S1. E.2 Tuesday 04/16/2019—Walk The Walk
Dr. Andrew Beck, the go-to sports and performance psychologist for elite athletes is shellshocked to what his life has become and confesses all to his assistant.
Episode 2: Preview
Dr. Andrew Beck sits in his Central Park West Penthouse office of Beck Sports Psychology. He admits his gambling problem to his wary assistant, Gina Perez, a former World Cup Soccer Team Co-Captian and recovering alcoholic. Gina wants to know who the man was that she watched Andrew help get arrested. Andrew is reluctant but tells her the gangster’s name: Fergus Mackenzie. And then his tearful confessions emerge of their dubious relationship.
Dr. Andrew Beck sat in his Herman Miller Eames recliner in his sports memorabilia-clad office in the office of Beck Sports Psychology on the 28th floor of the Historic Hamilton Building at 135 Central Park West, overlooking Central Park.
Andrew was the go-to sports and performance psychologist for elite athletes. Andrew was 40 years old, with blonde wavy hair, deep blue eyes, and an athletic build. But right now, he looked disheveled, tired, and in a daze.
He sunk deep into the black leather chair with wood paneling. The feet of his six-foot frame hung over the soft black leather of his matching ottoman. In his hand, he had a crystal tumbler of Macallan 18 Scotch. In his other hand, he pulled at his wavy blonde hair.
Across from him was his 28-year-old assistant, Gina Perez. She scratched the back of her dark brown pixie-cut hair as she tried to make sense of the situation.
Gina handled the business side of his practice and coordinated all the appointments with his patients. She knew many of the athletes and had a great rapport with them as she was the former Co-captain of the US Women’s Soccer team and World Cup champions. Gina’s storied career came to an abrupt end when her alcoholism raged out of control. And when a poorly timed and angled picture of an inebriated Gina and a drunk underage female fan went viral. The court of internet trolls and pitchfork-carrying anti-gay soccer moms made sure she would never step on a pitch again. Andrew helped her through recovery and hired her as he saw her potential; she was the female version of himself.
However, Gina did not have the poker face Andrew did. What you saw was what you got; right now, she looked stern, confused, and concerned.
Gina barked, “Look, we’ve been sitting here for over an hour in silence. You want to tell me what the fuck just happened?”
Andrew had dark circles under his eyes, his typically wavy but perfectly groomed hair was disheveled, and the lines in his face seemed much more pronounced. He did not have his typical youthful look, making him look much younger than forty.
Andrew struggled to keep eye contact with his athletic, stubborn, and perceptive female counterpart. She patiently waited for Andrew to find his words while he sipped his liquid courage. She wrung her hands. He took one more sip, but Gina could not hold back anymore.
“Who was that guy the cops arrested?”
Andrew sighed and said, “His name is Fergus Mackenzie. He’s a gangster.”
“A gangster? He looked more like a banker.”
Andrew nodded, held his glass to his nose, smelled ginger and cinnamon, and took another sip. As the mahogany-colored liquid sat on his tongue, he could taste the toasted mature oak with ginger and orange zest. The burn when he swallowed was comforting.
“He was blackmailing me.”
“Why?”
“I got into some trouble at his speak-easy casino.”
“How much did you owe?”
“Nothing. He was holding over three million dollars of my money hostage, and the only way he would give it back is if I gave him some…some information.”
Gina slid herself on the edge of the couch, her toes barely touching the floor.
“Information about what, boss?”
Andrew could not get the words out. He hard-swallowed and used his glass to point to everything in the office in a circular motion.
Gina looked around, confused, and her big brown eyes grew more intense. She dropped her assistant role and talked to him in a different tone.
“Oh, fuck. You didn’t?! You didn’t?!”
Andrew nodded. He noticed the switch. They were no longer boss and assistant. They were one addict talking to another in crisis.
Gina sank back into the leather couch. It engulfed her diminutive 5’3 frame. The couch was built for Andrew’s oversized athlete clients. Her toes left the floor, and she brought her hands to her face. Although Gina was muscular, quick, and a brutal force on the soccer pitch, she looked like a child on that giant couch…until she spoke.
“¡Dios mío! Mierda, mierda, fucking fuck.”
“Yep, that about sums it up.” Andrew took another sip.
