Straight Life (12 page)

Sex was in my thoughts all the time, and because of my upbringing I felt it was evil. That made it even more attractive to me, and the alcohol and the pills I took made my sex drive even stronger. -I was obsessed.

I used to room with different guys in the band, but if I had the money I'd room alone so I could fool around with the maids. The maid didn't exist for me as a person, so there was nothing Patti could be jealous of. Sometimes they would suck on me or something like that, but what I really wanted wasn't the consummation. I was away from Patti and, so that I wouldn't go out and goof, I wanted to have these experiences which would provide me with vivid mental pictures I could conjure up at will whenever I set about relieving myself by playing with myself.

If I was rooming alone I would wait for the maid to come; I'd peek out the door to see if she was there. I'd leave the door locked, but not from the inside, then she'd think I wasn't in the room. I would lie on the bed and expose myself. I'd fix the covers so the maid could see my joint. I'd pretend I was asleep and put my fingers over my eyes so I could peek out at her, and she'd come in and turn on the light and look and see me, and I used to wig out with their reactions. Some of them would go, "Oooohh!" and practically run out. Some would act nonchalant and just walk out. Others would stand and stare. Some would get nervous and uptight, but they'd be aroused. And then, after they'd leave, I'd throw a robe on and run out and say, "Do you want to get the room now?"

Down south the maids were great. They went along with whatever you wanted because they were afraid for their jobs and they were kind of naive. I'd say, "Well, come on. If you want to get the room, get it now." Or I'd make up an excuse, saying that I had to do this or that, or somebody was coming anything to get them in there. Then I'd sit down on a chair and fix it so my robe was open just enough so they could see me, and I would offer them a drink and talk to them. I'd peek at them while they cleaned the bathtub. Usually in New York the chicks were too hep. I didn't even bother with them. If you came on they'd say, "Yeah, sure, if you want something give me five dollars," and I'd never do that.

But one morning at the Forrest Hotel a maid knocked on the door, and she said, "It's late, and I'd like to get the room. It's the last on the floor. I'll be able to go home after ..." She was beautiful. She was some latin type with light olive skin. She was about thirty years old and voluptuous. That word really describes this maid. She had on a black uniform with buttons down the front. It was made out of some light, silky stuff, and I noticed that the button at the bottom was open, and the button at the top was open. I said, "Go ahead."

She had green eyes. I'll never forget that, black hair and green eyes. I sat in a chair opposite the bathroom door. The door had a full-length mirror on it, and it was opened in such a way that I could see her in the mirror, but I was half in a daze. I really wasn't paying much attention because I had a heavy hangover. When I woke up I always had a hangover, and if I could get to a bar, I'd have a Bloody Mary. If not, I'd have a few shots in my room. So I was having a drink when I looked up and looked into this mirror, and I couldn't believe my eyes. She was cleaning the toilet bowl. She was standing, bent over but with her knees straight, which caused her dress to come up almost over her rear end, and she had black lace panties on. They usually wear white pants, something durable. She had these sexy panties on, and I could see the beginning of this little mound and some wispy black hairs sticking out the sides of these little panties. She had gorgeous legs. It was a beautiful sight, and I thought, "This is too good to be true!" When she came in, she'd closed the door behind her. Some of them leave the door open a little bit. When they leave it open you've got to sneak over and try to push it closed and catch their reaction if there is one. You hope there's no reaction.

I went and stood in the bathroom door, just looking at her. She's cleaning away. After she finishes the toilet she bends over to get the floor. She's wearing one of those half-brassieres, and with that button loose, I can see her breasts. I can see everything but the nipple. I can see down her dress to her navel. Needless to say I've got an erection. I move a little closer to her and she bends over the bathtub, and her uniform is all the way up over her ass. It was too much for me. I had my drink in my left hand; I put my right hand inside my robe and started playing with myself. If you can picture this ... I'm standing in the bathroom right behind this beautiful creature who's bent over so her ass is practically in my face, with those lace panties, with hair sticking out of the panties, and I'm jerking myself off, and I came that way, and as soon as I came I looked down, and she was looking at me through her legs. Her hand was on her cunt, and she was rubbing her cunt.

