Four times a year, for 10 days, I can forget that I am a recovering addict. I get to put on my favorite Basquiat tee shirt or my Patricia Fields sweater or my Ralph Lauren bowtie or all the above, and then make my way to Manhattan to attend one of the many parties that celebrate the upcoming fashion season’s trendiest lines. The sexiest nightclubs are filled with glamourous leggy models, gayer than gay designers, vapid celebrities, lecherous talent agents, even more lecherous entourages, people born with zero talent but with the good fortune of having a father who owns General Electric, and me.
Back in the late eighties I was the drug courier for all the above. I would get a call from my high school homie SETH R. (last name withheld to protect his identity) and he would tell me where to show up and with how much. For the people listed above money was no object and I would increase my delivery fee on a nightly basis. For instance, a ‘Z’ would cost $1000 on a Monday night and by Friday or Saturday evening the same 28grams would cost $1500. If you wanted to party on the weekend then you had better be prepared to pay. The other reason I knew that I could charge my rates was because of where I got my ‘work’ from. Jackson Heights, Queens, New York is where TONY MONTANA lived. Yeah, Miami had it good too, but Jackson Heights was filled with Colombians who spoke NO INGLES! Raw and uncut baby. I was patched into this network from another high school friend (JOSE R.) whose uncle was heavy, heavy, heavy. JOSE would drive me to the city and wait in his mother’s car while I handled my handle.
When I started getting larger and larger orders, JOSE started getting a little ‘pet’ and didn’t want to drive around with me any longer. So I started using the local livery service and sometimes my cheap azz would take the subway. Listen to how dumb I am… I hopped the train onetime with $1000 worth of ‘C’ and ‘D’ on me. HA! How stupid is that? What would happen on the occasions that I took the subway is that I would end up hanging out with my clients instead of just delivering and leaving. This is how I got turned on to cocaine. I remember the first time like it was yesterday and here it is 17 years ago. I was in a three story walk up in the Gramercy Park area and SETH was doing his thing which is to get me my money while I wait quietly. Being the friendly guy that I am I decided to take the hostess up on her offer for a drink. This was the first time I had ever tried vodka, but I remember thinking to myself, “It’s clear. How strong can this be?” On my third drink SETH came out of the bedroom with my money. Normally I would leave at this point, but just then, the hostess asked me to stay a little longer because she had more friends coming over. Free drinks and a butter soft leather couch meant I didn’t need much convincing to stay. Plus my pockets was fat.
The hostess’ friends arrived as I was working on my fifth or twelfth drink and the apartment got that much livelier. SETH put on the radio to get people dancing. I asked him to change the station to 98.7fm and just then, the Johnny Kemp song “Just Got Paid” came on. I laughed and started dancing in that inimitable way that I do when I am drunk. SETH pulls me into the bedroom, where the hostess and her friends are sniffing cocaine. The hostess offers me a line. I remember thinking to myself, “It’s white. How strong can it be?” I’m pretty sure I did more than one line that night. Now I see why these people pay so much for this shit. I would have had sex with four girls that night but I’m fairly certain that my penis forgot what it was supposed to do and was about to pee on that next girl that touched it. So I only had sex with three.
So this is what fashion week means to me. Friendship, drugs, sex. And if someone tells you that they fucked four girls, they’re lying. Someone got peed on.
