by Greg Kihn
Brian squinted at him.
“Are you talking about Jimi Hendrix?”
“Yeah, man. Jimi. He sent me over here with somebody he thought you ought to meet.”
Bobby and Clovis stood behind Brian, listening to the conversation. Brian was still a little wary and kept the door open only a crack. Skully continued.
“This is Acid King Leon from California.”
The taller of the two pushed the door open and put out his hand for Brian to shake.
“Hey, man. I’m Acid King. They sent me out here from Monterey to give you the benediction, Brother.”
He opened a brown leather briefcase to reveal plastic bags containing of hundreds of purple and yellow pills. Brian’s eyes got big.
“Is that all acid?” Brian asked.
Leon grinned.
“Sure is. Pure Owsley. Made by the man himself in San Francisco. This is purple haze, my man. It’s a new formula that eliminates the bad trips. Think of it. No bummers, brother. Every trip is mellow.”
“Come on in,” Brian said.
He swung the door all the open and bade them welcome.
“You say you came from Monterey?”
“Yeah, man. The promoters for the Monterey Pop Festival sent me here to ask you to be their guest for a weekend of great music. They want you to introduce Jimi Hendrix onstage. It’s his American debut. That’s why Jimi sent me here. He asked me to ask you if you’d do it. It’s gonna be big. D. A Pennebaker is shooting the whole thing for a movie and Wally Heider’s recording the sound.”
Brian seemed interested.
“I’ve heard of Monterey. When is it?”
“It’s during the summer solstice.”
Brian shrugged. “When’s that?”
“June. Derek Taylor has already contacted the Stones office.”
“Derek Taylor, the Beatles publicist?”
Leon said, “He’s involved, too. Jimi was hoping you’d introduce him at the gig.”
“Are the Beatles playing?”
“No. They won’t be there.”
They walked slowly back into the dining room. Brian introduced the two newcomers to the group.
“This is Skully. He works for Jimi Hendrix, and this other bloke is Acid King Leon.”
They said their hellos and Brian apologized about having just finished dinner.
“Can I offer you anything?”
“Maybe just dessert.”
They brought two extra seats to the table and joined the party.
Brian said, “Leon is from the Monterey Pop Festival in California.”
“Yeah, man. This is going to be the best festival ever. All the San Francisco groups are going to be there: Big Brother, the Grateful Dead, Jefferson Airplane, Steve Miller, Quicksilver, Moby Grape, Country Joe, the Electric Flag, Butterfield, plus The Byrds, Booker T, the “Big O” Otis Redding, and to top it all off, The Who and Hendrix.”
“And don’t forget Ravi Shankar,” said Skully.
Brian clapped his hands. “A sitar recital! Brilliant!”
“Wow,” Bobby said, “that’s quite a lineup.”
“It’s going to be a fantastic event. Lou Adler and John Phillips are putting it together. Paul McCartney’s on the board of directors.”
“What would I have to do?”
“Nothing. Just hang around. Introduce Jimi on the last night.”
“That’s it?”
“Yep, and the Stones office has probably already cleared it if you want to go.”
Brian grinned. He relished the idea of going to California. It meant sunshine and adulation. He didn’t have any pressure on him to play. All he had to do was hang out and introduce Jimi. Why not? It would be great to get out of London anyway.
“Damn right I want to go.”
Small dishes of vanilla ice cream were served. There were multicolored sprinkles on top of hot fudge. Bobby had a sweet tooth and dug in. It was cold and delicious and refreshed his body and soul.
It wasn’t until later when he began to look around Brian’s townhouse that he began to feel strange. He noticed a lot of occult objects lying around the room: A painted pentagram on the floor, a glass skull, candles, a strange little altar with herbs, human hair, and books on black magic and demonology. He’d heard that satanist Kenneth Anger had been here to visit. He also knew Brian was fascinated with turn-of-the-century occultist, Aleister Crowley. As he looked further, he realized that there was something dark and sinister about the place that made him feel uneasy. Bobby swallowed the lump in his throat.
