Becoming A Son

by David Labrava

“D.L. this is Patty.” We shook hands.

  “Patty has a deal with a network and they are always looking for scripts. I want to give her yours. She’s going to read them and see what she can do.”

  “If you trust her I trust her. When are you going to read them?”

  “Right away. I will gat back to Vinnie by the end of the day.” And with that she turned around and left. The entire barber shop stopped and watched her shake her ass the whole way out.

  “At least she will give us the straight dope whether she thinks she can sell them or not.”

  It took about two weeks until I heard from Patty. She met me at Vinnie’s barber shop again.

  “I have news.” She said.

  “I sent the scripts to my friends at a big company in Los Angeles and they loved them. They gave me a list of things they want you to change.”

  “I thought you said they loved them.”

  “They do. Or else they wouldn’t have sent the list of changes.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “Listen to her.” Vinnie said.

  “Let me explain how this works. Hollywood will take your scripts and throw them in the garbage and never even call you back. That’s how Hollywood works. Nine doors out of ten slam in your face and one opens.”

  “I still don’t get it.”

  “You got a call back. That’s a big deal. Can you please fix the script according to their notes? PLEASE.” I looked over at Vinnie.

  “Just do it.” Vinnie said. Like I said before trust is huge. I trusted Vinnie so I took the scripts back and left.

  I went back to my place and looked at the notes. They were pretty precise notes. No drugs, no sex, no crime, no weed in every scene, they thought that my two films could be made into one film, which meant I had to take out almost one hundred pages. A bunch of notes.

  I went over to the coffee counter near the warehouse. They were Venezuelan and I think they had a whorehouse upstairs. On Fridays the place would be packed with Venezuelan truck drivers and all the waitresses were all dolled up.

  I got two cups of Cuban coffee and drank them both. I went back home and set up the scripts on my computer and attacked them. This went on all weekend until I had followed their notes and basically trimmed the fat off my two scripts and made a much tighter but I felt a less raw version of the films I had written. This was the first time I had to collaborate with another person on something I wrote. That is what’s called development in Hollywood. EVERYTHING is ‘in development’ until it’s on the screen and people are buying tickets to go see it.

  I met Vinnie and Patty at the barber shop on Monday afternoon and handed her a new script.

  “What’s this?” she asked me.

  “The script. I fixed it according to their notes.” Patty looked at Vinnie in amazement. Vinnie just rolled his eyes.

  “He doesn’t suffer from writer’s block.” Vinnie said.

  “Apparently not. I’ll get right on this.” Patty took the script and left. Once again the whole barber shop stopped to watch her shake her ass the whole way out the door. Then they went right back to cutting hair.

  Vinnie sold the shop and moved out west like he said. I never saw Patty after that day. On the three hundred and sixty fifth day I decided to go back and visit Holland.

  69

  It was a big decision to move everything to Holland in the first place years earlier. It would be an even bigger decision to do it a second time. I had stayed in touch with the brothers that I knew over the year I was away. In fact we were in each others lives more than ever. I visited a couple of times and we talked often, so it was not surprising when I just showed up one day at the bar and said I was coming back.

  I didn’t get the reception I thought I was going to get. I didn’t tell everyone at once. I just told one of the brothers I was close with. He was concerned.

  “Are you sure you want to come back here again? Move all your stuff here again?”

  “Yes. I am very sure.”

  “What about the paperwork. Getting divorced and all that stuff?”

  “I took care of it from the states a few months ago, but now they are giving me a hard time. I thought I would just have to apply for a tax number at the foreign police.”

  “It’s getting harder and harder to stay here. The immigration laws are out of control. They only want Dutch people getting Dutch jobs.”

  “I could work in the black market again. Or find some girl to marry for the papers”

  He thought about that. The black market meant work under the table. Cash only. Basically the same problem I just had. He was one of those guys that really thought things through. He never rushed, always calm. I learned a lot from him.

  “This is what I think. People leave us and we never hear from them again. Too scared to just be a friend. You stayed our best friend. What if for some reason things don’t work out again for any number of reasons? I don’t want to see you get thrown out of this country again after you invest a lot more time. Many things can happen. At least in the states they can’t throw you out of your own country.”

  I thought about what he said. He could see I didn’t like his solution.

  “Talk to the brothers. It sounds like the consulate made the decision for you. Think about it. Maybe you could go ride with some brothers in your country.”

  “I don’t really know any brothers from my country.”

  “We know them that means you know them. Think about it.” He left the bar and I looked around at everyone drinking and smoking and having fun. This is where I wanted to be, I just wasn’t sure how I could work it out. I didn’t think now was the time to start taking a poll so I just enjoyed the evening. In fact I got pretty loaded and passed out on the couch in my friends living room. I have no idea how I got there. That’s when you know you had a good time. When you made it home safe and you don’t know how you got there. It’s a good feeling to know someone was watching out.

  I had a splitting headache when I woke up.

  “Take two of these.” My friend put down two pills and a cup of coffee.

  “What is it?”

  “Paracetamol. It’s for the hangover. You got very drunk last night. Looks like you needed it.”

