Needle (14 page)

I decided to go through the motions. Though I had no intention of getting married I would keep this fact, along with my continued drug use, to myself for fear of rocking the boat. Of course, the boat would eventually rock like a motherfucker and sink like a stone.

On a Saturday morning near the middle of March, Venus and I set out to adopt a puppy. Though her landlord didn’t allow pets, we reasoned that the studio was now a bit too confining anyway, and if we happened upon a likeable pup we would look for a larger apartment in a building that did.

We walked over to the Humane Society which was only a few blocks away. Upon arriving, we made our way to a room filled with homeless puppies and immediately spotted her. She was an incredibly beautiful, ten-week-old, Chocolate Lab and Doberman mix with a brown coat, hazel eyes, floppy ears, and enormous paws. There was no question that she would grow to become a strikingly beautiful and gigantic beast.

While growing up, I’d always desired the companionship of a dog. Unfortunately, my mother was adamantly opposed to the idea, and instead provided me with a tank full of tropical fish that seemed primarily concerned with eating their young. Though I appreciated how life in the fish tank mirrored my own, the aquatic pet experience left me feeling a bit empty. However, as I stood there in the kennel I
could feel that void finally being filled, a void which I hadn’t even realized still existed.

A shelter volunteer carried the pup out through a hallway and into the reception area where we waited, along with a writer from
New York Magazine
. He was there to do a story on the Humane Society while his photographer was on a quest for the perfect moment to capture on film. Just as if on cue and as the camera flashed, our puppy lifted her head and draped an abnormally large tongue across the volunteer’s hand. We named her Becky.

I couldn’t believe how much I loved that stupid dog and I felt like a little kid again. When I would walk her up and down the street, passersby would literally stop dead in their tracks—captivated by how beautiful she was.

About a week after adopting her, Becky and I took a long walk that ended up on the grounds surrounding Gracie Mansion and at some point after we arrived, she appeared to be on a mission of sorts. She sniffed around for several minutes, stalked a few pigeons, and then took an enormous dump on what was the equivalent of the Mayor’s front lawn. It was an incredibly satisfying moment for both of us.

We left the steaming tribute and eventually headed toward Venus’ apartment. I don’t exactly recall how it happened but as we approached York Avenue, Becky’s leash somehow worked itself free from my hand. Just as it did, she trotted up a few feet ahead and I could see impending disaster. I knew that if I were to go after her in any obvious way she’d break into a sprint, and we were already so close to York she’d be in the middle of traffic before I had a chance to catch up. This was going to be a
bad
scene. Becky was already increasing her speed and looking back at me tauntingly, daring me to give chase. I had no choice. I started after her, and as she got within 90 feet of the curb she kicked it into high gear with absolutely no intention of stopping.

With a rush of adrenaline, I launched into a sprint that I didn’t think I was capable of. I was able to close the gap quickly, but not before Becky was at the edge of York Avenue with cars whizzing by. Fully outstretched, I dove into the street and
knew
I was going to die. At some point between diving and landing, I literally saw my life flash before my eyes. It was as if a long series of photographs, taken throughout the course of my life, was suddenly shown to me in an instant.

I landed halfway in the middle of the right lane, and as my hand came crashing down upon Becky’s back she showered me with a boatload of fishy-smelling piss. Then, just as I pulled her to my chest, I felt the rubber tire of a Toyota grip my long, curly, hair as it screeched by—no more than a couple of inches from my head.

I really loved that stupid dog.

25

By the end of March, not even a full month after moving in with Venus, it had become apparent that the health of our relationship was in sharp decline. There were a number of reasons for this, but the prevailing factor had to be that I just didn’t like her. Not only did I question her ability to remain faithful, but she was also bossy, controlling, and manipulative—and a living arrangement born partly out of convenience was now steeped in aggravation and turmoil. On a more positive note, my relationship with the dog was going magnificently well. Each morning after Venus headed out for work, as if on cue, Becky jumped in bed to fill the void.

Tensions with Venus reached a boiling point one evening at the home of my childhood friend—Chris Troise—and his girlfriend, Elizabeth. For some reason, throughout the course of the entire evening Venus had been rude, argumentative, and had openly embarrassed me on several occasions. The final straw came as she verbally assaulted me with such venom that even Chris took a step back, and though I can’t recall her words precisely, I do remember Chris’ response verbatim.