On a table was a copy of the German glossy picture magazine Stern. On the cover, in shocking detail, was a photo of Brian dressed in a full Nazi SS uniform with Anita kneeling at his feet holding a baby doll. The picture was disturbing in many ways, but Brian’s face was the worst. He seemed to relish the Nazi attitude. Someone had written the word rejected across the cover in red ink. Bobby automatically flipped the magazine over so the photo wouldn’t stare back at him.
Were Brian and Anita just interested in black magic, or did they actually practice it? The thought troubled Bobby.
Clovis found Bobby and grabbed him by the arm.
“Are you okay?”
Bobby said, “What do you mean? Of course I’m okay.”
“I mean … Do you feel anything strange?”
“No.”
“Erlene said she could feel her tits growing, and when I looked at her, they were as big as watermelons.”
Bobby looked across the room at Erlene.
“She’s fine, she looks completely normal.”
“Are her tits proportionate to the rest of her body?”
“Yes, they are the same glorious size as always.”
“They’re not bursting out of her shirt?”
Bobby shook his head.
“Nope.”
Clovis nodded as if he’d just had a big revelation.
“Oh …”
Brian suddenly appeared and pulled Clovis away from the party into the kitchen. Brian’s voice sounded like a French horn to Clovis.
“Hey, man. You want to swap?”
“Swap what?” Clovis said. “Guitars?”
“Women.”
Clovis tried to wipe the look of incredulity off his face, but he wasn’t much of a poker player. The idea seemed ludicrous to him. He started to laugh.
“Did you say you wanted to swap? Erlene for Anita?”
Brian nodded eagerly. “Just for a little while. We’d all just go upstairs together in the big bedroom. That way, you can watch me do Erlene and Anita together, then I can watch you.”
Clovis whistled. “I don’t know, pardner. That sounds kinda kinky.”
Brian smiled. “Yeah … Well, that’s the whole point, isn’t it?”
Clovis shook his head.
“No offense, but your old lady ain’t got much meat on her bones. I mean, Erlene’s got a real woman’s body, big bazoombas and a hallelujah ass. Plus she’s a professional exotic dancer and she knows how to move. Anita’s way too skinny and … well, don’t take this the wrong way, but my tits are bigger than hers. You’d be getting the better end of that deal.”
Brian thought it over. “Would Erlene be up for it?”
Clovis lowered his voice and tried to sound sincere. “Truth is, she’d probably slap you across the face if you asked. She’s kinda sensitive about stuff like that. She’s a stripper, not a whore. Besides, that’s my woman we’re talkin’ about. I won her fair and square. I ain’t about to share her with anybody, even for a few minutes.”
Brian considered Clovis’s words, then asked again. “So the answer is no?”
“What the fuck do you think, Brian? Jeez, you got some nerve. I’m flattered that Erlene turns you on, and I’m real proud of her and all, but shit, man,
don’t ask me stuff like that. It’s out of my league. I’m just a poor guitar player. You’re a superstar.”
Brian had a strange look in his eye. “Maybe you’ll change your mind,” he said cryptically.
“I don’t think so. You’re barkin’ up the wrong tree, pardner. I’m warnin’ ya, don’t piss Erlene off or she’ll kick your ass.”
Brian whispered, “Sounds provocative.”
“What are you, some kinda sex freak? I’ll hang out and smoke dope with you and drink your wine, but I ain’t gonna let you fuck my woman.”
“Very well, my good man. Just a thought. Let’s rejoin the others for drinks.”
They reentered the living room. Clovis seemed a little unsteady on his feet.
“What’s happening?”
Brian grinned. “Oh, it’s probably the LSD kicking in.”
“The what?”
“I dosed you all! It was in the ice cream.” Brian laughed like a lunatic.
Chapter Three
Heart of Stone
Bobby’s heart sank. He’d broken his promise to Cricket and ingested LSD. He’d made a serious mistake. He hadn’t been as careful as he thought, and now he could feel the acid surging through his system. It was powerful stuff.
“We dosed the ice cream!” Brian shouted. “Everybody’s tripping together tonight, thanks to Acid King Leon!”