I went to the closet, got an old shirt and wiped myself off. I went back and sat in my chair. I poured another drink. She kept rubbing her cunt, and I guess she came because she stopped, pulled her dress down, and finished cleaning the bathroom. She came out. She made the bed. Never a word passed between us. Then, as she started to leave, she turned and said, "Is there anything else?" I said, "No, that was great." She gave me a smile, walked out and closed the door. I checked out the next day.

I felt as long as I didn't know a chick and nothing was said, then there was no love involved, and I wouldn't feel as guilty. I used to go to all-night movie houses and sit next to some chick and rub my leg against her leg, and I've had chicks jerk me off, and I've played with them, and then I'd just get up and walk out. A lot of times the girl would say, "Let's go to my place" or something like that. I'd say, "Just a minute. I have to go to the bathroom." And I'd sneak away and go to another theater to try to find another chick to sit next to. Because I didn't want to ball them.

I spent hours and hours fooling with the maids and fantasizing and playing with myself and going to all-night movies. I was going insane. I had a little drill I carried with me. I'd bore holes in the doors in the hotels and then peep into the next room at night and watch the people make love.

I was playing with Kenton's band in L.A. on West Broadway at a nightclub. We did an afternoon job and then we had a few hours off before our night job at the same club. Everybody was eating or fucking around, so I went for a walk. I was in my band uniform. I walked down the residential streets near the club and it was just dusk, right before the street lights go on. When I walked I always watched the windows. When lights went on I'd go over to see if anything was happening.

So I was walking and I saw a light go on in a bathroom window. There was a driveway next to the window. I'd hardly ever walk into a driveway, but I noticed there was a house in the back so I'd have an excuse for being there. I walked back by this window. It was open, and I heard water running so I knew it was a bathing scene. I didn't know if it was a man or a woman, and I tried to peek in, but the window was too high to stand and see. Down at the bottom level, near the ground, there was a kind of vent. It had little slats where I could put my foot so I stood on it and reached up to the sill.

I peered in. It was a woman. She was in a brassiere and panties, and she was evidently going to take a bath. The tub was right under the window; the toilet was to the left; the washbasin was to the right; and there was a little scale. She got off the scale and then she stood looking in the mirror over the washbasin. This chick was very pretty. She had blonde hair and white skin, and when she took off her bra and panties I saw she had blonde hair on her cunt and her nipples were hard. I thought, "What am I doing, man? What if somebody sees me or the slats break and I fall?" But I was all fired up. I held on to the sill and peeked in.

She's standing in front of the mirror. She takes her breasts and hefts them in her hands, and then she rubs them around in a circular motion, looking at herself in the mirror, and she starts to get a glazed expression, and she rubs and tweaks at her nipples with her fingers. She does this for a little while and then she runs to turn off the bathwater. She stands and looks at herself. She starts rubbing her cunt, rubbing down her legs and rubbing her cunt. She sits on the toilet and spreads her legs and takes the first two fingers of her left hand and rubs up and down on her cunt, and she closes her eyes and she's got her head back and with her other hand she's tweaking her nipple, and she starts quivering and shaking and then she holds her hand real hard on her cunt, and I guess she had come, and then she got up and looked at herself again and she kissed those two fingers, which really turned me on. I just couldn't help myself. I had unzipped my fly and reached in and grabbed my joint and started rubbing across the bottom of my joint, and I came right about the same time she did. And then I really panicked. She got up and got into the tub, and I jumped down to the ground. I was scared to death. I thought, "What if somebody's seen me? What if somebody looked out a window and called the police?" I got back to the club and sneaked into the bathroom. I had come all over my shorts and the top of my pants. I wiped myself off, and when I buttoned my coat it covered the area. I felt awful and I thought, "What's happening to me? What would Stan think and the guys in the band?" I thought, "I've got to stop this!" Heroin stopped it for me.

In 1950 I was in Chicago at the Croyden Hotel. That was the hotel all the musicians stayed at. I was rooming with Sammy Curtis. He was a tall guy with a roundish face, rosy cheeks, blonde, curly hair, and he had this lopsided grin; he played the little boy bit. He thought it was charming. He was very talented.

