by Dave Navarro
DAVE: I probably slept on them wrong.
TORI: Icky stuff.
DAVE: So she canceled the appointment and I got high again.
TORI: He was really upset that I had woken him up too. He said, “Make it for two in the afternoon.” So I did, and then he disappeared downstairs and got high. Again, I didn’t really know that, but I had a feeling because when he sneaks off like that he’s usually doing drugs. He said, “Oh, excuse me, I’m going downstairs to make a private phone call in the bedroom.” Hello! Since when has Dave made private calls?
When he came back upstairs, I said, “You know what, you’re not going to go to your two o’clock.” I knew he was high again, so I canceled. He said okay. He was having a really bad high. It was only the second time I’ve seen him have a high that bad, and I was scared enough that I was about to dial 911. He was shaking, and he wasn’t doing well at all. He was nodding out instantly, and he couldn’t walk.
When he bent over to pick up something, he fell forward and hit the ground. And I was like, “D, I’m kind of scared right now.” And he went over and started playing on the piano, and he nodded out on the keyboard and fell asleep. I was like, “Fuck, I’ve been here before. What do I do?” I tried to talk to him to see how he was and where he was, and all of a sudden he started throwing up on the piano. And it wasn’t like food throw-up. It was like green mucus-y, pus-y body acids or something. And I got scared. I said, “D, I’m going to call someone right now, so you tell me who to call because you need to get help. You’re not any better.” He didn’t say anything, so I said, “I’m going to call Johnny. Is that okay?” And he said, “Yeah, call Johnny.”
DAVE: Johnny’s my cousin.
TORI: So he gave me the number and I called Johnny. Johnny said to just hang out with Dave for a little while and let him sleep. So I said, “D, come over to the couch.” And as he was coming over to the couch, he started throwing up all over the floor and all over the bathroom. He was sweating so much, and I started getting really scared. Then he came and laid on the sofa, and he was like gurgling, making some kind of fluid-y sound in his throat. I thought he was going to choke.
But he pretty much slept the entire day. During that day, there were hundreds of phone calls. And everyone who called was really upset.
Then his manager called and was really mad. He said, “You know what? First of all, he shouldn’t have had a six-day span like this with no treatment whatsoever.”
DAVE: Yeah, they had set up a therapist, but here’s what happened. I had it all lined up for when I got out of the center in Tucson, but I did so well—exceptionally well—in Tucson that despite my escape they let me out early.
TORI: And that’s another reason why everyone was so mad. They said, “I can’t believe Dave manipulated them into letting him out early. What kind of a facility would let him out?” And they were right. When they let him out, they gave him a window. He had six days before he was going to get any kind of therapy. Can you imagine?
DAVE: Yeah, but I fucked up too. I do think that I contributed to it.
TORI: I stayed with him through the night. During that time, he started drying out. He didn’t do drugs and slept most of the time. On Friday night, Johnny came up, we had dinner, and we hung out together and made sure Dave stayed sober and talked to him about what he wanted to do.
Saturday, May 8
TORI: On Saturday morning he woke up, and I knew he was going be uncomfortable again and was going to want to get high. I didn’t think he would. But he did, and he lied to me. I don’t know where he got the drugs from, because I was with him the whole time. I asked him at about two in the afternoon if he was high, because I could tell by his behavior and the scratching. He was also rubbing his eyes like he does when he’s high. So he looked at me like he didn’t want to have to lie but said anyway, “No, I’m just anxious about what’s happening.”
I said okay, but I kind of had a feeling. Then a couple of hours later I asked him again because he started getting mean like he gets when he’s high. And he said no again.
However, half an hour later, a friend from rehab called and asked Dave how he was doing. And he told his friend that he had relapsed and lied to me twice saying he was sober. It was interesting that he would lie to me but be honest with someone who was coming out of rehab, which is actually pretty honorable.
DAVE: I think that my friend from rehab was in less of a position to do something about it. And by that time, I assumed Tori knew.
TORI: I had a feeling, but I didn’t think he’d lie to me—twice.
