The Beach House – Chapter 7

“Well, it is a new kitchen. Monica stocked it all, and I don’t know where anything is yet.” I added a stupid smile to try and cover my ignorance.

“The same Monica who told me that if I didn’t detox, I would go to jail?” Mia seemed truly intrigued by the web of Monica.

“Yep, and told me to help you detox or she wouldn’t speak to me again.” I didn’t think before I spoke. I regretted my statement immediately and turned to Mia in attempt to rephrase.

“So you love this Monica?” What? Where did that come from?

“No! Absolutely not! We don’t even like each other.” I kind of blurted it out quickly. I didn’t want anyone thinking I had any romantic desires for Monica.

“So why would you agree to help me?” She seemed intrigued as well as a bit agitated.

“She does things for me.” I felt a bit nervous. I was screwing things up again. “I’m not good with people, so I pay her to take care of things.” I pointed around the house. “All of this she did in three weeks.” Saying it out loud sounded a bit ludicrous. I fell back to the truth and quietly added, “I’m glad she made me do it.” Mia looked at me funny.

“You’re glad she made you clean up my puke?” Mia was incredulous. I should never have opened my mouth. Why can’t I ever think before I speak to other people? I couldn’t look her in the eyes, so I looked at the floor.

“I’d do it again if it meant you would sit with me on the beach again.” God, it sounded pathetic. I was pathetic. I heard a gasp and expected the worse. I wasn’t going to hide from it this time. I lifted my head and Mia had a hand over her mouth. She had a strained look in her eyes. I guess she thought it was pathetic too. She shook her head and ran to the hall bathroom.

The retching started immediately followed by coughing and crying. She was in pain, and I felt it. I didn’t make the pancakes fast enough. I ran to the bathroom with no idea what I was going to do about it. Her entire body went into convulsions each time she tried to throw up. Hardly anything was coming out, and you could see the pain in her eyes. There was nothing I could do. I sat down next to her and pulled her hair out of the toilet. I spent the next fifteen minutes trying not to cry.

Mia finally pulled back from the rim of the toilet wincing in pain. “God, that hurt!” There were tears down her face, and her eyes looked like they had just been punched. I grabbed a washcloth and soaked it with warm water. I sat back down and began to wipe her face clean. “I like you too, Dale.” She gave me a weak smile. Her eyes were completely bloodshot and underlined by dark moons, her nose was bright red and runny, and she was pale as a ghost. She was the most beautiful woman I had ever met. I hugged her to me.

I finally got some water into her. I had her wrapped up in a blanket against me on the couch as another bout of shivering ran through her whole body. As I held her, I wondered how she broke through my walls. I stroked her hair and couldn’t understand why I wanted to help her. I never wanted to help anyone before. I knew it wasn’t because she saved my life, and it wasn’t because of Monica’s threats. I wanted her pain to go away. It hurt me to watch her. I ran my hand down her arm and saw the history of self abuse. Little bruised needle marks trying to heal. I didn’t understand why I didn’t find her appalling. I wondered if she would stay after she was better. A little fear began to fester. I shoved it aside. I knew where fear would lead. I would prefer that she left me than to shut her out again.

The night was long. I held Mia when she needed it and gave her space when she needed it. I always came back. She barely slept. Wave after wave of awfulness tore through her body. I cried when she wasn’t looking. I have never seen anyone in such misery. She finally passed out around eight in the morning. I covered her and left her to sleep. I was so happy that it she was out of pain for the moment. I wasn’t sure how much more she could take.

I was just pouring a cup of coffee when the doorbell rang. I opened the door to Dr. Williams. “Good morning, Doc,” I said with a smile. Normally, a morning visitor would piss me off. “Got some fresh coffee on. Like a cup?”

“You’re looking a bit more chipper than I expected. And yes, I would like one. Black.” Wally smiled back and headed into the house. “How’s Mia?”

“She’s been sleeping for about an hour. She had a rough night, but we got through it.” I poured him a cup of joe and handed it across the counter. He grabbed the cup and looked at me strangely.

“I’ve got to say, Mr. Tomlinson…” I quickly held up my hand and interrupted.

“Please… Call me Dale.” I’d never done that before. It just seemed the right thing to do, and it made me feel good.

