Elliot was completely blue, the last flickers of light leaving his eyes. So I said a silent prayer and inhaled as deeply as I possibly could. With every last bit of force my lungs could muster, I shot a jet of air into him, and I felt his stomach blow up like a balloon. Then all at once the cheeseburger came up, and he vomited into my mouth. I started to gag.

I watched him take a shallow breath, then I stuck my face in the pool and washed the vomit out of my mouth. I looked back at Elliot and noticed his face looked less blue. Then he stopped breathing again. I looked at Gary and said, “Take over for me,” to which Gary extended his palms toward me and shook his head, as if to say, “No fucking way!” and he took two steps backward to reinforce his point. So I turned to Elliot’s best friend, Arthur, and asked him to do the same, and he reacted just as Gary had. So I had no choice but to do the most disgusting thing imaginable. I splashed water on Elliot’s face as the Duchess sprang into action and cleaned the vomit off the sides of Elliot’s mouth. Then I stuck my hand inside and scooped out partially digested cheeseburger meat, pushing his tongue down to clear an air passage. I put my mouth back on his mouth and began breathing for him again, while the others stood frozen in horror.

Finally I heard the sound of sirens, and a few moments later there were paramedics hovering over us. In less than three seconds they had a tube down Elliot’s throat and had started pumping oxygen into his lungs. They gently placed him on a stretcher and then carried him off to the side of the mansion, under a shady tree, and stuck an IV in his arm.

I jumped into the pool and washed the vomit out of my mouth, still gagging uncontrollably. The Duchess came running over, holding a toothbrush and toothpaste, and I began brushing my teeth right in the pool. Then I jumped out and headed over to where Elliot was lying on the stretcher. By now there were half a dozen policemen there with the paramedics. They were desperately trying to get his heart beating at a normal rate, without success. One of the paramedics stuck his hand out to me and said, “You’re a hero, sir. You saved your friend’s life.”

And just like that it hit me: I was a hero! Me! The Wolf of Wall Street! A hero!What a delicious ring those three words had! I desperately needed to hear them again, so I said, “I’m sorry, I missed what you said. Can you please repeat it?”

The paramedic smiled at me and said, “You’re a hero, in the truest sense of the word. Not many men would have done what you did. You had no training, yet you did exactly the right thing. Well done, sir. You’re a real hero.”

Oh, Jesus! I thought. This was absolutely wonderful. But I needed to hear it from the Duchess, with her loamy loins and brand-new breasts, which would now be mine for the taking, at least for the next few days, because I, her husband, was a hero, and no female can refuse the sexual advances of a hero.

I found the Duchess sitting by herself on the edge of a lounge chair, still in a state of shock. I tried to find just the right words that would inspire her to call me a hero. I decided it would be best to use reverse psychology on her—to compliment her on how calm she’dremained and then praise her for calling the ambulance. This way she would feel compelled to return the compliment.

I sat down beside her and put my arm around her. “Thank God you called the ambulance, Nae. I mean, everyone else froze in place, except for you. You’re a strong lady.” I waited patiently.

She edged closer to me and smiled sadly. “I don’t know,” she said. “I guess it was just instinct more than anything else. You know, you see this sort of stuff in movies, but you never think it’s gonna happen to you. You know what I mean?”

Un-fucking-believable! She didn’t call me a hero! I would just have to get more specific. “I know what you mean. You never think something like this could happen, but once it does, well, instinct just takes over. I guess that’s why I reacted the way I did.” Hello, Duchess! Get my drift, for Chrissake?

Apparently she did, because she threw her arms around me and said, “OhmyGod! You were incredible! I’ve never seen anything like it. I mean…words just can’t describe how brilliant you were! Everyone else was frozen in place and you…”

Christ! I thought. She kept gushing over me, but she refused to say the magic word!

“…and you’re…I mean…you’re a hero,honey!” There she goes!“I don’t think I’ve ever been prouder of you. My husband, the hero!” She gave me the wettest kiss imaginable.

In that very instant I understood why every young child wants to be a fireman. Just then I saw them carrying Elliot away on a stretcher. “Come on,” I said. “Let’s head over to the hospital and make sure they don’t drop the ball after I worked so hard to save Elliot’s life.”

Twenty minutes later we were in the emergency room at Mount Sinai Hospital, and the early prognosis was unspeakable: Elliot had suffered some brain damage. Whether or not he would be a vegetable was still unclear.

On the way to the hospital, the Duchess had called Barth. Now I followed him into the critical-care room, which bore the unmistakable odor of death. There were four doctors and two nurses, and Elliot was lying flat on his back on an examining table.

Mt. Sinai wasn’t Barth’s hospital, yet apparently his reputation preceded him. Every doctor in the room knew exactly who he was. A tall one in a white lab coat said, “He’s in a coma, Dr. Green. He won’t breathe unassisted. His brain function is depressed, and he has seven broken ribs. We’ve given him epinephrine, but he hasn’t responded.” The doctor looked Barth straight in the eye and shook his head slowly, as if to say, “He’s not going to make it.”

Then Barth Green did the oddest thing. With complete and utter confidence, he walked right up to Elliot, grabbed him by the shoulders, put his mouth to Elliot’s ear, and in a stern voice yelled, “Elliot! Wake up right this second!” He started shaking him vigorously. “This is Dr. Barth Green, Elliot, and I’m telling you to stop screwing around and open up your eyes right now! Your wife is outside and she wants to see you!”

And just like that, in spite of the last few words about Ellen wanting to see him—which would make most men choose death—Elliot followed Barth’s instructions and opened his eyes. A moment later his brain function returned to normal. I looked around the room, and every last doctor and nurse was agape.

As was I. It was a miracle, performed by a miracle worker. I started shaking my head in admiration, and out of the corner of my eye I happened to see a large syringe filled with a clear liquid. I squinted to see what the label said. Morphine.Very interesting, I thought, that they would give morphine to a dying man.

All at once I was overtaken by this terrible urge to snatch the needle of morphine and inject myself in the ass. Just why, I wasn’t sure. I had been sober for almost a month now, but that didn’t seem to matter anymore. I looked around the room and everyone was hovering over Elliot, still in awe over this remarkable turn of events. I edged over to the metal tray, casually snatched the needle, and stuck it in my shorts pocket.

A moment later I felt my pocket growing warm…and then warmer… Oh, sweet Jesus!The morphine was burning a hole in my pocket! I needed to inject myself right this instant! I said to Barth, “That’s the most incredible thing I’ve ever seen, Barth. I’m gonna go outside and tell everyone the good news.”

When I informed the group in the waiting room that Elliot had made a miraculous recovery, Ellen began crying tears of joy and she threw her arms around me. I pushed her away and told her that I was in desperate need of a bathroom. As I started walking away, the Duchess grabbed me by the arm and said, “Are you okay, honey? You don’t seem right.”