  “I didn’t need this hangover.”

  “I thought you didn’t drink.”

  “I don’t and you know it. I shouldn’t have taken that first shot. It was downhill from there.” I took the pills and chased it with the coffee.

  “I have to work. Do you remember what we talked about last night before you got so wasted?”

  “Yes.”

  “Good. Talk with the brothers. Figure out the tax situation. Make sure you can absolutely stay here before you move all of your things back. I will see you later. Come by the bike shop.” Then he left.

  I sat there and waited for the pills to take effect, which wasn’t very long at all. I got ready and went out not knowing how the day was going to turn out, at the same time knowing whatever outcome is going to change my future in a big way. If the answers were positive I was moving back to Holland, if not I wasn’t.

  It was as if I already knew the answer. I knew for me to come back it was going to be an even bigger mountain to climb.

  I went to the foreign police the next day and showed them the divorce papers and asked for a work visa and a tax number. They wouldn’t give me one and I could only get a tourist visa which said I had to leave in thirty days. It seemed like they knew who I was at this point. I’m sure they didn’t, they see so many people in a day but it sure seemed that way.

  I was depressed. I walked through the city back to the central station to take the boat back. To say I was depressed is an understatement. I was crushed. As soon as I walked into the bike shop my friend could see it.

  “Didn’t go so well at the foreign police?”

  “No.”

  There wasn’t a lot to say. We sat there and had a cup of coffee in silence.

  “Listen. There is a big party here
in about ten days. Can you stay that long? There will be some brothers from your country here.”

  “I can stay.”

  “Good. Then it’s settled. Now cheer up. You can’t be all doom and gloom around here.” He was right. Being depressed wasn’t going to help anything. I couldn’t help it though. This is what I wanted and it seemed even further than ever.

  I waited the ten days until the party. A lot of the brothers in Holland I know for decades were there and happy and surprised to see me so it was nice that I stayed.

  I met a young brother from Oakland California and he invited me out for a visit when we got back to the states. I told him I was going to take him up on that offer.

  I started to formulate a new plan. I knew a brother in Washington state that I was going to visit also, and now this young brother in California invited me for a visit. I decided to take him up on that invitation.

  70

  I got back to me Miami and went right back to work at the tattoo shop. I rented a new spot on the beach. Everyone moves around a lot on the beach. The rent is always going up or the apartment is getting torn down. Either way you got to move. I rented a studio apartment my friend Carlos owned on tenth street. It was about three blocks from the police station. Which is about four blocks from the action. It was going to take a few months to get it together to drive across the country. I had to do a lot of work on my motorhome to make it road worthy. It sat at the warehouse. The glass shop worked, which was great so I could get away from everyone and make some glass art, which was one of my escapes. I still had two bikes, the chopper and the FXR I just finished building. I had to make the motorhome ready to tow them and my belongings out west.

  I was still writing for the Hot Rod magazine and the Motorcycle magazine, but mostly I was writing scripts. I had boxes of them. I would sit in the tattoo shop and write scripts while I waited for a customer.

  I decided I would shoot my own short film. I wrote a short about a vigilante dad killing the drug dealers outside his house in revenge for killing his wife in a shoot out. I cast all my friends in it and shot it on my camera. My friend J A helped me with the permits and renting the cops, and we shot it right outside his office. My buddy Jim Pep’s daughter played the daughter. Kids have a great imagination so they do everything with ease. She was awesome. She was like nine years old. She should have got an Oscar. Except it never went anywhere. I still have the footage around here somewhere. Maybe one day I will dig it out. On the last day of the shoot one of the production assistants walked up to me.

  “I know someone who would like your scripts.”

  “Who’s that?”

  “This movie Producer I used to work for named John. He’s real cool. He’s done some movies. He rides bikes. You’ll like him. And he’s getting it done.” She handed me a piece of paper with his phone number and email on it.

  “Give him a call. I told him you would.” She turned around and walked through the set. Everyone watched her shake her ass. Then they went right back to work. It’s a man thing. It never goes away.

  I looked at the piece of paper and wondered to myself, is this opportunity calling or another obstacle to keep me from getting to where I want to be? One thing I knew for sure, a writer can write the best thing in the world but if no one reads it, who would know? No one. So I figured I better send him a script.

  This guy was on the west coast and that was where I was going regardless so I emailed the guy and he was pretty cool. We both knew movies. We both knew bikes. I got his address and mailed him a package. I went in my glass shop and made a piece of glass and sent a script and some magazines I had articles in. It was a cool package. He is just a cool cat that I had something in common with. I was not chasing the Hollywood dream like a lot of people in that town. I had no hidden agenda. I just liked writing scripts. I was already on a steady course to get to the West Coast, so it would be cool to meet this movie producing guy. We talked on the phone a lot.

  “David.”

  “John.”

  “I got nothing.”

  “Me neither.” We became great friends.

  I told him my plan about driving across the country and he invited me to stop at his ranch on the way out. Yes he said RANCH.