“Well Dale, I have a really good idea of what happened in the last 24 hours.” He was examining my face as I took another sip of coffee. “I expected you to be a bit more frazzled. In fact I was surprised when I didn’t get a phone call last night.” I smiled. I didn’t think I could explain it to him.

“I don’t know how to explain it. We kind of got into a rhythm.” I took another sip of coffee. For some reason, it tasted better than usual. “I think I actually helped make it less horrible.” I smiled at the thought. That is exactly what I did.

“You’d make a hell of a nurse.” He nodded his head to me as he took another sip. I wondered if he thought the coffee was good. “Not many people are built to handle a detox.” I smiled inwardly at the compliment. He chuckled a bit, “I think that Monica thought it was going to be a bit tougher on you.” Now, that made me smile outwardly!

“Who knew? Yesterday, I would have agreed with her.” No need to hide the fact that this was new to me also. I actually enjoyed surprising the doctor as much as myself. I hoped secretly that he would convey his thoughts to Monica as well. Wally pulled a pill bottle out of his pocket and laid it on the counter.

“Sometime today or tomorrow, the violent symptoms will cease.” His voice slipped into a clinical tone. “As soon as Mia can hold down food, she needs to start taking these vitamins.” he was gesturing to the bottle. “They should help rebuild her a bit quicker. The detox has a tendency to zap the body pretty hard.” His expression became more serious, and he made sure he had my attention. “Dale, the next part is a bit harder.” I didn’t like the sound of that.

“Detox will lower her tolerance for heroin. It is extremely important that she not begin using again.” He again made sure he had my attention. “Mia could easily overdose if she went back to her old patterns.” Fuck! That wasn’t at all a pleasant thought. I didn’t even think someone would consider reuse after what I saw yesterday.

“You are going to have to find out why she started using and ended up driving that boat into the rocks.” He was very serious, and I didn’t like what he was implying.

“She was just stoned and lost control of the boat.” I was trying to defend Mia. There is no way she meant to hit the rocks. His face became more sympathetic.

“Heroin doesn’t remove all your inhibitions. It doesn’t suddenly make you stupid. It removes the pain of life.” He was having trouble explaining. “She meant to hit those rocks, and she didn’t expect to survive it.” Oh God! I didn’t want to hear this. Somehow I envisioned the heroin was some kind of accident that got out of hand. It was a much better history than what he was proposing.

“We have to find out why she did it.” I was looking down at my coffee cup. I wasn’t sure I wanted him to continue. “She is not going to want to tell you.” I remembered the pain when she told me to “get the fuck out!” I would take the puking any day over that. “If she doesn’t face her demons, her future is not good. We have to heal both her body and her mind.” I looked up from my cup, and I knew my eyes were watering and my hands were shaking. His expression quickly changed.

“Oh shit! I didn’t realize,” Wally continued in a softer tone. “I can bring in a professional to get her through this. This can get pretty painful, and feelings get hurt during the process.” He looked at me with sorrowful expression. “It’s normal that you would feel a bond with your patient, but it’s rarely healthy if you let it go too far.” Suddenly I was pissed. That he would insinuate that my concern was some kind of normal bonding process that should be ignored. Mia wasn’t just my patient. She was as much my nurse as I was hers.

“Mia and I are two sorry fucked-up individuals.” I didn’t care how it sounded. Wally looked shocked at my statement. “We will get through this together and we don’t need any psychiatrist screwing things up.” I was looking him straight in the face. In the past, I would have left the room instead of entering into a confrontation. Not now, not with Mia at stake.

“Dale, I don’t think…” Wally was interrupted by a weak voice from the hallway.

“You heard him Doc.” It was Mia, dressed in my robe and pale as ever, leaning against the wall. She was looking at me. “I’m not going through this with anyone but Dale.” Her smile was weak, but it felt like an ocean of waves. Wally looked between Mia and me a couple of times and sighed.

“Okay. If you two are still friends after this, I will eat my hat.” He realized he couldn’t stop it. “I would still like to drop in and monitor your physical recovery Mia.” I still couldn’t believe she backed me up. In public. I answered for her.

“That would be great Doc. I would hate for her to be sick any longer than necessary.” I realized I was still staring at Mia’s smile and quickly returned to looking at Wally. He was shaking his head, wearing a smile.