I think we played the Civic Opera House that night. I was featured. I got all the praise and applause, and it was great while it was happening, but after everybody left, there I was alone. I wandered around the town. I went to all the bars. I ended up back at the hotel and went into the bar there. I just had to continue getting loaded; it was a compulsion; I had demons chasing me. The only way I ever got loaded enough, so I could be cool, was when I passed out, fell out someplace, which is what I used to do almost every night. They kicked me out of the bar at about four o'clock in the morning, and I didn't know what to do. There was no place I could get a drink. It was getting daylight, and I couldn't peep in any windows. There was no one on the streets.

I went back up to the room. Sammy was there and Roy King, a tenor player, and Sheila Harris, who's a singer, and some piano player. They were all using heroin. Sammy had been using stuff for a long time, and I knew it, but I never would try it because I knew that the minute I did it would be all over for me. I asked them if they had anything other than stuff, and they didn't. I was so unhappy, and Patti was two thousand miles away, and there was nothing I could do. I had to have something.

Sheila came over to me. She was a good singer who worked with another band. She was about five foot, two, and a little on the chubby side-what they call pleasingly plump. She had nice breasts, large, but nice, and although I've never liked chubby women she was one of the few that turned me on. She had long eyelashes and large eyes, bluish-green. Her face was oval and full, and she had full lips, and her eyebrows were full. Most women in those days plucked their eyebrows, but she had let hers grow, and I liked that. She had long fingers and nice nails. And she was a nymphomaniac. When she looked at a man she was thinking of sucking his cock; that was her thought and she turned you on because you could feel that; everyone could. And you were turned on by the stories. She was a legend among musicians. Whether they had ever made it with her or not they'd all tell stories about balling her. She was purely sensual, but only in a sexual way, no other. No warmth, no love, no beauty. When you looked at her you just saw your cock in her mouth.

She came over to me and offered me some stuff, just to horn it, sniff it. She said, "Why don't you hang up that jive and get in a different groove? Why don't you come in the bathroom with me? I'll show you a new way to go." I was at my wit's end. The only thing I could have done other than what I did was to jump out of the window of the hotel. I think we were on the fourteenth floor. I started to go into the bathroom with her, and Sammy saw what was happening and flipped out. He caused a big scene. He said, "I won't be responsible for you starting to use stuff!" But Roy said, "Man, anything would be better than that jive booze scene he's into now. What could be worse? That's really a bringdown." We cooled Sammy out, and me and Sheila walked into the bathroom and locked the door.

When we got in there she started playing with my joint. She said, "Do you want me to say hello to him?" She was marvelous, and she really turned me on, but I said, "Wait a minute. Let's get into this other thing and then we'll get back to that." I was all excited about something new, the heroin. I had made up my mind.

She had a little glass vial filled with white powder, and she poured some out onto the porcelain top of the toilet, chopped it up with a razor blade, and separated it into little piles, little lines. She asked me if I had a dollar bill. She told me to get the newest one I had. I had one, very clean and very stiff. I took it out of my pocket and she said, "Roll it up." I started to roll it but she said, "No, not that way." She made a tube with a small opening at the bottom and a larger opening at the top. Then she went over to the heroin and she said, "Now watch what I do and do this." She put one finger on her left nostril and she stuck the larger end of the dollar bill into her right nostril. She put the tube at the beginning of one pile, made a little noise, and the pile disappeared. She said, "Now you do that." I closed my nostril. I even remember it was my left nostril. I sniffed it, and a long, thin pile of heroin disappeared. She told me to do the same with the other nostril. I did six little lines and then she said "Okay, wait a few minutes." While I'm waiting she's rubbing my joint and playing with me. I felt a tingly, burning sensation up in my sinuses, and I tasted a bitter taste in my throat, and all of a sudden, all of a sudden, all that feeling-wanting something but having no idea what it was, thinking it was sex and then when I had a chance to ball a chick not wanting to ball her because I was afraid of some disease and because of the guilt; that wandering and wandering like some derelict; that agony of drinking and drinking and nothing ever being resolved; and ... no peace at all except when I was playing, and then the minute that I stopped playing there was nothing; that continual, insane search just to pass out somewhere and then to wake up in the morning and think, "Oh, my God," to wake up and think, "Oh God, here we go again," to drink a bottle of warm beer so I could vomit, so I could start all over again, so I could start that ridiculous, sickening, horrible, horrible life again-all of a sudden, all of a sudden, the demons and the devils and the wandering and wondering and all the frustrations just vanished and they didn't exist at all anymore because I'd finally found peace.