Enter the Agent – PG 13 version.

A therapist struggles to separate his unconventional practice with his rich and famous clientele, from his own meaningless life. He manipulates, contrives, and coerces his clients and the people around the client, for the good of the client.

His most recent client is a world famous musician, on a downward spiral of self-destruction. The therapist tries to help the famous musician fix damaged relationships, get his tabloid career back on track, conquer his addictions, and rebuild his fragile ego.

Results, at any cost

Enter the Entertainment Agent, the Famous Musician, the Huge Bodyguard, and the livid Event Director into the Musician's dressing room, it's pretty swanky in here! I am already sitting on the couch; I have been here for hours waiting, practicing my persona, rehearsing my role in my head, directing all the actors in my little play in advance of their great performance.

All my actors are now here, plus the Famous Musician. It's a disgusting entourage of chaos bursting into the room, transparency of the filth of the entertainment industry...

Everyone is acting their part perfectly.

This dressing room is like a CEOs hotel room in a 3 star resort, it's trying to be high class, but it doesn't hide its trashiness. The music is still pounding from upstairs from the after show, it's the "Shows over Folks, now get the flip out" music. But the crowd is still going crazy!

SCREAMING, MUSIC POUNDING, HOLY COW, HOW CAN ANYONE LIVE IS THIS F-ING MADNESS!

It's like living is a rave filled with blow, booze, hoes, and, my least favorite, the rats and leaches of the entertainment business.

The huge black bodyguard, Jerome. Figures his name is Jerome, I didn't think his name was going to be Nigel, Hugh, or Sebastian!

He looks like a coal black fridge with arms, and a huge gold chain, he's a good kind man though, he just has a job to do, pay his bills, and look after this little puke.

The Entertainment Agent, shy creepy nerd, I almost threw this little puke through the wall earlier tonight. He got this agent job because he is somebody at the record company's nephew, or someone's little cousin. Whatever you little crapface, as long you follow the plan and he leaves before I pick him up and throw his scrawny butt out.

The livid Event Director, all these guys are the same, all coked out, looking like a sleazy insurance agent after a hard night a drinking and peddling poo.

He is red and hot with raging anger, if he doesn't explode on cue, this whole thing falls apart, give me your anger your cheesy grease ball.

Ah, the Famous Musician, early 30s, shirt unbuttoned, pretending to be John Morrison or Rod Stewart, or drugged out heroin Jesus. All these guys want to be rock gods, and end up like a shadow of who can before, and NO ONE REMEMBERS THESE GUYS.

He is running dry and getting nervous, and is getting sicker by the minute from not getting his blow, which he is expecting any minute, but it is not coming.

This is the first day someone will end his self-destructive mindless crap.

He wants everyone out of his dressing room as soon as possible so he can get his stuff to get well. He is so out of it, I am not sure if he even notices me sitting all spread out on his couch.

I OWN THIS ROOM, AND HE IS MINE, HE JUST DOESN'T KNOW IT YET!

I always look at these guys with such pity, so much talent, so such much influence they could have, such love and fame they own, but they all waste it and they ALL die the same death, sad and lonely, broken and empty.

They are like drugged out shells of who they could be, or like snake skins shed and left to fall apart.

It's time for the Event Director to EXPLODE at the Famous Musician. Even with the rehearsal we did an hour ago, I don't think he needs to take my cue to start the scene, I directed this all in advance, and all the actors know their part so well.

I just sit here and glow with excitement and pride with being the smartest guy in the room!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The Event director, slight English accent, directing his anger towards the Famous Musician. "WHAT THE HELL WAS THAT????? I GET BETTER SHOWS DURING THE WEEK, AND YOU ARE THE MAIN EVENT TONIGHT, AND YOU SUCKED!!! YOU ARE NEVER PLAYING HERE AGAIN, AND YOU CAN KISS YOUR CHEQUE....GOODBYE!!!"

Then he slams the door on his way out, that was beautiful and perfect, cue the bodyguard to follow outside to watch the door. Then cue the Entertainment Agent.... cue the Agent.... ANY F-ING TIME NOW, and stop stalling, say it and GET THE HELL OUT YOU LITTLE BABY.

Famous Musician, notices me on his couch, and he shoots a bit of anger towards me, BRING IT ON KID. "Who the HELL Are you...Get the HELL OUT." Speakin in his London Proper tongue. Pointing at the door, expecting me to jump and run scared out the door, Kid I am not leaving till you are passed out, I promise.

Entertainment agent "I wouldn't worry about it Andre, you are a ROCK GOD, and you don't need this little show...we will move on and do better next time!"

Now get out. He doesn't even look at me, he just spits his line out like a lazy little actor cashing a cheque, and expects the rest of the scene to flow, HOLY CRAP that was terrible!

He is just looking at his clipboard, like he is praying to be dismissed so he can cower in fear and shame alone outside of this scene and room.

I don't blame him, it's been his poor nature that has enabled this addict to spiral so far out of control. He is like a dog standing there waiting for his owner to throw the ball out the door, so he can chase it.

Musician, now less angry, but getting more annoyed at my presence, and getting sicker by the minute. "OK, just get out, I need to relax, and I am expecting someone soon. And take this GUY WITH YOU!!"

And the Agent bolts out the door like the dog he is chasing the bone.

Musician, a lot angrier, and almost ready to fight. "Did you NOT hear me, GET THE HELL OUT, or my guy Jerome, WILL MESS YOU UP!!!!"

I just sit there, not moving a muscle, slightly smiling, and very comfortable. Kid this is the millionth time I have done this, and I win every time.

Musician "You think this is funny, chump? You won't be laughing soon." He goes to the door and tries to open it, locked. Surprised, he pounds the door and demands for Jerome to get in here. Then Jerome messes up, oh man this is going to get me punched. Jerome opens the door and looks pretty frazzled, CRAP, not again Jerome.

I YELL. "GET THE HELL OUT!!!!" Jerome looks back and forth a few times, trying to decide between doing his duty, and the right thing, if he is smart he will just leave. Jerome messes up again, and says "Ya boss?" to his piece of crap Famous Musician boss.

That is when I get up and say "I SAID GET THE HELL OUT MAN!!!" And he bolts, and locks the door.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Finally some peace and quiet in this cluster of messy mayhem.

The Musician, as I sit back down. "WHAT THE HELL...."now reassessing the situation, but getting sicker by the second. "WHO THE HELL ARE YOU?"

I look at him with distain and pity. "I have never been in prison very long, but I would imagine that IF I was there long enough, and I become a big man in the yard, and this fresh little butt stepped off the bus getting there for the first time... I'd just want to break him. That is how I feel now."

The Musician, caught off guard "I am 'that way' man."

Me "Neither am I, I was just making the comparison. How are you feeling kid?"

Musician now sitting at the high bar stools and a little mellower, he thinks he is going to out cool me and passively dismiss me. "Great, you want to get out now, I am expecting someone."

Me "Ya, a trashy skank with blow, I think her name was "skinny crack witch", many she has business cards with her saying "Hoes and Blow Delivery Service." I already met her, and took your delivery of your stuff."

Musician again caught off guard, and a little sheepish "Can I have it?"

Me "Kid, this is the end of your old life, starting in this crappy little room, after a crappy show, your life is not continuing the same anymore, starting right now."

He gets up and goes to the door again, pounding, screaming to get out, all on deaf ears.

He turns to me again, "WHAT THE BLOODY HELL, what are you going to do to me??"

Me "Save you, but you have to choose to...You are not leaving this room until you decide to get help or kill yourself, ARE you Ready to decide you little puke?"

Musician, now regaining his arrogance "My life is prefect, now get out and give me my stuff, NOW!" Again trying to scare me, this kid is going to take some work!

Me "so its death then, ok, here is your stuff." And I hand him a small bag of white powder. "Are you really going to trust a complete stranger handing you a mystery bag?"

Musician "I can tell the difference man." And he rips it out of my hand. He pours it on the bar, and takes out a playing card to line it up, the Ace of Spades, how fitting :) He takes his pinky finger, and takes a taste of the sweetness, pure gold baby, my girl delivered, he thinks.

Me "Just be clear, because you won't be in a minute, this might be the last time you do this, you might not wake up, and you will never see HER Again." He takes a taste of the sweetness to make sure it's not a trick, PERFECT BLOW.

He casually pauses his lining up, and says "Who might that be?" sounding like he didn't give a crap what I was going to say. Addicts are all the same, life is just the blur between highs, nothing else matters, it's all grays, whites and blacks.

But when they are high, then they see the world as it was meant to be seen, with all the colors, shapes, textures and shades.

Me "Jessie". He completely pauses, stunned, and actually looks up, and I see the white in his eyes, even though they are mostly reds now. Skin white as a ghost from the sickness, and from the feeling like someone just guessed his deepest, darkest secret.

He looks at me for a moment, doesn't say a word, and then does a line of white junk. Not long now, better hurry, I rush towards him, I figure he will be out in a few seconds. The thing is that even though this is his blow, I added a little something special to make him more compliant.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Every single time I have done this, they ALL choose Death over Help. I rush over and he passes out, I catch him, and ease him onto the floor. I call out to Jerome "Jerome, NOW, GET THEM IN HERE!!"

The door flies open with paramedics, three of them, all rushing to him. I stand up, hating but deserving what Jerome is going to do me.

I just stand there a few feet away from him, this is going to hurt, this guys in like a black lion with a powerful stance, and powerful bite.

He says "Sorry I opened the door." And he pounds me with a right to my gut, and I hit the floor, I am going to piss blood tonight. I am wheezing, and he helps me up. I say "Sorry for calling you that gross N word." He just smiles with his huge smile. "You could have just hit me a little lighter, this happens every time. Do you only hit racist white guys this hard, or do you hit everyone this hard?"

Jerome "You ain't racist, you're an A-hole. It felt gooood, I know it's the plan brotha, but you use that word."

Me, a little more recovered "I know, I cringe inside every time I have to say it, but stop opening the door, you have done it every time!"

Jerome, winding up pretending to hit me again "You want another bro?" And I just look at him, then he relaxed after pretending to clock me one. "Your bad man, and you're alright. Get this guy back to work so I can get moneyed up, ayite?"

"Don't worry" I say looking at the once rock god getting carried away on the stretcher, all messed up and corpse-like. "I'll straighten 'this little turd out', before you ever have to straighten 'this little turd up'".

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

My mood changes instantly to distaste as soon as I see the agent, that little puke, I should just take out my frustration on him. It would feel so good to hurt this little crapface.

Anger and power in my voice "You little puke, look at your client now...pissing and puking himself to death, while you cash your cheques, and snort your stupid life away. You better not make any contact while he detoxes, so help me god, I WILL HUNT YOU!!! After I straighten him out, I am getting him an agent with a backbone, and some BALLS! Go back to the label, and beg them for another job, you little puke."

The agent, seemly a little arrogant says to me, like he has the Right! "I'll represent anyone I want, you have no power over me, and I'll get rich while you clean "puke and piss" from your clients off your shoes" motioning to his passed out client sprawled all over the floor. "You a nothing more than a babysitter, you are not a therapist, you are a joke."

