Another Adventure With Hank Moody…Another Story of Fiction and Truths of Both Past and Present

I’m off to California for another adventure. Off to California, it sounds weird to say only because I wish I were there most of the time. Its a place where all or most of my troubles disappear or at the least make me not think of them. I wake up in the mornings and grab my surfboard and head to Trestles….at the very least just sit on the beach morning or night. The beach breeze off the ocean is crisp and the smell fills the air with a memory of past.

I’m headed to Venice again….back to see my friend Hank. https://timhon.wordpress.com/2011/05/03/so-im-having-a-drink-with-hank-moody-a-story-of-fiction-and-truths/We share the same strife…drink women love. He’s the one to hang with when in short supply of either. This trip would be the later. I just separated from my current and in need of a distraction. Venice and Hollywood can offer both of what I seek without  shortage.

On this trip I stay at the salt-air kissed sophisticated  Santa Monica Viceroy Hotel. A few blocks up from the beach, it oozes contemporary chic. A place were the worlds elite unwind in a poolside cabana or relax in the California sun. I have a suite reserved overlooking the skyline on one side and Santa Monica Beach and Ocean Park Pier to the other. The bar in the room is stocked with Vodka…Goose of course and a never-ending ice machine, along with all the mix one could need if you weren’t drinking on the rocks of course…I would be this trip!

Hank calls from the lobby as I head down, I cant help but think of my last adventure with him. Would the night involve more debauchery than the last..how could it I thought for a moment but I knew. The mood I was in would turn the tides would raise the bar. Hank could indeed feed the need. I step from the elevator and find my way to the bar were the glass is already awaiting my embrace. Hank as I would have expected did not wait for me to start. Our adventure was at hand!

We downed our drink then to the Porsche a trip up The PCH to Malibu and to the house of the Lew Ashby. A small castle of a home nestled in the hills overlooking the ocean below. It would be far from the hustle of Hollywood streets but not that of the party. Inside would be filled with the LA scene…bands recording music, movie stars looking for a party to mingle alongside the legends of rock and the latest “it” guys. A night at Lew Ashby’s could make anyone  forget your name lose your mind…lose your soul. I would be freed from the pain from the hole that was now my heart caused by the current vacancy. I thought to myself …could it fix this. This one was special…the thought of not feeling this hurt was comforting. If not for the pain though I would not feel the memory. In some small way I wanted to feel the hurt. This way I could feel something. I knew that once the pain was gone I would not think of her anymore I would not feel her hair in my hand or her skin beneath my touch….The memory was too new the hole too big…something had to be done!

We pull into the drive Lew meets us at the door…Lew, a musical genius a muse of sorts. If he likes the music a star would be born if he doesn’t its back to the drawing board or out the window with some.  What was to happen was a night that the imagination could not conger with the shallowest of morality. A night that both mind and memory would never fully recover a night of truths told but once …never to be told again. The booze girls drugs the gluttony of life the sorrow of something that would never be the same….

I wake the morning to the distant sound… the ocean waves…of music and the smell of the drink from the night before. I am not alone as I would expect the bed would be empty except to find Hank on the floor in much the same state of mind. I awake to find  the hurt the pain of which I sought to relieve was still there. The night of shame that pre-qualed the morning of pain was just that. I could not complete what I had set out to do. The thought of cheapening the memory would have rendered the real. The pain would have been gone but to have lost the pain I would have lost the memory. Something I couldn’t do. Something that special, I had to feel I had to live the pain. This time I couldn’t cheat it, I would have to live for once I would have to live life.

Tim

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By Tim

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