“Not what I expected at all.” He chuckled and held his hand out to me. I shook it and winked at Mia. “I’ll be back in two days to give you a physical, Mia.” She gave him a weak wave. I showed him out the door. I gathered Mia in my arms.

“I was hoping you would sleep a bit longer.” I whispered to her. She still looked weak.

“I got your back baby.” I know she tried to sound strong, but it just kind of trickled out. So adorable. I brought her back to bed. She surprised me by dropping the robe before climbing naked into the bed. I felt guilty admiring her curves as I pulled the covers over her naked form. “I am so tired… Just can’t seem to stay asleep.” She yawned as she said it.

“Be right back.” I said and for some reason I kissed her forehead. It was cold and clammy but very soft. I headed to my office library room or at least what I envisioned Monica thought it should be. I looked across the shelves and picked up my 25-year-old copy of The Hobbit. Sitting on the desk was the book I was reading the day Mia saved my life. I knocked it into the trash. I was sick of my old rules and the book really sucked.

I pulled a chair up next to Mia. I sat and propped my legs up on the edge of the bed. I opened the book and began to read. I always loved The Hobbit and the trilogy that followed. A story of the small and meek defeating evil and changing the course of all for the better. It got me through some pretty tough times. I wasn’t sure it would suit Mia’s literary taste. I just figured her mind needed to rest. I would read, and she only had to listen. I looked over between paragraphs. Her eyes were closed, but she was wearing a smile. I could tell she was still awake. I continued reading.

By the time I got to the second chapter, Mia was out cold. Her head had tilted to one side, and her mouth had a little drool hanging on for dear life. I closed the book and watched her for a few minutes before my head drooped down and I joined her in dreamland.

 

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Sabrina – Hopeful

Poor girls and their substance abuse.

So the dust has settled and Jill is back tanning her ass at the salon and all is forgiven. She shows up with hot Sabrina the other night and I totally want to date her. I’ve actually been texting her that we should go out and do some sober fun things.

I figured it would be good for the blog. Drunk dude takes drinkie girl out for sober date and ice cream.

I have been talking to this old guy that comes in and tans and he works at the Walnut Street Theater. He wants to get me tickets because I helped him with a problem he had with his new phone and I’m the only one that listens to him complain. (He’s said this to me!)

He has access to tickets to shows at the theater and I want to take Jill’s hot friend Sabrina to them.

Thing is, Sabrina lives in a halfway house with Jill and is an addict like her. I talk to Sabrina and Jill clears the way with the coolness factor. But all drug addicts are liars and so is Sabrina. It’s ok. She says that her last boyfriend got her into drinking and it just took her like Jill. I get that. It’s okay. It happens, you have the gene and that shit takes you. I’ve met dozens of addicts.

But one day Jill is tanning and she tells me that with Sabrina her thing is heroin. Holy fuck. She’s super hot. She doesn’t look like a former junkie.

What do I do?

I go out with her. She’s been clean for over seven months. So could she have a drink or will the high of alcohol make her want to go up to Kensington and score some smack? I need to find this out before I go out with her. Maybe I’ll just stick to a show and some ice cream.

I’ll write more when and if the date happens.

 

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Tales of Rock – I Wouldn’t Want This For My Daughter or Anybody’s Daughter: Will #MeToo Kill Off the Rock’n’Roll Groupie? – Part 2

Lori Mattix (sometimes known as Maddox) says she was just 14 when she lost her virginity to David Bowie. Her next lover was Jimmy Page. Now 59, she says she never thought of herself as a groupie, but tells me that the affair with Page was “the most beautiful pure love I thought I could ever feel. I’d only had sex once before in my whole life. I felt like I’d won the lottery.” She juxtaposes it with other experiences “where men have harassed me … it’s a different thing when you allow someone to be with you”.

