10. THE NEON MAZE.
Los Angeles: Saturday May 26th 1990.
Never fear Rome, the serpent lies coiled in Naples........
And where is Naples now? Is the serpent in Calafornia? Here with me?
.......... Sat at the typewriter, with a bottle of Saint Louis' finest economy rum? Drank by trailer park royalty- According to Hymie.... 9am.... Sat at a typewriter......
Why?
I can't sleep.....
I haven't been able to sleep all night...... Nothing. Not a wink.
....... The nightmares have returned. This time they are even more vivid and savage in nature.
The sequence is always the same:
I dream I'm back in Portishead in that miserable fucking council flat; back in the bedroom I slept in as a boy- The one with that horrible green carpet.
I see black water starting to seep through the nylon carpet. There's a stanley knife lying on my bedside table; I grab the stanley knife and begin to cut through the wet carpet. There are layers and layers of carpet beneath me, soaking in black water with dead insects squashed and smeared across the wet nylon. I cut frantically, evetually getting to the last layer. As the knife tears through the final damp layer, a huge hole opens up and I can see through the bottom.
Baker Street tube station is beneath me- Uncle Frank took me to London as a boy to watch Bristol Rovers play Chelsea in the FA Cup.
The station still looks the same: Dark orange spot lights, illuminating only parts of the dark platforms; bricked up air vents that were formally used to rid the station of smoke expelled from the steam trains passing through; yellow brickwork and black tunnels on either side of the platforms........
The only difference is the lack of train tracks; in its place is a black river, flowing and gushing through the two platforms. Strong gales are blowing through the station and I'm sucked out of my bedroom, landing violently in the river below.
The water is pulling me downwards. I am not alone in the water. I am surrounded by the rotting corpses of animals and people; they float and bob on the surface of cold water.....
The river pulls me down into the dark tunnel, along with cars and old sofas; there is no light now, just the smell motor oil and broken glass cutting legs and torso.
I can hear Tobey calling me:
"TONEY! TONEY! TOOONEYY!"
His voice echoes off the walls. Before I can answer, the river takes an 180 degree turn downwards like a rollacoaster track. Now I can see fire at the bottom; heat and bright orange flames engulf the tunnel as the river flows downwards. The platform has reappeared to my left and Tobey is holding his hand out:
"TONEY! I'M HERE! GRAB MY HAND!"
I can barely see him through the smoke. The river pulls me close to the platform; our fingers touch, but the water is moving to quickly. Tobey is gone and I'm about drop down into the fires of hell. Then I wake up in a cold sweat, only to fall asleep in front of the television and return to the nightmares- One vicious circle.....
The biggest nightmare is the life I lead. Its a nightmare I can't seem to awake from........
....... Maybe if I had the guts to use a rope or a razor blade, I could end all this.....
But let me ask you something: Whats on the otherside?
Will I burn in hell for my sins? Is there a place for me in the kingdom of heaven? Does god really forgive?
In my dreams it seems Tobey does, but my daylight hallucinations tell me otherwise. I wish Tobey would speak when I see him, I see the reflection only to spin around and he's gone. He fades when I get close.
If Tobey was still alive, he'd be twenty six now. I often wonder how he would have turned out.
What he would look like now, how would he have matured and changed. I wonder if Tobey died a virgin....... If he died a virgin because of me.......
What would Tobey have made of himself eight years ago. Would he-
BANG BANG BANG BANG BANG.
"HEY ASSHOLE! OPEN UP! ITS THE PO-LICE! WE KNOW YOU GOT COCAINE! OPEN UP YOU MORMON FUCK!"
Hymie.
Nothing is ever subtle with Hymie; I think every room on this floor just heard him smash the door violently with his fists and yell about narcotics.
I open the door and there he is.
He's wearing a black and gold Adidas tracksuit circa 1980. He has his trademark Elvis sunglasses, topped with a big gold chain and his peroxide blonde hair. He looks even more like a pimp, if thats even possible....
"A stranger to the razor, eh Hymie?"
He hasn't been in the room thirty seconds and he's fighting with the television remote control: "What the fuck are you talking about? That English sense of humour huh... What's up with the remote? Crumby, cheap ass, fuckin'-"
"Hymie...."
"What?" He says, staring at the television, "What is it?"
"Just what is it you want to do?"
"Porn..."
"Hymie, I didn't pay for-"
"You shouldnt have to pay for porn in a place like this! This is a top dollar hotel! What the fuck is up with this remote?"
I head to the bathroom to grab my shaving kit, everything else is packed.
Hymies on a roll. Just sit back and be bombarded. Let the idiot talk.
"If we hit the road now we should make it in good time."
"Good time for what?" I question, unsure if I really want to hear his answer.
"Tony Bennett. The magazine got us two VIP tickets, on the premise that I write a big feature on Tony...."
"So you're working Hymie?"
"No. No I'm not."
He's banging the remote control violently against the TV.