“What did you tell this guy?”
“How Lamar, John, and Vlad were feeling. Where they were emotionally before they played, and then he bet on them.”
“Why the fuck didn’t you just let him keep the money?”
This time, Andrew did make eye contact, and Gina softened hers as tears formed, and she knew what was coming next. As an alcoholic, she knew that look, the look when she was down so low that she was finally ready to say it out loud. Her tears were less about Andrew and more about a painful remembrance of the worst moment of her life.
Andrew’s blue eyes glistened as he choked out his words. “I have a gambling problem,” He paused, took a breath, and said, “But it wasn’t just the money. Fergus was threatening me, and he could have ruined my career. If word got out to the teams, I was gambling, my career would be over.”
Gina rebutted, “Yeah, but if word got out you told a gangster the mental state of your patients, you would lose your license, and maybe even go to jail!”
Andrew shrugged and nodded his head.
Gina changed her voice from stern to soft, saying, “Is that what was going on last week? Fergus beating you up, the late nights, the sleeping on the office couch?”
“Yeah, well, the beatings were from another guy. You know the construction magnate, Michael Keegan, that got murdered?”
“Yeah, he was found on a pier on the East River shot through the eye, execution style.”
She paused as it came together. “Wait a second. This man Keegan, beat you up, and then the cops arrested the head of the Teamsters Union, Anthony Corra…Corra-something.”
“Corravallo.”
Yes, that’s it, Corravallo, for killing him? How did you get Corravallo to murder him?”
“Corravallo didn’t murder him. Fergus did.”
“How do you know that?”
Andrew shifted in his seat and pulled at his hair again as he struggled to get his words out. “Keegan had me tied to a chair for double-crossing him at a poker game. I was supposed to throw the game because he found out I was John Palmer’s shrink, and he would blab about it. I stupidly agreed to lose to him in poker on purpose, but—”
“You couldn’t?”
“He was just so fucking smug about it! Me, lose to that giant, bald-headed imbecile? I couldn’t do it. He’s a shitty poker player. I was losing on purpose, but then he started rubbing it in, wanting me to admit at the table that he was ‘the better man!’ Bullshit! I wasn’t going to put up with that. You know what I mean?”
Gina crossed her arms and raised an eyebrow. She was not impressed.
Andrew saw she was not buying his story and continued to plead his case. “Well, after I double-crossed him, and took over $500,000 of his money, he was pretty pissed off. I tried to escape, but he caught me, beat me up, and tied me to a chair while his goons shot at me. I thought I was going to die!”
Andrew was looking for sympathy, but Gina knew the stories addicts tell people to shift responsibility and claim to be victims. Gina’s gaze was unyielding.
Andrew saw her face and looked down. Shame burned his face he forced out his words.
“Before Keegan shot me, Fergus came with his crew, and he had…more men and firepower than Keegan. I told Fergus what happened. He was not happy we were throwing a game at one of his tables. He was pissed off, and then he told me to leave. As I was walking off the South Street pier, I heard a gunshot. And Keegan turned up dead.”
“Why did Fergus spare you and not Keegan?
“So he could blackmail me. What better way to make millions than to know what’s going on inside the heads of recovering drug-addict baseball pitcher John Palmer, the out-of-control all-star power forward Lamar Hayes, and hockey’s violent ‘Russian Bear’ Vladimir Poplov? I was to become Fergus’ golden goose of sports betting.”
“If Fergus killed Keegan, why the fuck didn’t you go to the police?”
“I didn’t actually see him murder him, but I heard the gunshot. So I had no proof until a rival gangster gave me a video recording of it after Fergus threatened him for working with Keegan to steal $3,000,000 of my money. Gangsters, it turns out, don’t like being threatened by each other. So, I had a choice to make. Keep giving Fergus information on my patients or take the video to the police. I hope the new gangster doesn’t blackmail me. And then I had to be the bait for Fergus so the police didn’t go public with my involvement. I had to do it! I had no choice!”
Gina was holding her head as she was having a hard time comprehending exactly how her boss, a sports and performance psychologist, was mixed up with gangsters, murders, and blackmail plots. And then it hit her.
He’s an addict, and this is the shit that happens. I should know.
Gina was speechless; the remembrances from her addiction took over, and she shook her head as a tear fell down her face.
