by Carol Selick
“I quit the band,” I matter of factly told Bruce.
“That was the smart thing to do,” he answered.
“Really? I’m shocked. I thought you’d be on my case for not sticking with them and trying to work it out.”
“Just the opposite, Carol. You took care of yourself by not compromising your self-respect. That took courage! You should feel proud of yourself.”
“Thanks. I wasn’t really into their music. I’m gonna concentrate on what I want to sing.”
How ironic that the recording was coming together in New Jersey, just a few miles from the very place I was trying to escape from. But I had roots there and, most importantly, friends who knew my struggles and shared my dreams. The geography didn’t matter—we were figuring it out together. What was important was that we supported each other’s need to create and make sense of the chaotic world we refused to accept. I had no idea where the road ahead would lead, but at least I knew I was on the right path. The future would have to reveal itself one song at a time.
18
REUNIONS
Why were we so blinded by the love that speaks our name?
While sitting round the fire, living life so tame.
Now we’re weaving bluesy blankets, wearing lost men’s threads
Keeping all the women warm who’ll never love again.
My music was fulfilling, but it couldn’t keep me warm at night or make me feel sexy. Yes, I felt proud of myself after recording my demo. The feeling stayed with me, but I had to face the fact that I was still addicted to love! Besides, where else could I get material for my songs?
Just as Melanie had predicted, Joshua, my college heartbreaker, came back into my life. He left “ego boost chick” and got his own place in Philly. He tracked me down through Melanie and wormed his way back into my heart. His timing was perfect.
I’d been having some casual flirtations, but was only dipping my toe in the water. I didn’t feel ready to take the plunge into the deep end, but the minute I heard Joshua’s voice on the phone, I was back to swimming in dangerous waters. He used the magic word “love.” That and a bunch of “I’m sorries” was all it took. He was a gifted salesman and he had something I was in short supply of.
It was easier for Joshua to drive to New Jersey than New York, so we began meeting at the South River house on weekends. It was a match made in heaven. Not me and Joshua, but Joshua and Joe. Two hippie dealers nickel-and-diming it until they could score the big one. The deal that would make them a ton of money and get them out of the business so they could pursue bigger and better things.
Melanie had left Colorado and was living at her parents’ house on Long Island until she figured out her next move. After reading her last letter, I wasn’t surprised she’d come home.
Dear Carol,
Oh! So many heavy things. Everything seems so nowhere. Where are we going? Doing? Wanting? . . . My head is in a weird place! I’m digging doing nothing but my parents are pissed. I have little desire to do anything. . . .
Lately, I’ve wanted to be cold and calculating—get myself a rich man. Promises are so empty. I dig Mark—but the minute he has a cent—he buys cocaine. I’m not complaining—but I’d think he’d like to pay his rent or eat something other than peanut butter!
Oh yes, I love the hippie life— naked, smoking dope, snorting coke, rapping, honesty, drinking beer, playing, balling—but I want me a rich hippie.
I don’t know what to write really. I’m feeling good and bad, lost maybe, no goals, only love. And that gets you nowhere.
I found it disturbing that Melanie wanted to find a rich hippie to take care of her. She was an intelligent, educated woman who was more than capable of taking care of herself. Somewhere buried in her psyche was a need for security. I could relate. No matter how hard we embraced the hippie life, our middle-class suburban upbringing wouldn’t allow us to commit fully to a life of sex, drugs, and peanut butter sandwiches.
I had no right to judge her. My only career path was working in the health food store and going for my music dream. If I were, to be honest with myself, I would have to admit that there was a part of me that still thought a man was going to swoop in and save me. I’d read all of the books of Betty Friedan, Gloria Steinem, and Germaine Greer, thanks to Dani’s recommendations, but it was hard to escape my childhood conditioning. Melanie and I had to remind each other that we were strong women and had been through a lot. It was easier to acknowledge her strength than accept it in myself. In the meantime, maybe we could encourage each other to believe in ourselves.
