Chapter 2: Thirteen Tabs
.jpg)
(December 1968)
Stoney didn’t
come home last night. I worry that he’s been busted, so I hunt all over
Hollywood and Santa Monica for him. I even check with the fuzz down at L.A.
County.
I find him hanging out at The Crystal Ship, flirting with his ex old lady
Syndi, she hanging all over him. She’s a skinny chick with short red hair, in a
pixie style popular about three years ago, all doe-eyed, and looks about 15.
But there’s nothing innocent about her; she’s fucked half of Hollywood, and I
wouldn’t put it past her to have another go-round with my old man.
“You better not be screwing that bitch!” I yell.
I shove Syndi away from Stoney.
Stoney pushes me away. “So what if I am?”
We get into a huge argument, right in the shop, and stay at it until he
shoves me smack into the wall.
I lose my balance; Stoney grabs me, steadying me to my feet.
“Fuck you!” I push him away. “You’re an asshole!” I stomp out of the
shop.
I storm back to the pad and sulk – trying to think up things to make his
life miserable. I could kill that bastard.
An hour later, he drags himself through the door and apologizes, says he
ate some strange mescaline that made him sick; he passed out at the shop and
couldn’t move. Says he didn’t fuck Syndi: “No way. Took me months to get rid of
her,” he says. “Why would I want to reopen up that can of worms?”
I believe him. I still want to sock him, though I’m glad to see him safe.
But then he ruins our good karma.
After the bad mescaline, you’d think he’d be a bit reluctant to use any
more dope, right? Wrong. He pours those 500 tabs onto the table, counts out 13.
“I wonder what would happen,” he says, holding them out in the palm of
his hand, “If I dropped every last stinking one of these?”
“I wouldn’t try it,” I say. “Probably kill you.”
“I’d have one helluva super trip.”
“Maybe your last trip.”
“The ultimate trip!” Then he pops them into his mouth.
“No!” I try prying open his mouth, but it’s too late – he’s already
swallowed the tabs.
He grabs a Coke from the refrigerator and guzzles it. “I’m on my way to
the best trip of my life!”
“Oh, shit!” What am I going to do? Call an ambulance? I can’t call an
ambulance; there’s too much dope in this place – after the doctors pumped his
stomach, we’d each get about 50 years...
Stoney laughs. “Jesus, Jennifer, you’re such a drag.”
God damn. If he’s willing to risk his life for the ultimate trip, then
who am I to stop him? I’ll stay here, pop some bennies, keep watch on him all
night, and if he gets to a critical stage, I’ll get Rudy from downstairs to
help me out; he’ll know what to do without ringing in the heat.
Stoney slips into some strange trance-like state; he doesn’t move, but
his eyes and muscles twitch like crazy, and his carotid artery looks like it
might pop out of his neck. Yet when I put my ear to his chest, his heartbeat
sounds regular, though I don’t know exactly what constitutes a normal rhythm.
Though his face is puffy and little redder than usual, he doesn’t seem to be
dying. He’s even smiling – something cool’s happening in there, so who am I to
ruin a perfectly good trip?
Okay, so Stoney blows some circuits; he’s done that already – what’s a
few more?
While I watch him, the mail arrives – a letter from Jeff. Cool letters, a
bit over my head. But he’s groovy and sensitive – I doubt if he would drop 13
tabs of acid.
God, just look at Stoney – that shit’s got to be eating up his brain
cells. Strange. I love him, but I don’t always like him. We don’t do regular
things together. Yeah, we drop acid and, sometimes, make love, but he leaves me
alone a lot – does his own thing – and, at times, he can be hateful and mean.
Then he does stupid crap like dropping 13 tabs. I wish he were more like Jeff,
not do so much dope, but some of the time, he’s very sweet and gentle.
Then there’s Jeff...When he was still here, we did a lot of fun stuff
together – we laughed and carried on like two kids, ran around the strip.
Haven’t I known him forever?
No, only since October.
Comments
Post a Comment
Comments are moderated.