Wild in Paradise by Leslie Pike Release Blitz

They say luck is a lady . I think they’re right . Women have given me second chances before, chances I didn’t deserve. Lady Luck was no different. She resurrected this Irish soul from the ashes of my bad de- cisions. This limousine that I’m comfortably cocooned in confirms it’s so.

A decade ago my pass at fame had slipped through my fingers. I had a minor role in one hit movie, which by some miracle became a cult classic. I had ten lines at most, but people connected with me. I was the fireman who rescued the ingénue. My one close-up and the line, “Give me your hand, darlin’ and I’ll take it from there,” was remembered. Then it all went bad.

I’d had a brief ride on the carousel and reached for the brass ring, only to feel the metal brush my fingertips as I moved by in a haze of tequila and cocaine. Noticed by few, then quickly forgotten, I had become a footnote in Hollywood’s history book and a fading image on a few reels of celluloid.

What a fool I’d been. I became a regular in the “Whatever Happened To?” articles, where they would compare my looks in before and after photos. The com- parison was not good. I not only lost my career and my dignity, but I lost my wife. Bliss finally got tired of liv- ing with a husband who was frequently too stoned or hammered to know whose bed he was in. Any attempt at trying to get me to stop drinking and using was met with contempt. I didn’t deserve Bliss. After a time, she came to agree with me completely.

The day she walked out I felt a pivot. The seat of my reason nudging at me, like a finger poking me in the chest. I kept using and drinking myself stupid for a few months, but it was never as satisfying. I kept chasing the high, but I couldn’t catch the same intoxication. I became aware of the lesser man I had become. Conscience is the most effective buzz kill.

Then I began tallying up the costs of my addictions. You can’t ignore your own thoughts. I couldn’t, anyway. My better self was disgusted and let me know on a regu- lar basis. Every day I’d wish that asshole would shut the fuck up. But he was unforgiving. And in the end, I saw the truth. As good as drunk is, it always ends in thirst.

Now, by life’s artfully twisted itinerary, Bliss and I find ourselves friends. She in love and engaged to Steven French, a man I’ve come to respect, and me six years so- ber and enjoying another go around on the carousel. And rightfully, satisfyingly single. Life can be such a grand unpredictable bitch. So tonight this limousine is more than a ride. It’s a magic carpet, carrying me back to a place I’ve missed, a place I belong. I got another chance. This time I’m not going to piss away the opportunity.

I pull out my cell to check my messages. Seventeen missed calls and six texts. Ironic, to think a few years back I’d go days without a call. The only name that con- sistently popped up was my coke dealer, Grandma, as listed on my phone. If someone had read my recent calls back then, they’d have thought I was the best bloody grandson in the world. I scan the list of names. Carl is the only one I’m looking for. I always return my dad’s calls, no matter the hour. He’s alone, but not interested in leaving his Bay Area home of forty years, to come live with me. Moving to Los Angeles is not an option as far as he’s concerned. We’ve had that conversation many times.