Straight Life - Art Pepper [240]
Now we needed sheets. You take your own double bed sheets to the place. I told Laurie, "It doesn't matter. We don't need no sheets. We'll just lie on the floor." This guestroom chick asked Laurie, "What happened to the sheets you had before?" "I gave them away." I said, "Thank God!" The chick said, "I've got some brand-new sheets across the street in my place." She gave us two sheets and two new pillowcases. She was an older chick, and she liked us both. She was a real romantic.
I went back to work all excited. Just the idea of balling like that, by appointment, and doing it in the daytime! But I started worrying. "Will she like me? Will I be good? Will I like her?" And I couldn't remember the last time I'd balled without liquor or pills or dope.
I met Laurie back at the club. There she was with the sheets in a big straw purse; she was so embarrassed. News there travels fast; everyone in the club knew what was going on and they were all staring and the girls were giggling. I said, "Let's go up to the room." She said, "Why don't you go up and I'll follow. Or I'll go up. Please, you go get some coffee and bring it up. I'll have the bed made by the time you get there." I went for coffee. Everybody was saying, "Yeah! Work out, Art!" And, "Boy, I know you're going to enjoy that!" It was really far-out. I liked it. But all the attention got me nervous again. What if I couldn't get a hard-on being sober? I carried the coffee up the stairs, try ing not to spill it. Six floors. No elevator. By the time I got there I was just panting. She's got the bed made and the shades pulled. She said, "Look what I got." She'd lit some candles, really pretty. I put the coffee down. We looked at each other for a moment. There was no strangeness at all. All of a sudden we had our clothes off and we were laying on the bed making love, and it was the most beautiful thing in the world. And it was so vivid. There was no numbness from juice or stuff. After we finally separated, we lay there looking at each other and I tried to cover up my stomach. At first I'd had a shirt on, but Laurie'd made me take it off; now I reached for it, but she said, "Oh, please don't. I think it's beautiful. That's you. You look real. I like the marks around your eyes, everything about you. I don't like a pretty man without wrinkles or scars." She stroked my stomach, and she kissed it.
23
Synanon: Games,
Raids, the Trip
19691971
THE GAMES were like group therapy. I'd been through that in Fort Worth, San Quentin, Chino; I figured this would be the same. But, whereas in prison a psychiatrist or a psychologist was in charge of the group, in Synanon actually nobody ran the games. In prison the therapy sessions were designed to find out problems and help people: they tried to build you up, very polite. In Synanon you put the game on a person and the way he sat, the clothes he wore, the expression on his face, the way he talked-those were the things you picked apart. And you got him so angry he lost his inhibitions. You got him so frustrated and humiliated he'd flip out and let his real feelings come forth. The game was a place to cathart. It was a verbal vomiting. In prison in group, I knew I could only say certain things. If I said other things it would put me in a bad light with the psychiatrist and might hurt my chances for release. I found out in Synanon I had nothing to lose. Well, if you drank or got loaded or balled some chick without permission (and later on if you smoked), those were things you could get a bald