While Melanie was figuring out her next move, she started meeting me at the house in South River. It was becoming my second home. Some weekends Joshua and I stayed there and the three of us hung out. Joshua and I were reconnecting, and our sex was even better than before the breakup. But there was still a voice inside my head that told me to be careful and not trust him completely. I tried ignoring that voice, but I worried about him living in Philly, where his ex-girlfriend was. Melanie, Joshua, and I had fun together, smoking, laughing, and talking about some of the characters we’d known at school. It was pretty clear that Melanie wasn’t over Mark. She talked about him a lot and was feeling lonely. He called her collect from Colorado once a week and told her he wanted to come East to see her. So much for our “liberated women” plans!
Melanie asked if Mark could stay at the South River house for a few weeks. I said I’d find out but couldn’t guarantee anything. Joe, Sandy, and Stevie were still the only ones paying the rent, and although they were very cool about us being there on the weekends, a long-term guest was a different story. Joshua, Melanie, and I did contribute food and weed whenever we came, but we weren’t there during the week. When Stevie started spending weekends at her parents’ house, I knew she was getting a little pissed off about all the extra people.
It turned out that Joe and Sandy were cool with Mark crashing at the house. Joe had a soft spot for musicians, and Sandy went along with whatever he decided. Stevie said she didn’t care. She had turned off to the house scene and confided in me that by the summer she was planning to get her own place.
Mark tuned up his old Ford pickup, threw a sleeping bag in the back, and in three days he was in New Jersey. We were like one big, happy hippie family! We had some fun jam sessions with me banging out chords on the piano and Mark playing amazing guitar riffs. Joshua got so inspired he learned to play the harmonica and joined in.
Melanie and I were only there on weekends. She was working on getting her teaching certification, mostly to stop her parents from bugging her. Meanwhile, Joe, Joshua, and Mark were bonding, and the “match made in heaven” between the two dealers was now a ménage-a- trois. One November Sunday afternoon, I walked in on the three of them whispering in the living room and they suddenly stopped talking. That night when Joshua and I were in bed I asked him what that had been about.
“Just some business we might do together.”
“I know what that means. You’re doing some deal. Whose idea was it? Yours?”
“Be cool. I mentioned that I had a lead on a really big score of hash and Joe said he had a connection in Pennsylvania who might be able to take it off my hands. He knows someone in New York, too.”
“Hmm. Is that college professor, Howard, you took me to see on Riverside last weekend part of it?”
“Forget it, babe. I’ve got this.” Joshua said. He planted a big kiss on my breast, turned his back, and stopped talking, signaling the end of all discussion.
I lay awake putting the pieces together. When Joshua and I’d gone to visit Howard, I was flattered that he wanted me to meet one of his old “college” friends. I kissed him on the cheek on the drive uptown and he gently patted my thigh. I was beginning to let my guard down. Maybe I could trust him again, and leave behind the hurt he’d caused me. We were both a few years older and hopefully more mature than when he c
heated on me with that Philly chick.
The day felt magical. We had good parking karma and found a spot just a few blocks from his friend’s apartment. We were in the flow!
Howard Sachs looked like a typical college professor. He was short and balding, with tortoiseshell rimmed glasses and brown leather sandals. His apartment, however, did not look like a place that a college professor could afford. He led us past a tall potted fern in the entranceway and through the dining room, which had a black lacquered dining room set and a brass buddha sitting atop a pedestal in a lily pond.
Walking into the expansive living room, I felt like I was in rich hippie heaven. Not a cinderblock or plastic milk crate in sight! It looked like something out of a newer, hipper, version of Architectural Digest. A spiral staircase in the center of the living room led to a loft with floor-to-ceiling bookshelves and the largest hi-fi speakers I’d ever seen. The color scheme was black and white: white wrap-around couch, white baby grand piano, black, and white zebra print rug. Expensively framed prints hung on the wall. I recognized a few of them, but couldn’t name the artists. Why didn’t I pay more attention to the art museums my father dragged me to on family vacations? I felt unsophisticated and outclassed by the plush surroundings. My old insecurities about being from the other side of the tunnel rushed back to haunt me.
