She had a little dough at one point

They stopped at a country store and bought sodas. For breakfast Forrest had a bag of peanuts. "Some of these places have good food," he said when they were moving again. Forrest the tour guide for detox centers. Forrest the Michelin critic for rehab units. "I usually lose a few pounds," he said, chomping. "Do they have gyms and such?" Ray asked, aiding the conversation. He really didn't want to discuss the perks of various drug tanks. "Some do," Forrest said smugly. "Ellie sent me to this place in Florida near a beach, lots of sand and water, lots of sad rich folks. Three days of brainwashing, then they worked our asses off. Hikes, bikes, power walks, weights if we wanted. I got a great tan and dropped fifteen pounds. Stayed clean for eight months." In his sad little life, everything was measured by stints of sobriety. "Ellie sent you?" Ray asked. "Yeah, it was years ago. She had a little dough at one point, not much. I'd hit the bottom, and it was back when she cared. It was a nice place, though, and some of the counselors were those Florida chicks with short skirts and long legs." "I'll have to check it out." "Kiss my ass." 'Just kidding." "There's this place out West where all the stars go, the Hacienda, and it's the Ritz. Plush rooms, spas, daily massages, chefs who can fix great meals at one thousand calories a day. And the counselors are the best in the world. That's what I need, Bro, six months at the Hacienda." "Why six months?" "Because I need six months. I've tried two months, one month, three weeks, two weeks, it's not enough. For me, it's six months of total lockdown, total brainwashing, total therapy, plus my own masseuse." . . "What's the cost?" Forrest whistled and rolled his eyes. "Pick a number. I don't know. You gotta have a zillion bucks and two recommendations to get in. Imagine that, a letter of recommendation. 'To the Fine Folks at the Hacienda: I hereby heartily recommend my friend Doofus Smith as a patient in your wonderful facility. Doofus drinks vodka for breakfast, snorts coke for lunch, snacks on heroin, and is usually comatose by dinner. His brain is fried, his veins are lacerated, his liver is shot to hell. Doofus is your kind of person and his old man owns Idaho.' " "Do they keep people for six months?"