Chapter 6 - Life-line

After that conversation with The Man Who Fell to Earth aka Ziggy Stardust, I went back to sleep, or at least I tried to sleep, but I found myself staring at the ceiling and wondering if it all was a crazy dream. I finally closed my eyes and fell into a light sleep when I was awakened by the phone ringing again. I looked at the clock on my bedside table and it read 2:00. I fumbled around in the dark and eventually found the phone; I picked it up on the fourth ring, just before the answering machine kicked in—it was him again. This time his voice sounded different, it was dragging and he sounded like he was either drunk or under the influence of prescription medication—like Valium or something of that ilk.

“Hello?”

“Cheers.”

“Is this David?”

“Yes. I wanted to thank you for talking with me before. It really helped.”

“That’s okay. Are you still in Yonkers?”

“No, I’m in Lake Geneva.”

“Switzerland?”

“No, it’s really in a town called St. George. It’s in New Nork...New York.  It’s um...it’s in the Linger Flakes, I mean, the Finger Lakes region.”

I could tell he wasn’t quite himself and his words were slurred and running together. I got up from the bed and stretched the phone cord as far as I could, far enough to reach the kitchen. With the phone resting between my shoulder and my ear, I got a glass out of the cupboard then opened the fridge and poured myself a glass of water to get the cobwebs out of my mouth.

“Are you all right, David? You sound kind of out of it.”

“I took a few pills.”

“How many?

“Twenty-seven.”

“Twenty-seven what?”

“Valium.”

“Jeez David. That could be lethal. I know you said you were in St. George but where exactly are you?”

“I’m in some flea bag of a hotel. It’s actually not too bad, but the people who work here are a fucking pain in the arse.”

I could hear banging in the background like someone was trying to gain entrance into his room. His voice was becoming more and more lugubrious and slurred. I was pacing back and forth on the hardwood floors of my studio apartment. I was getting a little worried about the man on the other side of the line.

“Is that someone knocking at your door?”

“Yeah, I locked them out. They’ll have to break the fucker down.”

“David, open the door.”

“I can’t.”

“Why?”

“They may resuscitate me.”

“Are you kidding me?” David, open the door!”

“Sorry mate, I can’t. Not this time.”

I had to think of something fast. Maybe a little reverse psychology, but that could backfire and blow up in my face. If this was a joke it had gone too far, but I couldn’t risk the fact that it might not be one at all—it could be real.

“Do you really want to die, David?”

“Sure, why not.”

“Do you really want to be another rock and roll suicide, like Jimi, Jim and Janice?”

“Hendrix’s was accidental. This is not.”

“It could be an accident because you might feel differently in the morning, but if you don’t open the door that morning may never come for you.”

“It’s supposed to rain anyway.”

“Seriously David, do you want this to be your legacy? I always thought you had more guts than that. Look at what you did with your music. You changed everything.”

“Yeah. Ch...ch... ch... changes.” He started to laugh and I could see he was coming around to some sense of reality. A sense of humor is the first step.

“David?”

There was a long lull in the conversation and I wondered if he had nodded off or worse.

“Are you still there?”

I knew I had to keep him awake since the full effect of the valium might not have kicked in yet. I could hear him breathing albeit lightly on the other end of the line somewhere in Lake George, New York.

“David, are you still with us?”

“Uh, huh.”

“I want you to listen to me, okay?”

“I’m all ears, mate.”

“There was a reason you called me. I know you were trying to reach Iggy, but you got me. I think it was all for a reason—fate maybe. I think down deep you wanted to reach out to somebody who could be honest with you, who could give you unbiased truth. Don’t you think that’s possible?”

“Anything’s possible.”

“David?”

“Yeah?”

“Will you do me a favor?”

“Hmm. What now?”

“Will you please put down the phone and open the door? Not for yourself, not for your fans, not for your brother, or anything else, but will you open it...for me?”

“For you?”

There was a chilling silence on the other end of the line except for the persistent knocking that was become more and more frantic with each second. This was the most unreal situation but I had no time to try and understand it. I had to get him to open that door.

“What do you say, will you open the door, David?”

“Hold on a minute.”

I heard the phone drop to the ground and then what sounded like staggering footsteps. Although it was only a few seconds that had elapsed it seemed like an hour or more had passed. Then I heard two, maybe three people rushing in to the room. It was apparent David had opened the door and let them in, whoever they were. I listened to the scene and I could only imagine that they were pumping his stomach. Then a voice came on the phone.

“Hello, who is this?”

“It’s James. I am a friend of Mr. Bowie. I think I convinced him to open the door.”

“Well James, I wanted to let you know that by doing that you probably saved his life. Thank you, James. Goodbye.”

“Goodbye.”

I hung the phone up and wondered if it were true. Had I saved his life?

The next morning I got another phone call. It was a woman with a sexy European accent.

“Hello, is this James?”

“Yes. Who’s calling?”

“Is this our little hero?”

“Hero? Who is this?”

“My name is Nastassja. But that doesn’t matter. I wanted to thank you for doing what you did. He is going to be all right—for now.”

“Where is he?”

“He’s in a private hospital here in St. George. It if wasn’t for you, he wouldn’t have made it there.”

“All I did is what anyone else would have done. I am not a hero. I’m, what I hope would be called a friend. That is what friends do.”

“Not everyone would have had the intelligence and forethought to convince David to do anything he didn’t want to do. What did you say to him to finally get him to open the door?”

“I just told him that there was a reason he called me. I told him that he was reaching out to someone to save him. I was in the right place at the right time, that’s all.”

“That’s a lot. Are you in Los Angeles?

“Yes. Why?”

“I go out there from time to time to film, and I have a lot of friends there too. I would like to meet you someday and thank you personally.”

“Is this Nastassja Kinski?”

“Yes.”

“Oh my God, I think you are beautiful. I love that Avedon photo with you and the snake.”

“I was scared to death to have that thing crawling all over me. I couldn’t wait for it to be over.”

“You didn’t look scared.”

“I was. He just caught a moment in time when I relaxed. It didn’t last long—the relaxed part.”

“Will you call me later and give me an update on David’s condition?”

“Of course. I’ll call you tonight. Goodbye old man.”

“Old man?”

“Yes, you must be at least thirty, am I right?

“I’m thirty-one. Is that old to you?”

“No, I just like to tease. You seem like a fun person to tease. Okay James, I will talk to you tonight if I get a minute. Goodbye.”

“Goodbye, Nastassja.”

I hung up the phone slowly not wanting to release from the conversation I just had. Could it be true? Was that really Nastassja Kinski? Did I really save David Bowie’s life? Either I really was a hero or this was one of the most elaborate jokes ever, and I was the brunt of it. I had to find out. The next time she called I was going to tape the conversation.