Keith Moon, drummer with the Who, pictured in 1974 with girlfriend Annette Walter-Lax, left, and Lori Mattix.
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Keith Moon, drummer with the Who, in 1974, with girlfriend Annette Walter-Lax, left, and Lori Mattix. Photograph: Michael Ochs Archives/Getty Images

Mattix was under the age of consent, she says, when Page pursued her. Post-#MeToo, does she see the situation differently? “I think that’s what made me start seeing it from a different perspective because I did read a few [articles], and I thought: ‘Shit, maybe,’” she says. As for whether Page was in the wrong: “That’s an interesting question. I never thought there was anything wrong with it, but maybe there was. I used to get letters telling me he was a padophile, but I’d never think of him like that. He never abused me, ever.” Still, Mattix sounds conflicted – rapturous reminiscences (“honestly, I had a great time”) are followed by cautionary notes. “I don’t think underage girls should sleep with guys,” she says. “I wouldn’t want this for anybody’s daughter. My perspective is changing as I get older and more cynical.”

Shirazi thinks that “the model of rock’n’roll is about being as debauched as possible, and that is the model younger bands look up to”. But that’s up for debate in an era when fans are questioning the idea of rock as a heteronormative man’s game. Alleged incidents that might have passed as “rock star behavior” in the past have left some fans feeling uncomfortable and disappointed.

Rochelle (not her real name) was 17 when she was allegedly propositioned by the frontman of a then up-and-coming rock band, whom she met at an acoustic warm-up show in 2012. “I introduced myself and said I was looking for [a place on the] guest list for the main event in the evening, as it had sold out and I was broke,” she says. “The frontman looked me up and down – a developed young woman, wearing shorts and tights from what I can remember – and, with a seedy look, said: ‘It’ll cost you.’ I knew exactly what he meant when he was biting his lip.”

Some would call his behavior typical of a young man emboldened by his growing fame, but Rochelle, now 23, feels uncomfortable. “To know I was 17 – over the age of consent, but still a child really – and not interested, and keep trying it. I’m disgusted,” she says. “I know it’s more harassment than sexual assault, but I worry that he may have done it to someone else.”

A 23-year-old woman told the Guardian that the lead singer of an up-and-coming rock band used his phone to take photos of naked selfies on her own phone screen without her consent in 2014. The band were staying at her house after a show. “I didn’t really know what to do; my dad had already gone up to bed and I was the only one in the room with my favourite band. Teenage, naive me did not know how to handle that situation at all.” She made her allegations public after she heard a few years later that another member of the band had left after allegedly sending unsolicited explicit images to another woman. The woman we talked to reported the singer to police in October last year, but the case was not pursued due to a lack of evidence. The band’s success has continued.

There are, however, those who still embrace the groupie lifestyle. Becky, 24, describes herself as a groupie of the spoof hair-metal band Steel Panther. Although she has exchanged direct messages with band members, she hasn’t had any sexual encounters with them.

“If you’re a single rock star and there’s a fan throwing themselves at you and you fancy them, why wouldn’t you take it?” she says. “I’ve had my bra signed by them: I’ve stood there with my boobs out. If they were to jokingly give them a squeeze and then I tried to sue them for harassment, they’d be in trouble, but it would be my fault.”

I approached three record label employees in an attempt to ascertain whether a contract tends to include specific policies about sexual misconduct by musicians. “Not to my knowledge; it’s really [about] business terms,” says Gary Lancaster, label manager at First Access Entertainment and also a former employee of Warner and Eleven Seven Music. “That’s not to say there isn’t some form of gross misconduct clause. I suspect there would be something to say that in the event of irreparable damage to the relationship – and should both parties agree – it can be ripped up.” The other two people I talk to confirm there is usually a clause stating that an artist can be dropped at any time, but they had not seen anything relating specifically to sexual issues. The Musicians’ Union has an email address that anyone with concerns about sexual misconduct in the industry – be it harassment, sexism or specific instances of assault – can use.

Hill is in two minds about whether top-down policies in the industry would lead to change. “If it’s done in the wrong way, it could definitely get people’s backs up,” she says. “Even if bands start out with good morals, the idea of being a rock star is rooted in these deeply problematic ideas of masculinity. If older, well-respected people in the industry started talking to younger bands about changing those attitudes, that would be really valuable.”

The most notorious rock stars may have made their admissions before the conversation around consent began, but the younger fan demographic is unlikely to see such antics as excusable. Where fans might once have lapped up tales of debauchery, they now want something different from their idols: an awareness of social issues, respect for their fans and an attitude that condemns, rather than continues, the hair-raising exploits of rock’s bygone days. “When I meet fans now, the conversation isn’t: ‘I really love your band,’” one musician told me recently. “It’s: ‘Please don’t do anything wrong.’”

