I’ve divorced myself from David Dedeaux. Friendship does not equate to drugs. 

I gave him 10 years to prove his point, that “he cares for me.”  Well, if caring means throwing in one bag of coke for every two that I bought over the past 10 years, then yeah – he’s a real caring individual.

I hate having to outline the reasons why I’m angry.  But in this case, I think it’s important I outline them.  Because eventually there will be a bunch of enablers taking his side – virtually attacking me for having seen the light.

First off, and most off: The man has never done me any favor that didn’t involve a drink, drugs, or some act of kindness that ultimately didn’t serve his purpose.  10 years ago, when we had our first fight, he insisted that he “cared for me,” and that I was being cynical when I claimed the friendship was nothing more than a party-buddy relationship.  This was after I’d called him, when I had friends in town, looking for coke.  

“I’m not stupid,” he kept repeating, no matter what I said back.  And you know what?  He was right. I was calling him only because he was my only connection to coke at the time.  He called me the next morning, after our argument had gone ‘round and ‘round, and demanded an apology.  “I’m not stupid,” he repeated.

I saw what he meant, and I apologized.

And so the past 10+ years went along.  With my having the job that paid 100K+.  During that time, anytime I showed up at his place, I was able to place $120 or more worth of coke – and beer and booze to boot – on his table. Sure, he might have occasionally pitched in $60 toward my $120 – but the fact remained that my contribution was always more significant.

I still understood.  And so I continued to maintain the party relationship with David Dedeaux.  It didseem like he was there whenever significant things happened.  But in hindsight, they were all his significant things.  

His mother died, so we had what I called a “White Trash Sitting Shiva.”  Even though they had long since broken up, Jay was there to laugh at this description. 

There was a Christmas party soon after.  Other than that, I can’t recall any parties that included people other than myself, Jay and some bags of cocaine.

At this point I had left my FT job and was exploring real estate, which is a self employed situation.  All of my cash had been re-directed toward the business, and I was just plain getting by.  I explained my situation to David in the winter of 2016 (when he called around collecting for the yearly deposit), and he said, “Don’t worry about it.”  It was at this point when I began to truly consider him a friend.  As it turned out, I didn’t have to pay my annual $300 that year.  As a result of his having broken up with Jay, he didn’t actually have someone to share his bed in the master bedroom.  It was kind of ironic.  Both of our losses were my gain – ostensibly.

That year (2017) went well, I guess.  Even though I hadn’t had to pay my annual bed share, I did wind up spending close to that much with David back in Sayville on groceries and liquor.  

The next year, in July of 2018, David intercepted me when I’d gone to our local dealers’ – in NY – in order in order to stack up for the annual occasion.  But as fate would have it, I had the wrong debit card on me, so I wasn’t able to get the cash I needed.  I showed up at the dealer’s apartment, telling her what had happened.  I wasn’t looking for a credit, and she certainly wasn’t offering one.

But she did say that she was meeting David in a half hour at the local bar, and that I should go and see him.  Well, see him I did, and when she showed up 30 minutes later with his stash in hand, he immediately offered to “front me” a bag, as long as I paid him back that weekend.

I accepted.  And we proceeded to go to his apartment, which is across the street from this bar, and snort all of this bag.  And drink all the beer I bought.  

David’s lines are double the length of mine.  Which means we went through all of my stuff in half the time it would have taken me – even if I was at home, entertaining.  We got so high that I had to leave, because the room was spinning and I simply couldn’t do anything other than walk.

But I still considered this bag to be one that I owed David.  

That Friday, I loaded up my car for the trip to Sayville. I prefer to drive rather than take the train because of street parking rules in Brooklyn.  If I miss a day of street cleaning, it’s a $45 ticket.  If I miss two days… Well, the math speaks for itself.  So I choose to drive, and pay about the same amount over four days – except we have the luxury of being able to drive into Sayville and buy groceries and liquor if we need to, because I have a car.

Here’s the thing:  I get so paranoid when I drive with coke that I find a secret place for it. A place that I wouldn’t ordinarily check when I’m on my way out of the car.  Much less think about when I’m rushing to catch a ferry.  That’s where I stashed the one bag that I owed David and the two bags that I’d brought along for the ride.  

I was on the ferry when I realized I’d forgotten the drugs. “Oh, well,” I told myself, “I’ll pick them up when I go back for the inevitable grocery run in Sayville.”  