"If you've got the tickets from the magazine.... To see Tony, to write about Tony, its-"
"It ain't shit! Who the fuck buys Rolling Stone to read about Tony Bennet?! They wanna hear about Lenny Kravitz and Sonic Youth! Not some washed up old fag. Its-"
"Hymie!" I interject.
"What?"
"Let's go."
As we enter the elevator, Hymie is babbling like an overexcited small child at Christmas:
"Brah! You are going to love this shit! Sluts, booze, gambling, greasy food, the land of steak and lobster! This is gonna be the CRAAAAZZY SHIT! THIS IS GONNA BE SO FUCKIN' ILL BRUH!!!"
Where does he find the energy?
We reach the desk- I'm not even listening to Hymie anymore.
"The bill please...."
Hymie grabs the bill before I can inspect it. He scans through it:
"No porn....."
The stern hotel receptionist looks quite disgusted:
"Excuse me?"
Fucking Hymie! Here we go....
"You got right here," he points to the bill, "premium television service."
This is the moment the ground should open up and swallow me whole..... Never to be seen again......
"Yes..."
"Well where was the fuckin' porn?"
The woman looks like somebody has just spat in her face:
"Adult channels are not included in Premium television services. Adult channels are an extra charge to the bill sir."
"Bullshit!" Hymie hisses at her, "you're trying to hustle my friend! I won't have it! There was no porn!"
The old hag tries to argue her point:
"As I have stated-"
"FUCK THAT!" Hymie shouts. "SOME TWO BIT HOTEL BULLSHIT-"
"Please sir-"
"YOU CHARGE MY CLIENT TOP DOLLAR FOR PREMIUM TELEVISION SERVICE-" Client?.....
What the fuck is he- Oh Hymie....
He's pretending to be my lawyer. The penny suddenly drops.......
Why does he do this?!
"WITHOUT PORN, YOU CANNOT SERIOUSLY CLAIM TO SUPPLY A PREMIUM TELEVISION SERVICE! EVERY OTHER HOTEL IN TWENTY MILE RADIUS SUPPLIES PORN WITH A PREMIUM TELEVISION SERVICE! PORN-"
The old bag behind the counter- The hotel manager, is turning red with anger:
"PLEASE MODIFY YOUR LANGUAGE SIR! YOU MEAN ADULT ENTERTAINMENT-"
"PORN!" Hymie shouts, rubbing the salt in, "PORN! PORN! PORN! PORN!!!"
The old bag relents:
"Fine! The twenty dollar charge is wiped."
Hymie walks outs laughing:
"See ya' in the car Tony!"
Now I'm left with the old bag whose shaking with anger. Hymie has escaped, cackling like a madman.
We have our moment.
..... Tension.....
For the first time I see she's hurting. Under the tough facade she's human; her feelings and pride have been hurt. Early fifties, working long days for shit pay- Serving wankers like Hymie. American tourists. Animals who never see the human, just a verbal punch bag.
"He's an idiot, please ignore him," I say, grabbing the bill. "Lets see..."
I pay the full amount in cash and push a fifty dollar bill into her hand:
"This should cover any losses and show gratitude to a first class service."
The old hag smiles and even blushes:
"Always a pleasure dealing with an English gentleman! May I suggest you find people of a higher calibre to match your intellectual prowess....."
She has a pompus side.....
"I couldn't agree more," I say, winking.
She leaves me with a parting piece of advice:
"A man with a mind as great as yours will find Las Vegas a neon maze of gambling, lust and sorrow. However..... I have no doubt you will find material for your writing in such a squalid city."
"Thank you m'am!"
She smiles and bids me goodbye. In a city full of fakes, this is the first genuine interaction I've had- Bar Hymie. If that's considered interaction?
Walking outside, I suddenly wonder what have I let myself in for. The morning sun is out, Hymie pulls up in a cherry red cadillac..... A cadillac........
"Please tell me this isn't your car Hymie?"
He looks at me and flashes the crocodile smile:
"Pretty neat, huh?"
I couldn't think of anything worse.
"You don't do things by half, eh Hymie?"
I climb inside the verhicle and the idiot asks me:
"Hey Tone, you like Rick James?"
What is he talking about now?
"Who?"
"Motherfuckin' Rick James! Tone, jheez.... Paul Weller ain't shit man! You gotta live in the here and now! Stop living in nineteen eighty-two!" Hymie laughs.
He's has hit a nerve.
Is he right?
Have I been stuck in the past?
Hymie looks uncomfortable- He realises he's hit a nerve....
For a guy who likes making people squirm, he's hates being put on the spot.
He pulls a large bottle of The Port Of Saint Louis out of a paper bag:
"Lets make this a special trip, eh Tone......"
Hymie is awesome at cheering you up; but you never know how he does it.
The back seat of the car is covered with various items- Boxes of cigarettes, two more bottles of The Port Of Saint Louis..... Hash pipe..... Hash pipe?!
What the fuck Hymie?!
"What are you fucking playing at?!"
"What?!" He says, lighting a cigar. "What?"
I HATE it when he does this. When he doesn't listen!