 

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Tales of Rock – MÖTLEY CRÜE Movie ‘The Dirt’ Is Hated By Critics, Loved By Fans, Says NIKKI SIXX

MÖTLEY CRÜE bassist Nikki Sixx has dismissed the influx of negative professional critic reviews the band’s biopic “The Dirt” has received, insisting that the fans love the movie.

He tweeted on Friday: “The album is number #1.The fans are going crazy over #TheDirt. The critics hate it. @MotleyCrue @netflix WORLD FUCKING WIDE.”

“The Dirt” currently has an 86% audience score from 324 reviews on Rotten Tomatoes, an online review aggregation service that allows the public to score the movies alongside critics. It has a 42% critic score from 36 reviews on the same site.

Indiewire David Ehrlich called “The Dirt” “wonderfully bad” and compared it to last year’s QUEEN biopic “Bohemian Rhapsody”“Bohemian Rhapsody” has a 61% critic score on Rotten Tomatoes but won four Oscars.

“For all the unique details of their story (and their sound), QUEEN‘s big screen bow was so generic that it felt like Bryan Singer was trying to gaslight everyone into forgetting that ‘Walk Hard’ had already reduced this entire genre to a joke,” Ehrlich wrote. “And for all the legendary hedonism that defined their lives, MÖTLEY CRÜE‘s movie feels like it could have been made about any one of a zillion other bands. Hell, it could even have been made about QUEEN!”

Los Angeles Times called “The Dirt” “horribly timed,” “astoundingly tone deaf” and “as vapid and misogynistic as the band members and the book they wrote with author Neil Strauss.”

The Daily Beast said that “The Dirt” “spends almost two hours glamorizing shitty behavior, and then attempts to exonerate its stars with a few vague voiceovers about regret and rehabilitation.”

The Atlantic wrote: “The danger of a document like ‘The Dirt’ is in showing pigheadedness as not only fun and cool, but also elemental, inexplicable, and unstoppable.”

Deadline wrote that “The Dirt” has been “bleached pretty clean from its feral and self-admitted sordid source material,” citing frontman Vince Neil‘s drunken car crash that killed HANOI ROCKS drummer Razzle and the death of his daughter after a battle with cancer as “rare exceptions in this straight to MOR movie that has a limited emotional range outside of party time.”

The New York Times concurred, saying that screenwriters Rich Wilkes and Amanda Adelsonhad “sanded it down to a junior varsity ‘Bohemian Rhapsody’.”

Some media outlets were kinder in their assessments, with Decider writing: “Lower your expectations, throw caution, decorum and good taste to the wind, and file it under ‘guilty pleasure.'” The Guardian praised the performances of actors Douglas Booth (who plays Nikki Sixx), Iwan Rheon (who plays Mick Mars) and Daniel Webber (who plays Vince Neil), saying that they “possess similar abilities to navigate between charm and repulsion, all working together to create such a chummy group that their power as an ensemble elevates the material. Just like their real-life counterparts.”

“The Dirt” movie, which was helmed by “Jackass Presents: Bad Grandpa” director Jeff Tremaine, was picked up by Netflix after being previously developed at Focus Features and before that at Paramount.

“The Dirt Soundtrack” accompanies the movie and features a collection of MÖTLEY CRÜEclassics that meaningfully underscore significant moments that shape the film. Exclusive to the film’s soundtrack, MÖTLEY CRÜE recorded four new songs, including the single “The Dirt (Est. 1981) (feat. Machine Gun Kelly)”“Ride With The Devil” and “Crash And Burn”, plus a cover of Madonna‘s “Like A Virgin”.

 

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Tales of Rock: Iggy Pop

Iggy Pop has been around forever, and is responsible for that one song you definitely know, and several more you probably don’t. As a consequence of being around forever, there’s two distinct phases in his career: the drug phase and the post-drug phase.

First the drug phase–and hang on to your butts, because this is pretty nasty. Back in 1969-1970, Iggy and his original band, the Stooges, all hung out together in an apartment in Detroit, and, possibly because no one had invented the internet yet, they got bored and started doing a lot of heroin. A side note: One of the quirks about taking heroin intravenously is that after shooting up, you end up with a bit of blood inside the hypodermic. Which these guys started squirting out over the walls and ceiling. Imagine what that apartment must have looked like after a few weeks and months, and keep in mind that heroin is not known for being much of a motivator, and you start to realize why getting these guys out to a show might have been somewhere between difficult and your worst nightmare.