DAVE: Come on, I was, like, organizing the photo strips for about seven hours.
TORI: Anyway, once he said it and I heard it and it was out in the open, I went into total panic mode. I thought, “Well, at least if I’m here, he’ll have to hide it. He can’t go all-out and be sitting on the living room couch with the spoon and needle.” I kept saying, “Oh, I’m going inside to get a drink,” and I’d be like opening up the drawers in the kitchen and the cabinets looking for the drugs. He did a really good job of hiding them because the whole weekend I was in the house, I couldn’t find anything.
DAVE: Do you know where they were?
TORI: Where?
DAVE: They were underneath the studio computer keyboard.
TORI: See, see? Yeah.
DAVE: I copped drugs three times.
TORI: Yeah, he walked my dog Lucy, which he would never do. He’s only done it once since I’ve known him. But all of a sudden, he said, “I think I’ll walk her now.” I’m like, “Okay.”
DAVE: That’s not when I scored.
TORI: No, but he took his phone with him. I just know that those things were clues that he was looking in the mailbox or under the mat or down the road for something. But I kept thinking optimistically because I couldn’t find anything in the house. I figured if he had a stash, he was probably about to run out. I thought he really wanted to sober up.
By Saturday evening, I started getting on his nerves because he wanted to get really high, I think. And we had been together for two days straight. So he goes, “Jimmy’s coming over.” And I was like, “Fuck.”
DAVE: Jimmy isn’t a bad influence.
TORI: No, he’s a great guy and he doesn’t do drugs. But he’s kind of passive, and probably wouldn’t care if Dave did something in front of him. And that really upset me. I didn’t say a word to Dave.
DAVE: She just gave me the evil eye.
TORI: I did, because on top of the fact that he had just lied to me and was getting high and was probably going to get even more high after I left, I was really tired. I hadn’t slept because I was watching him the whole time. At one point, I was lying on the back of his sofa, holding his arm because his veins were pumping so hard. I was crying and he was just sweating and it made me really upset. But anyway, Jimmy came over and I went downstairs. Dave would come down, purposely, just to see how I was reacting. And then he started calling me a bitch. He’s like, “You’re a fucking bitch, Tori. What are you giving me the evil eye for? You’re a fucking bitch. Fuck you, Tori.”
It’s the kind of behavior that appears when someone feels guilty for lying. He started saying, “Fuck you, get the fuck out of my house. I don’t want you here anymore.”
And I said, “You know what, D? I am a bitch, you’re right. I’m a fucking bitch, D. And you know what? I’m not leaving. So what are you going to do? Call the cops? I think they’d be more interested in you than they would be in me.”
So Jimmy hung out, and then they went into the studio downstairs. I was trying really hard to have the biggest ear I’ve ever had in my whole life to listen to the conversation. And he was talking to some chick on the phone, going, “We’re coming down.”
DAVE: Oh, I forgot about that. We went to the Whiskey Bar.
TORI: So he comes up to me and goes, “Oh, Tori, I’m going out with Jimmy for a little while.”
I go, “Dave, I just heard you on the phone. You’re going to me
et someone.”
And he said, “Yeah, we’re going to the Whiskey Bar. So what? I think it’s time for you to go home now.”
DAVE: Did you think that I was going to score drugs or meet a girl?
TORI: I thought you were going to do both, which is probably what happened.
DAVE: No, that’s not what happened, because, see, I had already scored three times. I had a system. Mary stopped coming because she felt so terrible about my condition that she refused to sell me drugs anymore. She took my cell phone number off her caller list. We made a deal that I’d stop, and then I said, “Okay, give me another one.”
And she went, “That’s not part of the deal.” It was pretty cool. So I had another guy, and I would page him and he would put it somewhere. Then he’d call when he was on his way down the hill afterward.
TORI: You’re kind of scared to tell me where he put it right now, aren’t you?
DAVE: I know. I want it to be a secret.
TORI: Then who was the girl?
DAVE: I didn’t even know her. In fact, I’d never even seen her before. I’m terrible. Some girl just called and said, “Hey, I would really like to meet you.” That’s why I went down to the Whiskey.
