"Okay," I said. "I'll fly there, bail you out and I'll get you a place at this rehab facility in California. All the big stars use it and their program has been really successful."
"Thank you," she said, and I heard her sniffing. "Why are you doing this?"
I paused, having to think about why. It wasn't that I felt anything for her. I never had, but I could do something to help her. I could help her get sober and maybe start over. For Grant.
"Because I can. I'll see you later today."
As I dialed the rehab facility, I thought about why I was really doing it.
There was a residual bit of guilt I felt about being so cavalier about her back when we were fucking. I had never taken her seriously, for I made it clear to her that I wasn't in the market for a girlfriend and she had said she felt completely the same. She was focused on her future, getting a degree and a job, not marriage or children.
At the time, I felt no guilt about having casual sex with her whenever I came to Montgomery with Grant on leave. We kept the relationship, such as it was, secret, because she didn't want Grant to know. I thought it was no big deal. We used each other so it was mutual.
I had no idea she was hoping it would turn into more because she never once gave me the idea that she wanted anything more.
When I met Christie the following year and fell in love, I stopped going to Montgomery as often and when I did, I made it clear I was now seeing someone seriously and couldn't sleep with her.
I thought that was that. End of story.
Obviously, Penny didn't feel the same way. I didn't know if her downward slide started at that point or if she was struggling with addiction when we were together, but whatever the case, she'd fallen far since I had last seen her.
Luckily, the facility had a bed and could take Penny in that night, if I showed up with her. I made arrangements to fly from Montgomery to California and rented a car, so I could drive her to the facility.
My money was good for something.
I packed a small overnight bag and sent Ella a text to let her know I'd be taking a trip out of state and wouldn't be back until Tuesday.
I'd stay with David for a few days while I was in California and then I'd fly home, taking the red-eye flight on Monday. I would arrive back home on Tuesday morning.
Then Reg drove me to JFK to catch my flight, having just enough time to get there. I’d chartered a private jet to take me to Millbrook and then to California because of scheduling. It was just easier and the timing was better that way.
When I arrived in Millbrook about four in the afternoon, Penny was much more sober and in a very bad mood. Of course, she was hurting, and sick from withdrawal. She looked a total mess, her hair greasy, and her clothes wrinkled from having slept in cells. I paid her bail and she signed out of the jail and came out to the rental car with me.
"Now what?" she said sourly. "You gonna save me from myself?"
"You have to save yourself, Penny. I'm just offering you a place to go."
She nodded, and I hoped she understood. "I'm sick. I need something to take off the edge or I'll be throwing up on the plane."
She had to fly to California, so I had to get her manageable. I didn't approve of her doing her drugs, but she couldn't fly in the condition she was in and I had no intention of driving all the way to California.
I called the facility and spoke about her with Steve, the manager of the facility in California.
"She won't be able to go on the flight the way she is now. She's been in the jail overnight. Should I let her shoot up first?"
"Do what you have to do to get her here," he replied. "We'll take care of her once she arrives and make sure she's able to get clean."
I relented and gave her money so she could buy some of her drugs. We stopped at her place and she shot up and then packed a bag, showering briefly and changing her clothes before we drove back to Montgomery to catch the jet to LAX.
She was quiet on the flight and slept most of the way there, a blanket around her and the window screen down so it was dark. I spent the time reading financial reports and wondering what happened to her that made her start doing harder drugs. Once we touched down and disembarked, I picked up the rental and drove to the facility located in the hills outside LA.
We arrived at nine thirty and I carried her bag up the steps to the entrance. The place was dark, but I could see it was nice, with clean modern furnishings that had a boutique hotel feel to the place.
"This is nice," Penny said as we walked to the front door. "Better than I thought."
I held the door open and we went inside. We were met at the security desk by a middle-aged man with a balding head and a pair of half-eye glasses perched at the end of his nose.
"Penelope McNeil, I presume?" he said and waved us into his office. "Mr. Macintyre? I'm Frank Tillerson. We spoke on the phone earlier. Come in."