A Typical Day If You Were Iggy Pop’s Personal Assistant (Drug Phase):

You: No. I am not going back into that apartment. Because fuck you guys, that’s why. If you need me, I will be five thousand miles away and on fire, because I quit, and because I will light myself on fire having seen what I just saw. Fuck.

Since then, Iggy’s cleaned up a bit, which should make shepherding him around a lot easier of a chore. And by all accounts it is, aside from the hilarious contract rider he has for gigs. For those that don’t know, a contract rider specifies the required amenities that should be in a performer’s dressing room; snacks, beverages, that sort of thing. Iggy’s is one of the most extensive in the industry, and although it’s almost certainly a joke, has specific requests for:

“Seven dwarves dressed up as those dwarves out of that film about the dwarves. You know the one. Cinderella?”

“Two cans of red bull. Something with testicles in it”

“Cauliflower/Broccoli, cut into individual florets and thrown immediately into the garbage. I fucking hate that.”

Awesome.

A Typical Day If You Were Iggy Pop’s Personal Assistant (Post-Drug Phase):

Concert Promoter: …You: Look, you know the way these rock stars are. They’ve got an image to live up to…Concert Promoter: …You: And I don’t have to tell you that there is nothing more rock and roll than, uh,… drinking testicles and wasting food in the company of a dwarf.

 

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Tales of Rock – Kurt Cobain Kills Himself Twice

“Like Robert Johnson, Brian Jones, Jimi Hendrix, Janis Joplin and Jim Morrison, he was 27 years old when he died.

And let us not forget Amy Winehouse who also died at age 27.”

Few musicians’ experiences with drug abuse have been as complex and intense as Kurt Cobain’s. For proof of this, see the index of Charles Cross’ 2001 Cobain biography Heavier Than Heaven. If you check, “Cobain, Kurt Donald; drug use of…” you’ll basically be instructed to read the entire book. He started off heavily averse to heroin; during his formative years, a friend suggested they try it and he stopped hanging out with him in response. He eventually tried the drug; when asked how it was by Nirvana bassist Krist Novoselic, he shrugged, “Oh, it was all right.” But his habit escalated.

By the time Nirvana appeared on Saturday Night Live in 1992, Cobain was so deep in heroin addiction that he was vomiting and barely able to stand right until the time came to perform. He somehow pulled it together long enough to play “Smells Like Teen Spirit” and “Territorial Pissings” on live television. In March 1994, Cobain attempted suicide for the first time by washing down a large dose of flunitrazepam with champagne while in Rome. He nearly died and ended up in a coma for a day (Novoselic claimed that, mentally, he was never the same after this).

Within weeks he was back in Seattle, crashing on his daughter’s junkie nanny’s girlfriend’s couch and popping out occasionally to purchase speedballs and burritos. Cross quotes the girlfriend as saying, “He’d sit in my living room with the hat with the ear coverings, and read magazines. People came and went; there was always a lot of activity going on. Nobody knew he was there or recognized him.” By the end of the month, Cobain was given an intervention and packed off to rehab in California. But he soon escaped the facility by scaling a six-foot wall and, improbably, found a seat on a flight back to Seattle next to Guns N’ Roses bassist Duff McKagan.

Despite beef between Nirvana and Guns N’ Roses, the two bonded, finding a great deal of common ground as famous musicians from the Pacific Northwest with heroin problems. Once back at his house, Cobain reattempted suicide and this time he meant business. He injected a lethal dose of heroin and then blasted himself in the head with a shotgun, effectively killing himself twice. Like Robert Johnson, Brian Jones, Jimi Hendrix, Janis Joplin and Jim Morrison, he was 27 years old when he died.

And let us not forget Amy Winehouse who also died at age 27.

Another sad rock and roll tragedy. Showbiz is the only industry that eats it’s young.

