Here’s another uproarious episode from my journals. There’s lots to cover so I’ll skip the usual ‘lost memoirs’ back story.
August 4, 1992
On Saturday, Austin was scheduled to play The Marquee Club but that afternoon, city inspectors closed it because of fire code violations. The band didn’t find out until they arrived with all their equipment. It was an important gig—Austin asked us to please come—because some record execs had RSVP’d that they’d be there. It’s unusual to get an RSVP from those guys, so word must be getting around.
There was a restaurant a half block away. Ed and Austin launched a charm initiative against the hot, hot, hot maitre d’, asking her if they could steal power from the building and set up in the street. The maitre d’ got the owner and Austin offered him $100. The owner said it’d be illegal to run a line outside but since the restaurant was dead, they could set up inside and the owner would charge a $5 cover—same as the Marquee. The building, once a warehouse, had a huge, open space that was filled with empty tables. They hung a sign on the door of the Marquee directing Very Pleasant Neighbor fans to the restaurant down the block. It worked! The A&R people showed up and were impressed with the band’s resourcefulness.
Afterwards, Cindy and I went to Milano’s, that dingy bar next to the Knitting Factory. It’s long, narrow and not very clean. Just the way Cindy and I like our women. We pounded McSorley’s cream ales and I got uncharacteristically blitzed. I was hitting on the pretty barmaid (who was having none of my bullshit) and the guy sitting next to Cindy was hitting on her. Ha. If he only knew.
We left around 1:00 a.m. At the corner of Houston and Bowery I told Cindy, in my drunken slur, that I wanted to kiss her. She said, “Okay, but keep it light.” We were kissing and heard someone scream, “CINDY!” It was Laura! She had been following us again! She was standing several paces away. The two of them got into a terrific screaming match. I slowly backed away in case Laura had a gun. Laura called Cindy a homophobe, which I guess is the worst thing you can call a lesbian (or a bi-sexual, as the case may be). Cindy pulled her keys out of her pocket, snapped open the ring, took Laura’s apartment key off, threw it at her and said, “Get the hell out of my life!” The key whizzed in a straight line and bounced off Laura’s forehead and landed on the Bowery. I started laughing my ass off which, as you can imagine, didn’t help matters. It was pretty awesome.
On Sunday I went to Bonnie’s to watch the Olympics. It was raining so I hailed a cab. When the cab pulled up, the doorman came out with an umbrella and rode up in the elevator with me, which I find annoying. I can push a fucking button. Bonnie said they’re a nuisance but the old people in the building insist on them. What a bunch of babies.
We were making out on the sofa during the swimming and diving competition and Bonnie said she wanted to go for a walk. By then it had stopped raining so we went to Central Park for a bit, then to the Japanese restaurant down the street. Of course she knew everyone there and everyone knew her. She was talking kind of loud and I was embarrassed. People were staring. We sat at the sushi bar and ordered hot Saki. She introduced me to Fuji, the girl behind the bar, telling us that we’d be perfect together. She had bright eyes and was full of the devil. Get this: Bonnie made me show her my new tattoo. [Note: it’s a Japanese symbol.] Fuji looked at it, gasped, and said, “That’s a man’s name!” Well, it isn’t but I believed her for a moment and thought it was very, very funny. Later, I told Bonnie I wanted to mount Fuji—ha-ha, get it?—and she got really mad and jealous. The bill was $40 but Bonnie was dead broke so I (gladly) paid it.
[Disclaimer: I debated on whether or not to include this next bit. It’s vulgar and crass. I decided to post it with the caveat that it might offend. I’m warning you with peace and love, don’t judge me today for the boy I was then. Pat, if you’re reading, please stop here.]
We went back to her place and went to bed. It always takes me a while to relax but there are great rewards for the lucky woman with patience. Bonnie went down on me. It amazes me how some women have elevated blow jobs to an art form while others won’t have anything to do with them. You can tell when a girl is disgusted. Bonnie is a maestro.
Bonnie is afraid of catching AIDS and insisted I use a condom. I got one out of my backpack but it was from last Christmas when I was with Ann. They were so old that the lubricant dried up and the condoms had shrunk to the size of a dime. I couldn’t even get the damn thing out of the package. By then, Bonnie was drunk with desire + Saki. She pulled me on top of her and put me inside anyway. We would’ve had simultaneous orgasms except I had to pull out, so hers was interrupted. She said, “I need that space filled,” took a few of my fingers and put them inside her. I felt like a gynecologist but it did the trick. Satisfaction all around. Bonnie smells nice. Ann, not so much. I almost passed out from Ann. We were up until 3:30 a.m., woke up the next morning and started all over again. She had to leave for work at 10:00. We were both beat. Not enough sleep.