by Bob Forrest
“Do people eat them?” I asked.
“I think the Chinese do. They eat a lot of different stuff.”
“Is it good?” I asked.
“Maybe. I don’t know. Looks too spiky for me to ever want to try one.”
“Yeah, I don’t think I’d like it either. Especially if it’s got poison in it,” I said, going back to my plate.
One of the waiters took away an empty platter that sat on the table and said something about “armond chicken.” I lifted a small, handleless cup filled with tea and took a sip right as my dad shot me a comical look in reaction to the waiter’s remark. I laughed hard, and warm, heavily sugared tea erupted out my mouth and nose. Later, after we couldn’t eat another bite, a solemn waiter brought a small tray with a couple of fortune cookies. “Crack it open, Bobby. See what the future holds,” said my dad. I took one of the brittle treats and snapped it in half. Inside was a little strip of paper. I pulled it out and was disappointed to see that all the writing on it was in Chinese. “I can’t read this,” I said. My dad motioned for a waiter.
“Could you read this for us, please?” he asked, and handed the paper to the waiter.
The waiter looked at the little strip and then said, “It say, ‘You have very good-a ruck.” My dad and I broke into gales of laughter.
Here on Chick Hearn Court, I waited for Flea and Chad Smith, the rhythm engine that powered the Red Hot Chili Peppers. I had called Flea earlier. “Hey, man, we should go catch a game.”
“Let’s do it tonight,” he said.
“Cool. Meet me at the Magic Johnson statue,” I said.
An individual might be hard to locate in the kind of crowd the Lakers draw, but it was impossible to miss the recently erected tribute to Magic Johnson. Seventeen feet tall and cast in bronze, it depicted the former Lakers point guard frozen midaction in his gold uniform and old-school shorty-shorts as he led the team on a fast break, one hand palming the ball and the other pointed down court. And so I waited for my friends as the pregame crowd grew larger and made its way inside. I reached in my pocket and fished out a piece of nicotine gum. I fumbled with the foil backing and finally managed to peel it away to get to the mint-flavored lozenge inside. Four milligrams’ worth of nicotine in a chewy treat. I had managed to quit cigarettes, but I still needed regular doses of nicotine. I figured that even if I had given up all my old vices, I should hang on to at least one. So it was nicotine and caffeine. Pretty safe when I considered all the other stuff that used to pump through my veins.
“Hey, man!” I heard, and looked up. Flea and Chad made their way through the throng. I thought back to when we were much, much younger and how we had lived. In those days, I don’t think any of us could have pictured ourselves creeping into middle age, when a big night on the town meant a hometown basketball game. When the game was over, we didn’t go out on the town and tear it up like we did when we were kids; we went home.
I left the city and drove back to the Valley, where my wife, Sam, and our baby, Elvis, waited for me. In the car, I thought back to the first time Sam and I met. It was at Las Encinas. I was intrigued by her. It wasn’t anything I could pinpoint absolutely. It was any number of things. Mostly, I just thought she was cool. She stood apart from the crowd. I started to see her at different recovery meetings, but I kept my distance. I stayed at arm’s length for nearly six years. Sam was admitted to Las Encinas for a second stay as an outpatient, and I finally said to myself, “This is ridiculous. Ask the girl out.” It was a bold move. Staff is definitely not supposed to do that. It’s one of those rules designed to keep vulnerable people in treatment safe from predatory manipulations, but I thought to myself, I’m not a predator. I’m not a creep. I’m just a guy who really likes this girl. I approached Sam, who, by this time, had also shown an interest in me.
“Look, you know the rules. We’re not supposed to see each other socially,” I said in my most professional manner.
“But … ,” she said, which gave me tacit permission to continue.
“Maybe we could go have some dinner and talk.”
“I’d like that.” She smiled.
“We could get in trouble for this, you know. Me, a lot more than you.”
“Nobody’s going to do anything. We’ll be discreet.”
