Sketchy Bill 16: Sunday In SF (On Acid, Again)

Sunday was an odd day. I crawled off the couch with the morning dew still on the balcony railing outside, and promptly kicked over the bottle of whiskey I'd left on the floor. Luckily I didn't lose much, because there wasn't much left in that big square bottle, so I was able to finish it off while helping Nef do the dishes and fry up some bacon.

I used to drink a lot back then. Nowadays, I try to at least eat something before starting in on the whiskey again...but when I'm nervous (which is around new people, as I've mentioned), I still tend to do stupid shit.

Nefertiti had a soft and husky voice that made me want to ask her questions, just so she'd answer. She was playing a Macy Gray album on the stereo in the kitchen--now that I think of it, her voice was mighty similar to Macy's, except a little less harsh. I don't think I'd ever met a woman whose mere voice affected me so strongly--and any woman with that sort of voice thereafter was only a cheap imitation.

Other than that, she was beautiful, in all your standard ways. Firm, obviously enhanced breasts, but enhanced in a rather subtle way. No fat at all. Shapely, demure, and the complete opposite of Sheryl, who'd been obnoxious and, let's face it, violent.

Nef was so completely demure and...normal...that I nearly dropped my beer when she told me she was a stripper. I know, a name like freakin' Nefertiti, you're saying, c'mon. How naive is this Okie, anyway? But this is California we're talking about--shortly, we're about to meet a girl named "Stoned," who most definitely was not a stripper.

But it was mainly her utterly non-aggressive manner that sucked me in. And that voice. It was not the voice of a girl who worked in a dance club. Which, now that I think of it, might mean she was more of a...private dancer...if you know what I mean and I think that you do. But whatever she did for a living, she was completely sweet and obviously devoted to Bill. I never even got the feeling that this was related to his wealth--but then again, I spend a lot of time fucked up from here on out.

She fixed me a plate of eggs and bacon, then swayed upstairs with another plate for Bill. The bedsprings began shortly thereafter, so I took the opportunity to grab a shower. Unfortunately, I didn't bring my own shampoo, so I was forced to use regular soap on my hair, which resulted in something you guys just don't want to see. I grabbed my bag, changed clothes, and picked another couple of pieces of bacon out of the skillet before they descended the staircase.

Bill was relaxed and happy, but whether that was due to the previous night's conversation or just getting fucked, I don't know. He had very definite plans for the day, including me meeting several of his friends and getting a taste of what San Francisco was like for him. This should have made me nervous, but I was hoping against hope for another shot at Coco (and, I'll confess three years later, possibly a shot at Nefertiti). Within the hour, we were on the road in Bill's car.

First stop was a huge record store called...oh christ, I just had it in my head. Kaleidoscope? It's over in the Haight (which I know really narrows it down, in terms of record shops), and it's basically a big warehouse with all sorts of shit. I dropped about $300 on records and CD's, which I neglected to ship or bring back home. That's OK--they definitely improved Bill's collection.

After that, we had a sort of early lunch, and discussed the only point of business I really needed to get done: the purchase of a quantity of MDMA. I'd been prepared to smuggle some back home, but after my first go round with the shit Bill was getting, I decided to Make A Purchase. Long story short, an hour later I was the proud owner of 14 hits of ecstasy. 10 minutes after that, all three of us ingested one. Nef got a little queasy, but none of us ralphed this time--maybe my stomach was beaten into submission. The rest of me sure didn't give a shit anymore, but I was kept mobile by the drug.

All was beautiful--the streets, the sun, the Mercedes, the Golden Gate Bridge, and especially Nefertiti. Bill had his own special glow--he really seemed happier today. In due course, he decided that he wanted some more LSD, so we drifted on over to another friend's house. Bill knocked, and shortly the door was opened by Hippie Chick Personified. "Hey," she beamed. "Hi," said Bill, "I'm Bill, and this is Jeff and Nefertiti."

"Hi, hi," she said, "I'm Stoned."

This was obvious, so it took me a few seconds to realize it was her name. Again, this is California we're talking about.

In no time at all the two women and I were sitting around a tiny kitchen table discussing houseplants, while Bill was off in the other room, hashing out a deal. While we waited, Stoned fiddled around with an opium pipe, which Nef declined but I took a meager toke from.

Bill and Jerry Garcia entered the kitchen. I swear, I had to do a double take, because Garcia had been dead for some time at that point. I won't mention the dude's name, because I have the feeling he's into some heavy shit too, and I just plain like him. I realized that when he held up a ziplock bag with two vials of clear liquid. He opened the bag, took one out, and handed it to Bill. "Bill, this one's yours." The other one was about half full. He unscrewed the cap, and said "Jeff, this one's for you. Open your mouth." As I tilted my head back and closed my eyes, I realized there wasn't a dropper anywhere nearby. Then he dumped what felt like a pint of liquid LSD down my throat.

The (e) was hitting so hard I didn't feel like this was a problem, so we all sat around for a few minutes, getting to know each other and discussing Burning Man and other stuff. In less than 20 minutes, though, we were ushered down the steps and out into the sunlight.

As my feet hit the pavement, every single thing in the entire world went 2 dimensional on me. It was one of the smoothest, most pleasant transitions I've ever had from "reality" to "acid reality." Every single thing I saw (including Bill and Nefertiti) was completely and utterly two dimensional, but I had no trouble navigating around corners or judging distances. If I hadn't been having such a good time on the ecstasy already, I would definitely have played around with it a lot more. We decided to drive me across the Golden Gate Bridge.

Unfortunately, the really visual part of the trip had vanished by the time we hit the bridge, and by that time the sun was beginning to set (I've been sitting here for 10 minutes trying to describe it, but I just can't), so Bill decided it was time to get me laid. And have some dinner. In a flash, we were having the car valet parked and sitting down to a fine French meal on the patio. Before they brought us the first bottle of wine, we were joined by Sarah.

Bill dragged me to the bathroom, shoved some cocaine up my nose (I was quite surprised, never having done any before, but didn't really feel like I was in a position to stop now), and told me that I was going to fuck Sarah tonight. I was, he said, going to be "her boy."

If you've been paying attention to my intake of various substances over the preceding two days, you might guess that this likely doesn't actually happen. And if you guessed that, you'd be right. The next story is about The Crash.