Straight Life - Art Pepper [106]
Diane didn't know what to do. She'd never been around a junkie before. She'd never taken a pill, smoked pot. She'd worked in jazz clubs, and that life was exciting to her, but she didn't know what it was like when you finally go home with those people. She saw what was happening but she couldn't stop it. I blew the gig at the Angel Room, and little by little I started blowing all the gigs and stopped going out asking for gigs. People would call and I wouldn't go to the phone. I'd make an occasional record date, something like that, but all I wanted to do was stay in the pad, lock the windows and doors, and just fix all day and night.
And all during this time the phone was ringing every day, and it was Patti saying, "You'd better leave that chick. I'm warning you." And I'm in agony because I want Patti. And I want to get rid of Diane, but now I'm feeling sorry for her and I don't know what to do. Her car's all messed up. I wouldn't allow her to spend money on her car or on anything else. Gradually, everything started falling apart, and every penny I had, I'd give to Mario.
Mario reminded me of a modern-day Zapata. He had a lot of Indian qualities. He was a big guy with a full, round, moon face, straight, coal-black hair, dark eyes, the whites real white, and everything about him denoted strength. The Mexicans I've met that had a lot of Indian in them were very strong people, very proud, very down-home, down to earth, and very honest. And if they like you, they really like you, and if they don't, that's it. There's no phoniness. Mario, whatever he told you, that's what it was. He was an honest, beautiful person and a great friend. He would never, ever have anybody else do his time for him or suffer for something that he got pleasure out of. I later wrote and recorded a song for Mario, a tribute to him. He was one of the greatest people I've ever met in my life.
Mario lived over by Riverside Drive. He'd come every other day, and I'd wait for him. He'd come in. I'd ask him if he wanted some coffee. He'd be dressed in a suit-real sharp-and real healthy because he'd stopped using. See, he used for a long time, but the last jolt he did was in McNeil Island, ten or fifteen years, and he didn't want any more of it. Now he was just dealing to make money. He didn't deal to individuals. He had people he'd make drops for that dealt, that had people dealing for them. He'd never put himself under the gun, you know, with handling stuff or put himself in a position to get caught. So he really took a chance on me, carrying stuff into my house when I could have gotten him busted and would never have had to go to jail again because he was so big. He'd come, and we would talk, and I'd be looking at him, and he knew the whole trip, what was going on in my mind. It was like a game. Sometimes he'd get all the way out the door before I'd say, "Uh?" He'd say, "Oh!" you know, and then he'd walk back in, reach in his shirt pocket, and take out the condom. It was half an ounce. He'd hold it in his hand, and my heart would be pounding because I wanted to leap on it. He'd throw it on the floor and say, "You better get that quick!" I'd jump for it, and he'd start ranking me, "You better get it quick! You better get in the bathroom and get that stuff in you! Boy, oh boy, you're too much!" He'd stand there. I'd just be wigging out because I wanted to run into the bathroom, and he knew that. He'd shake his head, "Go on, go on. Go in the bathroom!" But I'd wait and it would seem like ages before he finally split, and then I'd rush into the bathroom feeling really rank. Three different times he gave me Dolophine, but I never did kick.
At first, when Mario gave me half ounces, they'd last for two or three days. Then I started using more and one day I ran out; I couldn't call