On December 18, we went out on our first real date and we found that there was something there. We thought it was happiness, but these things are always tricky, especially in our particular situation. Word got out and I was betrayed by a friend. Loesha Zeviar, who has appeared as a resident technician on Celebrity Rehab with Dr. Drew, was a director at Las Encinas. She deduced the relationship that I had with Sam and went straight to her supervisor to spell it out. I felt hurt. I had known Loesha since she was sixteen. Our relationship covered years. She was married to my friend Flea for a time. But she was scared when she learned of my relationship with Sam. She felt like she was in over her head and so she went to her boss, a guy who had only been at the facility for four months, and trouble came hard and fast. I was called into the boss’s office. You know it will be bad when the first thing said to you is, “Please, sit down.”
I took a seat and watched this rookie study me. I don’t think he liked me much to begin with anyway. “Bob, did you go out with one of our clients?”
It made no sense to lie about it. He already knew the story from Loesha anyway. “Yeah,” I said.
“I’m going to need you to go clear out your office and leave the premises,” he said with the kind of icy reserve personnel people seem to cultivate. There was no opportunity to argue and no recourse. I was out. As I walked to the door he added, “Oh, and Bob? I’m going to ask you to stay away from here. You’re banned from the property.”
“Banned from the property?” I sputtered. “Are you fucking kidding me, dude?”
“Bob, this is a serious violation of our standards.”
Well, adios, amigo. I went to my office and piled my personal effects into a cardboard box and left the premises. I was upset. Sam was upset. But we stayed together and after a few years as a couple and the birth of our son, Elvis, we were married in December of 2012 in beautiful Las Vegas, Nevada. I don’t hold any of this against Loesha. Her job at Las Encinas was incredibly difficult and I’ve always thought the demands placed upon her were beyond her experience. She might have handled it differently given our history, but she made her decision and I got the boot. I also got a lovely wife and beautiful child in the deal.
I was thinking about them as I wheeled onto our street and pulled into the drive. I fumbled with my keys at the front door for a moment before I slid the right one into the lock and walked inside. “Honey, I’m home,” I said, sounding exactly like the kind of person I never thought I could be when I was lost in my increasingly faraway wasted years. Sam and I went to look in on Elvis, who was asleep in his bed. I thought to myself, I may not be completely well, but I’m much, much better. And I was happy.
ABOUT THE AUTHORS
Bob Forrest is “the guy with the hat” on VH1’s Celebrity Rehab with Dr. Drew. He’s a certified addiction specialist and counselor as well as a musician. A rock-and-roll Zelig who has been on the Los Angeles music scene since the early eighties with his bands Thelonious Monster and the Bicycle Thief, he’s also a recovering addict who’s been sober for the past fifteen years. The father of two boys, Elijah, twenty-four, and Elvis, eighteen months, Bob lives with his wife and baby in Los Angeles, California.
Michael Albo is a Los Angeles–based author and journalist who has written about popular culture and true crime. He is a regular contributor to LA Weekly and the Los Angeles Times. His work has also appeared in the Chicago Tribune, Premiere magazine, Men’s Edge magazine, and the music magazine Sonic Boomers. His short story “Baby, I Need to See a Man About a Duck” appears in the book The Heroin Chronicles.
ScreamQueen
Table of Contents
Title page
Copyright page
Contents
BEFORE WE GET STARTED . . .
HUCK FINN AT 120 DEGREES
SCHOOL DAYS
LA LEYENDA
A MONSTER COMES TO LIFE
HAZELDEN
SUPER-SECRET SOCIETIES
VIPER ROOM
MY BOY
ARISE, LAZARUS, AND WALK!
REDEMPTION
YOU COME AND GO LIKE A POP SONG
THE EDUCATION OF BOB FORREST
SHOWTIME
TREATMENT: IT’S UP TO YOU
HAPPY #12 AND #35
About the Authors
