down her cheeks, trying to reassure her terrified son with all the love she felt. It didn't seem to be enough. He continued sobbing in her arms for a long time, only stopping as his voice began to give out and he had exhausted his meagre supply of strength. He had continued apologising through his tears, seemingly desperate for her to forgive him. It didn't seem to matter how much she assured him that none of this was his fault - that he was the victim here - he still seemed convinced that he had screwed up, screwed up so badly that he didn't deserve to be forgiven. It broke her heart to see him in this state. Needing her so badly. It wasn't like he had never needed her in the past, of course. All her children knew they could come to her for help and advice whenever they needed it, and Keith was no exception. Of course, as he had grown older he had tried to be self-sufficient and to a large extent he had managed that. But it had warmed her heart when he had come to her for guidance or just to talk things over, to get a clearer perspective on what he should do. It was a sign that he still needed her. That he hadn't grown away from her love and support. But this … she had never seen him so wretched. He seemed to have lost every iota of self-control, and his complete and total vulnerability terrified her. But she was here for him. She would always be here for him. She would help him through this, ensure that he recovered both physically and emotionally from all this pain. And then she would kill the person responsible for bringing her son to this state.
Finally worn out by his exertions, Keith eventually fell asleep in his mother's arms. He was still burning up and as she held him a moment longer, she realised that his hitching breaths were not just the result of his emotional breakdown, but that his breathing seemed suppressed. Her fear for his life almost overwhelmed her as she eased her son back onto the bed, adjusting the pillows beneath his head and lovingly wiping away the last vestiges of his tears with her thumb. "Reuben, we have to get a doctor," she whispered, finally turning to the manager, who had remained standing loyally beside the bed, watching as Shirley tried in vain to comfort the distraught Keith. He had been forced to wipe away a few tears of his own over the last few minutes.
"I'm not sure whether that's a good idea," Greg offered, from where he was still standing, across the room. "What about the publicity this will generate?"
Shirley turned slowly and had expressions been bullets, Greg would have been filled full of lead. "Mr Novak," she said, in an icy, controlled voice, "I don't think anything you say right now has any value whatsoever. In fact, I don't know what you're still doing here."
But Reuben had considered Greg's words and now he broke in. "Shirley, he's right," he said, "We can't take Keith to a hospital. Someone will find out - I'll get reported in the press and Keith's reputation will be ruined."
"You think I care about reputations?" Shirley was appalled at the very suggestion. "Reuben, he's been given heroin! He could die! We have to get him to a doctor!"
The manager was torn. On the one hand, he wanted to protect Keith - for no other reason than that the young singer would have to live with the false tag of 'junkie' or 'ex-addict'. His professional concerns about the group and the regard in which they were held were secondary. He was more concerned about what effect such a character slur would have on Keith - it could be potentially more destructive to him personally than any amount of drug. On the other hand, he wasn't about to stand by and watch the kid die, nor suffer any more than he had to. He was no fool. He had been around and seen other kids go through heroin addiction and withdrawal. No that Keith had had long enough to get addicted, fortunately, but the after effects of even one shot, let alone two, could be devastating and excruciating.
"We could get the hotel doctor?" he suggested.
Shirley nodded mutely, her attention quickly returning to her eldest son now that this had been decided.
Greg chewed his lip thoughtfully. He wasn't at all convinced that this was a good idea. A hotel doctor was still bound by his civic duty to report something like this and, whilst he no longer cared whether Joni got herself into trouble, was arrested, hell, shot for all he knew, he found he did care about these three people and the other kids. If any of this got out it could destroy them and Keith would undoubtedly feel responsible for that - that kid seemed to have some kind of guilt complex going which he didn't understand and which the drug only heightened.
"Look, isn't there someone - a doctor - that you know, and who you trust?" he queried. "Someone who won't report this to the police, where it will then become public knowledge?"
Reuben's gaze swivelled to him. An iceberg would have been warmer than his expression. But he was nodding in slow agreement. "He is right, Shirl," he said, grudgingly. "If we get the hotel doctor then he's duty bound to inform the police of a drug case and the police records of something like this could be made public. You know it's not your professional reputation I'm concerned about here. Just think about what this could do to Keith if people found out about this. I'm not sure he'd ever get over it."
Shirley choked back a sob. Could this get any worse? Her poor baby - tricked into getting drunk, injected with heroin - twice! - destined to go through the agony of withdrawal and now the threat of all of it being made public. Reuben was right. It would simply destroy him. And none of this was his fault. Slowly, she turned, her gaze finally focussing on Greg. He took an involuntary step back at the sheer loathing he saw there. "You see this?" she demanded, indicating her comatose son. She still held his hand in her own. "You see what you and your precious Joni have done to him? I hope you're satisfied, Mr Novak. I hope you're happy now. And I hope Joni rots in hell for this!" With that, she broke down, and Reuben rushed round the bed to pull her to his chest, wrapping his arms around her as she had done for Keith not scan moments before.
"Now see what you've done!" Reuben added his own voice of censure to Shirley's. "Mr Novak, I think you'd better go. This is private. We don't want anyone other than family here."
Greg nodded, feeling very close to breaking down himself. He had witnessed heartbreak before - but not in such close personal circumstances. He wanted to kill Joni himself for what she had done. As he left he vowed to ensure that she would never do this to another human being. Or their family.
Left alone, Shirley and Reuben comforted each other. The manager was close to tears again himself. Gazing down at the forlorn figure on the bed, he wondered how they were all going to get through this in one piece and what the consequences were going to be for this little family whom he loved as his own.