It was clear who’d done the decorating. Mona sashayed into the room. Dressed in a bright fuchsia Indian cotton tunic with silver tassels and a long, flowing white skirt, she looked and walked like an exotic runway model. Little bells hanging from the silver belt wrapped around her waist made a ringing sound as she moved. Her wavy black hair complemented her heart-shaped face with its dark almond eyes and full lips, exaggerated by bright rose-colored lipstick. Mona exuded confidence, class, and a faint scent of sandalwood and patchouli. How Howard Sachs had landed such a goddess defied all logic!
I carefully sat down on the pristine white couch and declined a glass of red wine, opting for a Perrier. Where were my parents’ plastic seat covers when I needed them? Howard passed around a joint, and after a few minutes of small talk, he asked Joshua to go upstairs with him. He mentioned something about showing him his state-of-the-art stereo components.
“I like your belt,” I said to Mona.
“Thanks. I got it in Morocco.”
“Far out! Did you go there with Howard?”
“No, that was before I met him. My parents sent me to a Swiss boarding school, and as soon as I got out of there, I took my graduation money and hit the road.”
“Were you by yourself?”
“Some of the time. I usually found people to hook up with. I hitched rides overland from Europe to India.”
“You were brave! I only hitchhiked around California for a summer.”
“I had some close calls, but I guess my angels were with me. I ended up in Goa. It felt like paradise! I stayed for a few months, but then I got restless and went to Morocco. That’s where I met Howard, and he convinced me to come to New York with him.”
“I can’t stop looking at your piano.”
“Do you play?”
“Yes, I accompany myself,” I said, eyeing the elegant white piano.
“Really!” Mona said her interest perking. “What type of music are you into?”
“Lately, I’ve been writing some of my own songs,” I said, taking a breath. “My favorites are Carole King and Laura Nyro.”
“All right! Why don’t you play me some?”
The piano sounded as rich as its surroundings. I took another deep breath to calm my nerves, closed my eyes, and started singing I’m a Woman. By the time I got to Chained and Tamed Woman’s Blues, my voice was warmed up and I gave it all I got.
“Wow, Carol! You can belt out a song! I dig your woman’s blues vibe. I would never have guessed you could sing like that! Your speaking voice is so much quieter.”
“Thanks,” I said softly, and quickly went back to sitting on the couch. I felt happy I’d spoken up about my music.
“You’re really talented! You know, I know some people in the music business. They’re starting up a record company in LA. Do you have a demo?”
“Yeah, I just finished one a couple of weeks ago.”
“Want me to show it to them?”
“Would you? That would be great!” Mona and I had connected woman-to-woman, but it remained to be seen if she’d actually go out of her way for someone she’d just met, or if she even really had connections in the music business.
A few minutes later, Joshua and Howard came downstairs. Howard sat down, and looked at me a moment, “You’re really good!” he said in a surprised voice, then turned to Joshua, “Why didn’t you tell me Carol could sing like that? You two wanna have dinner together? We can go to our favorite Chinese place, my treat.”
Thanks to therapy, I was able to go and enjoy myself. I also took advantage of more time with Mona, who turned out not to be a snob at all, even if she did look like a goddess. The very next day I mailed her my tape.
Now, as I lay in bed listening to the steady breathing of the man I loved, my dread of what was really coming down between Joshua and Howard crowded out my music dreams of just a week ago. I turned my back to Joshua and tried to fall asleep, but I felt angry and hurt. Maybe he was trying to protect me by not telling me Howard was part of a drug deal, but I felt duped. I shouldn’t have let my guard down. Melanie and I had always called November “The Season of the Witch.” I tried to stop thinking about all the bad things that’d happened in Novembers past, but they kept playing in my head like a bad trip.