Me "I am joke, but the jokes on you." I motion to pound him, and he runs from the room, run little boy, run.

Jerome laughs out loud with his baritone voice, and slaps my back, it's the first time I hear something in the room that drowns out the pounding music upstairs.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I chuckle a bit, but I am still so angry I could throw the coffee table thru the wall. It's the people the Famous Musician surrounded himself with that made it easier to be an addict.

All these people running around covering his butt, hiding the world from his truth, all enabling his downward spiral. That is till he gets arrested and meets a brick wall, my friend, Judge Sarah MacArthur.

She is a fair lady, as judges go, ballsy, blunt, to the word of the law man, no bullcrap lady.

Now everyone has a button, even someone so dedicated to the law, something they become bias against. It's usually something that they will give up who they are for, give up what they believe for. Something that if that button gets pressed, NOTHING ELSE MATTERS!

Judge MacArthur's button was her son Matthew. He was drug addicted by 16, classic son of a rich workaholic single parent.

He started with weed, so what, then coke, still ain't a big deal, then meth, meth is death man's drug, and meth is death. I was just a punk kid starting my practice, I was all green eyed and bushy tailed.

He came to my office by a referral from his doctor, a last stitched effort after he left rehab, again. He gave me the usual crap run around, the usual crap that he threw at his doctors, mother, older sister, friends, and strangers, basically anyone he came into contact with that stood in the way of him getting high.

He was an angry, bitter addict, the worst type. He would get so angry and out of control, then get all up, then even more up, then almost die, or try to make himself dead, poor boy...

His best time, and most clean time, was when his mother kicked him out, and sent him to a rehab facility in some bush state. It was one of these "connect to nature, live off the land, be a man and cowboy up" places.

He got back from there, and was clean for almost a year, and was doing ok. Then he got sick, cancer at 22 sucks, cancer at any age sucks, but cancer at 22 really sucks, especially when he never had a love of his life, except meth, no kids, but he always had meth. He did chemo, drugs, all the standard crap to prolong the inevitable. He lost hope, then started Meth again, poor boy.

I usually have nothing but empathy for addicts, bad situations, bad families, trauma, they all had their reasons, but this kid had it bad.

People on the outside saw their family as a successful judge mom, attorney daughter, and then the typical troubled youngest son, but on the inside, him and his sister were damaged.

Their father died tragically when they were young, then their mother threw herself at her work, just like her daughter did when she became a woman, then the family broke.

Sarah was just a young ambitious attorney when her husband died, at that point she already had a live in nanny, some Pilipino woman. She practically raised Matthew and his sister, but she was not equipped to raise them right after so much pain and trauma, poor boy.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I started treating Matthew after some of his last chemo treatment. I realized that the moment he left my office, no matter what "progress" we made, he was going to use, once an addict, always an addict.

I tried like hell to curb his addiction to other...healthier and more productive one, but nothing worked. I worked with him for months, he looked worse and worse every time he came into my office.

Sarah was up my butt all the time, completely breaking many ethics rules, but I don't blame her, SHE LOVED HER SON.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

During all this bullcrap "go nowhere treatment", I was driving late at night, and I had a late meeting that night. It was a gathering of business professionals to socialize, make contacts, and push their professional achievements on others.

I was trying to make contacts to build my business. I was trying to make a name for myself, following to same steps as all the other guys in my profession. But I was totally on the outside looking in, a total outcast.

All these other guys and gals in my profession were more polished, more polite, didn't swear every other sentence, better dressed, more empathetic, more caring, more willing to suck their clients dry, all driving their BMWs to the country club, f-ing a-holes and beaches.

I had a few drinks, ate some bad food, spoke to a few people who were so self-absorbed that I could not get my business message across, it was like talking through a brick wall, waste of my time! I just needed one good contact from that night to make it worth it. "I can help people by really curbing behaviour, and not just doing in-office treatment, waste of my time, poor boy.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

As I am driving home, it's like 11pm, and I see Matthew, all messed up and drugged out. I drive past him, and the thought races in my head to turn back, if I should turn back.

How many ethics rules I would break if I engaged him outside of therapy, how many rules I would break by speaking to client that was out of his mind.

SCREW IT, I AM EITHER THE SOLUTION OR PART OF THE PROBLEM.

THEN I TURN THE AROUND.

I pull up to him, roll down my window and get his attention. I ask him if he wants a ride, and it takes him a second to recognize me, but the paranoia sets in and he bolts down the street. I guess he thinks I have the cops with me, and it keep saying in my head "What the am I doing here?"

Then I make the decision that has forever changed my life, how I perform treatment, and I created a monster inside me, and I don't care. With this one act, I give my full devotion to my treatment method, no family, no close friends, no kids, no pets, no plants, no vacations...my obsession is my work, and my work in running the down the street, and I am running it!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

After I chase him down, I LOSE IT!!!!! I grab him, his is resisting, but not too hard, he is pretty messed up. I toss him in my car, drive away, and we end up driving all night. First we stop for gas, gas station food, chips and crap, yummy, coffee, and for him to puke his guts out for a bit. Then we just drive, just two dudes figuring stuff out...I finally break his wall down, get to the root of his pain, figure out what he is passionate about, and get a game plan together.

I felt like we did more that night, then in 6 months of treatment twice a week for an hour and a half, $175 a session, literally 80 hours of wasted "therapy", and I fixed him on a 6 hour drive.

His father was killed by a drunk homeless man living in his car. His father was crossing the street after work downtown, and the guy ran a light, never saw him, and Matthews father was ripped from this world, and took most of Matthew with him.

Matthews's passion, and his secret, was that when he was clean for that year, he helped out at a homeless shelter. I guess he figured if he could help one person, then he might be saving one family from heartbreak.

A bit of Gods work maybe? Or maybe penance of all the sins he had committed.

He once shared this with his mom and sister, and they snickered at him, said he was wasting his time, and made him feel like a piece of crap about it. I saw the light in his eyes, and the slow burning fire in his belly for his passion, so I give him fuel.

I check him into a crappy hotel across the street from the homeless shelter, his passion, a visual reminder of what getting clean and making his life worth something more than a pile of poo. I was over there every day for weeks, checking in, making sure he was doing his volunteering, his reading and writing, we killed the steps to recovery so fast he was a different person overnight.

After he got off the meth, flushed it from his soul, he changed, real change man, but still a poor boy.

He reconnected with his family, and became a good person, and not a leach meth-head sucking people dry.

He got sick again, no treatment worked this time, and he died almost 1 year to the day we took that drive....very poor boy. Sarah owes me her life, she is my ace in the hole, always:) She thanked me ONCE for saving her boy, and giving her a year with him clean.

You see everyone has greatness inside them, Matthews was clouded by pain, trauma, drugs and other crap. I was the butthole who chased him down the street that night, made him accountable, and gave him purpose for his passion.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Back in reality here, after the ordeal with the Famous Musician, I hit the bed in my apartment, and sleep off this night. On my way to the office I listening to some classical music bullcrap, my therapist recommended it to calm me, and give me an interest outside of work.

Ya I know, the therapist has a therapist! I get all caught up in my head, thinking about the Famous Musician, and I turn the radio to talk radio to distract me.

From the voice inside the radio box "Child actor Jimmy Spade was arrested last night of a suspected DUI. Police report finding drugs and drug paraphernalia in his possession, and are recommending mandatory treatment, and possibly jail time.

He is set to see the judge at 9am at Cook County courthouse, more details to follow at the top of the hour...."

I turn it off and slap my hangs on the steering wheel, BINGO, GRAVY, Oh My GD it, how do you give me such a life....I am so excited I almost rear end someone in my parking lot at my office.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I pound into my office, and give Loral, my secretary a sly smile. "Loral, someone will be calling this morning, they will be a shy, timid assistant to some celebrity that messed up. They will ask all the standard questions, confidentiality, back door entrance for all the "celebs", me and you signing a non-disclosure, soonest availability, possibly any time after about 9:30, you know the routine!"

She says "Those are not standard questions anywhere else, but Ya I'll handle it. Bob Sharps agent called again to book an appointment, I told him you would call him back, again. You can't keep ducking him, you have to call him at some point."

Oh Loral you are such a good soul. She is my angel on my shoulder, always keeping my accountable, keeping me on track, and one of only a few people that knows me, and who puts me in my place, everyone else can get lost!

I took at her "Ya, like I want a 300 pound man-baby crying on my couch for hours about his baby-mama issues, his crazy spending, his man-baby-friends who have the same issues, but all have to pretend everything is cool. Screw that guy, I don't have time nor energy for that bullcrap!"

Me "Tell him to tell his client, to go get a vasectomy, then take blond and brunette, and call me in the morning."

Loral says matter of fact "They said they would pay you a thousand dollars an hour."

Me, taken off guard, but refocusing my passion "Loral, you have been with me for how many years, 7?"

Loral "4, I am surprised I have survived that long too!"

Me "You do my billing, what do I make per year? Lots right! It all just goes into an account, and I will never enjoy any of it. Plus alot of it goes into your Christmas stocking, right, remember your bonus last year, probably doesn't make up for working for such an a-hole, but it doesn't matter, I don't want his money. Some people are just hopeless."

Loral "I'd love to make $2,000 an hour, and you should at least give him a call back."

Oh Loral, you just know how to work me and make me do anything I don't want to, crap I thought I was good at getting people to do that!

"Fine, as for the person calling, book them in as soon as they call, and cancel whomever is in that spot."

Loral, obviously annoyed, and restraining herself quite well, but she is going to earn her bonus by working her magic on me! She will make me feel like crap, make me do a late evening appointment tonight for whomever got cancelled on today, then by booking someone else in on the fly. "You want me to cancel someone on the spot, with no notice, no explanation other than someone more important needs an appointment, what the hell? Also I need to talk to you before you go into your office"

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I see her magic a mile away, but she just gets me every time, dam emotions, dam her bleeding heart nature, she gets me every time. "Just book them in for tonight, it's not like I don't have a life!" and I slam my office door just as she tried to stop me. "Who the hell are you?"

I see some in my office, obviously some husband or boyfriend of one of my clients.

This dude is enraged, I can see the venom boiling up inside him as soon as he lays eyes on my, he just wants to kill me. Young guy, like 25, good looking, built, like he never met a gym he didn't like.

I sit down, regaining my composure. "How can I help you?" Loral bursts into my office "It's alright."

I wave her off. "Let me guess, your "gutless", I don't remember having a 8am, and I don't recognize you, so you are a partner, boyfriend or husband of a client of mine, and I have told her to stay the hell away from you. That you are a no good piece-of-crap, and their life would be better off without you, does that sum it up?"

Guy "Ya, my girlfriend is Sage Miller, and she is MY girlfriend. You better shut up about me during your little session OR ELSE!"

Me, with a flat monotone "Ya I figured you were a grade A, possessive butthole with narcissistic rage. You can get the out before I ruin my suit with your blood gutless."

With a little more MAN behind my voice "Kid you are a little ant to me, and you had better do your research before coming into someone's office to threaten them. You are not the first person I have thrown out of office, nor the last. When you do the work I do, the way I do it, many people want to hurt me, and have tried."

