house. The master bedroom had a window seat hiding cupboards beneath plush cushions, a marble bathroom, and pink carpeting. There was a recording studio on the third floor and a suite over the garage, with peacocks living in the dense pine trees surrounding the drive.
Just before the move, Wendy, a young blonde from the San Fernando Valley, began hanging out at Coldwater. I suspected Wendy was trouble when she staggered drunkenly out of her baby-blue convertible Mercedes. Not knowing where she had met Sly, I assumed she was around because she had drugs. She brought a dark cloud with her. Wendy liked to sniff a white crystal powder called PCP, which was a horse tranquilizer that could cause seizures. I begged Sly not to snort it. He pushed me away as Wendy sprinkled the PCP onto a mirror. My grandmother's sweet brown face appeared before me for an instant, and I knew—without a doubt—the drug was evil. I stood up and left the room, my grandmother's image a strong warning. But Sly tried it. He was incoherent and immobile for hours. His mood was unreasonable and paranoid. I hated Wendy.
The week we were packing to move to Bel Air, Kitsaun came down to visit. I was happy to see her and hear about home. Her Afro had grown out, and her hair curled around her brown, angular face. She was completing her second year at City College, and she and Jake had broken up. “I'm working with Frank as a showroom model to make money. I want to go to Europe this summer,” she told me.Kitsaun looked in our refrigerator and asked why there was no food. “How do you guys survive?” she asked. My consumption of drugs made eating a once-a-day event. Coke squelched my appetite completely.
“We order a lot of Pioneer Chicken and Chinese food,” I said. She shook her head in dismay, and we ordered dinner by phone and went upstairs, where everyone was hanging out in our bedroom. I sat down on the bed near Sly. Jerry, Lynn, Kitsaun, and Freddy all sat on the rug around us, talking. Sly had given me a Seconal and a Placidyl. He talked about new songs, his words beginning to sound like a tape on slow speed. I looked at Kitsaun, and her face became fuzzy and began losing its shape. My head felt heavy.
The next thing I knew, water was filling my nose. I sputtered and coughed, opening my eyes. Sly was holding me up in the shower, my clothes plastered to my body under the stream of water pouring over me. I looked at Sly. He was fully dressed, too. What were we doing in the shower? “She's awake!” Sly called out. He turned the water off.
Kitsaun stood at the door, gulping back tears. “Are you all right?” she asked, handing Sly a towel. He dried my face.
“What happened?” I asked.
Sly walked me out of the stall.
Kitsaun cried, “You were sitting there, and then you fell straight back. Your eyes were half-opened. I thought you were dead.”
“She's okay now,” Sly said, trying to calm Kitsaun. “Let me get her undressed and in bed. I'll be downstairs in a few minutes.”
Sly took off my clothes, rubbed the terry towel gently overme, and laid me on the bed. I was still groggy. He covered me with blankets and the comforter. He kissed my forehead, brushed my hair back, and stepped into the walk-in closet to change his wet clothes. I wondered if I had passed out because I was trying to escape from my dead-end life. Kitsaun said I had looked dead, and I definitely felt as though I was traveling on an unstable road of harm. I drifted to sleep listening to Sly's deep voice through the floor as he sat in the living room talking with everyone else.
Late the next morning, Kitsaun and I sat outside on the stone terrace facing the line of mulberries and madrones bordering the property. “I don't know why you faded out last night, but it really scared me. You're so thin, Deb.”
Kitsaun had always been the closest person in my life. We had not talked as much lately—but there was no schism in our honesty and love. “I love Sly, but he's
Just before the move, Wendy, a young blonde from the San Fernando Valley, began hanging out at Coldwater. I suspected Wendy was trouble when she staggered drunkenly out of her baby-blue convertible Mercedes. Not knowing where she had met Sly, I assumed she was around because she had drugs. She brought a dark cloud with her. Wendy liked to sniff a white crystal powder called PCP, which was a horse tranquilizer that could cause seizures. I begged Sly not to snort it. He pushed me away as Wendy sprinkled the PCP onto a mirror. My grandmother's sweet brown face appeared before me for an instant, and I knew—without a doubt—the drug was evil. I stood up and left the room, my grandmother's image a strong warning. But Sly tried it. He was incoherent and immobile for hours. His mood was unreasonable and paranoid. I hated Wendy.
The week we were packing to move to Bel Air, Kitsaun came down to visit. I was happy to see her and hear about home. Her Afro had grown out, and her hair curled around her brown, angular face. She was completing her second year at City College, and she and Jake had broken up. “I'm working with Frank as a showroom model to make money. I want to go to Europe this summer,” she told me.Kitsaun looked in our refrigerator and asked why there was no food. “How do you guys survive?” she asked. My consumption of drugs made eating a once-a-day event. Coke squelched my appetite completely.
“We order a lot of Pioneer Chicken and Chinese food,” I said. She shook her head in dismay, and we ordered dinner by phone and went upstairs, where everyone was hanging out in our bedroom. I sat down on the bed near Sly. Jerry, Lynn, Kitsaun, and Freddy all sat on the rug around us, talking. Sly had given me a Seconal and a Placidyl. He talked about new songs, his words beginning to sound like a tape on slow speed. I looked at Kitsaun, and her face became fuzzy and began losing its shape. My head felt heavy.
The next thing I knew, water was filling my nose. I sputtered and coughed, opening my eyes. Sly was holding me up in the shower, my clothes plastered to my body under the stream of water pouring over me. I looked at Sly. He was fully dressed, too. What were we doing in the shower? “She's awake!” Sly called out. He turned the water off.
Kitsaun stood at the door, gulping back tears. “Are you all right?” she asked, handing Sly a towel. He dried my face.
“What happened?” I asked.
Sly walked me out of the stall.
Kitsaun cried, “You were sitting there, and then you fell straight back. Your eyes were half-opened. I thought you were dead.”
“She's okay now,” Sly said, trying to calm Kitsaun. “Let me get her undressed and in bed. I'll be downstairs in a few minutes.”
Sly took off my clothes, rubbed the terry towel gently overme, and laid me on the bed. I was still groggy. He covered me with blankets and the comforter. He kissed my forehead, brushed my hair back, and stepped into the walk-in closet to change his wet clothes. I wondered if I had passed out because I was trying to escape from my dead-end life. Kitsaun said I had looked dead, and I definitely felt as though I was traveling on an unstable road of harm. I drifted to sleep listening to Sly's deep voice through the floor as he sat in the living room talking with everyone else.
Late the next morning, Kitsaun and I sat outside on the stone terrace facing the line of mulberries and madrones bordering the property. “I don't know why you faded out last night, but it really scared me. You're so thin, Deb.”
Kitsaun had always been the closest person in my life. We had not talked as much lately—but there was no schism in our honesty and love. “I love Sly, but he's
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