  The SBU were still rolling the whole time I was getting ready to leave. Jimmy and Red kept running them. They had help from a few other people but as I got more focused on leaving and less focused on the parties they took over. Jimmy was also an ex junkie. Not as bad as I had been previously in my life, but bad enough. Like I said you can only become a junkie once, and once you become exposed that will never go away.

  An ex junkie can also always tell when someone is on dope near you. It’s like you can smell it. Like your Spidey sense is tingling. That’s why I’m surprised I didn’t see that Jimmy was getting in too deep. I was going in and out of town so much I never noticed.

  I came back from Holland and a few of our friends were going to have an intervention on Jimmy as soon as I got back. This is way before that was invented. We all grew up surfing together, which is a tight knit family. Jimmy used to come by my house every morning for coffee. He’d be whistling loud as hell, waking up the whole neighborhood just as the sun was coming up. We would get a Cuban coffee then swim out to the buoy and back. That’s about as far as a football field and back. That’s how we started our day. It always made you feel good hitting the shore again. Not only was it great exercise, you were just out there with the man eaters. The BIG SHARKS and you made it back alive. Hitting the shore was invigorating.

  So five of Jimmy’s surfing buddies and me got together and confronted Jimmy at his house. They picked me up from the airport and we went right to Jimmy’s. They explained their plan on the way. Straight confrontation.

  Confronting Jimmy didn’t go over too well. In typical junkie fashion he let us know he had everything in control. SBU was taking off and he was fine. I had been out of town so I wasn’t as aware of Jimmy’s habit as everybody else was, but now that it was pointed out to me I could see clearly how strung out he was. We left the house and I got in his face to look at his eyes. The same way your parents did when you came home stoned. His pupils were tiny like pins.

  “Are you slamming it?”

  “What do you think? It’s the only way to fly. Remember?”

  I should have knocked him out right then. We had already been in plenty of fights in our life. I was standing in his way. It was kind of symbolic. He wanted me to move out of his way. He wanted me to step aside to his behavior. I really had no room to talk in Jimmy’s mind because I was an ex junkie.

  “You mind?” Jimmy looked at me through stoned out eyes.

  I shook my head and stepped out of his way. I watched him go down the block on his skateboard. One thing for sure I was convinced no one can save anyone that doesn’t want saving. And Jimmy didn’t want saving. Still, I should have knocked him out.

  The next time I saw Jimmy was a few days later at the coffee counter. It was about seven a.m. and he was loaded. He looked like shit, been up all night, it was obvious he was strung out bad.

  “Loan me a twenty till later.” He looked like shit.

  “How bout I knock you out instead.”

  “Don’t be like that. Loan me twenty till later. Come on D.”

  “You’re out of control.”

  “Look who’s talking. You used to be the most out of control guy in town.

  “Once upon a time. Yes. Them days are over.”

  “Don’t be the village drunk. Loan me a twenty.”

  I looked at my buddy, my pal and my best friend. Someone who is like my little brother. Then I made another bad decision. I reached in my pocket and pulled some cash and gave him a few twenties. I remember being strung out and once in a while someone would hook me up. I remember how grateful I was.

  “Thanks D.”

  “Listen. I don’t wanna see you anymore like this. Just don’t come around me till you clean up. It’s hard enough with what’s going on in
my own head with out looking at my little brother stoned to the teeth.”

  “Come on man. You used to be way fucked up. Worse even.” “And I aint going back there. I mean it. I don’t wanna see you till you clean up.”

  That was the last time I ever saw Jimmy.

  Three days went by and I knew I had to start looking for him. I called Red.

  “When was the last time you saw Jimmy?”

  “He’s right here. We’re down by first street having a bar B Q. Russell got Thirtysix Mackeral. Can you believe it? Thirtysix. Tar Baby got some Snook. Come down.”

  “I’ll be there in five minutes.”

  I ran out of the house and rode my skateboard down to first street. The party was in full swing when I got there. I looked all around and didn’t see Jimmy anywhere. I found Red devouring a plate of Mackeral and a Corona.

  “Where’s Jimmy.” Red looked up at me disappointed.

  “He split soon as he heard you were coming. He was pretty wasted. He didn’t want to deal with it. Everybody was saying something to him then he heard you were coming and he said ‘I’m outta here.’ He lit out the beach way cause he knew you were skating up Washington blvd. He didn’t feel like running into you.”

  Jimmy O.D.’d in an abandoned building in Overtown later that night. Shooting dope with a bunch of low life scumbags he didn’t even know. Instead of helping him they robbed him and left him there.

  They found him around five a.m. and by six a.m. everybody had gathered in front of my house. Jimmy grew up on the beach. His passing rocked myself and a lot of people

  Jimmy’s paddle out was HUGE. I stood in the bar all night drinking till I dropped crying my eyes out.

  “Go home D.L.” The bartenders would say. I would hold up a shot and scream

  “JIMMY.” And the whole bar would scream his name. Losing Jimmy made me look at life harder. This was great loss for me. Like I lost my little brother. Like I failed him. It rocked me. I kept thinking I should have tried harder. But I didn’t want to get too close that I fell back in that vein. I kept thinking you can’t help a junkie. Not if he wants to keep getting high.