Guy, he stands up and tries to show how big he is, he leans onto my desk with his fists, all tattooed and crap, and says "You have been warned." Then he swaggers out with his thousand dollar wardrobe, looks like such an a-hole, what he was wearing cost more than my education ;).

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I might have been nicer to him on other days, but I am tired from last night, and he just rubbed me the wrong way. Loral comes into as soon as he leaves.

Loral "I got that call, like you said, and they will be here at 10."

Me "They decided to call me, before seeing the judge, interesting...Ok, thanks, and if you see that roid monkey again, text me to bring in an extra suit, and call him an ambulance, it's going to get pretty f-ing messy here."

A few hours later in walks the child star, dark shades trying to look inconspicuous with his wimp of an assistant, and his jerk agent jabbering away on his phone, damn traveling entertainment circus!

His agent talks to my assistant first, the child star and assistant sit next to me in the waiting room. I am sitting there paying them no attention, just reading minding my own business, all part of the plan.

Loral, 9:45, "You can have a seat, he is running behind and will see you soon."

Agent, not even getting off his phone, obviously talking to his PR person, "We scheduled this appointment, and we DEMAND to be seen at 10, not one minute later!" talking back into his cell "Sorry Jeff, damn therapist is late....no he will be there, don't cancel it, it's important to do the interview to show his remorse, and to get in front of this. No, they said it would print tomorrow, but it has to happen at 12 sharp, ya he better f-ing show, f-ing witch judge, she must suck up to this guy or something." Talking back to Loral "Is there a problem? I said 10 sharp. If that door does not open at 10, we are walking in." Back into his cell "Ya, f-ing witch, ya, ok we will be there." And hangs up and sits down.

Loral, completely restraining herself, gets up and hands the Agent, the assistant, and the child star a drink. "Rye and coke for you." To the Agent. "Gin and tonic for you sweetie" to the assistant. "And for you, black coffee and 2 Tylenol, you need it cutie!" She winks at him, damn she is soooo good.

She told me that she was going to spill the drink on the agent's lap, then brush it off and get him all embarrassed, man that would have been priceless!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

9:55, The agent slams down his drink, and gets up to harass Loral some more when he stumbles getting up, a little something extra in his drink maybe? I finally react, I get up to catch him as he is going down, but I miss on purpose and he slams onto the ground. "Oops! I am usually better at catching buttholes, maybe I am just rusty."

Me "Now you, wimp" directing at the assistant "stay here and turn that guys cell phone off" now directing at the child star "you are not making that interview, therapy starts now."

Caught off guard, and a little excited, the child star, used-to-be-famous, takes a long look at me thru his shades and simply says "ok".

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Used-to-be-famous enters my office and we get the crap started. I needed something to get his attention, show him who was boss around here, take him off guard and rid of that festering a-hole of an agent.

"So you messed up....again, what was it DUI, were you stoned, slammed drunk or both?"

Then without waiting a second for him to respond. "Then you resist arrest, Are You Stupid?" I just stare at him, bait has been set, just eat it chump. I wait almost 15 seconds for him to respond, I think that is a record in this office!

"Ya, I went out with some friends, had a few drinks, then went home."

Me "Then?" more bait, come little fishy, take the bait.

Used-to-be-famous "I got pulled over for running a red light, and that is when they treated me like crap, searching my car, trying to frisk me up. Me? Like a criminal or something? They were being total a-holes."

Me "Bullcrap, but whatever, then what?" More bait, maybe a bit too much, but he is a big fish, and I can see him appetite growing. Talking about what happened, I can see, is starting to make his blood boil, and I am trying to take him from a slow simmer, to a cayenne pepper red hot!

Used-to-be-famous "It's not bullcrap, I had taken some pain pills for my back, and had a few drinks, I was not under the influence." Anger coming slowly, but a bit more heated.

Him "And that "Drug paraphernalia", it was an over the counter prescription, it wasn't "drugs", it was given by my doctor."

Man this guy to so stupid, he doesn't realize I have already gotten the police file, saw his drug labs results, spoken to his doctor, and read his intake document from the court house. I know he is already lying about more than 3 things, maybe this guy was, is, or could be a good actor, but he is sucking turds right now.

I put my doctor hat on, take notes, lean back, and make it look like I actually give a poo what he is about to say, here is a minute of my life I will never get back! "How many pills and drinks do you think you took?"

"Used-to-be-famous "A few beers, and 3 oxys, I think one is morning, and two in the afternoon, my back was killing me. Are you going to get me out of this?"

I get a full head of steam before I rip this little crap-face-used-to-be-famous a new hole to pee from, well here goes nothing. "So you are not a typical addict that walks thru my door, you're a sort of once in a while addict, a "just when I feel like crap will I mess myself up" addict. Your real issue is not your drug use, your arrest, or your bullcrap career."

Him "Hey man!" He blurts out, sorry man, my office, my boat, my f-ing rules buddy.

"Shut the hell up, your issue is that you're a liar. You have lied to me, your agent, the cops, everyone, and worst yet, yourself! Your life is a pathetic shadow of what it can be.

"You asked me if I can get ya out of this, no your screwed man, you are going in for 30-60 days minimum, then 6 weeks in rehab before you see freedom again."

The look of complete surprise painted on his face, like he saw cleavage for the first time. "Ya I read everything, drug test results, doctors statement, intake report from the cops, I ain't no fool. You can fool everyone, but your bullcrap stops here."

Me "You asked me if I can get out of this, you're not asking the right question, ASK the RIGHT QUESTION!" I saw this authority, this little piss ant have not been accountable to anyone is a while, why? His father was a piece of crap manager, his first manager. He stole his son's money, his own son's mom, what a piece of crap!

Him "What question?" He says, blown away from me givin him the complete picture of his immediate future, sorry man I hate giving bad news.

"Do you want to get out of this, this time? How many times have you been caught, or almost caught? How many times have you danced on the brink? How many times have you thought about suicide? There are old and new cuts on your upper thigh. I am here, you are here, now is what matters, ask the question."

Him "You're just messing with me man, you're not a shrink, and I am on some show or something?" He says, regaining his arrogance.

Me "No, you're really here, you were sent here against your will, I will not help you get out of this storm you created, ask the question."

He finally cracks, just a bit, and maybe just this once, but he actually cracks a bit. "Can you help me?" He actually is a real person in this moment, vulnerable and open, now healing can begin, but first.

Me "Ya, but first let's go get drunk! I had a long night, you won't be able to next week, for many weeks, so let's go have some fun!" Knowing full well I won't get drunk, and my plan is to get him talking, so when I see him in a few months we have something to talk about.

Subject #1 his piece of crap father, I might even make ups story about my own piece of crap father, which he wasn't.

Subject #2 his bullcrap career, the more pain I get the better. The more he talks about being famous, then thrown away, the more I will bet to his insecurity, and why he uses.

Then Subject #3, not really a subject, more a goal, and the goal is to him to get messed Up! :)

Now I'll get back to "used-to-be-famous", I gotta do a house call!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

One of my couple clients are due for one of my rude unexpected interventions.

Their bodyguard, not Tyrone, but yes another black fridge with arms, sent me a message that the guy in the couple just got out of rehab earlier today, his girlfriend has not left the house in over a week, and has snorted it away.

The guy, let's call him baby-butt-face, since he has a baby butt face, something his entire career has relied on. Now baby-butt-face was never going to stay clean more than a few days after rehab, poor habits, witch girlfriend, lower friends, other family bullcrap, you know how it goes down, 4real. Now he was a good looking guy, all smiles, dimples and butt chin.

Now witch girlfriend, let's call her skinny-skank, she is a total freak show. She was a model at a young age, likely molested by her handler on those long trips. She had a lot of brains, talent, but blow, and all that stuff got in the way, now she got skankish.

Too bad because she is an amazing creative force, clothing was her thing, got a little business going with it, but blow, and crap is in the way.

I get to their mansion, gated community, gated house, no problem, I have all the keys and codes to get to my people anywhere, anytime, I am like an obsessive stalker, but I have a master's degree to do it ;) Black fridge with arms #2, sorry I can remember his name, is waiting for me outside, and I can hear baby-butt-face screaming from outside.

Now a little birdie told me he is packing heat, even though he is not allowed to be. Small run in with someone at a bar, tempers flared and he threatened his heat, idiot got arrested and charged, now no more heat, till now.

Was probably one of his assistants who bought and registered it, dam fool doesn't realize how culpable he will be if this goes sideways and he blows one of our heads off.

I knew by his text that they were on a binge for days, no food in the house, no guests but their dealer and very little food in the house but Chinese food, good crap, an addict's best friend!

Now it's time to get my game face on, like a boxer about to pound the crap out of someone, its F-ing on people, game time, whoa!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I storm in right past the black fridge, not in headspace for pleasantries and he knows it.

He worked for another patient of mine years ago, little-white-rapper, I'll get to his story later, now it's time to pound crap.

I hear them yelling at each other from the front door, I could be a herd of elephants and they won't know I am coming! He is yelling about her spending $8000 on clothes in the 6 weeks when he was in rehab.

He is also accusing her of having men over, she is yelling at him about leaving her for so long, how lonely she has been, and how he is already high after being clean for 6 full weeks. Man Dr.Phil would be running for the door by now, but I gotts balls-o-lead, and I don't take crap from ANYONE!!!!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Game face, screw them and their petty bullcrap sand-wishes, SCREW THEM.

I say maliciously, "Hello kids". I stroll over, inviting myself in to conquer the room with my presence, look of shock and almost horror on their stupid faces. I am like a ghost entering the room, I am the doctor ghost of rehab past!

Me "Not in the talking mood anymore? How was rehab? Waste of your time eh boy? And you, how many people did you when we was gone, I counted 12, plus you were high almost every day, the only day you weren't, were when you picked your sorry butt off the couch and did some designing."

Me "Remember what I said, your medicine was to be creative, all that stuff you snort up your face just kills you!"

Me "And you" time to capitalize on his shock, and make him so angry he gets his piece "you are such a waste, look at you, 6 weeks of work gone in one night of drama, you make me sick!" Was that enough, he looks like he is trying to decide to hit me, get his gun or throw his drink at me.

Splash, crap, I didn't piss him off enough, oh man I am going to have to take him to the N-th degree, and I need that gun out of the equation before this thing goes all OJ on us.

Me "How mature baby-butt-face, did mommy approve, or was baby-butt-face just done with his drinky-poo?"

Man I should teach classes on being an butthole, and ripping people apart, it's a gift and a curse, maybe just a small one. I do think before I talk....When I am under oath, screw the rest of the time :)

That did it, he has murder in his eyes, he is going to his bedroom, and I give his witch a small glance and wink ;)

She is starting to freak out, but I have the upper hand, as always, it's all going to be fine tonight.

Hopefully he is too high to check for bullets, my man fridge took them out before he got home.

I see the bullets in his piece and he points it at my face six inches away, too close kid, I am not your age, but I am a f-ing ninja with my hands! I am gonna have to give back his hope.

That shooting the empty gun would signify his career, life and image ending, but now I got to gamble and try to get him on the hope train with real risk, crap.

