Straight Life - Art Pepper [254]
One day I got a phone call from someone who'd been in Synanon with me, inviting me to a party. A group of people who'd left Synanon and hung out together had heard that I was out and staying with Blackie, and they wanted to help me. They looked down on Blackie; they felt he wasn't really trying to help himself. He was trying as hard as he could. They invited me to a party at an apartment in Hollywood. Blackie drove me. I said, "Why don't you come in?" He said, "No, no. I don't like those people."
There were fifteen or twenty "splittees" at this party. We ate and drank and reminisced about things that had happened at Synanon. They asked me how I felt about being away from Synanon. Did I miss Laurie? What was I going to do? I said I wasn't sure. I was afraid to get back into music for a lot of reasons. I didn't know whether I could make it, playing, after all this time, whether I could get back into a field which is very difficult and competitive, whether people would give me the opportunity, whether I was physically able. I realized that the only times I'd been really happy were when I was working, like in the Paymaster's Office in San Quentin or in bookkeeping in Synanon, so I was thinking about getting a job where I wasn't playing music all the time, just playing for kicks and holding a job where I could make a living in another type of endeavor.
Bob and Nikki Deal had a proposition to make me. Bob had recently opened a health food bakery in Venice, Good Stuff Bread. They lived next door to the bakery; they had an extra room, and they told me if I'd like, I could stay with them and work with Bob, helping around the bakery, keeping the books. I told Bob I'd think about it. He told me he had a car, a little Honda that I could use. That was what finally made me decide to stay with them.
Carl drove me to Bob's house. Bob showed me my little room in the back of the house. It was a large house. In front was Nikki's studio; she was a commercial artist. My room was off the enormous kitchen and dining area. There was a desk and a bunch of windows, a bed in the corner, a chair, a big closet and a little bathroom with a shower, a toilet and sink. It was a nice room and very convenient. I could go in there and close the door and feel safe.
Bob made a heavy dark brown bread, supposed to be very good for you, and a carrot cake, a banana cake, and an apple cake all out of whole wheat. I took care of ordering the labels, ordering supplies, checking the big freezer making sure the bakers had enough to work with-nuts, honey, flour. I'd straighten the place up and get it ready for the day's work. I'd slice the bread and cakes and wrap them, put labels on them and price them. I'd set up the window display. I'd fill the orders and sometimes make deliveries. There were several delivery guys. Each had a sales book; he'd be billed for whatever he took out, and all that had to be watched, so they didn't cheat us. Sometimes I'd put on big rubber gloves and wash trays or sweep and mop the place. Then Bob would come in and say, "I'm going to take over for a little while so you can go do the books." I'd walk back to my room. I made out all the paychecks, took out the taxes, did the accounts payable and accounts receivable. I had to make everything match out. That was hard, hard, hard. Faye, my old boss in the Synanon book keeping department, was a splittee now, too. She'd come around once a month and help me when we made out a sheet that had to be sent in to the government. Every day I'd go to the bank and deposit all the money. Sometimes I'd have as much as twelve or fifteen thousand dollars. Then I'd go to the post office and pick up the mail. I'd take all the mail that had to do with the business and go through it.
The truck drivers came in at about three or four. I'd check them in. I'd take all the spoilage and throw it away and do an inventory on what they'd brought back. After they left, the people that worked in the bakery would want to talk to me-there wasn't enough of