I was so skinny and wild then; just out of art school during the recession, when art therapists were not appreciated (still are not). I bartended 4:00 a.m. bars and went out partying at 6:00a.m. bars after work with the gang....can you say, "Jagermeister"? I didn't eat and couldn't get food stamps because I was white. I was always living on the edge, looking for excitement and denying reality (still do, the latter).
He was the most gorgeous guy living in that loft building in Chicago. His eyes were almond shaped, emerald green, and he was tall and thin and so sure of himself. He wasn't afraid of anything or anyone...he was an outlaw. I guess I turned to him because of all of that and because he was the only one who was mostly sober; and he was crazy about me or perhaps competing for attention because I crushed on two other guys there who never paid any attention to me. All of the others in the building were hooked on heroine or crack. Even my best friend, who was a fabulous photographer, didn't come out of her room for days while doing heroine, playing the Cheryl Crow CD over and over and over - that kind of put a damper on our best friendship.
The usual Friday and Saturday evenings would find about 10 of us sitting on the rooftop of the Belden loft building, which was inhabited by mostly artists and musicians in preparation for the yuppies that were soon to throw us out and do some rehab on the building. There were so many starry nights with kick-ass music being played by real musicians. There were real artists there...myself included...talking about philosophy and life and death and love. Sometimes the girls would sit around the long table and smoke dope and do shots and talk about their issues and their lives. Though I didn't partake of most of their drugs, I did drink (my grandfather being American Indian and all and being a bartender and a certified soak), but I figured I would never make it back from any kind of hallucinogenic drug trip so I did very selective choices and experiments with the popular drugs.
One night, while my "diamond-in-the-rough" boyfriend and I were trying to sleep while everyone else was up "cracking", playing loud music and acting like what they had to say was so important, Lou-Lou, the bipolar girl, came downstairs naked and said, "Who's next for a B-J? I need some crack". I loved that she was so honest. I used to go out with her because she was so gorgeous and had all the guys around buying us drinks. I stopped doing that after she "borrowed" my leather jacket with my car keys one night and disappeared - with my car - for a few days. Anyway, one night Lou-Lou slid onto the couch with me, naked. She professed her love to me. I was flattered and tried to let her down easily. I felt bad for her. Immediately afterwards, she slid into bed with my rough boy and begged him to have sex. He was a rough boy but was very gentle then, picking her up while she was kicking and screaming, and physically removing her from the loft. She stood outside the door, banging, screaming and kicking for about 15 minutes but probably was off to greener pastures soon after.