Me "You got big balls son, you think you are such a big man, big house, big money, you got nothing without my help, and you know that." I think that was the last insult tonight, he needs love and compassion now, he doesn't need "the a-hole", he is lost, and needs to be found, glad to be here.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Me, with great care and real human emotion, and NO it's NOT a trick to get out alive, or some bullcrap fear, this is really ME. "Son, I know you are messed up, I know you are angry, I know you just want to hurt someone, you don't deserve it, she doesn't deserve it, and YOU don't deserve it."

Me "I am here to sit with your sorry butt all freaking Night...To fix this! She doesn't want to hurt you, and you don't want to hurt you, it just Pain acting here." Now with power and presence "NOW sit, put that crap down, and think son!"

He takes a deep breath, sits on the high bar stool, puts the gun down, and she finally exhales, holy crap I think she held her breath for 3 minutes there.

I don't try to take the gun, he needs to feel in control here, even though he is about to crumble, he ain't there yet.

Me "feel better? Now let's talk real here kids, you" pointing at the witch "messed up, and we will get to that later this week, Ya you f-ing heard me, I ain't leaving for days! No more drugs, no more fast food, no more drinking, no more crap, literally, just f-ing therapy kids. Now how much crap is in you now?" I ask baby-butt-face.

Him "Lot's, I am pretty messed up..."Almost losing his train of thought, he is probably thinking if I am going to actually stay all week, and if he can get to his stuff and hide it before I flush it all, it's going to be a sick butt drugless week!

Me "Is your heart racing?"

Him "A bit"

Me "let me check", I reach over to check his heart rate, and I pocket the stuff he just slid into his pocket. Pretty subtle, but I have the hands of a freaking magician, then I slide the gun into my pocket on my way back to my chair. As soon as he puts his hands on his pockets, reaching for comfort, he looks right at me and realizes I stole his stuff.

NOW, I am a pretty in shape guy, I hit the gym often, but this kid has 20 years on me, plus he actually knows where the bathroom is, and I am about to have foot race to the toilet to rid him of the temptation.

Ok folk, we have a wonderful day for a race. In the first lane, with the pole position, old f-ing a-hole, a-hole everyone, give him a round of applause! In the second lane is baby-butt-face, hung like a stallion, and fit as one too folks ;)

On your mark... get set.... holy hell, GO!!!! Crap, he gets up like lightening, it's like I shot him with pure adrenaline, now an addict can be reasoned with, like a 2 year old, all I can do is run, run baby run! I run full out away from him down a dark hallway, holy crap he is fast!

Bang, I slam into the bathroom, I am only a step in front of baby-butt-face, but his stuff hits the toilet and flush, flush, flush, down it all goes, sorry kid, but I knew how this would go down, and I am not losing tonight! He pushed past me, and desperately trying to stick his arm up the butt-crack of the toilet, no luck kid, sorry.

He stands up, ready to fight, just enough time for me to get the bullets out of the gun, I pull it on him, like I am going to put him down like a dog, all part of the plan!

He doesn't hesitate at all, I am just the butthole how flushed him stuff down the toilet and he wants to pound my face in! He pushes me to the ground, wrestles the gun from my hand, I don't have to act too much, and I just need him to get it from me, pretty good actin' for a shrink!

Me "so this is how it goes down, "Drug addicted piece of crap kills therapist in a drug induced rage". Is this how you want your life to end????"

I am talking with a gun 12 inches from my face, unloaded, buy this crap is real, I got to sell it like its real or else the night was a futile race!

Him "You F, you took MY F-ING DRUGS! You come into my house, insult me, who the hell do you think you are messing with?" pause and with great emotion "why would you with me? Don't you know what I have lost, all the stuff I have dealt with, of all people, WHY???"

Me "Because I believe in you, you are worth it." I saw with great passion, then I am not acting anymore, this is my real core, no lies, no insults, THIS IS WHY I AM!!!!

Me "You are worth my time, and you can an agent of change in this world, but you are throwing it all away, you're like a trust fund baby pissin' his parent's inheritance away, except your inheritance is talent. DO NOT make me regret helping you!"

There it is folks, my personal challenge to this baby-butt-face "Do good in life, and be better, or blow your brains out right now!"

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Him, no words, just sobs, then he drops the gun and I have won, again, like always.

People are my superus effectionis, I take unformed clay, deformed and sometimes evil in nature, and turn it into divinus, or a like-devine being.

Me "You have your own demons, you can't relive the past, all you can do is do it right this time round."

I think I'll call it a night now, spent emotionally, and I have to get back to Rock God musician, he is my real prize, my greatest challenge, and my greatest obsession.

Baby-butt-face turned out alright, I did end up stayin all week, get got clean, went back to rehab at the same time as his witch, and guess who was waitin for them when they got out?

This butthole, right here people, but it was a lot less dramatic than this house call, but never the less, it's had its moments! I even helped his girlfriend get clean, and directed.

A few years later her clothing designs were all over the place, moderately successful, but I'll take that victory over her being dead in a ditch, unformed clay altered into beauty of the soul.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I often wonder how things would turn out with my people if I hadn't been there at the right time, the right night, or when they were in the right frame of mind.

I play out the alternative scenarios constantly, and I obsess a little too much about the what-ifs. I create paradox realities, infinite possibilities and infinite outcomes to these people's pathetic lives.

I find these people up at their weakest and pick their sorry butt off the floor and give them purpose, and I save one life at a time. One life saved is the whole world saved, it's the butterfly effect man, and all that stuff.

I am getting a little too overwhelmed here, and I need to go see my lady therapist, once again, yes I have a therapist that I see, that I need to see when the weight of what I do threatens the collapse of my brain thru my neck into my chest.

My lady often tells me to "use my tools", I says pardon? My tools are my brain and my tool, one has great power, and the other is just a hammer looking for a nail, but is pretty useless without the love I feel for this woman :)

Now she doesn't know anything, really, not one piece of smelly anything.

She thinks my name is some-thing else, she doesn't know what I do for a livin, she thinks I am some stock broker butthole with a bunch of rich pains-in-the-butt-clients. She has no idea what actually stresses I have, and mostly important, she has no idea that I am hopeless in love with her.

She is my equal, my opposite, my plus grand obstacle. I worship her, and she has got no clue I even like her.

Why ??? Because, I am a bully, master of my universe, I conquer anyone I come into contact with, but she makes my knees weak, my throat dry, and my dam forehead sweat.

The power I have given this woman over me is not ok, it's like I handed her my balls, and she is carrying them in her purse, and she doesn't even know they're in there.

Now she has been unlucky in love before, I got a little personal with her once, just once.

She got married young, was married for a long time, had a son, he be grown now, then her husband ran away to start a new family, some mid-life bullcrap.

I opened up to her once, said I have never been married, truth, never had kids, truth, was in love once, only once, truth, but never saw her again, lie.

Not really the best way for me to pursue a love interest, go to see her to explain partial truths about my life, for her to help me in therapy, which she actually does help me, sure I could help myself, but she is way prettier ;)

Plus I can't help myself, I need someone unbiased to talk to, someone untainted by the actuality of my world and my reality, and the reality of all the phonies, all the filth of the entertainment industry.

It became a ritual, every second Thursday, same bat time, same bat channel. Two hours of driving each way, all part of the deception, and unfortunately all part of the world that I have created which is about to crumble before my eyes.

Now she is expecting me to keep coming every two weeks, and to go thru the same song and dance. She asks me how I am doing,

I tell her half truths about my life, she says something that makes me more focused, more at peace with the shabby world around me.

She will do her best to understand my stresses, help me one at a time to solve them by solving me, but this time I might come clean, and ask her out!

How could I after all this time, it's been years man. Plus she probably has some ethics thing about going out with a client.

But maybe I should quit being her client, NO, I need her, and what if it doesn't work out, then she will not see me as a client, then I'll be left with no one, NO ONE!!!

Calm down, "use your tools", breath, tap your fingers on the steering wheel back and forth, alternating, get control of my thoughts, I'll be near her soon enough and life will make sense again, at least for another day.

She is like my addiction, I am getting nervous just going there, and all I have to do is talk to her. But my addiction is growing, I am actually in love with her, I am never with anyone else that way, I never feel like this unless I am thinking of her.

Sure I have met, dated, and otherwise other women over the years, but they ain't got crap on her!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I am gettin closer to her office, and I need to calm the hell down, I don't want to walk in there all edgy.

I walk into the office reception room, just like an average dude walkin in for my appointment. Her receptionist doesn't even know my name, I have played the inconspicuous and unfriendly card perfectly over my almost 50 sessions.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Appointment time kids, time to face my fear, or my obsession, I am never really sure most days.

Her presence is intoxicating, and I am just putty, if she would ever choose me to be. But now it's time to put on the show.

I often wonder if I am going here because of how I feel about her, or because she is the only person who is my intellectual equal, or because I need her as a friend, or a therapist, or because I really need the help, and she is my savour, or because I am hopelessly in Love with her?

I don't know man, it's an intellectual exercise that I can't help running in my big fat brain!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Good afternoon _FakeName_ , how are you doing today?" Her voice is like silk, and ya, _FakeName_ , ya I know, not very original, I sometimes do not think well on the fly, and when I called to make an appointment, I never rehearsed what I was going to say, I was just too dam nervous!

Me, once again, I am an butthole financial planner with lots of rich pains-in-the-butt clients "Ya, pretty good, but not really considering I am here again, you know how it is."

Her "Well, you are here, so obviously you need someone to talk to, that's a good start."

Her "Tell me about the past two weeks, tell me if there has been anything significant in your life causing you stress, or any success?"

Her hair is like black silk flowing out of dam her head, blended with beautiful grey and white mixed in, and he eyes are so deep n dark, honest, caring, and compassionate, she is the most beautiful thing I ever seen!

Me "Ya, I got a new client, very high net worth" speaking about the Famous Musician "But he has all his finance in disorder" speaking of his drug problem " and he has lots of extended family leaching off him" speaking of his stupid entourage.

Me "But he has got alot of potential for financial success." Speaking of his future music and the amazing life path that I am planning on gettin him on.

Her "You want to tell me about the bruises on your hands and wrist?" Again, I am a financial planner wearing the costume for the part, suite and jacket, all tailored up like just another day at the office.

She is quick, quicker than me right now, and I am caught off guard, now I either need to make up a story, or brush it off.

Her "did that happen at the concert a few weeks ago, I was there with some friends and I saw you very upset leaving, can you tell me about it?"

Now she is either messing with me, just for the sake of messing with me. She might now know what and who I am, which means it's a perfect time to come clean, and tell her how I feel. She has some hurt in her voice, meaning maybe seeing me in my prime, seeing me at "work" was enough to put the pieces together, and she is hurt for being lied to.

Or she just happened to see me there, and is just asking me to make conversation, regardless I have paused long enough.

Me "Ya its nothing, I'll be fine." Maybe ignoring half of what she said would get me off the hook.

Her "Ya I saw you storming out of a back area, and I thought I heard you yelling at

someone. Do you want to talk about it?"

Me, no dice bro, she is on to me, time to bail, I have to get the HELL out of here, maybe I'll have the balls next time to open up, but today I am chicken. "What were you doin there? And what were you doin back there?" Nice deflection kiddo, maybe that is enough to get her off my case.