Erlene groaned. “Goddammit! You mean to say you spiked our ice cream and didn’t tell us, you little son of a bitch?”
“If I would have told you, you wouldn’t have done it.” Brian smirked.
“Goddamn right I wouldn’t! I don’t like LSD!” she said, and folded her arms. “That just ain’t right.”
Bobby spoke up. “I told my wife you were having a dinner party and there wouldn’t be any drugs.”
Anita laughed. “What a silly bitch! How could she be so provincial? What is she, a Mormon?”
Bobby blushed. “She’s a Baltimore girl,” he heard himself say. The words left an unpleasant taste in his mouth. He didn’t like defending his wife to the likes of Anita Pallenberg.
“Ha!” Anita threw her blond hair back with an air of defiance. Anita’s voice dripped with sarcasm. “You broke your little promise. Big fuckin’ deal!”
Bobby was tongue-tied talking to Anita. When he replied to her, each new sentence made him sound more ridiculous. He was tripping now; he could feel it. His mind raced. He knew he shouldn’t be matching wits with Anita Pallenberg, but he was already in too deep.
His voice sounded like Donald Duck. Some kind of audio distortion had set in. The more he tried not to sound like Donald Duck, the more he sounded like him.
It was evident now that the vibes in the room had shifted, and everybody seemed to feel the first euphoric effects of the acid as a group.
“Don’t be such a wimp,” Anita said.
“It’s just that I … I love my wife … And I promised her I wouldn’t take anything tonight. And …”
Anita and Brian roared with laughter. “Stupid girl! Stupid girl!”
“He loves his wife!” Brian shouted. “The man loves his wife! Oh, that’s rich!”
“What’s wrong with that?” Bobby said.
Anita’s German accent had a surreal Nazi twinge.
“So you promised her that you wouldn’t take drugs tonight. Tell us, Mr. Dust Bin Bob, on what night of the week does she allow you to take LSD?”
“Never. I mean, as a rule, I don’t take drugs. John dosed me with acid at Weybridge once, and I didn’t enjoy it.”
“I hate that word,” Anita snapped. “People say they enjoy this and they didn’t enjoy that. Fuck enjoyment! I want to learn. I want to grow. I want to experience new things. Acid is not for fools. You have to be in tune.”
The more Anita lectured him, the more surreal things became. Bobby reacted to her psychic pressure with more increasingly bizarre audio distortions. He began to hallucinate. He thought he saw bugs fly out of her mouth when she spoke. At one point, her face started to melt and then rearranged itself. She became Brian, she became Marianne Faithfull, she morphed into a dozen people, then back to herself. Bobby found it frightening and hard to follow.
He thought he heard dogs barking in the distance. He looked at Anita, and she became an Afghan hound. He thought he heard strange music. He thought he heard whispered voices talking about him. Bobby shook his head, trying to clear it.
To Bobby’s ears, his transformation into Donald Duck was complete. He couldn’t understand anything he said. His mouth wouldn’t work. His tongue and lips seemed oversize and unresponsive. When others spoke to him, he heard the same gibberish as if their voices were running backward.
Bobby leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes. He felt like he was underwater. When he opened them again everything shimmered.
Brian put on a Muddy Waters record, and they were all transfixed by the gravelly voice of the legendary R&B singer. There was something soothing about the timeless music of the blues. Bobby could see the dramatic effect it had on Brian. He immediately became engaged with the music. It calmed him down, and he lost himself in the three chords of the blues. Bobby realized a long time ago that they were also the three chords of life.
The acid took Bobby far beyond anyplace he’d ever been before. When he was with John Lennon at John’s country house in Weybridge, he’d been dosed against his will then, too. Was it always like that? Is that how the psychedelic experience worked? He didn’t actually enjoy the experience and would never have voluntarily taken it again. But now it was too late.
Bobby had no idea how long he’d stayed like that, sitting on the floor lost in his thoughts listening to Muddy Waters. It felt like hours. He was vaguely aware of people moving around him. He looked around. People were standing up and putting on their coats.