In the end, they called the hotel doctor, who turned out to be a locum from the local hospital who had some knowledge of drug addiction. He was a sweet, older gentleman who, realising what could happen to this nice family if he reported this to the police, assured them that it would go no further and that if they needed him, they should simply call his private number, so as not to draw attention to the situation with the hotel staff. This greatly assuaged the fears of both Reuben and Shirley. He also reassured them, after examining the unconscious young man that, although he would suffer a great deal, it would be nowhere near as bad as they were probably envisioning, although they should be prepared for a lot of anguish in the next few hours. It was lucky, he told them, that Keith seemed to have been given relatively small doses. On top of the alcohol he had been slipped, a full dose or two could have been fatal.
He left them with a prescription which Reuben volunteered to fill at the hotel pharmacy, and ordered them to call him if they needed him for anything.
Keith was still burning up and his breathing was still too slow when Shirley checked on him after the doctor had departed. She glanced anxiously up at Rueben, biting her lip - a nervous habit she had developed over the years that she simply wasn't aware of any longer. "How could anyone do this to him?" she asked him.
The anguish in her voice made him wince. He couldn't answer her. His eyes followed hers to the unconscious boy on the bed. He couldn't imagine why anyone would want to hurt Keith - deliberately or not. Sure, the eldest of the Partridges had, like his younger brother, baited him occasionally over the years and sometimes, they had clashed over some of the venues he had booked them into. But he was basically a good kid with a heart of gold who loved his mom and his brothers and sisters enough to write and perform songs with them to ensure a solid future not only for himself but for the rest of his family. Reuben knew that Keith was well aware that he could be snapped up by any of the major record labels at any time. The kid had a great voice and his looks drew the girls from all over. He was a great crowd puller everywhere he went - and, yes, he knew that too. But he was fiercely loyal to his family and had refused to allow anything - including his teen idol status - to distract him from their joint goal. Besides, Reuben had a feeling that he wasn't quite ready to go out on his own just yet. Despite his outward confidence and showmanship on stage, people tended to forget that he was still just a boy - an idol to millions, perhaps, but a boy who actually liked to have his family around him and got a real kick out of performing with them. Anyone observing him closely during one of the Partridge Family concerts would be able to see that. Above all, he was decent, kind and loveable. Which was why it was so hard to comprehend that someone would want to harm him in this way. And Reuben knew that these same thoughts were running through Shirley's mind - and breaking her heart in the process.
His thoughts were interrupted by a slight moan from the direction of the bed. Shirley had been sitting beside Keith, stroking his hair. Now she leaned forward, peering into his face, which was pulled into a frown. "Keith? Keith, honey?"
"Mom … " It was a voice dredged from hell, and he was beginning to look like he'd been there, too, as he started to writhe around on the bed, curling up on the duvet, his face contorted with pain. "Oh … god … mom … gonna be … " Before he could even get the final word out, a torrent of bile rushed forth from his bluing lips, staining the bed and spilling onto the floor. He uttered a low groan and threw up again, seemingly unaware of where he was and completely unable to help himself. Shirley had jumped back in alarm, but now she helped raise him off the bed so that he didn't choke on his own vomit, and held him tight against her chest as Reuben, having rushed into the bathroom at the first sign of him throwing up returned with the only container he could find - the plastic wastebin. It was a little too late, but was enough to suffice as he expelled everything that was in his stomach until there was nothing left to emerge and he was left dry heaving, his arms wrapped around his midriff, whimpering continuously. Shirley held him firmly in her embrace, her arms locked tight around his shoulders, murmuring soothingly into his left ear. Eventually, even the dry heaves came to an end and he fell back into his mom, her arms enfolding him, his head resting heavily on her shoulder, long dark hair tickling her throat. They remained in that position for some time. At length, Shirley found herself once again with a sleeping teenager in her arms and she exchanged glances with Reuben.
"We better get this cleaned up," he suggested, pragmatically, indicating the mess on the bed and floor. "And I'll get him something more comfortable to wear than his jeans and shirt."
Shirley nodded, seeing the wisdom in their friend's words. She didn't let go of Keith, though. She was too afraid, and besides, he needed her. She could hear his soft, if irregular breathing in her ear and feel his steady heartbeat below her right hand. It was all she needed to reassure her of his continued existence. She was going to hold on to him just as long as she could - and then some.
It took a little time and some physical effort, but eventually, they had everything cleaned up, including the bed, which Reuben stripped, throwing the soiled sheets into a plastic laundry bag he had found in the wardrobe. They used soap from the bathroom mixed with water to clean the floor (and ruined several of the hotel's towels in the process) and Reuben found Keith some of his own pajamas until they could get into the boys' room to retrieve the his own. There were some spare sheets and pillows, not to mention a couple of fluffy blankets on the overhead shelf in the wardrobe, with which they covered the bed. It was at this point that Reuben thanked god they had gone upmarket this time and booked suites, however inadvertently. No expense spared. And what that expense was giving them this time!
Despite Shirley's objections, he took on the lone task of wrestling Keith out of his clothes and into the pajamas - although this was made more difficult by the singer's complete lack of co-operation. His flaccid limbs flopped all over the place and Reuben at one point regretted volunteering. But he knew that Keith would be mortified if he ever discovered that his mother had undressed him, despite his present infirmity.
Eventually, everything was once again clean, Keith had been cleaned up and put into Reuben's night clothes and he was once more ensconced in bed, apparently sleeping soundly. But Reuben knew this wouldn't last. Withdrawal, even after only one or two shots of heroin was never easy. There was more - and probably worse to come.