Her "I was told to come and meet the artist, his agent is friends with a friend of mine, and he got me back stage passes."

Me, ok time to act dumb and play it off. "Cool, did you get to meet him?" This is going to explode in my face like one of those exploding cakes that a-holes give their friends on their birthdays, guy is just about to blow out the candles and BANG, icing up their nose and in their eyes!

Her "No, he has some kind of episode, and was getting carried away by paramedics. My

friend talked to his agent, and he said he would be fine."

Me, holy hell she is so close to the truth so could smell its crap. Time to switch subject, I don't need to hold the iron to my balls any longer. "I met the artist guy, mutual friend kind of thing, maybe he was going to become a client, but he was too messed up to talk to. Sorry....he was too out of it to talk to." Covering my butt at every turn, she is too sophisticated of a lady to swear in front of, it be like swearing in front of the Queen or something, it be wrong.

Me, again, "I do want to talk about some of the stresses in my life lately, I have not met anyone I share any interests in" except you, you beautiful creature "I find it hard to meet anyone I could actually be with for more than a few hours" except you, I could spend every minute of every day with you "I don't put myself out there to really meet someone, but I would like to settle down, ya finally, I sure am old enough, but there is just no out of there for me" EXCEPT YOU, BUT I CAN'T EVEN BE HONEST WITH YOU FOR ONE

MINUTE.

Her, deep breath and lookin away, maybe its shyness, maybe it's because she likes me also, maybe it's because she knows I am hopeless and will never meet anyone who will put the up with me "Well...maybe if you don't put yourself out there, then you can never really be vulnerable with anyone, and if you are never vulnerable with anyone, then you will never really trust anyone. Trust is the foundation for love and relationships, and you have to give it to someone, before earning it back" with a deep look, almost baiting me to give up my facade, "but you already knew that." Man, this is crazy, what the hell is she doin? What does she know, did her friend get told by the worm agent who I really was, or why I was there, would she even care? Of course dip-shoot, stop the games and TELL HER NOW!!!!! It's ain't time, I am too afraid, ya I gotts no vulnerability, I am like stone, and it has to stay that way.

Her "I feel like you are not being open enough, and if you are not open, I can't really help. What do you want out of life _FakeName_?"

Me, long pause, what the hell do I want? No one has really ever asked me this. "I would like a vacation from my life, get myself in order, maybe travel" true core of what I want, and a truth "Then figure out my future. I feel like I worry too much about the people I deal with. I feel like I take on too many burdens, I am always sorting their sh*t out...Sorry, their stuff out." Now here come the lies to cover my lies, a long sorted tail ;)

"Maybe someone in my office can look after my clients for a while, it's not like their accounts will dry up if I leave for a bit." Every lie, a piece of me gone, to never return, like ash of a smoking building, flaking away in the tornado that is my life.

Her "Does your current workload, no, is your current workload manageable by anyone else? I thought you just started working with a new client, that needed alot of help. Can anyone else really sort him out?"

Me, crap, did I say my new client was a him? Or is she just assuming it's a him, or does she know who I am, and know that my new client is that Famous Musician, that rock-god-piece-of-crap that had to be rolled out his dressing room because he was too messed up?? Nervously "Well maybe I should get him set for a bit, then I can go away, like one more case, err client, then I long needed vacation." Long pause...innocently "Where do you vacation usually?"

Her "Well me and my boyfriend have travelled to Europe, we went a few months ago.

We travelled all over, started in the far West, and went as far as East as Switzerland, then came home, it was wonderful."

Me, boy-F-ing-friend??? What the crap Einstein, all the time she had a boyfriend, then I get angry and go for the kill. "Boyfriend? I had no idea, how long you guys been dating?"

Her "I'd rather not speak about it, it's complicated..."looking away, she either doesn't see a future with this guy, or she feels unloved, or she has conflicting emotions about her role in their relationship and sees herself with someone else, maybe me!

Me "Doctor, I want to be open with you, and I would presume trust is a mutual thing. If you don't want to talk about it, I understand, I just had no idea you were involved with anyone." Because when I met her at one of those professional seminars a few years back, she was single, I asked her about her love life. I was a bit intoxicated, but she was very intoxicated, so much so, that she did not remember meeting or talking to me when I met her for our first counseling session a few months later. "Doctor, I feel like I have gotten to know you over that past few years, but I don't know much about you...." moment of truth, do I have the balls? "Tell me about yourself?" chicken, but it is a start :)

Her "I usually don't go into my personal life with clients, sorry, but if we ever met outside of these walls, maybe we could talk sometime ;)" she says with shy cuteness.

Me, is she baiting me to ask her out? Is she just sayin that if we ever ran into each other that we could talk for real? Or is she just being polite? WHAT THE HELL? All I can do is play it cool, I don't want to stalk her, and "accidentally" run into her when she is getting coffee someday, but is she really sayin that what I think she is saying????

Her "Looks like we are out of time today _FakeName_ , How do you feel about our session?" Staring at me with piercing eyes, a little watery almost with pain.

ME "Look doc, I feel like I got alot off my chest, and I do feel better...I do feel, see I am using my "words"" I say with a grin ", I feel a little conflicted, and do you have time to meet outside this office?" There I said it, and it's out there, there is no taking back my words, and there is no grabbing that cliff I just jumped off. "I mean, maybe another environment can change my perspective."

Her, without hesitating, almost like she was expecting this, and I am playing into her hands. Maybe she is messing with me, the way I mess with people. Maybe this is vulnerability and being "open", man it just feels like I dropped my pants, and I asked her to look at my wang and criticize it. "Yes, let's do that, how about next Tuesday, there is a coffee place across the street, I can be there at about 1, sound good?"

Me "Sure, I'll be there, thanks" without sayin another word or looking back at her, or her secretary in the lobby, I just walk out. What the hell just happened? Did she set me up because she knew I liked her, or maybe because she likes me? I am actin like a stupid teenager, and I just asked the girl I had a crush on to prom, and she actually said yes??

Now, maybe this what normal people live like, taking risks, see companionship, take chances, seek love and crap. I am going to obsess about this a little too much, well maybe that's what I will do instead of sleep for the next week:)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

NOW back to the artist, he gets out of rehab tomorrow, time to work. He has arranged for a friend to pick him up. Now he was smart to assume his phone calls were being listened to, which they were, but he actually used code to get his buddy to pick him up, and for his buddy to be carrying, nothin like leaving rehab and getting high on the car ride home!

Now I am going to his buddy's house to intervene. His buddy is a tough guy, but I am bringing the Heat with me, he has no chance.

His buddy, let's call him drug-pushing-butthole, now drug-pushing-butthole is livin in this rat hole in the hood. But again, no one is beyond my reach, not the nurse I bribed to listen to the artist conversations and record them, not the cable company I lied to and got drug-pushing-butthole address, or my buddy cops I asked to do a raid on his house just before I arrived.

6pm, drug-pushing-butthole should be home, high, watching some stoner show, or getting company, but the company he is getting tonight to going to be very upsetting, for him.

I get there right on time, amazing considering the 2 hour drive I just made:) I get there as the cops arrive, they are late, but I am going to just watch the show, then jump in right on cue.

They spend no time flipping his apartment, then they bring him out, handcuffed, into the back of the cruiser, time to get into character.

I walk up with a powerful stride, I could walk through a wall, and I ain't stopping till I get to this drug-pushing-butthole.

I nod at one of the cops, then I sit in the back of the cruiser next to the drug-pushing-butthole.

Me "How you doing tough-guy? Not exactly the night you had planned eh? Well I'll be short and sweet, since I got stuff to do. You are not going to be playing butthole-drug-taxi tomorrow, you will be in jail, but you won't be gettin charged though..."What the hell, no thank you?? With anger "What no thank you? You know the crap I had to pull to do this??

Him "ok, ok, thank you, ok." He didn't know what else to say, but he was also high and he just got a huge hit of adrenaline from having the police break down his front door.

Him "I got somewhere to be tomorrow."

Me "Are you listening son? Do you realize where you are? You are my world, you ain't got crap to do tomorrow, but cover your butt in lockup, literally. I am not your attorney, but I just saved you from alot of crap here. Buddy, you got arrested, they found a whole bunch of crap in your apartment, if it weren't for me you would be lookin at prison time, at the same time if it weren't for me, the cops would not have busted you tonight, but your just a pawn I had to get off the board."

Him, now pissed off, he obviously only listened to the part of what I said about me getting him arrested tonight. "You got me arrested, your dead man, YOUR DEAD,

I'll find..."Then my anger peaks and I hit him, lightning bolt left to his jaw, out like a baby, so peaceful now.

Me, speaking to his unconscious body "Could have been different man, you should have just shut up when you had the chance. Sorry man." I know this guy might remember me, maybe he will remember what happened tonight, but I got the strangest feeling like I set in motion a series of events that I am going to regret...Whatever, stuff happens every day, if I am going to get killed for hitting this little puke, so b it.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The next day I show up at the Famous-Musicians rehab centre, but he ain't expecting me, he is expecting his drug-taxi-butthole friend.

He steps out the side door, the door that all the famous buttholes leave this pit-stop from.

He sees me, sort of recognizes me, like sort of remembering someone you had a dream

about, and you weren't sure if they were a real person that you saw before you had that dream, or if they just looked like someone you had a dream about. Or maybe he dreamt about me during his time in this drugless-hellhole-jail, whatever, I am a ghost coming to haunt his life. He is a piece of distorted clay needing to be molded in a master-piece.

Then looks beyond me looking for his drug-taxi friend, but he ain't coming little fish, swim over this way and come to the net. He stays put, not coming to the bait of familiarity, but staying strong, maybe his friend is just late, and maybe he will just have a smoke and wait.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Time to step into character and step into this guy's world.

Me "Hey, looks like I am here to ruin your day, again. Last time you got so messed up,

you passed out, and your sorry butt got carried the hell out of your own dressing room."

Him "...huh?" Maybe not saying anything to me will be in his best interest, maybe I am a mental patient, or a reporter, or some crap like that. No little fish, I am the coming to disrupt your crappy world.

ME "I am not a reporter, I am your ride, your court ordered taxi. Here take my cell and call you're a-hole agent, and he will say I am your ride." Then I hand him my cell phone.

Without a second of hesitation he grabs it from my hand, calls his agent, and has a 5 minute conversation about what the hell is going on, who the hell I am, and what the hell was going to happen. His agent told him everything, then, very much against his will, his agent lied about where I was driving him. He told the musician that I was taking him to his apartment, but I was taking him to get him messed out his brain, and party "like a Mother-Loving-RockStar baby, WOOOO!!!";)

Him "I got one more call to make." Then he turns and makes a quick call to his drug-taxi-butthole friend. He is asking him to meet him at his house in a bit, so he can score.

Me, while he is calling, and the phone is ringing, and said with alot of condescending arrogance, man this is going to feel gooooood "He's in jail, and can't come to phone right now. If you want to buy some drugs, please leave a message at the tone. Thanks, and have a great day!"