TORI: So Dave and Jimmy go out to the Whiskey Bar, they come home later, and I’m so tired and cranky that I want to kill him. I’m in tears. And now I hear him talking on the phone to Jack, the little actor guy with the monocle who hangs out at the Whiskey. He’s saying, “Come on over.” And I’m like, “No fucking way.”
But Jack comes over anyway, and I’m really pissed now. I’m downstairs sleeping in the bed, and Dave’s like, “Get up and get into the other room.” He just did not want me there at all. And Jack proceeded to stay.
Sunday, May 9
TORI: The next morning, Sunday, Dave and I had plans to spend Mother’s Day with his dad at the Bel-Air Hotel. We were supposed to meet him for an eleven A.M. lunch. But Jack ended up staying until ten-thirty in the morning, chattering away, playing music.
This is what I don’t understand about his friends—they know he’s just gotten out of rehab, they know he’s loaded, and they know he’s tired and probably hasn’t slept. He’s so high he’s speaking with his eyes closed and he can’t even get whole sentences out. Half of it is mumbo jumbo about “my guitar is red in the other room and it’s got a blue ribbon around it.” He doesn’t have a fucking clue what he’s saying because he’s so high and tired. And Jack is having a conversation with him about nothing, you know? It freaked me out that he wouldn’t leave. I wanted to kick him out, because I knew Dave would do more drugs to stay up with Jack, but I knew that if I did Dave would be so pissed. Finally, Jack left just in time for us to meet Dave’s dad.
At lunch, Dave and I had a blast. We had a lot of fun. It was upsetting, though, because Dave’s dad knew that he was high and that was obviously a big problem for him.
DAVE: Toby was there with her dad and her friends too. And I was sitting there at the Bel-Air Hotel loaded.
TORI: Loaded! But we had fun. His dad loosened up and was enjoying Dave’s company. And Dave was really fun with Gabe, and Toby’s dad kept cracking us up. I think Dave and I laughed a lot more than we have in a long time.
DAVE: Yeah, we did. We had a good time.
TORI: After that, we drove back to the house. I remember Dave borrowed my cell phone on the way back to check his messages.
DAVE: Yeah, and the message was: “Dave, I just want to let you know that I got this new CD. It’s called Check the Drain by the Garage.”
TORI: That’s just great. Then Jerry Cantrell [of Alice in Chains] came over, and I said, “I’m going home to change out of these clothes. You guys go have dinner.” I thought he’d be safe. But then he said that he was going to meet Twiggy and he’d call when he got back to the house. He called a few hours later and said, “Jimmy’s going to babysit me tonight.” And I wasn’t thrilled about Jimmy again.
DAVE: But all we did was go to Crazy Girls.
Monday, May 10
TORI: Then on Monday he was sad. We talked on the phone a lot, and he decided to check into rehab. I wondered if he was actually going to do it or not, and I was thrilled that he did.
DAVE: I know. I called and I packed and I came. I can’t believe it myself. I just knew that I couldn’t finish my record if I wasn’t sober. I have a whole company behind me ready to work, and I know that I can’t do drugs if I want them to put it out. I’ve been working on it too hard to throw it away. And this time it’s not just another quick dry-out thing. I’m going all the way.
part III A TRIUMPHANT RETURN
The previous conversation took place at a rehab clinic in Venice Beach. After four days of unanswered messages, Dave finally phoned the day he checked in.
“Dude,” he said, excited. “We’re going to have a happy ending, but a happy ending with a twist. This is it: I went to the place that my businesspeople put me in and it didn’t work. So I did it myself. I’m in an inpatient facility for two weeks, and then I’ll be in an outpatient program for three months.”
He paused. “You know I wouldn’t let this book not have a happy ending.”
The treatment center is in a residential-looking house with a front lawn and a large garden in back where the patients can lounge around picnic tables. On my first visit, Dave is wearing a black T-shirt and jeans. The painful part—the withdrawal Dave likens to the chronic ache that the elderly must feel every waking moment—is over for him. He looks weary, but great. He is bright and funny and brimming with excitement—not the edgy excitement that accompanies drug intake but a genuine happiness to really be seeing the world through unclouded eyes.