“She’s really giving you the fuckin’ business,” he said in a hushed voice. “You wanna ditch this scene and get a drink?”

“We’re gonna ditch this scene and get a drink,” I told Venus.

“Do you want us to come?” she asked, unsure if an invitation was being extended.

“No.”

After clearing that up, I put on my jacket and headed straight for the door with Chris in hot pursuit. We proceeded to a nearby bar, and
as the liquor flowed I began to think that life with Perry and his mom might not be so bad after all.

After several drunken hours in the bar with Chris, I staggered back to the apartment and crawled into bed, thankful that Venus was asleep. Only she wasn’t. Like a fanged and hairy beast camouflaged in the thick underbrush of a jungle, she was simply waiting for the perfect opportunity to strike. Just as I positioned myself to pass out, she pounced.

Once again, I can’t recall the details of the attack, but this time it was because I wasn’t listening. I had already decided that she was a bitch, and that I would be vacating the apartment and the relationship as soon as possible. Of course, in order to minimize any further discomfort to myself, I would withhold that information until the last minute. This may have been a bit deceptive and cowardly but I had no choice. The second she became aware of our demise I’d be in the street and I knew it. It was simply a matter of survival.

I continued to ignore Venus’ tirade until I saw sunlight creeping through the window and realized I’d been pretending to listen for over two hours. Up until that moment I was able to ignore her quite effectively, thanks to the intense intoxication. However, the alcohol soon turned on me as the drunkenness transformed itself into a horrendous hangover. My head was pounding and I wanted to puke, which was now exacerbated by the nauseating presence of Venus and her barrage of nasty remarks. Finally, I’d had enough.

“If you don’t shut your fucking mouth I’m leaving,” I calmly informed her. And then I fell asleep.

That afternoon I awoke in sad shape but was thankful that Venus had apparently decided to spend her Saturday elsewhere.

Wait a minute… If Venus is out, then Becky would be in bed. But Becky’s
not
in bed. That could mean only one thing: VENUS IS STILL IN THE APARTMENT! But it’s so quiet, where could she be? She’s usually such a noisy bitch. Maybe she’s in the bathroom—

As I turned over to see if the bathroom light was on, I almost rolled into Venus’ face as she sat silently on the floor beside the bed, peering at me with bugged-out eyes. Unbelievably, she was there all along—waiting for me to awaken.

“We’re getting rid of the dog,” she said in an eerie voice that made my skin crawl. Then, for a moment or two she continued to sit silently as though she was waiting for me to dare rebuke her. Of course, I did—but not before asking why she was taking her anger out on the
dog.

She explained that by threatening to leave, I demonstrated an obvious lack of commitment. Therefore, it would be unwise for her to relocate to a larger apartment that allowed pets, when there was a very good chance I might abandon her as well as the significantly higher rent.

Obviously, she was once again attempting to manipulate the situation—not to mention my own words in order to exert control over me. I very clearly remembered saying that if she didn’t shut her mouth—I would be
leaving
in a temporal sense. I never said I would be
leaving her
, which would suggest a more permanent departure and one that she was now claiming I implied. I decided not to comfort her by illuminating the obvious distinction because she was already aware of it, and it was all just a game anyway.
Fuck her
. Let her pretend to think what she wants.

“So bring the dog back to the kennel today,” she told me.

“I’ll bring you back first.”

Nothing more needed to be said after that.

She gave me until the end of the week to find a place, but I was completely unsuccessful as any apartment allowing pets was clearly out of my price range. Even worse, I was told that the Humane Society offered no guarantee of re-adoption. As a result, Becky and I temporarily moved to my mother’s condo in Bayside to buy more time and figure things out.

Perhaps, for the first time in my life, my mother actually rose to the occasion. First of all, it was utterly amazing that she would even allow a shitting, pissing, little puppy in her house to begin with. Beyond that, it was ultimately due to
her
diligence that a shelter guaranteeing adoption was found.

After a few more failed attempts to secure an affordable and pet-friendly apartment, my mother drove us to a Long Island adoption center where I was forced to relinquish my dog.

