with Neal. I didn't like the idea of doing it here. Somehow, being in the East had made those occasions less junky- like. Everything there was exotic and special.
I made a face at Dealer's suggestion. 'Yeah, well . . . In any case, I only have one vein.' The more I considered it, though, the better it sounded, really lasts, longer? It would make it stronger? Well, okay. Why not. Canyou do it for me?' It WAS exciting. 'Did you hit the vein?' I yipped nervously as the needle pricked my arm. 'Are you in?'
But I didn't feel anything. What a disappointment.
'I guess I didn't give you enough,' said Dealer. 'Next time I'll use more dope.'
The coke he wouldn't have till later that night.
Again, I spent the time at the club watching the door for Dealer's appearance. None of the people who spoke to me interested me in the least. I just wanted my drugs. God, did I hate waiting! When Dealer did arrive, it was only to tell me he hadn't gotten the coke yet.
'I can't stand waiting here any longer,' I told him, frustrated. 'I could bring it to your hotel,' he proposed.
'Well . . . okay.' Discouraged, I despaired he'd ever come through with the goodies.
Surprise! Not long after I arrived in the room, he delivered. He also brought a few friends. And had invited more. Pretty soon I had a party. I recognized people from the club.
Hey, this was great! Others also had stashes, and a cosy gay-together developed with dozens of people crowding in. Wow, I felt like part of the Toronto scene. Especially with the expensive hotel room—my guests treated me like a V.I.P.
And then, big surprise! Perfect Blonde turned up. I could tell he was impressed, too. He didn't do any smack, and I could sense he was against it, but he had a hit of coke and positioned himself next to me on the bed. I made sure he kept near me, and he didn't seem to mind. I inched closer to him. After a while our shoulders touched. His arm had such a nice slope. Those light blonde hairs! I smiled at him.
By morning, people started to leave. Perfect Blonde stayed. He was still there when everyone had left. Then, with sunlight streaming on the bedspread, we made love without taking off our shoes. OOOO, Perfect Blonde! After all that time he'd ignored me! Ooo, OOO, Perfect Blonde.
Over room-service scrambled eggs, we discussed the expense of hotel living. 'I five outside Toronto on a farm,' he told me. 'A bunch of us share a house.'
'I always wanted to five on a farm.'
'You can come visit, if you want. Or you can stay there. That way you won't have to spend money for a hotel.'
Stay there? Had Perfect Blonde invited me to five with him? I couldn't believe it. 'I can stay with you? Really? That would be fantastic.'
Perfect Blonde didn't work, and I wasn't sure what he did for money. When he asked to borrow fifty dollars, I thought he wouldn't have trouble living off women who'd be thrilled to support him. On our way out, I stopped! at the hotel's safety deposit box and gave him the fifty.
'I'll pay you back in a day or two,' he said. 'I hate to borrow.'
I didn't mind. I doubted I'd get it back, but he was worth it. And I was going to five on his farm for free, wasn't I?
We arranged to meet that night at the club. Meanwhile I needed to purchase more dope. It was a good thing to be moving out of the hotel. Between that and the dope, I'd soon be broke.
I spent the afternoon on Dealer's doorstep, waiting for him. Ho hum, humdrum, growl, growl, growl. Using drugs in the West was definitely annoying. When Dealer finally showed up I asked him to fix me again.
'How soon should I feel something?' I inquired when it was over.
'You still didn't feel anything? I gave you a lot that time. You have a habit, lady.'
I sighed. 'Oh, well, I guess if it just prevents me from getting sick, it'll have to do till I return East.'
I left to meet my new love, Perfect Blonde. Would he be there? Had he really meant I could stay on his farm?
Yes. Perfect Blonde entered the club after 1 a.m. He helloed his way through the crowd, found me, and asked, 'All set?'
He had a beautiful red Sports car. What a match with his blonde pair. After collecting my luggage it took two hours to drive to the farm. Farm? It looked like a regular-sized house to me. No one was awake when we arrived. Perfect Blonde carried my suitcase and led me, whispering, through a hallway and up some stairs. The second- floor landing was small and narrow and confirmed my impression of 'just a house.' He opened a door and led me to a tiny room barely wide enough for the mattress on the Floor, which was all it had.
We slept most of the next day and awoke in time for dinner. In the living room, I met five others who lived there. More people came and went, and I was never certain who lived there, who was visiting, or who was with whom.
I didn't know how I was supposed to fit in. A few of them cooked the meals together. Was I supposed to help? Meals weren't my thing. I decided to act like a guest. They were polite and friendly.
Uh-oh. I spotted a round red thing being chopped. Egads—a tomato. Of course. I should have realized they'd eat vegetables on a farm. Oh, well—it might be better this way; if I couldn’t eat the food, no one would. I expect me to cook it or wash up after it.
We sat around a wooden fable in the kitchen, and everyone thought it an oddity that I didn't eat vegetables. I had a slice of pumpernickel bread, and someone found me salami. It was
Now I had a different problem. I had to return to the city to score dope. I hoped Perfect Blonde didn't plan on staying at the farm for days. It was an okay place to sleep, but I didn't want to spend all my time there.
'We can go into town if you want,' he said. 'Or we can hang out here.'
'I'd like to go in. I have to see someone.'
I told him about needing smack.
'Are you addicted?' he asked.
'In India it's practically legal. You should see—opium dens on every corner. Here there's only garbage dope.'
I told him my vocation.
'PROFESSIONAL DRUG SMUGGLER?' he exclaimed. 'Aren’t you afraid of being arrested? That's a serious crime.'
'IT SHOULDN’T BE A CRIME!' I shouted emotionally. Perfect Blonde's remark unleashed a tirade, spurred by feelings I'd been holding in. I hated how it felt to be a smack user in the West, very different from in the East. 'Drugs shouldn't be against the law! Look at this arm,' I wailed, 'it's full of holes! That's what happens when you make it illegal! It becomes impossibly expensive! That's why people rob and mug. Only the Mafia benefits from those stupid laws. Those laws make gangsters rich! And gangsters don't care what they cut their product with! The result is garbage dope that people commit burglaries to afford and gives their arms full of needle holes! Now, that's the crime!'
I believed drug laws were evil—evil structures that made evil people rich and condemned innocent users and independent entrepreneurs like myself to the status of law-breakers.
When we drove to town, I left Perfect Blonde at the club while I went to Dealer's. We returned to the farm at the completion of my errand.
It soon became apparent that farm life wasn't for me. Talking to the residents didn't please me in the least. Not my types. And what was there to (10 on a farm? It wasn't a real farm, anyway. No crops, no animals. What kind of farm was that? Ugh, and I didn't want to sit through more of these dinners, either.
No, not for me the country. Driving into town every day was a hassle. By the time we got going I would already feel sick. Since I'd be anxious about scoring, I couldn't be charming. Poor Perfect, he didn't deserve my irritability. I wouldn't feel like conversation—just GET ME TO THE CITY!
And the cash was almost gone. This couldn't go on. I called Jewish Connection.
'I still don't have your money,' he said. 'You have to wait.'
