Dancing with John Belushi and No Pants
It was late. Maybe 2am. I was drunk. High. WASTED.
Earlier that evening I found the note from Patti on the kitchen table.
My mom is in town. I have to go to dinner with her.
There was about a 1/4 ounce of cocaine on a mirror on the table next to the note.
After months of no cocaine, suddenly it was back.
My mom is in town.
So I'd look out the balcony of 1939 North Lincoln to see if she was back yet, and go back and do a line. And another. And another.
This shit looked like mica, layers of shiny platforms of pleasure- this was the kind of cocaine someone could stomp on 10 to 1, and the people who got it would say it was the best they ever had. No teeth grinding, no running to the toilet. CLEAN.
What can you say about a drug that makes women horny, and men lose sexual control?
My mom is in town.
Got tired of that, decided to go to the Blues Bar. Walked to Wells Street and down the alley to the Blues Brothers Bar. I left her a note where I was going, but I didn't expect her back this night.
So I reach the house and there is Steve and he opens the door and says, "John is here" and I went from sad and stoned to happy and stoned.
I loved John Belushi.
"Mike get your fucking ass over here!", he yelled from the bar and I did. This time I brought the coke.
He hugged me and said, " How the fuck are ya!?!", and I hugged him back and said, "Can I have this dance?", and John broke into a frenzied laughter, grabbed me and we started to slow dance at the bar.
" I think Patti is getting suspicious", I said, and he dropped his pants as we danced and said,"Why?" and I couldn't stop laughing until my laughs turned into coughs.
People around the bar started laughing and I told him I had some amazing coke and he pulled his pants up and said, "Why the fuck didn't you tell me?" and he looked at the bag I produced and said, "What the fuck is this?".
It's coke John.
"Shit, lets do it".
And we did.
"GOD DAMN! IF THIS IS COKE, WHAT THE FUCK HAVE I BEEN DOING!" he yelled and then did another line and another and another.
So did I.
Patti and I had stopped buying coke and having it around the apartment while she worked with Playboy ( despite what you may have heard, by this time Playboy was really anti-drug), but we would still do lines when offered.
John was as cool as you could be in those days, an Illinois boy who had made it. A fucking genius straight or stoned. Yet whenever we ventured outside the bar if any stranger talked to him no matter how wasted, he would stop and say hi back.
That's the Chicago way.
I was sipping on Gin and Tonic (should be plural), and smiling and happy.
Around 5 am, I remembered Patti.
Patti fucking Petite.
Where was she?
The coke was gone, I was near blacking out and said goodbye.
John at this point just nodded.
I walked to the apartment, and noticed the lights weren't on.
Patti had to be there, because I left the lights on.
I ran up the stairs, fumbled for the keys, then thought she might be asleep so I should be quiet.
I opened the door, walked in and peeked in the bedroom.
No one was there.
I cut on the light in the kitchen.
There on the table was another 1/4 ounce of coke and a note.
I'LL BE BACK IN A COUPLE OF DAYS. WITH MY MOM.
Our society teaches us to do what our parents tell us to. Our society tells us blood is thicker than water.
But, what if our mom was a hooker who taught us to be one at age 12 and now wanted us back in the fold?
I had broken from my parents years ago.
Patti, still believed.