He waits till it goes to VM, leave a short message, and then hands the phone back to me.

Him "Ya, I think I remember you...."almost sizing me up "I guess you are my court appointed therapist, I didn't realize you guys also were taxi drivers, business must be slow. Is this your crap car?"

Me "my crap car is a reflection of not my status, my money, or my influence, but a reflection of the best car that I will drive after it's been puked, peed and shat in, a few dozen times by drug addicts like you. Now do you want to get in, or do you want to walk, it's a long way home."

After he is in and we are driving. "So how was rehab?"

Him, nothing to say.

Me "Not the talking type are you, I guess you are used to ignoring problems, I get it, you are too famous and cool to talk to some butthole you don't even know. Want some weed?"

I hold a big fat joint in his face so close he can smell the goodness inside the paper co-coon.

Now I got his attention, he looks at me with a little more detail.

Me "Got nothin in my plans tonight, want to have some fun?" I light up the joint and take a small hit, I better be careful her, I am playin with fire. "Tell you what, you start answering questions, I share what I got. I met up with your guy last night, and I have a bit of his stash, coke right, that is what you like, right? Don't be shy, I ain't drugging you tonight." With a slightly high giggle "Actually I am drugging you, but not like that, I need you awake tonight to get to the bottom of this," holding the joint.

Me "I mean the bottom of this joint, not the bottom of you bullcrap issues, ha." Ok, I am getting high way to fast, it's time to pass the Dutch to this beach. I pass it off without even asking him if he wants any, I just know he does.

Him "So this" puff "is therapy" where did you get your degree? SnoopDogUniversity?" then he kind of laughs.

Me "So why have you tried to flush your life down the drain? You got some talent, I mean you are no superstar, but you could have a career, man, what the HELL are you doin?"

Him, deep breath "I got some good stuff happening, but you know, the pressure, the fans," puff "the money, the fame, the women, always being "ON", its alot of pressure. I was happy once, and wrote some good stuff, but then I messed up."

Me "Are you punishing yourself for messing up a good thing? What have you done in your short life to mess up so bad?"

Him, long pause "I am not sure" puff "it's just this life is crazy, all the chaos, all the contracts, all the shows, all the interviews, it's impossible to keep up. So I take a bump" puff "so I can keep up, otherwise I wouldn't be able to keep up."

Me, puff, "Ain't what I asked you kid...I asked you what you did to mess up a good thing?"

Me "What did you do to hurt her?" That was profound, I hit him with the haymaker, as stoned as he is, as stoned as I am ;)

I had a plan to hit him early, and hit him often, his crap ends tonight. No f-ing weeks of bullcrap therapy, no months of weekly sessions, no RELAPSE, HE IS GOING TO GET FIXED STARTIN TONIGHT!!!

"WHAT did YOU DO to Hurt HER?" puff

Him, puff, puff, holy crap kid slow down. With emotion behind his eyes, or they are just gettin glossy because he is getting baked, man I'm kind a stoned also, but I got to stay hungry, err stay clear headed, I am gettin way to messed this errly, I was hoping to stay ahead of him, but hez a carear stoner, it's been years since I got high, so high...."I hurt this girl I was with, I was clean, sort of, and I was happy with her. Then I went on tour, and things got out of control."

Me, without missin a beat, I got him talkin and have to keep it rollin, ha, rollin ;). "OK, then what, how long were you with her?"

Him "years back, I wrote some good stuff then....all my good stuff, then I started touring, and I started using. By the time I got back, I was a mess, and she kicked me out."

ME "Did U deserve a second chance."

Him "Ya, I mean, maybe, I loved this chick, she was awesome, but she was too good for me." With self-pity, oh man is going to cry stoned? "She was perfect, beautiful, smart, got her stuff together, you know she was a dental hygienist."

Me "like she cleaned teeth?" ok, I am official not havin any more, I am starting to talk dumb.

Him "Ya, she had a degree or something, and she had good parents, good family. They all hated me, I don't imagine they like me anymore now. I lived with her in Michigan, and we lived pretty good for almost year, clean you know, no drugs, no bad stuff."

Me "So what did you do, I mean this Jessie sounds pretty cool." I just gave up gold information. He never told me her name, and I knew it....maybe he is just too high to notice.

Him, obviously redirecting "Let's go get some food, I am starving man, hey, can I get some food in this belly?" Definite change in behaviour, either drug related, or he is covering that he picked up on the name and is replaying our conversation to see if he mentioned his name, or trying to figure out how I would know it.

ME "Sound like just what the doctor ordered, I am starved." I wonder if he actually knows if I am doctor, or if he just thinks I am online certified 2 week program shrink.

Buddy I got no special education, other than a PHD in in Butt-Kickin, the real education of LIFE, plus some crap on paper that makes me 2 legit to quit... man I am stoned and actually really hungry!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

So we get to some diner, some butt-hole all night place. I picked him up hours ago, just at the end of the day, and it be night time now, my time. Time for coffee, pancakes, whipped cream, sausage, bacon, ham, toast, hash browns, cherry pie, ice-cream, and it's time to piss, he goes first.

On my way to piss I pass him and give him a grin, he should be ok, I have the keys, my wallet, my cell, he has nowhere to go. On the way back from the loooongest piss of all time, I walk past a payphone. As soon as I see it I walk as fast as possible back towards the table, not too fast to look weird, but very fast. He is just sittin there, he either didn't try to call anyone, or he didn't see it. Ok, maybe I am getting a little paranoid, or maybe he is not as sharp as I thought he was.

Me "so, how is the food? Looks good man." Then we talk for about 30 mins about the weather, nothing important, just two guy's kind of high jokin back and forth. Fun, but got us nowhere. I got to get him back to his chaperone, I got a retired cop friend who does an off-book half-way house, mainly the rich, famous, and famously pains-in-the-butt. He is a good guy, he is a none-bullcrap-her-son guy, and he is tough as they come, old, but tough as crap. "I arranged temp housing for you with a friend of mine, he will look after you for a bit. But don't piss him off, it is court ordered, and if you bail, cops will pick u up and take you in, drug felonies are a hard thing to get out of. Consider this your last chance, after your last chance last chance, plus his cookin is so good, he's a barbeque king!"

Him "Sure." That was too easy, no resisting, he is either getting tired and he just wants to hit the sheets, and doesn't care where, or something is up.

I pay, we walk out towards my car then I see that he set me up. He DID make a call, he

called his butthole-drug-taxi and him and another guy are waitin at my car, but I am too busy putting one foot in front of another towards my car, but I am too close now and can't run away. Now I am a tough guy, I can fight with the best of them, but the musician pushes right towards his goons.

I act stunned, and uppercut his one friend, not the drug-taxi-butthole, but his less than quick friend dumbbutt friend, BAM and he is on the ground. His drug-taxi friend gets a hold of me and hits me relentlessly, obviously he does remember me punching him out. The musician stays out of it, thinking I will go down and it will be over, but he doesn't know that I am tough as they come, and I TAKE NO CRAP FROM NO ONE!!!

I have to KICK it into gear now, literally. I kick him in the side with all my high power, I can't feel a thing, and I am going to feel it tomorrow, I am very high still...man. He recovers and punches me pretty hard in the left cheek, that will hurt tomorrow. But I gotts hands like a f-ing ninja, and I hit him so fast in the jaw, ha, right jab, BANG....what not enough, left hook to the right eye and he is knocked out. But I am a good enough guy that I do catch him and lay him gently on the ground. I don't need this butthole to hit his head and die, or worse, get brain damage and come after me, again, and come after me with a gun and not his fists.

By that time his other friend wakes up and starts to get up.

Me "STAY DOWN, OR I YOU WILL DRINK YOUR NEXT MEAL THRU A STRAW CHUMP!!!" good boy, lie down.

Now to the musician "Get in, or I will put you in!" Without a beat he jumps in. He probably realized not to mess with me.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Now with all my senses, and taking advantage of him being scared, and not knowing what to expect from me, professionally "So, I'll pick you up tomorrow afternoon, like 3ish, just be ready to talk, and make sure you got some food in you, then we will get to work, ok?" I am just going to be a cucumber right now, cool man. Brush off what just happened, he is just a scared kid, using a piss-poor tactic to get out of his mess, but it's not the first time I had the crap kicked out of me, I think it's the eleventh or twelfth, can't remember, I am still kind of high!

Him "Look man, I..."bashfully...searching for the words, but totally caught off guard by the crap he just saw.

Me "DON'T apologize, I ain't your mama, you didn't "borrow" the car and you

smashed it up, you go grovel to your mama, I ain't her. I am like your brother who is

sayin "cowboy up pussy", it's time to get to work kid, and I'll see you tomorrow at 3."

Then I drove him home, no talkin, no lookin over, just drove him the home to his million-dollar home, I don't even wait for him to get into the gate. I almost don't even want to stop, I just wanted to slow down to about 10, open his door, and kick his butt out!

But I am going to get nowhere with him IF I do that.

I am going home to try to clean sorry butt up and get ready for my date tomorrow with my lady. It was tough enough to explain to her last time about some minor cuts and bruises, I am going to level with her ,and tell her the truth. What is the truth? The truth is that I am a lie to her, she is the only good thing in my pathetic life, and she doesn't even know it.

Its date time, I arrive an hour early, 12pm, I want to scope out the best seats in this place, and it might take a while for people to leave.

Coffee, I am sure she will have a tea or something like that, I had better not too much coffee, or I'll be super jittery ::::)

1:15, She is either late, or she is no-showing me. She is not that cruel, or unkind, she is too sweet to not show up.

1:30, Her tea is getting cold, and so is my hope that she is going to make it.

2pm, I am now officially stood-up, I got to go get the musician, and I am NOT going to be in a GOOD mood.

We will get back to the musician, his story can wait. It's a good story, but I have to skip ahead to my next appointment with her, I gotta get some closure here.

I wait impatiently in her waiting room. It is a week after she no-showed me, and I am still kind of angry. I am going to keep myself composed, but I am hurt, angry and confused.

Receptionist "It's your time now." I got the sense that she actually knew who I was this time, I think I am messed now.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Her, the sweetest creature I have even seen. "Good afternoon, how are you feeling today?" She says with a sly grin.

ME, afraid to speak, and afraid of what she knows "Not bad actually...well not great actually, I mean I am here, again."

Her "Yes you are. Do you feel like we have been making progress over the past 2 years or so? I mean we have been seeing each other every 2 weeks for a long time, and I am not sure we are making progress. Do you feel like we are making progress?"

Me, once again she must be baiting me, she knows what I am, who I am, and that I have been lying to her since day one. "Doctor, we were going to meet up for coffee last week...what happened?" I say meekly, she has such great power over me.

Her "Ya, ya, it's disappointing when you put your trust in someone, then they let you down, week after week. You see them every other week for 2 years, week after week, disappointment after disappointment. You have hope for them that they will show up, but someone else keep showing up in their place, even though you know that the person you are waiting for will someday show up... but they never do..."

Ok, she just killed me, I am breaking on the inside. The "date" was a lesson in humility, revenge for the person I pretended to be, week after week.

Me "I am sorry, I just..."

Her "are a coward? A lying fraud? You have been coming here for 2 years pretending to be someone else, WHY?"

