Out on the gulf the sun’s rays bounced off the water, annihilating any protection a hat or sunshade could offer. I went downstairs and noticed a steady stream of people heading to one of the cabins, where a group of people, led by a well-known radio personality, were carving out lines of white powder.
Pauly was there, smiling. I pulled him aside and said he should leave it alone.
‘C’mon, bro, let’s get into it,’ he said and flashed me a grin.
I grabbed the media jock and whispered very firmly in his ear, ‘Please don’t give him any more.’
‘C’mon mate,’ he said. ‘Nobody’s going to know out here.’
I told him that wasn’t my primary concern. I just knew that, given Pauly’s emotional fragility and his potential to get aggressive, feeding him drugs was not a good idea. Coupled with free-flowing alcohol and an alien social environment, there was the making of a bad situation. He agreed not to supply him with any more.