Check this out:  https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/27_Club

A footnote from phicklephilly: “I never understood suicide. You get one chance to be here, why leave early if you don’t have to? Suicide’s for quitters. I’ve suffered with anxiety and depression my whole life. I’ve beaten the shit out of them both (without drugs) and now we’re all on the same side. Suicide is always a long term solution to usually a temporary problem. I just don’t get it, Kurt. I was in a band when I was younger. It was an amazing experience. Kurt, you play music for a living. You’re in a famous genre inspiring band. You’re surrounded by a gaggle of moist women. Your bank account is full and your nuts are empty. WTF?”

 

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The Beach House – Chapter 2

It was about four o’clock when I finished the final load a laundry. It being summer, I still had a good four hours of good beach time left. I grabbed a book, donned my swimming trunks, and headed to my lounger. I mentally kicked myself for forgetting to research a self-adjusting umbrella. I began to adjust the umbrella and felt a sharp pain in my ankle as my foot dug into the sand. Something jabbed me hard right below where the ankle bone stuck out. I whipped my foot up and saw two small welts just above the heel. It didn’t look that serious although it was a bit sore. It must have been some glass or something in the sand. Just another thing trying to ruin my day.

I lay on the lounger and opened my book at the marker. It wasn’t a great book, but I had a rule about finishing every book I start. It even paid off one time with a fantastic ending that made the slog through the rest more than worthwhile. I flexed my leg and ankle a bit trying to shake off the noticeable discomfort from the sand bite. I figured I would be stuck with the pain till I was able to sleep it off tonight. I went back to my book.

An incessant uneven humming began to disturb my world. I looked up from the book and saw a boat breaking the waves not far off shore. It seemed too small for the ocean. Every time a wave went by, it pulled the small engine out of the water and it emitted a high pitched scream. Fucking idiots. They had a whole ocean to play in, and they picked my back yard. I went back to my book figuring they would pass in a moment. The engine got louder as I read.

I looked back up and saw the small craft heading toward my beach. It sounded like the throttle was opened all the way. I lost the grip on my book and it dropped closed. “Son of a bitch!” I said as I realized I would have to spend the next five minutes trying to find my place again. I was really beginning to dislike the captain of the annoying vessel. The boat wasn’t slowing and was still heading to my beach. If they thought they were landing here, they had better think again. I grabbed my phone in case I had to call the police.

The boat began veering off to the left toward the breakwater. The idiots should be able to see the rocks. That’s all I need is a smashed up boat to ruin my pristine view. “Hey, wake up!” I shouted and waived my arm. The boat kept coming and didn’t slow a bit. I screamed again, signaling with both arms, but the boat stayed to its course and slammed into the rocks. I heard wood give way when it hit and saw what looked like a naked body fly out toward the rocks.

I stood quickly from my chair. A little too quickly as my leg had seemed to go numb a bit. I moved toward the shore trying to work the sleep out of it yelling for whoever would listen. “Hey asshole! This is a private beach.” I received no response, but saw something bobbing close to shore. It looked like a body. Fuck, that’s all I need. Someone came all the way to my house to die. I moved quickly to water in hopes of forestalling a visit from the coroner. My arm didn’t really want to cooperate as numbness ran up my side and toward my neck. I moved quickly into the shallows and rolled what I now realized was a naked woman onto her back.

She sputtered a little water out of her mouth and looked up to me with hugely dilated eyes. “Should have just left me,” she said with a Spanish accent before she broke into laughter. Pissed, I grabbed her wrist and began pulling her lethargic body toward the sand with my good arm. Her head was oozing a bit of blood although it didn’t look too serious. Suddenly, pain forced me to my knees. Something was really wrong. I didn’t have any energy to stand back up. My whole chest felt like it was collapsing in on itself. I dropped her arm and remembered my phone. I picked the first number in my recent list and dialed Monica.

“Monica… Monica.” I couldn’t finish the sentence. I didn’t have enough air in my lungs. I realized I might be dying. A wave a fear ran through me. I wasn’t ready to go yet. I haven’t even finished the book.

“Fuck! You’re having a heart attack!” The woman sat up, and two rather attractive breasts bounced on her chest. She was failing miserably at trying to hold back laughter. My vision was drifting in and out which made the whole situation surreal. I fell backward, half in and half out of the water. She grabbed my phone before it got wet. “Mr. Private Beach needs a doctor.” She laughed into the phone and threw it over her shoulder into the water. The last thing I remember was her Spanish laughter as she straddled my stomach.

 

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