So, the angry pack of dead heads circle me and I'm waiting for the bloodbath to begin. I looked for a possible getaway but then decided to try to talk my way out of it one last time.
"Look, I don't know who took your acid dude, but I didn't. Check my pockets."
This seemed sensible to the guy and he did. Because I had managed to stash the baggy in a hedge miraculously without anyone seeing me even though they were all around me escorting me to my death by beating, I didn't have anything on me which equal parts soothed and infuriated the guy.
He slapped me in the face. Not really very hard but a slap in the face is a slap in the face. He was hoping I would punch him so everyone could kick the shit out of me but I didn't.
There was an uncertainty among them whether to kill me or just go back to the bar and get drunk, but he couldn't back down after he had slapped me, especially in front of all his friends so he said, "I'll give you until tomorrow to either give me back my acid or 40 bucks to pay for the hits."
Sensing a collective lull in energy of the group, I suddenly bolted, lest they change their mind and rescind their reprieve, and took off into the woods. This was the action they needed to get their blood boiling again and they ran after me.
So now, just to recap, I'm tripping my brains out, running through dense woods in upstate New York, in the middle of the night, with an angry throng of kids wanting to kill me.
Luckily, even though I grew up in the city, because of my 4 years in Vermont in high school living with my father, I apparently had more survival skills than I thought and outwitted and outplayed my competition and managed to successfully hide from them long enough for them to get tired and leave.
The next day I went back to the hedge and lo and behold, the baggy of acid was still the stuck in there. I met with the guy and gave him a quarter gram of coke so I could still maintain my innocence telling him, "I don't know who took your acid but here's some coke just to put this behind us." He accepted the trade and it was over.
So back at the West Hollywood hotel at 2am after being robbed by the hooker and her driver... Ebner came to my room.
"Was anyone outside?" I asked, sure they were waiting for me.
"No. It's fine."
"I wanna move to another hotel."
"I'm sure you'll be fine here."
"I wanna move."
"Okay."
I checked out and Mark escorted me to my car and followed me to Santa Monica where I checked into the Georgian on Ocean Avenue. It was far away from West Hollywood and I felt safe there. I checked in under an assumed name, one of the characters in one of my movies I think. Ebner left. I sat alone in this unknown hotel room, the fear from the ordeal slowly subsiding but I still had that lingering foreboding you have long into the day after a really bad nightmare.
I was alone again and lonely on Christmas Eve. "Maybe I should get a hooker," I thought. As Woody said, "the heart is a very resilient muscle." And I'm an addict.
I didn't.
And went to bed.
Merry Christmas... and Happy New Year. May all your hookers be nice and not rob you and may all the people you rob not hunt you down in the woods and kill you... and may Karma visit you quickly so the deal can be squared fast so you can move on... or maybe we'll just give nothing but love this year and be happy and avoid the whole shebang. Namaste.
Posted by Eric Schaeffer at 7:00 AM