I knew I wouldn’t be able to talk Joshua out of the deal. The wheels had been set in motion. This was the big one, the dealers’ dream score. I had bad vibes, but there was nothing I could do to change things. Had I imagined the intermittent clicks on the phone when I was talking to Stevie that week? Was it just routine maintenance that had a utility truck parked in front of the house when I got there the following Saturday? I tried sharing my suspicions, but no one wanted to hear them.
19
BUSTED
Judges and lawyers determine what’s true,
Hands tied up with paper and glue.
Juries hear the shouting, “Let’s sue!”
From a man who just tripped over his shoe.
Except for the utility trucks parked outside, it seemed like a typical Saturday at the South River house. Stevie was at her parents for the weekend and Sandy was upstairs sewing. Melanie and I were in the living room and I was at the piano, playing her a new song I was working on. But we knew the deal was going down that day. Mark had left for the city in Joshua’s car and Joe and Joshua were in the basement. The Pennsylvania guy would pay them for the hash and Mark would meet the New York connection somewhere in midtown, exchange the drugs for money and hightail it back to Jersey. Joshua assured me that the three women—me, Melanie, and Sandy—wouldn’t be affected by what was going on. That’s how it was supposed to happen.
What really happened felt like an atomic bomb hit the house. Thirty state, local and federal agents broke in—a sheer implosion of sounds and screams. At first, I thought the walls were going to come crashing down on top of us. Most of the agents ran down to the basement but some burst into the living room where Melanie and I huddled on the couch, holding each other for dear life. Another ran up to the bedroom, grabbed Sandy’s arm, and pulled her down the stairs.
“Stay right there!” a narc commanded Melanie and me, and I found myself looking down the barrel of a gun. My body went stone cold and I couldn’t stop shaking.
“Ca–can I get my cigarettes from the kitchen?” I managed to stammer. He shrugged and motioned me to go with a little sideways jerk of his head. I walked shakily into the kitchen and peeked down the stairs. The basement swarmed with narcs and pointed guns. I could make out Joshua and Joe with their hands cuffed behind them. Two of the sweetest men
I knew were now captives.
Melanie, Sandy and I sat smoking on the couch as the agents marched Joshua and Joe into the living room. They were handcuffed and I noticed Joe had purple nail polish on his pinkies. A narc was pushing him toward the door and calling him a homo. Both guys had their heads down, and Joshua made no eye contact with me. The agents “escorted” them out the door and into one of the police cars. Melanie had no idea what had happened to Mark, and no way to get in touch with her midnight cowboy to warn him not to come back. We were numb, in a total state of shock, and Sandy was sobbing out of control.
And then the narcs began to ransack the house. They opened every cabinet, every drawer in the kitchen, looked under the rugs in the living room, took every piece of clothing in the hall closet, and threw it on the floor. When they got to the bedroom where Joshua and I slept, one of them yelled and all the rest went running. Joshua had hidden his private stash of marijuana in the back of the closet, enough pot to last for twenty years, stuffed in a big green trash bag.
“Do any of you girls know about this?” The narc didn’t speak, he shouted the question, his face red from excitement. We shook our heads and I felt a strange calmness come over me.
“I thought it was my boyfriend’s laundry. He brought it sometimes when he stayed here on weekends.” I’d kicked into survival mode.
“Did any of you girls know what was coming down today?”
Again, we all solemnly shook our heads no. “They didn’t tell us anything,” I spoke up. “Did you tell your wife what you were doing today?” I was playing the dumb broad and he was buying it.
“We’ll see. We’re taking all three of you to the station for questioning.”
When we got to the station, a dikey-looking woman pointed to me and took me into another room. “Take off your clothes!” she ordered! “All of them!”
I didn’t know my rights and I didn’t have time to think about it. I did what I was told and stood there shivering, naked.