I received a phone call last night from the woman who taught me what it takes to be a REAL MAN. I always thought I was a "real man" until I met her. She proved to me that I was nothing but a jackass punk all that time. Yes, it was Julianne, who you may have read about in one of my previous posts here. As it turns out, she happened to read it herself when she stumbled upon the Music Pioneer's Weblog. She was doing an internet search for "incredible rock and roll superstars". Naturally she found me on the 1,537th page...she always was a tenacious one.
After seeing the glowing comments I wrote about her she decided to seek me out. Surely, she told me, I deserved to at least know what she's been up to during the last few years since her departure. It didn't take long for her to track me down, as she had memorized the phone number of my band's drummer. He left not too long after Julianne left, but he knew my phone number, and so the connection was made easily.
She said she didn't want to leave me, that she always had a soft spot in her heart for me, that she always would have...but apparently I snore. I had no idea, was completely unaware that my snoring was so bad (in fact, I always insisted that I never snored). Julianne told me that she tried to cope with it using earplugs and strong drugs that would knock her out before I fell asleep and began my nocturnal snorting.
But before long even the drugs wouldn't keep her asleep as my nasal noises continued to grow louder and more frequent. Looking back, I can only attribute it to the infinite pleasure and satisfaction that her sexual prowess provided, which lulled me into such a deep and peaceful sleep that relaxation and snoring went hand-in-hand, never to be separated.
Long story short, she walked out of my life because I snored. She said she didn't have the heart to tell me. She was convinced that if I knew of her plans to leave I would begin to abuse heroin on a level that would likely kill me (she assumed, correctly, that the stress of losing her, knowing that it was my fault, would drive me to an incredibly dangerous narcotics binge).
Julianne apologized, and said "Better late than never". To which I disagreed, but I let it slide.
We reminisced for several moments about the wild exploits shared between us, many involving strange alcoholic beverages and group sex, which was a constant in our relationship. She laughed as I recalled the 2 month joy ride with the band on tour, how each night the van was filled with 8 or 9 members of the audience who were lucky enough to join us in our bacchanals. There were times when some of those people took advantage of us, stealing our drugs and money, but those two commodities were flowing like a river in those days so it was easy to forgive.
She laughed as I reminded her of the time the tour bus left her behind in Green Valley on the way to Albuquerque, how the band and the driver refused to go back and pick her up. Julianne said she didn't remember the details (as she had been drinking quite a bit of absinthe that night) but I'll never forget. I told the guys that if they didn't turn around I would get off the bus, go back and get her myself. No sooner had the threat left my mouth than the driver pulled the bus to a screeching halt, opened the door and made a gesture with his hand that I understood to mean "I'll take you at your word...get the fuck out!" I walked the 5 miles back to the motel, debating on the way whether or not I wanted to stay in the band, and reached my destination in the wee hours of the morning. The door was locked and noone answered to my insistent knocks and kicks to the door. 10 minutes of wasted effort and I summoned the desk clerk who remembered me from the previous evening (as I had sold him a dime bag of some killer weed). He brought the pass key and when we opened the door we found Julianne passed out with two other women at her sides, a needle and a spoon perched conspicuously on the bedside table. Oh what a beautiful sight it was, I'll never forget as long as I live...that's a fact, too, because I used up a whole roll of film taking pictures of the unconscious women.
I tried to talk her into coming over to look at those photographs that I had cherished for so many years (two of which hang framed on my bathroom wall beneath a plaque that reads "The
Good Old Days!"). But she couldn't. She said she was leaving the country within a few days. She had some kind of family there to turn to and that was more than I could offer her. Of course she was right, as I have precious little to offer at all these days...just because I have made a name for myself as a Legendary Music Pioneer does not mean that I am rolling in the dough. On the contrary, things have been pretty hard lately.She expressed her wish that everything would work out alright for me, that my finances would take an upward turn, but she told me "no" when I asked her to come back to me and wait for my ship to come in. Her answer was spoken in such a firm manner that I knew better than to press my luck and so I abandoned the dream.
The time had come, she said, when she had to hang up the phone and we both knew that we would never see or hear from each other again. The notion was burning a hole into my tender, broken heart but she seemed to take it in stride. In fact, it was almost as if she WANTED to be rid of me.
But before I would let her hang up the phone I had to find out what she had been doning during the years since our love was proud and strong, before my snoring cut the cord of passion that bad bound us together through many an orgy.
"Oh, I've tried to keep myself busy," she said. "I travelled to Hollywood and took a few small roles in some erotic films. I got engaged to a drug runner out of Jamaica, but that bit the dust when the DEA snagged him on a trip to the Honduras. I wasn't about to be a convicts wife so I left him and became a Jehovah's Witness. I did that for about 3 months before I figured out what a load of bullshit it was. I left the church in disgrace and found my way into the mansion and the good graces of an older man, the wealthy publisher of a golfing magazine who had seen me in one of the movies I'd done. He begged me to move in with him, and he even had plans of proposing to me. Had I said "yes" I would have lived high on the hog for the rest of my life. He would have insisted that I get back into the movies full time, as he really had a fetish for that kind of thing. I had done a couple more then and again just for him, but it was only a hobby to me. I didn't think I could handle the pressures of doing it as a steady job...maybe I could have when I was with you...you always had the kind of drugs that made me think I could do anything...but this guy wasn't into drugs at all. I think he disapproved of my heroin use, he thought I would turn into a junkie. No matter, I wouldn't marry him, anyway, just like I wouldn't do many more films and I would never, ever kick the horse. Then, out of nowhere, he began to snore. Reminded me so much of you. I weighed the pros and cons of leaving him. Eventually I came to the decision that a life of destitution would be better than a lifetime of comfort with a man who snored even worse than you did. And so, indeed, I have been destitute since leaving him. I've lived under bridges and in homeless shelters...I've stood in soup lines for hours to get a bite to eat when my stomach was as empty as I always believed your heart was. I was reduced to using dirty needles, but I guess I got lucky because I never was HIV positive. A few days ago I said "to hell with this" and I called my uncle Charlie in Liverpool. He was more than willing to take me in and even asked me why I'd waited so long to get in touch with him. He's a nice guy, with a nice family and a steady job. But he also leads a double life as a pimp and a pill pusher with a penchant for sado-masochism. That's why I've always dug him!"
I'd heard enough. She was burning bridges, I realized. Maybe for the better. I felt a tinge of envy for her Uncle Charlie in Liverpool, but all in all I was resigned to the hand dealt to me by that mean old FATE. Who knows how long she'll last in his dungeons? Will I be invited to the funeral? Best to cherish the memories that we made together in better times. The sex. The drugs. The rock and roll. The dirty boots.
Goodbye, Julianne. Thanks for swinging by the blog and for the phone call...I somehow wish you had skipped the phone call, but thanks anyway.
