My 31st birthday party at Jurgen’s house on Rue de la Tour with Bridget, Tony, Tracy, Alfredo, Karine, Diana, Olivier, T, Rufus, David, Philip Brook, everyone absolutely smacked out on Persian brown. Tony, Traci, and Julie Cole were the only straight person. The less about this evening the better.
Tony later said, “Anyone who can survive a birthday like yours deserves to be at the next one.”
The next entry is about hanging with Willie DeVille and Countess Gudmilla von Bismarck. The countess left.
So did the other guests.
Jurgen, Willie, and I retreated to Willie’s room at a Grand Boulevard Hotel.
Willie shot up in the bathroom not wanting to show the damage to his arms. I had seen them the previous night. Bad. Real bad.
Jurgen nodded out and we spoke about East Village junkies, his feud with the Rolling Stones, the betting odds on Johnny Thunders OD, vomiting on stage, my battles in the night, and his many attempts to stop heroin. We crashed without a care for nothing but more.
Thankfully Jurgen had more.
Jurgen, a German telex criminal, was a good friend with Kalle Swensen. The black King ruling the biggest brothel in Hamburg. The Eros Center.
I worked for them at Bsir’s.
Good money until in December SS Tommy presented a bill for 20K Deustchmarks for sleeping with this blonde model.
“I didn’t know she was working.”
“Everyone in Hamburg is working for someone.”
SS Tommy was a murderer and I gave the keys to my orange VW which two weeks before I had driven into the forest with Philippe Crocthey, a Paris DJ screaming we were being chased by zombies.
The car was still in the forest. Prisoner of a tree. I handed over the keys to the VW, promising to settle the rest of the debt in the morning and went to my apartment in Mittelweg, and I called Stephanie.
No answer.
I packed a bag and fled Hamburg by midnight like an anarchist escaping the Nazis.
I didn’t breathe easy until we crossed the border.
Stephanie I saw for a weekend at the Hotel Lutece in Paris. Neither of us mentioned Hamburg.
It was better that way.