Andrew took another deep breath and a sip of his Scotch as he let her take it all in.
“Yep, and if all the beating, murder, and blackmail wasn’t enough, to top it all off, my Dad died in my arms on the 15th fucking hole at the Greenwich Country Club. It was quite a week!”
Gina looked away as tears fell down her cheek. “Yeah, Miho.” She paused to wipe them. “That’s the life of an addict, and that is how it goes when it all goes to shit.” She paused, then asked, “Does Sandra know?”
It was Andrew’s turn to let the tears flow. He shook his head. “She is ready to leave me as it is.” He looked away. “This would be the nail in the coffin.”
“You don’t know that, Andrew. Sandra is a good woman. She is kind and understanding. I mean, look how long she’s put up with your shit?”
They both laughed as more tears streamed.
“Yeah, I fucked up.” He wiped away his uncontrollable tears. “I fucked up bad, Gina.”
“Is that why you stayed with Dr. Carr last night?” ]
He choked on his words as he said, “Yeah, he’s my best friend in the world. We were roommates freshman year at Berkeley and have been inseparable ever since. Marcus made me promise I’d go to Gamblers Anonymous.”
“Andrew, AA did wonders for me. I wouldn’t be here if it weren’t for AA and Clara Ann. Having the love of a good woman will help. Sandra loves you; if you tell her the truth, she won’t leave. It will help her understand.”
“Understand what?”
Gina lost her patience. “Are you fucking kidding me? Your behavior. Andrew, you know I love you, and you saved my ass big time when I was in recovery. So I’m gonna get real on you, Miho. This is when you think everyone is going to leave you. The moment you admit you’re an addict. But they don’t. The ones who love you…” She was struggling not to sob. Her voice was reduced to a whisper, “They love you more.”
Andrew shook his head. Drowning in shame, it felt like cancer was ripping through his body, and his gut felt tight and queasy.
“Marcus is the only one who knows about my gambling. I had gotten into some trouble at Berkeley. It was pretty bad, but it could have been worse. I guess having a Glock pointed in my face once in my life wasn’t enough for my dumb ass.”
“That’s what this disease does.”
He looked at her. He detached himself from the moment as his psychologist's brain went into hyperdrive. Clinical and analytical information flooded his thoughts on the disease of addiction, how it affects the brain, and the decision impairment of the afflicted.
He compartmentalized his thoughts. He separated the diagnosis from himself as his brain focused on the analytical part of treatment and recovery of addicts. He went through the categorization and analysis of characteristics and behaviors of addicts like Gina and John Palmer. He could visualize his written treatment plans and cognitive behavioral techniques. But in all these images flashing through his brain at light speed, he couldn’t see himself as the patient.
There was something in his brain that overrode the truth and said, “You’re in control. This is not a problem. It’s only a problem if you can’t stop, and you…can stop.”
Gina snapped her fingers at Andrew. “Hey, where did you just go? This is serious. You need to get help. Fuck, I’ll walk to GA myself.”
Andrew was jerked back from his mental journey. “Why would I need you to walk me there?”
Gina sighed, and her harshness subsided. “Because when you see the doors to that room and that circle of chairs, everything in your being will tell you to run. Run far. Run fast. You’ll have to fight that.”
Andrew looked out of the large windows overlooking Central Park. The mid-April sunset cast shadows and reflections. New leaves on the bare trees of the park were forming. Buds, fighting to grow. He felt like one of those buds fighting to break out of their holds. The holds of abusive men like his father Ted and Fergus had over him. He willed those buds to grow as he tried to push the long, hard, and humbling path he would have to walk out of his mind.
Click here for Episode 3
Tuesday 04/16/2019—Sandra Has A Moment
Sandra Wells, Andrew’s wife of seven years and public relations executive, is on the phone with Union Boss Anthony Corravallo, who was released after being falsely accused of the murder Fergus was arrested for. Andrew wants to tell Sandra about his trouble and gambling problem, but a tender but tense moment between them makes Andrew lose his nerve.
Author’s Note:
Thank you for reading! I hope you are enjoying the story so far. I would love to hear from you if you have any comments or questions.
Also, let me know if the single email plus the links to other chapters worked for you rather than getting three separate emails on the same day.
Thank you again,
Chris K. Jones