“What’s going on?” Bobby asked. His voiced seemed miles away.
“Get up,” a voice said. “We’re going out.”
Bobby couldn’t believe it.
“Going out? But, I can barely walk.”
“Brian’s driving.”
“Brian’s driving? How is that possible?”
“You got me, pardner.” Bobby realized he was talking to Clovis. “But the man has a Rolls-Royce Silver Cloud the size of Cleveland, and he’s driving us all down to The Scotch of Saint James for a nightcap. Personally, my night’s already been capped, but we might as well go. It’s sure to be an adventure. Besides, we can’t stay here.”
“Where is it?”
“I have no idea, but the car’s out front.”
“What should I do?”
Bobby tried to focus his eyes but they were blurry and dry. He had a huge irresolute smile on his face, but he didn’t know why. Clovis peered into Bobby’s face and whistled.
“You really look fucked up, pardner. Stick with me and Erlene. We’ll take care of you.”
“What about you guys?”
“Erlene’s as solid as a rock. I doubt if the acid affects her all that much. And me? Well, let’s just say we’re all bozos on this bus.”
Bobby muttered something about a reference to the Firesign Theatre in his Donald Duck voice.
Clovis continued, “It’s Brian and Anita I’m worried about. He’s as fragile as an eggshell, and she’s liable to say or do anything. They’re totally fuckin’ crazy. They can argue about anything. Brian’s the one who suddenly wanted to go out. It’s his show. I guess we gotta go.”
Bobby stared at Clovis with wide, fevered eyes.
“Brian? Oh yeah, Brian. The Stone who stoned us.”
“Come on, get up. We’re leaving.”
Marianne didn’t eat the ice cream and was straight as an arrow. She left at some point, although time distortion had set in and Bobby had no idea if it was two hours ago or ten minutes ago. Claudine came downstairs and called
for a cab. Christopher Gibb and Fraser joined her, and they disappeared into the night. Skully and Acid King Leon said they’d meet everyone at the club and walked off down Courtfield Road.
That left Brian and Anita in the Rolls with Erlene, Clovis, and Bobby in the backseat.
Bobby marveled at Brian’s ability to drive while tripping his ass off. But he seemed supremely confident behind the wheel. Brian was so short and the car was so huge that he had to sit on a cushion to see over the dashboard.
The Scotch of Saint James was the hangout for rock stars in London after dark. Bobby had been there before with George and Pattie Harrison. It was an unassuming brick storefront with tall glass doors leading to a two-level nightclub. Bobby glided through the room behind Brian, watching people’s reaction as they passed by. Brian was royalty here.
Anita strutted like a peacock. Everybody turned to stare. You could hear the conversation stop the start again.
“That’s Brian Jones.”
They hadn’t been there more than five minutes when Brian spotted a dear friend, Ronni Money, wife of musician Zoot Money. Ronni had taken care of Brian several times during times of crisis. She was indeed a true friend who cared for Brian. When he felt depressed or suicidal, he always called Ronni.
Ronni was on the second floor, and Brian could see her on the balcony. She was talking to Jimi Hendrix and Eric Burdon.
“Ronni! Ronni, darling!”
Brian rushed up the stairs and hugged her, making a grand show of it.
“Brian. It’s so good to see you out and about! I’ve missed you! Are you well?”
“Yes! Yes! Fantastic!”
Brian hugged Ronni again. Like all of Brian’s female friends, Ronni was beautiful and stylish, but she was not a groupie nor an ex-girlfriend. She was just somebody who loved Brian for the sensitive and tortured soul he was.
Anita watched. Her anger mounted. She stood with her hands on her hips and sneered.
“So who’s this slag, Brian?” Anita spat. “Another one of your one-nighters? I thought I’d met them all by now.”
Brian spun around on his heel and slapped Anita in the face. He hit her hard enough to knock her off her feet. She fell back into a chair and sat down hard. The blow was so ferocious and sudden it took everyone by surprise. Some people saw it and gasped. Others missed it entirely in the noisy nightclub. It happened so fast.