In October of 1986, I
was walking Bridget and Ginger in the park across the street, our usual romp,
when I saw a young woman arranging flowers in a planter box near a makeshift
stage. She was a cute blonde in a goofy sort of way with large bazungas, which
always appealed to me—her blue eyes were big and googly too. We started talking
and she told me her name was Joyce and was working as a gardener of sorts for
the festival the park was putting on the next day. I got her phone number and
she told me she lived in Santa Monica on Bicknell Street. I knew she wasn’t
“the one” but she would provide me with what I needed at the time—maybe what be
both needed. I would drive my maroon TR-6 out to Santa Monica from time to time
and she would also spend a few nights with me and the dogs on Camrose. She
wasn’t too thrilled about the dogs so that was my first clue. I would never be
with a woman who wasn’t an animal lover. That was rule number one. I think it
lasted three weeks with Joyce.
In
November I met another prospect whose name was Kathryn and I found out later
her father was the famous actor from stage and screen, Eli Wallach. I knew
Katherine was kind of a tomboy when on our first date we went to the YMCA and
played basketball. I’m good at baseball and golf but basketball was not my forte—although
I did have a killer skyhook. She wiped my butt all over the court. I could deal
with that but there was something else that bothered me. Maybe it was the fact
that she was a Jewish American Princess that had a lot of baggage—don’t they
all! After my heartbreaking relationship with Marly, my one and only Jewish
girlfriend, I was buyer beware, not that I was buying anything but you get the
idea. Kathryn and I lasted about a week.
Next,
after the New Year, I met a reporter that was on vacation in L.A. from The
Detroit Free Press by the name of Carol. She lived in Troy, Michigan, the same
town where my cousin Bobby Graff and his wife, Judy lived. It was also the next
town over from where my Aunt Shirlee and Uncle Norman lived, too. Norman was my
mom’s older brother and although she was born in Brooklyn, she had spent her
formative years in Detroit and lived there until she married my dad in 1949.
Carol
was a few years older than I was and she was a small framed, intelligent woman
with curly blonde hair and she wore glasses. It made her look smarter than she
actually was. After she went back to Detroit, I told her I was going to be in
New York in March and would route my trip with a layover in Detroit on my way
back to L.A. She said she would love to see me and we made plans to hook up for
at least a night. If it worked out I might even stay a few days longer. I
called the Meltzer’s that were friends of the family from when we lived in
Jericho, Long Island and they lived in the neighboring town of Syosset. They
were always kind and generous and happen to have a three bedroom apartment on
72nd and 1st on the east side of Manhattan. Since their
daughters had all flown the nest and lived on their own, there was plenty of
room for me.
I
had met another Jewish girl in Aspen, Karen Speilberger, who had a nice
apartment in mid-town. I was reluctant to call her because of my stigma of
getting involved with female members of the tribe. It must sound like I am
anti-Semitic, but I’m not. It would be a form of self-loathing since I am 100
percent Jewish, it is just that I know what I like— Shiksa’s. Karen had a whiny
voice like Fran Drescher and she resembled her in a way with her dark curly
hair, athletic feminine build. I was running out of things to do, or out of
money, which would be more believable since you can never run out of things to
do in New York, so I called Karen. She asked me if I wanted to stop by her
place and that suited me and my wallet fine. I stopped at the liquor store and
picked up a bottle of Cabernet and arrived at her apartment at around ten p.m.
She
buzzed me in and I took the elevator up to the tenth floor. I knocked.
“James,”
she said in that high pitched, tin foiled voice of hers. “It’s so good to see
you.”
“Hi
Karen,” I said as I took off my coat. The place was well heated. She took my
coat and scarf then gave me a kiss on the cheek. I handed her the bottle of
wine and she inspected it to make sure it met the demands of her nouveau riche
existence. It must have since she directed me with explicit details to the
kitchen for a corkscrew. Somewhere during the wine and cheese she asked me if I
wanted to do some coke. I said, “Sure, why not.” That was a mistake. We did a
few lines and talked about all sorts of nonsensical things and before I knew it
the hour had grown late—it was after two-thirty in the morning. I was flying
out to Detroit to see Carol the next morning so I knew it was time to leave. I
thanked her for the coke and hospitality and I think she was disappointed that
I didn’t want to spend the night. There was no way!
By
the time I got out of there it was almost three a.m. and I dreaded the walk
back to 72nd from 50th Street. I didn’t have much cash
left and I should have broken down for one but I needed to save my money for
the rest of the trip. I was wired beyond belief and paranoid to boot. I was
thankful I had left my J-200 at the Meltzers’s thinking if I had it I would be
easy prey for the creatures of the night that inhabited the streets of the east
side. I was practically running all the way down Lexington Avenue constantly
turning around to see if there were any unsavory characters on my tail. I think
it only took me twenty minutes or less to finally reach the parking garage at
72nd. I had made it, Yes! I got out of the elevator and silently
turned the front door key then crept into my guest bedroom. I took off my
clothes and got into a t-shirt and tried to get some sleep. There was no way. I
wished that I had a valium or something to induce drowsiness but I wasn’t about
to rummage through the guest bathroom for drugs. I knew there probably wouldn’t
be any there anyway. I spent the whole night staring at the ceiling counting
the little holes in the sound proofing. There were 4,288 of them. I think I
might have drifted off for half an hour but sometimes that little amount of
sleep makes you feel worse. It was the LAST STRAW and I promised myself I would
never, ever do cocaine again as long as I lived. And so far, I have been true
to my word.
The
next stop was Detroit and something would happen on the plane that made me wish
I had never taken that trip. No, the plane didn’t crash or anything but my
heart sank when I picked up my things at the baggage claim. God-damned baggage
handlers! I opened my guitar case and saw in horror that the neck had snapped
off. It was completely severed. I had insurance but they never made good on their
claim. I knew I would take care of it when I got back to L.A. and let Art
Valdez fix it.
I
spent one uneventful night with Carol and was a bit put off when she went to
the bathroom after we made love and I found a used condom on her bookshelf
behind the bed. I was grossed out and knew it would be the last time I would be
with her. The only saving grace was that I got to visit with my cousin Bobby
and then went over to see Aunt Shirlee and Uncle Norman in their condo in
Birmingham, Michigan. We had a great talk and I filled them in on the
happenings of the rest of my family. It was the last time I would see my Uncle Norman;
He died two years later a few months before the death of my father. I had my
guitar repaired by Valdez but, although he did an exemplary job on the neck, it
was never the same. Life went on as usual after that and soon I got into a
softball league with a bunch of Hollywood characters at the park just below the
Hollywood sign. I would drive up there with Bridget and Ginger and there would
usually be someone, usually a pretty female who would watch them when I was out
in the field. I loved driving my little roadster but little did I know almost a
year after I bought the car, on Labor Day, something would happen that would
put a major dent in my driving and softball plans, at least for awhile anyway.
To this day I carry the scars on my right ankle as a painful reminder of that painful
and life changing incident at the park. Stay tuned.
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