Me "I, I, I have to go...I am sorry." And I stand up with my tail between my legs and start to walk out.

Her "I can't see you again..."she says with great pain. "Either in this room, or anywhere else."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Me, I just walk out, I don't look at a single face all the way to my car. I hit my steering wheel while I sit there for 15 minutes. What the hell have I done, what the hell have I done. I have hurt my angel, she didn't deserve this, it is ALL my fault, and I have messed up the best thing I ever had, even though it was fake.

You know there are moments in life when you turn your back and run, take your punishment, and you just walk away. I mean I should just walk away, move on and LIVE with IT.

Live in shame, go further down the downward spiral, and ignore the goodness in my crappy life.

F this crap, it's now or NEVER! I get out of my car, I storm back towards her office, and I walk into the reception area, she stands up to stop me, and says "You can't go in there!" I don't even look at her, and I storm into her room, and if the door was locked, I would have kicked it down!

She is sitting on her desk, and she has teary eyes, like she had been crying since I left.

I look at her and say "Ok, you got me, I ain't sure how, but ya have figured it all out, I ain't sorry."

Me "The reason I have been lying to ya, lying to keep seeing you is because I want to see you, I wanted to see you every day for the rest of my life. I am not sure what that means, and I am sure ya never want to see me again, but I am in love with you, and I have been since the first night I met you at that conference in Denver 3 years ago. You probably ain't got a memory of me, but I remember ya, and I can't get you out of my mind. Maybe ya know who I am, or you think you do, or what I do, maybe less than the full truth, but the ONLY truth is that I want to see YOU again...I ain't sorry for lying, I am just sorry to be hurtin ya, you don't deserve this bullcrap."

Me "Just meet me for coffee, and let me explain. If nothing else, give me the chance to make this right, then you can decide to never see me again, and I WILL accept it."

Her "I am sorry I can't. Your life is complete chaos, if you can even call it your life, do you even know where your life starts and your work ends? The lines are so blurred that there is no separation between the two, do you even realize that? You have been pretending to be someone else so long, you don't even know who you really are, do you?"

Her "You are going down a very dark path, and I don't want to be involved with it." Then with a lot more anger "A fake name, fake job, fake clients, fake stresses....you are a total fraud, and I can NOT see you again, GET OUT!" Pointing towards the door. Then with great pain, sorrow, and almost rehearsed. "You are a good person, but you need to leave, and Never come back."

And without missing a beat, I turn and walk the out... CRAP!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Now it time for the musician. I leave her office, I AM GOING TO BE ANGRY AT MYSELF, WHAT THE HELL HAVE I DONE??? I PUNCH THE STEERING WHEEL SO MANY F-ING TIMES MY HANDS START TO BLEED.

I have to calm myself down, maybe I'll get another shot with her, after she calms down, and maybe I'll see her again?

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Hours later, it's time for the musician, I get to his place 20 mins early, I am pretty much always prompt. I wait, wait, and wait. He is either 15 mins late, or he is not coming out.

Too bad for him because I am coming in his house to look for him, and no locked door will stop me!

I search every room in his place, no one home, I search the entire grounds, no one home, I search every garage and vehicle, no one home. Little bastard bailed on me. It's time to put out my own APB – all-points-bulletin, meaning I text in a mass text all the bouncers at the places he goes, bars, restaurants, strip clubs, etc...Everywhere he frequents.

I send another mass text to some of his friend I got to know while doing my leg work, when he was in rehab, his body-guard, agent, PR puke, and his mother, everyone I know he contacts on a regular basis. The one person I hesitate, and decide not to involve is Jessie, his Jessie.

She has not spoken to him in 4 years, and she would be heartbroken, again. Then she would be caught up in his bull-crap life, again. Plus he has no idea I even know about her, it took a lot of digging to find her, his one true love, his best year, his best music, his clean and clear year. He also has no idea he has a son...you see, I am not savin the musicians life, I am savin his sons.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Hour later I get a hit, bar district downtown. A bouncer I know spotted him across the street going into a strip club, and that he looked all messed up. Once again, I am breaking a lot of ethical rules by confronting him all high and crap. I am also going to break actual laws by forcing him into my vehicle, if he puts up a fight. I am pretty sure he know not to mess with me, but he is pretty messed up, so, say what say what, anything can happen:)

I bolt downtown to pick up his sorry butt, a little excitement and challenge in my evening, but all part of getting him on track.

After circling the block for an hour I see him stumble out of the strip club and go to hail a cab. I speed up and cut off the cab, and he hops into the back. I pull out before he realizes that he is not in a cab, ha!

Him "What the hell?"

Me "Hello sunshine, did you miss me? You missed our session earlier today, consider this a makeup session...First we are going to establish some ground rules, then we are going to get come food and coffee, then I'll take you home and we can pick up where we left off, tomorrow, say 2pm?"

Him, looking for me to stop at a red light so he can hop out. But sunshine, I have seen every trick before, and I have a system of not slowing down below 20, meaning he can't get out, unless he wants to take a big chance jumpin out of a moving car, only a dumbbutt would do that!

Him, a bit later, laid back, almost accepting that he is going for a ride. "He man, why don't you get a hobby, girlfriend, or a life? Why do you have to come and ruin my night, what is wrong with you man?"

Me, I snap, loose it, my fragile connection between actions and consequence breaks because this little puke, HE MESSED WITH THE WRONG GUY TONIGHT. I slam on the breaks, and jump out. I drag him out to the sidewalk, kickin and screamin, and I pull out my fist and hold it ready to smash his face.

Me "HOBBY? YOU ARE MY F-ING HOBBY! YOU LITTLE PUKE, ALL THAT INFLUENCE YOU HAVE, ALL THE GOOD IN THIS WORLD YOU COULD BE DOING, ALL THE PEOPLE YOU COULD BE INSPIRING! THE CHANGE IN THIS WORLD YOU COULD BECOME! AND YOU ARE OUT GETTING ALL MESSED UP, LOOKIN AT NAKED SKANKS, AND YOU STINK LIKE SWEATY BALLS n BUTT!!! YOU ARE MY HOBBY, NOW GET YOU STUFF TOGETHER OR END UP IN THE DITCH."

I point to a large dark ditch just beyond the sidewalk. "What you don't know is that there a lot of people who need you, care of you, and Need you to be a complete person, and not a complete waste of life. You could be so much bigger than your music, your bullcrap persona, your tabloid bullcrap life, YOU COULD BE SOMETHING GREATER THAN YOU." I get back into my car, and take a minute to calm the hell down. I've got to get it together, or I am going to drive this car off a cliff! He gets in, into the front this time, and says something actually important and useful to me.

Him "I want to get better...and I need your help getting my...my girl back."

Me "This is step number one, welcome to therapy, I'll work with you now, and we will FIX this."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Loral calls me the next morning, before I am supposed to go get the musician. She tells me the usual messages, nothing much new there, then she says "Jane is back in rehab....

She fell out in Paris, and they shipped her back for 30 days." That name, Jane, and her situation hits me like a ton of bricks. I thought she had conquered her demons, and was livin a good life, finally.

If I had a daughter, it would be Jane. I met her when she was 14, she was just getting famous in modelling, and was just about to start doing the overseas shows, that is when I stepped into her life, but that was a while ago.

Her mother was one of these "my daughter is famous, so that means that I am famous" types, total witch.

Her father was a good man at heart, but had his own demons....drugs, alcohol, women, too many addictions to sort out while treating his daughter, plus her parents had been separated since Jane was young.

Me "What the hell, when did this happen? How long has she been there?"

Then more bricks hit me. Loral "Three weeks ago, and she has been in rehab for almost 2 weeks. She is refusing to do treatment, group sessions, or even getting out of bed. They are really worried about her, and her Mom decided to call you."

Me "Well no s, idiots, dropping her in rehab is like dropping her in a life boat in the middle of the F-ing ocean! Where is she?" Loral give me the details, and my mind is racing, figuring out a way to get to her as quickly as possible. She is out of state, about a day's drive. I'll have to get there soon or she will starve herself to death. They probably don't know her history, all the suicide attempts, all the starving, all the times she had to be force-fed. She might just be another skinny model to them, but she is MY responsibility. Her father died a few years ago, and I swore to him that I would take care of her, and I ain't feelin like burying her this week.

I turn around, I am not getting to the office today, and I drive very fast to the musician home. I knock and ring his doorbell for 15 minutes, then finally his agent answers, he looks pretty messed up, like he was up all night, not sure what that means yet.

I storm into his room, and he is sitting his bed, lookin like a lost puppy. I knew he was broken, but I didn't think he was this lost!

Me "We are going on a road trip, I can't say when we will be back, but we have to leave, NOW!"

Musician "Are you kidding me, I have stuff to do, I can't just leave, I am very busy."

Me "I am going to open up here, I need your help, I have a client in crisis, and I am going to lose her if I don't get to her soon. And I mean lose her to her demons, and she will die without my help. Plus we will need the time to talk, and you need a break from your life!" Also, which I don't tell him, is that Jessie, his Jessie, is willing to see him, if he is clean and sober. I also convinced her to let him know about his son, I said he had a right to know. It's an extra half day drive, but when crisis happens, I got to face it.

Him "But..."

Me "But NOTHING, you want to get better, or do you want to sit in this room for days, then finally give in, get all messed up, then feel bad and sorry for yourself? I can help you. You want me to help you. But my help has conditions, and this is one of them. Are you worth my time? Do you deserve a second chance with someone you love, or do you deserve to live a pathetic lonely, crappy life?"

He obviously does trust me, I am never sure why people would be so willing to give up their freedom to me, a complete stranger, and total butthole? Maybe they are just so desperate that they would trust anyone at this point? Maybe they trust people too much, and that is part of their problem. Or maybe my intensity makes them trust me, maybe they feel my passion, and they finally feel cared for? Or maybe they are sick of having their freedom? Sick of getting what they want when they want it, tired of getting into clubs, restaurants, tired of having women all over them, tired of having so much money that it poisons their souls.

They are all my children, needing me to guide them to a better life and to direction, instead of livin on the razor edge of reality and death.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

We drive for hours without him saying a word, and the first lesson of therapy is "Don't speak first" Make the silence so palatable that they have so much to talk about that they explode into conversation when they have had enough.

Him, with incredible sincerity "I am sorry I had you beaten up. You seem like an ok guy, and I know you are just trying to help."

Me "Thanks, but I am not an "ok" guy, and I am just here to help, plus I deserve a good butt-kickin once and a while. Now tell me about your life? Pretend I know nothing about you, nothing about your music, celebrity, tabloid bullcrap, and this is first time I have ever met you. But don't talk to me like a reporter, or some friend, I don't give a crap, I am not interested in what you want others to perceive your life to be, I ONLY care about what your life ACTUALLY is! Now talk, and don't stop."

Him, after a long pause, he is either trying to decide what to disclose, or what he wants me to believe about him. You see everyone wears a mask, and often people wear different masks for different people. He has worn the mask of bad-boy celebrity, addict, in and out of rehab, jail, etc...for years. I really wonder if he knows who he really is, or remembers who he was that year he had with Jessie, was in love, and wrote beautiful music? Not that he cares about our relationship, but he might have too much pride to actually be a real person for a minute...it seems like we have that in common.