When I got to the house, I told David what had happened. BIG MISTAKE.  He didn’t acknowledge the $75 in liquor that I’d schlepped.  All he could say was, “How could you DO that???”

I assured him that I’d pay him back (the bag we’d done together the previous Tuesday).  Our dealer was scheduled to come out that Sunday, and he obviously had enough to last until then.  I say “obviously” because I saw him sharing bumps with the other folks there, all night long.    

And so, after two days of witnessing David do his own stash, and hearing him constantly ask me, “Are you going to your car?  When are you going to your car?”  I became pissed at David Dedeaux.  

Because in between the incessant requests for when I’d be going back to my car, he was also asking me to clean up the household for the next guests, who “had never seen it before.”  He was asking me to clean up and prepare for people I’d never met. 

There was one person I had met, however, and it was our dealer.  When she showed up, I immediately bought a bag and gave it to David Dedeaux – thereby wiping clean the slate of what I owed him.  

It wasn’t enough.  He went through that bag before that night even hit midnight.  

The next day, Saturday, I was given some pot cookies which rendered me delightfully useless, so any trip on the ferry was out of the question.  At the time, David Dedeaux thought this was funny – although he did emphasize that the next day I should go back to my car and retrieve what technically wasn’t his at all.

During my high, I realized I’d paid David Dedeaux back all the yay-yay I owed him, and that all these demands he was placing on me were just a teensy bit superfluous -- and reeked of entitlement.

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On Sunday, I decided to take the ferry back to Sayville. Not only to get the drugs, but also to buy some ribs and burgers for the night when I’d pitch in to feed everyone. I went to the local Stop’n’Shop.  Said ribs and meat came to $100.  I schlepped them back to the house from the ferry, prepped them, and cooked them.  And because of the mindset where I was while got this meal together and to the ferry – I once again forgot to retrieve the drugs from my car.

I know how lame that must sound to most people who are used to doing drugs.  And it’s ridiculous for me to even have to appeal to anyone on that level. But both times, it was an honest mistake.  I was worried about catching the ferry.  The first time I was carrying booze, and the second time, a meal for everyone.

My meal of ribs went over amazingly.  I’ve never seen such clean bones.  People sucked all the fat and char off everything they’d been given.

After dinner, David and his entourage went off to drink and dance in Cherry Grove.  I stayed behind, longing for some quiet.

David had access to plenty of yay-yay this whole time. And yet, all through dinner he asked, “Are you going back to your car tomorrow?”

It was at this point when I had a melt-down.  

************

When I get pissed off, I usually bury it – in the form of drinking and/or getting high. This time, I did both, and I wandered around the house.  I sat on the porch, and I watched the sunrise, and I walked from room to room and saw just who was sleeping where.  

What I was doing, in my solitude, was noting who was staying where.  It might sound creepy at first, until you realize that I was taking a head count of who had paid for their night on Fire Island – and who hadn’t.

And I got even more pissed at David Dedeaux than I had been before.  

What I realized, in taking my head count, was that there were a few of us who had paid for their beds – back in February – surrounded by people who had been invited out for an overnight only, without charge. 

David had complained to me on Friday that he was short on the bill for the week, and he asked me to “Do my thing” as a salesman and ask for contributions.  When I suggested that he should ask for $25 per day for overnight visitors, he said, “I can’t do that.  It would be rude!”

It was at this point when I realized that David Dedeaux valued the opinions of his overnight friends over that of the friends who put up money and labor in order to make his whole annual Fire Island “share” happen.  

I became furious.  

The next morning, David Dedeaux asked me to “Do my magic” in the kitchen and living room, because “______” was coming that day, and he didn’t want “________” to get the wrong impression.

Well, I don’t know “_____”, and I don’t think I ever will.

I announced that I was leaving.  To which David Dedeaux asked, “But what about the drugs in your car?”

He asked if he could come back with me and retrieve them, and pay me back later.

I said no, if he wanted them, he would have to pay for them them.  

David Dedeaux became furious with me.

Furious because I wouldn’t give him $120 worth of drugs. 

Ever since then, David Dedeaux and I have been fighting because, in my opinion, he did to me exactly what I did to him 10 years ago – and for which he demanded an apology. I gave it.

I’m now demanding the same apology.  David Dedeaux “Jonesed” for my drugs and won’t admit it.

I’m not stupid.

Pity.

G