Imagine My Surprise (32)

In which Kurt overdoses.

Click here for earlier episodes.

32. So Rookie

Imagine my surprise when I had my first overdose!

Remember that guy, Hob? One of the clients I inherited from him was named Winston. He threw an annual party up at his exquisitely restored Eichler home in Diamond Heights. I went to Winston’s party and I brought Franks with me, as I felt he could at least pretend well enough to fit in with hippie lawmakers, retired artists, and techie billionaires who had learned to swap their hoodies for blazers. This was not your normal posh crowd, mind you, as everyone was openly taking drugs, but everybody also knew how to keep their shit together and not embarrass themselves.

Everybody except for me, apparently.

So, we arrived around eleven to a party that was clearly under way with no sign of slowing down. A well-known San Francisco DJ spun old-fashioned acid house to a fully catered event featuring two tended bars on opposite sides of this seven-room split-level masterpiece. Winston, who was white-haired, wiry and handsome in shimmery slacks and a black turtleneck, ushered us inside immediately, took our coats and showed us to one of the bars. I knew a good portion of the guests, and I introduced Franks around. He acted like a normal human being, thank God, and people were pleasantly delighted at his Irish accent. Lord knows the boy could chat, and chat he did, and I soon lost track of him.

Time passed and I needed a fix.

Heroin is not a popular drug amongst these types, but Winston was amenable to my needs and in fact paired me off with the only other person there with whom I could fix. Luanne was her name, Japanese lady. Winston set us up in an upstairs guest room with a supply of booze, and he told us to be careful and not to be strangers.

There was a floor-to-ceiling mural of Andy Warhol’s Banana painted on one of the walls. The bedspread was a matching yellow. There was a small side table and two chairs near the window. We sat down with our drinks and could hear the muffled thump of the music and walla-walla of the chatting guests downstairs. It was comfy in the room, but it was supposed to be a quick in and out sort of thing…well, as quick as these things go at any rate. There was a moment of chit-chat before both of us politely and simultaneously offered our supply to the other. We laughed and the ice was cut.

“Let’s do mine,” she said, winking. She had big almond eyes and a silver bridge piercing on her nose.

“You sure? Mine’s pretty awesome,” I said.

“Maybe let’s save it for later.”

This sounded kind of flirty to me and a bit promising. She was around my age, I guessed, but presented a little younger. As she cooked up, she asked how much was my normal and I said a couple tens, and she asked if I was sure, and I was pretty sure. There’s something intimate about this act of shooting up, and she said I should go first so she could make sure I’d be okay cuz this stuff was damn good, even if I was a pro. She helped me tie off, her pretty smooth face close to mine, and we caught each other’s eyes and she smiled. Then she did me up and she was right — it was damn good.

I woke up, startled, with Luanne and Franks standing over me, faces filled with worry. Luanne was pulling something from my nose. I was on the floor of Winston’s upstairs guest room. I got up on my elbows and looked down to see vomit on my shirt.

“What the fuck happened?” I croaked. Luanne sighed.

“He’s okay,” she said, then repeated that I was okay over her shoulder. She said to Franks, “I told you it was pretty fast.”

Franks’ face filled with relief and he held the side of my head with one hand. “Kurt…you fucking overdosed, man. We almost called an ambulance.”

“Oh, shit,” I said.

Luanne made a tense grin. “You’re gonna be fine, Kurt. The Goddess was too strong.”

“The Goddess.” I repeated.

“The heroin, honey.”

I looked at the naloxone inhaler in her hand and touched my nose, runny with the drug.

“You’re lucky she had that shit with her, Kurt,” Franks said. “She came and got us, but she knew what to do. Thank God, man. You scared us.”

Winston cleared his throat and Luanne and Franks parted so he and I could see each other. Winston looked none-to-pleased, but wasn’t furious. “Oh, Kurt. I’m glad you’re okay. This is so unlike you.”

“I’m sorry, Winston,” I said. My voice was thick. I felt woozy, and a little dope sick like I needed to re-up. “I didn’t fuck up your party, did I?”

He smiled and waved his hand as if to ward off an invisible fly. “Oh, lord no. Everybody here is high themselves. Just not on anything that’s going to kill them.” He touched Luanne’s shoulder and asked, “He’s not going to have to go to the hospital or anything, will he?” He caught my eye. “Will you?”

“No,” Luanne said. “I mean, I’ve never gone,” she admitted.

Everyone was relieved. Winston said, turning toward the door, “Still, please clean up and stop this nonsense. If you can’t, you should probably leave. There are shirts in the closet.”

“I’m sorry, Winston. I’ll get my wits together and call myself a ride.”

“Do what you need to do. I love you and am glad that you’re ok. That would’ve made for a sucky Christmas if you’d, you know, died.” Clucking his tongue, Winston left, closing the door behind him.

I struggled to my feet and stumbled to the adjoining bathroom. I removed my stained, half-buttoned shirt and looked in the mirror. Death not-so-warmed-over stared back at me. I stooped and drank water from the tap with cupped hands.

“Goddamn, I feel like shit.”

From the other room, Luanne called, “You’re going to need to do a little bump pretty soon. All the dope in your system has kinda gone away from the naloxone.” This sounded impossible.

I heard Franks say, “You gotta be kidding. He just almost died, fer chrissake.”

“Well, that may be, but I know what I’m talking about.” Luanne entered the bathroom with a burgundy button-down shirt in one hand and fresh beer in the other. She looked me over; I was half-naked with gray body hair, my former brawn melted under junkie skin and bones, track marks up and down my arms. She let her eyes wander, though, which was slightly unsettling, considering. She read the tattoo on my arms. “What is amor fati? Love something?”

“What it is right now is horribly ironic.”

“You should drink this and put this on.”

I took the beer and put on the shirt.

“You okay?” she asked.

“I don’t know.”

“What are you going to do?”

Franks had been listening, of course. He said loudly, “We are going to go downstairs and join the fucking party. What you need, Mr. Kurt, is a big fat rail.”

This did not sound like what I needed. For the first time in a long while, I could finally see the horrible darkness of my life.

I announced to them, “I’m going to have a drink, take a bump of H to settle my nerves, have another drink, and call a ride home.”

Luanne looked a little disappointed. How she could still be flirty was beyond me. I couldn’t even look at the creature in the mirror. She said, “Well, I’m going to fix. Can you help me a sec?”

Franks was in the doorway. “I’ll be down at the party,” he said and disappeared.

I looked at Luanne. In all this commotion she hadn’t fixed and she was feeling the itch. One good turn. I said, “Sure, Luanne. Is there some whiskey up here?”