Wednesday, April 15, 2009
(part 158) GET ME TO THE PLANE ON TIME
I was bailed out of jail almost immediately, and assumed that it was by someone connected to DP, who didn't think it was a good idea to leave me in there too long, for fear I would get pissed off and cut a deal to get out.
Since DP knew I had the information about where the cocaine came from, I guess getting me out and on the street, was of primary importance to him. I hadn't said anything, but still, I'm sure he didn't want to take any chances.
The whole ordeal turned me off about Nashville, and I started making noise about going back to L.A. There was the pending legal matter of course, but I now felt about Nashville the way I'd felt about Los Angeles and Hollywood before I left there.
I was too conspicuous to be comfortable. I guess the guy Hugh, who'd set me up, was none too popular at that point either, since it was now known that he was the snitch. Anyway my problem was not him, it was me.
Because I was loaded all the time, it is hard to recall everything that happened back then, but soon after this event I secured a one-way plane ticket back to L.A., and was given permission to leave the state; Dp had friends in the District Attorney's office.
He also had a friend who was a Nashville cop. The reason I bring this up is to show how both sides were intermingled, and because on the day I was to fly back to the west coast, I found myself running way behind schedule.
I was so late in fact, that it appeared it would be impossible for me to get to the airport in time to make the flight. That's when DP's buddy, the policeman, said "I'll get you there on time, Bobby, let's take the cruiser."
The cruiser was a Nashville police car. I hopped in the passenger seat and buckled up, for what promised to be an extraordinary ride to to the airport with plenty of time to spare.
As we made our way into traffic he turned on the flashing lights and siren, and barreled through city streets and then onto the freeway.
At about a 110 miles an hour, cars and trucks were pulling to the side to let us through. I was amused by this, because I knew it was nothing more than me, the loaded has-been pop star, just out of jail, headed to the airport, with a ticket paid for by a cocaine dealer, who was my friend, and his friend the cop was driving me there. "What a trip!" I thought, "What a fucking trip!"
After a harrowing ride we pulled into the airport and up to a no parking section near the front door of my airline. I turned to DP's friend, laughing, and said "That's the best Goddamn ride in a cop car I ever had."
He shook my hand, smiling, and said "You take care Bobby, and say hi to all them pretty California girls for me, will ya?" "yeah," I said, "I'll do that, and thanks for the ride and all your help."
I stepped out on the walkway and waved one more time as he drove back into traffic. "What a ride!" I thought, "Man that was fun!"
I stared out the window of the plane from twenty thousand feet, and knew something had to change. My life had become nothing more than a long continuous drunk at that point, peppered with catastrophe after catastrophe.
I thought again about the idea of stopping drinking and using, and it made me shudder way down deep inside, but it wouldn't stop gnawing at me.
It had become overwhelmingly obvious that drinking and using had gotten completely out of control in my life. I looked back over the past decade of my existence, and could see clearly the connection between calamity and my using.
It was literally a miracle that I wasn't dead, and amazing that I hadn't been locked up for a long time in either a prison, jail, or nut house. I could see that it was only a matter of time, though, if I continued on my current path.
I wondered if I really could stop drinking and using? I didn't know. I'd never even tried before, and wasn't really sure I wanted to. Getting loaded for me was the only way I could start a day, get through it, and end it. I didn't know how to do anything else.
I stared at the drink on the tray in front of my seat. I reached out and picked up the plastic glass of scotch and water and took a drink. It was like shaking hands with the last friend I had on the planet, really, it was that important to me.
Whatever I was going to do, I knew one thing for sure at that moment. I wasn't going to stop right then, and I was pretty damn sure I wasn't going to stop that particular day.
I listened to the hum of the plane's engines and stared out at the sky as I settled back in my seat on my way west. Back to Los Angeles and Hollywood.