I cried like a little kid.

26

I spent approximately two weeks at my mother’s condo after reluctantly giving away Becky. While living with her on the outskirts of Queens, the commute to Manhattan was a painful ordeal. At the crack of dawn, I would rise to catch an express bus that battled rush-hour traffic from Bell Boulevard in Bayside, to First Avenue in Manhattan. To further complicate matters, Sections had finally begun recording a professional demo tape at a downtown studio where my presence was required almost every evening after work. Then, late at night after the session concluded, I would return to Bayside for a few hours of sleep before beginning the routine anew. It was a grueling schedule, but the demo was an absolute necessity if we were ever going to play any hi-profile gigs.

As luck would have it, Perry stumbled upon a convenient but temporary living arrangement in Manhattan that would at least see me through the late-night recording sessions. He’d recently heard from Rachel Sanders, a friend and former co-worker who was interested in subletting a room in her apartment while her roommate, Melody Richards, was on tour with a theater group. Both girls were extremely talented singers and actresses and both were friends of Perry; however, Melody was especially significant in his life as she would be the second of the aforementioned love interests to fail to reciprocate his feelings.

My new, temporary dwelling was located on 83
^rd
Street between First and Second Avenue. Since the subletting agreement had been entirely arranged through Perry, the first time I met Rachel was when I appeared at her door with a duffel bag in my hand.

Rachel was the working man’s blond-bombshell. She was somewhat shorter than you might imagine—but she had the boobs, hair, and makeup to otherwise complete the picture. She was also a bit of a space cadet.

Melody would be on tour for eight weeks during which I could have either the bedroom or the living room for only $300 per month. Honestly, I couldn’t have cared less where I slept and was only thankful to be back in the city; however, Rachel was insistent that I have my choice. She guided me toward the back of the apartment to peruse the bedroom, where I encountered a black cat sprawled-out on
the bed. Her name was Bridget and as I came closer, she rolled over on her back exposing her stomach. Unfortunately, I’m not much of a cat person and besides, I’ve always been terribly allergic to them.

“Oh, come on,” Rachel said with a smile. “She wants you to pet her belly. She only does that for people she
really
likes.”

Not wanting to seem like an asshole in front of my new roommate, I gave in and petted the stupid cat. The moment I began to think that, perhaps, some cats weren’t so bad—four sets of razor-sharp claws and a pair of fangs were suddenly plunged into my arm. Even though Rachel seemed shocked by Bridget’s behavior, I decided to let the cat have the bedroom.

On the very first evening of my new living arrangement, Perry stopped by to discuss the demo and the final track to be recorded. We had already recorded “Valentines” and “Loud Mouth,” and after some debate we settled on “In a Room”—which would finally give Danny a chance to play the sax and shut his mouth.

“Hey, where’s Rachel?” Perry asked as it suddenly occurred to him that she wasn’t in the apartment.

“She had to run some errands. She should be back in a few minutes,” I told him as my eyes had already begun to itch from the cat.

Perry then stood up and produced a plastic bag containing his stash as well as a couple of long, blue, hypodermic needles.

“Nice. When’d you start shootin’ up, junky?” I asked.

“Today,” he answered.

That wasn’t entirely true. Perry had stuck himself once before while visiting his father in California.

I followed him to the kitchen where he found a spoon, into which he emptied a bag of dope and a syringe full of water. Perry then placed a lit match beneath the spoon until the dope dissolved as the water began to boil. The moment it did the match was removed and then, with a piece of cotton to help filter out as many of the “impurities” as possible, he drew the liquefied narcotic into the syringe.

I wasn’t exactly sure how I felt about the needle. I must admit, though, I was somewhat mesmerized by the process as I’d never before seen a street drug administered intravenously. I was also incredibly impressed with Perry’s expertise as within seconds he located a vein. He slipped the syringe into his arm and then, after maneuvering the needle around for a moment, pulled slightly upwards on the plunger to ensure the intended victim had been penetrated. Then suddenly,
EUREKA!!!
A stream of red rushed into the chamber
as a plume of blood slowly rose to mingle with the dirty-looking liquid held within. I began carefully monitoring his behavior to note the effects of the drug once delivered intravenously.