Cunt!
"I fucking told you! No drugs!"
"Wheres the drugs?! I ain't got no drugs. Chill the fuck out Tony!" He retorts, starting the car.
I reach over his lap and kill the ignition:
"The hash pipe cunt! Theres a fucking hash pipe in the back seat! Or had you failed to notice?!"
He does that laugh. The laugh like razor blades being stuck in your arsehole:
"Shit.... You see any drugs here?"
"Thats not what I asked?! Is it?! I fucking told you Hymie! No drugs!"
"THERE IS NO DRUGS! I just picked it up at the liquor store, they got stuff you'd find in a head shop. It a joke!"
He puffs a plume of cigar smoke in my face, handing me a cigar:
"Have a stoogie asswipe.... Chill out."
Inspecting the cigar I can see its expensive.
"Thats an Arturo Fuente.... Too good for a Rastafarian brother like you. It's got no ganja in it," he laughs, staring at a girl walking by. "Look at the ass on that bitch.... Shit....."
He's being antagonistic. He knows he's won......
Wanker......
I grab the rum bottle and crack the cap.... Drown my sorrows. The car hasn't even been started and I'm regretting agreeing to this trip with Hymie. He's a lost cause.....
"Hey asshole! No trailer park shit. We do this in style!"
He pulls out two plastic cups and bottle of coke:
"I got the good shit."
Wild Turkey. He has a bottle of Wild Turkey.
"You said you love that damn book, what the fuck?!" Hymie says, assuming I don't like what he's got. He's referring to Fear And Loathing In Las Vegas by Hunter S Thompson.
"Hymie... Should be drinking as we drive to Las Vegas?"
"Aww, shit! Fuck this shit! Will you please just chill the fuck out!" Better not to argue. Just "Go with the flow" as Hymie would say. Fucking Hymie.....
I look across at him. He's "In the zone". Sunglasses, Adidas tracksuit, gold jewellery. Supermans worst nightmare.....
Hymie presses play on his stereo- The car is shaking and virbrating violently from the electronic groove pulsing through Hymie's overpriced sound system:
A LITTLE GIRL CAME UP TO ME, ACTING YOUNG AND SHY....
"HYMIE" I yell at Supermans Worst Nightmare, "THIS IS RICK JAMES?!"
The bastard turns to me, miming along with the next line of the song:
A LOOK OF CURIOUSITY, WAS FLASHIN' IN HER EYES.....
As we cruise through Los Angeles, I'm taking in the sights, feeling a bit light headed: Theres a black woman smacking her screaming, infant child outside a busy supermarket; a homeless guy vomiting violently into a bin with his trousers around his ankles; there's a policeman argueing with a Mexican shop owner....
For a second I think of that Louis Armstrong song: "AND I THINK TO MYSELF... WHAT A WONDERFUL WORLD."
Hymie has his sound system cranked up full blast, with the bass rocking the cadillac! I turn down the volume on the car stereo only for Hymie to turn it back up again as soon as my hand has left the dial.
...... Now I'm Hymie's mobile bartender.
"Gimme another drink!" He commands, passing me an empty cup. I fill it with Wild Turkey and a dash of coke. He takes it- Not saying thank you..... Hymie......
We hit some traffic lights, the traffic is thick- Bumper to bumper. A boarded up shop with some random Mexican guys hanging outside: Slicked back hair and sunglasses; white vests exposing heavily tattoed arms; low slung trousers and scowls.....
It suddenly dawns on me how tribal we are as human beings, even in this day and age. All of us conform to the norm. Hunter S Thompson had it wrong. Everybody conforms- Only to fit in. The fear of rejection drives all to conform. Look the right way, speak the right way, act the right way. Just so we're not alone.
This shit on the stereo has now become irritating.
I yell to Hymie over racket:
"HYMIE! THIS IS DOING MY FUCKING NUT MATE!"
He pops the cd out of the player and tosses it over his shoulder:
"I got something even better!"
He fumbles under his seat with one hand, the other gripping the steering wheel:
"I got some dope shit right here!"
I wish I hadn't asked. His empty cup flies off the dashboard onto the floor:
"Yo! Tone! Fill that shit up!"
I do as I'm told- Supermans Worst Nightmare must be obeyed. "We're tearing through the Wild Turkey," I announce.
"Fuck that!" Hymie spits, "I got another two bottles in the trunk!"
I have a bad feeling about this... I should relax.... I'm on holiday... Allegedly.....
Hymie pops another cd in:
Your gonna love this shit Tone! Getchooo in the mood for Vegas babey!!" Frank Sinatra starts booming out from the powerful car stereo.
Hymie is clicking his fingers, singing along with the track blasting away:
"I'VE GOTCHOOOUU..... UUUNNDER MY SKIN...... SO DEEEEP IN MY SOUL........"
I'm shaking my head to which he is oblivious.
So this is it. I'm heading to Las Vegas. Home of gambling, booze, steak and lobster. The neon maze.
Let the games begin.......