He sleeps in a small dormitory room that he shares with another patient. Above his blue-blanketed bed is a drawing he made of a trash can containing the things he wants to get rid of in his life: there is a crayon rendering of the spoon we saw in June (symbol of the nourishment of both his youth and his recent past), a frowning face with a line drawn through it (no more unhappiness), a rainbow not unlike the one in the unicorn painting that hangs above his computer (a sign of the impossible dreams he wants to banish), and a telephone (representing miscommunication).
Last night, his rehab group went on a field trip to see an IMAX movie. In it, the camera slowly zoomed away from the earth and showed the immensity of the universe; then it slowly returned to the ground, moving closer and closer until it was magnifying the tiniest fragment possible to display a world of life inside a microscopic speck. Afterward, Dave had to talk to his counselor. The movie made him feel insignificant and, more to the point, made him doubt the very principle he needs to cling to in order to get clean: a firm belief in a higher power that can restore his sense of self. The counselor told Dave that he plays a part in this massive universe. Just like our body depends on a vast network of cells and molecules and DNA that all must be perfectly arranged and operating for us to function, so too is the universe a living system dependent on the ability of all of its parts to function.
At dinner in the clinic’s kitchen that night, Dave sits around a large wooden table eating salad and lasagna with his fellow patients, who take turns cooking and cleaning each night. They laugh and talk about their visitors and exchange the stories that led to their ending up at this dinner table today. They are single mothers, record executives, and drifters. And then there is Dave, sitting on the end of the table, talking about his record and his book and his website, smiling like I’ve never seen him smile before.
part IV THE OUTPATIENT
They let Dave out of the clinic without a chaperone now. He calls to meet for breakfast at ten A.M. on May 27 at Swingers.
Walking around sober, he seems like a fish out of sea. He is still jittery: tapping the table with his fingertips, wolfing down his sandwich, fidgeting impatiently as he waits for the check. It is almost as if his body still needs to readjust to real time, which includes three meals a day, a cycle of sleep once every twenty-four hours, and a l
ot of waiting around doing nothing. Drugs, much like love affairs, have the advantage of providing a plot in our lives, distracting us from the oppression of ordinary, everyday existence. Without drugs and without Adria, Dave still must supply a plot for his days in order to make it through this transition.
After lunch, he races to a studio in the Hollywood Hills to meet Mötley Crüe drummer Tommy Lee, who called Dave to ask him to play on his Methods of Mayhem project. This is the first time that Dave has been out and about sober in a year. We gather in the kitchen with Tommy’s crew. Between the tattoos on the arms of Dave, Tommy, a white dreadlocked rapper named TiLo, and the studio engineer, there is enough ink to start a publishing company. When Tommy sees Dave’s arms, he flips out. Not over the tattoos, but over the severity of the track marks running through them.
“They’ve discolored my tattoos a little right here,” Dave says, showing a spot of white in the green on the bend of his elbow.
“But that’s not because you shot heroin,” the studio engineer says. “Shooting coke every ten minutes will do that to you.”
“Man, I can’t believe now how much I did,” Dave says. “Probably like a hundred shots a day.”
“I’ll never forget it when I was shooting up,” Lee says. “It got so bad that Nikki [Sixx, Crüe bassist] and I were in a hotel room, and we were out of coke and heroin, so we filled a cap with Jack Daniel’s and shot that up. I can’t believe that now.”
“That sounds like Nikki’s idea,” TiLo says.
“It was.”
In the studio, Dave picks up a guitar and adds a few tracks to the music as Tommy films him with a video camera. It is as if the documentary torch is being passed to a new musician, who, like Dave, is also stepping away from drugs and his musical past in order to attempt his first solo project. The connection deepens when Dave shows Tommy pictures from the June and July chapters. Tommy knows nearly every one of the women. Hollywood is a very small town, and the same girls always seem to find their way to the arm of each rock star.