Straight Life - Art Pepper [253]
I started thinking seriously about leaving then. And I thought that if Laurie really loved me, she would follow me. After I was gone she wouldn't be able to stand being without me. Blackie called a few more times and gave me a number where I could reach him.
Laurie and I were friends with a couple, life-stylers, who had an apartment in the Clump. They were going back east to visit their families for the holidays and told us we could stay at their place for a whole week while they were gone. Laurie sensed that I was leaving, even though I couldn't tell her. We had a wonderful week together in that apartment, and when it was over I gave Blackie a call and told him to come pick me up.
24
The Return of
Art Pepper
1971-1978
BLACKIE was a great big cat, about six, six; he looked like he weighed four hundred pounds. He looked like Murder Incorporated. He came to get me the next evening. I got the stuff I was going to take and put it in Blackie's car. One of the guys looked out a window, and he shook his head and waved goodbye. Blackie backed out of the driveway of the Clump, and my first thought was of Laurie down at the main club getting ready for a game. I had a feeling that was half elation and half sadness. Blackie said, "Oh, man, it must be great to get out of that fuckin' place, fuckin' assholes!" The only thing I wanted now was to get loaded. I'd saved about twenty-five dollars from my WAM. I told him to stop at the first liquor store we came to, and I bought a pint of brandy. As soon as it hit me, I felt better.
Blackie lived in Inglewood in one of these nondescript apartment houses with a pool in the middle. There's a million of them in Southern California. We got to his pad and sat down, and I asked him, "Man, did you save me any methadone?" I knew he was on the program. He said, "Oh, man, I'm sorry. I can't. I need every bit that I get." I said, "Well, I thought you'd save me some." He said, "Don't worry. I knew you'd have eyes to score. How much money have you got?" He called up a guy we both knew, Fred, that used to be in Synanon. He talks and gives me a kind of a smile. "Ok. We'll see you." He hangs up the phone. "I told you I wouldn't let you down. Everything's straight. Fred's dealing."
Fred came over. I got loaded. I forgot about Laurie, about my problems. It was a great night. I woke up the next morning, and I thought, "What am I going to do now?" I had no money. Blackie had a day job. He'd get up real early in the morning and drink his methadone; he'd go to work-"I'll see you about four o'clock"-and leave me sitting there thinking about Laurie and wondering what I was going to do.
Blackie tried to talk me into getting on the methadone program. He got a friend of his, Carl, to drive me to the Veteran's Hospital at Brentwood. I had an interview with a secretary. She asked about my health. I mentioned that I had cirrhosis. She said, "That ends that. You won't be able to get on the program, because methadone is very bad for your liver." This girl just confirmed my fears. I'd already had it in my mind, that I'd die if I got on the methadone program.
I went on like this for a while, hustling Blackie, trying to get money from him so I could score a couple more times. That was all I could do, drink and score. Blackie was getting drug. He was mad at me because he felt I didn't really try to get on the program. He said I could have got on if I'd really forced it. Nothing was happening for Blackie. His father owned a big factory, but Blackie