My mind goes again to my women, my doctor, my lovely...my mind goes to how I messed up with her so bad, how I kept livin a lie with her, and how I should have just admitted my love to her from day ONE!

Him "I write music, and I am perform...I like what I do..."with pause and almost second guessing himself to actually be open "but I find it hard and stressful sometimes, you know? The fans, the people around me, the money, the drugs, the women, like I can make one call and get any drug I want, delivered in a few hours no questions asked. I can be with any woman I want, and I hate it! I am not doing too good man...the pressure eats at me...I can't go anywhere without being swarmed, autographs, photos, people asking me stupid questions, questioning who I am, the kind of person that I am."

Him "Reporters following me around day and night, going through my garbage. People writing bullcrap stories after interviewing my "friends", their all just lies and liars. My family only being there for me because of my money. Or because of the people I can introduce them to, or take them places."

Him "People around me stealing my money, talking me into different investments, discussing different career moves, what interviews and TV shows to do. Like I am a musician, I don't care about anything else, and I don't know what they are talking about most of the time."

Him "Everyone obsessing with me day and night, I just want to be left alone. So I use, a bit, I use to get away from it all, it's my only escape...I guess my other escape is when I am writing music...I find peace in that."

Me "Is there anyone in your life that doesn't use you, or that you feel yourself around?"

A bit a bait, come here and take the bait, say her name, open up and become a human livin on earth again! "There has to be one good person in your life, everyone needs someone."

Him, he tears up, and says "Ya, I had a girl, once. She was perfect, smart, and loved me for me. She asked me, no she begged me to not go on tour...She begged me to just live with her and write music. I started building a sound studio in our home, just doing my thing from home, and things were good for a while. I LOVED HER, BUT I MESSED UP."

Me "How?" Even though I know the answer, I ask anyways, knowing is one thing, and understanding is another. He is re-walking the road of his life in his head, and I need him to stay on track to get him the peace he deserves.

Him "I toured, too much money to turn it all down, and I started using again, I just couldn't keep up. I needed help keeping up with all the interviews, show, parties, women, rehearsals, you know I would have died if I had to do that all sober! Then I came back, and she had left me. Someone told her I was using again, that I had been unfaithful to her, and...I broke her heart..."

Me "You are not a sum of your actions, you are not your money, you are not your fame, you are not your sports car, you are NOT what people believe YOU to Be. You are someone with an incredible gift, incredible talent, and most importantly, you can become someone special to another person. You can have a human connection with this chick, and you can become something greater."

Me "I find that people get too caught in livin their bullcrap lives, that they are just living bullcrap. Their bullcrap cars, houses, jobs, vacations, families...it's all for show. They are not really living. Whether they are fillin my car with gas, flippin my burger, or singin on my radio, they are just shadows or a reality that they are all struggling to accept, and fillin their lives with "things" instead of something that really matters."

Me "What matters?"

Him "Are you asking me? Are you asking me what matters? I don't know what matters, but I did feel really good with her. That year was the best ever. She was my everything, and I ruined it."

Me "What matters?"

Him, with anger "Why do you keep asking me? I don't know what matters? I have ruined everything good in my life, and now I am in a car with you, going God knows where. I thought you might have some answers for me man, but all you have is questions, what the Hell man?"

Me, matching his anger "WHAT MATTERS?"

Him "Let me out, I don't have time for this bullcrap. You are just like everyone else, you are not here for me, and you are here to get something from me."

Me, I reach over and me fights my finger away, and I push my finger right into his chest, and he tries to fight my finger away, but I am way too strong. And with my single finger I point to his chest, and say with fierce intensity "This matters." I take my finger away, and I don't say another word, it's his turn to talk.

Him, after a few minutes, he starts to cry, finally letting out his emotional pain from the pain he caused his woman, his Jessie, his love...I needed to get him to a place where he could grieve for the pain he caused someone else. I needed him to be accountable and face his consequence. He is a good kid, an incredible talent, a world famous musician, rich and recognized all over the world, and he is crying in the front seat of my car.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

After a while of silence, and after he puts his sunglasses back on, and stares out the window for what seemed like hours, I say "She is willing to see you again. After we see my friend and get her straightened out, we will go see her." Now I was expecting him to be excited, ask questions about it, ask me how I even knew about her, ask me the details, but he just sits silently for another long stretch. He is either trying to decide what to say to her, to me, if anything, or he is so overcome with fear to see her again that he is just trying to absorb what I just said.

Him, again after a pause that seemed hours long "My only question is why does she want to see me?"

Me "I don't know, you will have to ask her your dam self."

Then after a few more hours of driving, we arrive at the rehab centre, SunnySide Rehab and Addition Center, nice courtyard, and nice cedars:)

I have been here a few times in my life. I have had a long hard road in my own recovery, and I have seen some clients here, I wonder if the head doctor is still here.

I leave the musician in the lobby with some food, and something to read. "I'll be a few hours, DO NOT LEAVE. Then we will hit the road again, ok?" He just nods, and stretches out. He is all alone in the waiting room, and he needs some time to think about himself. I enter into the nurse's area, and hand the secretary my number, and I say quietly "If he leaves this room, call me immediately! Thanks." She just says ok.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Now back to my Jane, she has refused all food, treatment and visits for the past week, she probably weighs 90 f-ing pounds now. I talk to her doctor quickly, he fills me in.

He is a good honest guy, he just wants to help, but he is not sure how to help at this

point. He tells me she has only has till tomorrow before they will force-feed her, that is if she doesn't kill herself first. They don't know it yet, but they are playing with fire, and she will strangle herself with her IV if left for a minute.

I go back to nurses station "Has she been drinking anything lately? Water, coffee, anything?"

Nurse "She drinks orange juice, but is refusing to get out of bed to get it. Doctor's orders for the past few days, she has to get out of bed to get her OJ. She also said recently, that she does not get out of bed for less than $2500 and that anything else is a waste of her time, that is almost a direct quote."

Me "I'll bring her some." And without hesitating, I go to the fridge, pour a big tall glass of OJ-goodness:)

Nurse, after exchanging a few looks with the other nurses in the room, and as I am walking towards her room, "That is against the doctor's orders...You can't just come in here and do what you want mister!" Then, I assume, she picks up the phone and either calls the doctor or security. Either way I only have a few minutes before this intervention is over, so I better make it count. I pick up my feet a bit to give myself a few more seconds.

If I wasted my time explaining my approach, getting permission to ask her doctor to do it, her doctor calling her agent for a reference, asking her mom for the ok, going back and forth, probably not getting an answer back today, bla, bla, bla, logistics, STUPID politics, she is going to die before I can get anywhere with all that stuff.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I walk carefully into her room, don't want to startle her. Her room is bright, holy it's bright in here! Obviously another ploy to get her out of bed, "let's leave the windows open and all the lights on, then she HAS to get out of bed", amateurs. Man, it's BRIGHT

in Here, there is a wicked afternoon light shining right into her room almost cooking her slowly, must be like 95 in here. But she ain't' a normal patient, she is a tough nut to crack, and she would rather cook and starve herself and die, then give in.

She is half-sleeping, head covered with her blankey, hoping to put up a physical wall to avoid anyone coming into her room. She is probably really weak, and I have pity for her.

I do love her, not like love from a man to a woman, but love like she is my niece, or neighbor's kid I watched grow up. My approach will have to be swift, patient, but I also have a fire burning in the waiting room.

Me "Good afternoon sunshine" I do talk in a very caring tone, maybe that is enough for her to recognize my voice, but be confused with the caring nature in which I am speaking at her, that ain't my way!

She does not budge, "I have your Orange Juice, freshly squeezed from the Orange Orchard out back." There ain't' no orchard out back, there be a forest, which she may or may not know.

"Do you want to sit up and have some?" I wait for about 30 seconds, and her body is tense and rigid.

She is probably trying to decide what to do, if I will go away, if I am actually here, or if she is confused about who she thinks is standing over her bed. If she actually thinks it is me, she is probably wondering how far I will go, and what I am capable of.

She does know me well, she heard the story of what I did to her agent, her first agent.

At first she did not believe that anyone would go to such lengths to protect her...that someone would do something so crazy, but she did not know ME that well then, now she does.

I pour the delicious OJ goodness over her head and step back, again, I only have a few minutes to get her out of bed before security hits the room, so I gotta make this time count!

She "WHAT THE HELL!!!" She jumps up in her bed, she be not quite out of bed, but it's only been a minute, and I called her doctor in advance and bet him I could get her out of bed within 5 minutes. He be a lot older than me, and said that "he did not want to gamble a patients safety and well-being for a simple bet" f that, LIFE IS A GAMBLE!

She "You?" Very confused, weak and almost hopeful, like she just got a shot of fear juice. "What the HELL, why are you here?"

Me "I am here to save you, you know starvation is a really crappy way to die, you should know, what is this your fifth-time trying this? These other people don't know you, BUT I KNOW YOU. Now get out of bed, and let's get you cleaned up!" after a long pause, she puts one foot down. Maybe I gave her hope by showing up, maybe I proved that someone actually wants her to live, besides all the liars here, or maybe I am fulfilling a dying promise to her father that I would always look after her, "daddy really did love me."

I help her to the bathroom, and the nurse bursts into the room, very agitated, pissed off, but surprised to see her out of bed. Me "Good, perfect timing, Nurse Wilson" I cheat and look at her name badge "This

young lady would like to get bathed, and go for a walk around the gardens with me. Can you ensure that she will be ready in 30 minutes, I have many things to attend to today."

Holy crap that was hard to act so proper, but it was actin to not make the nurse more upset, and to prove to her that I am a professional.

Wow, what I really wanted to say was, "YO, b-face, if you can get your Fat butt here so fast, can you get her skinny butt cleaned up, put her sorry butt in a wheelchair so I can wheel her around for a bit, you know because she can't get out of the chair and walk away. Then I have her full attention for an hour or so, then I'll get her back to your bullcrap therapy, and I'll be back in a few days to sort this stuff out! Also you can go back to your union chair, with your union coffee, your union Danish, and your union lazy butt growing job!" Sometimes, just sometimes, I filter what I am going to say, and I actually talk like a real person, otherwise I would have no friends, instead of the one I have.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I go back to the waiting room, I half expect the musician to have gone, but he is sittin there, like a lost puppy, reading a fashion magazine, what the hell man, Fashion magazine?

Me "Coffee, you look like hell."

Him "sure, I also need something to eat, like a sandwich or something." He is going to need a lot more than a sandwich, kid's looks like he weighs 100 pounds, I think forearm weights more than his thigh!

Me "Sure, we only got a bit of time, then we have to go for a walk with a friend, then we will hit the road again."

Him "When are we going to do our therapy stuff, you know like some sessions or something?"

Me "Man, we are doing them! Now let's get our stuff together, then we can get back on the road."

A bit later we be walkin, the world famous musician, me, the butthole, and Jane, my little Janey. I leave the musician in the middle of the gardens, a beautiful botanical garden cared for by the patients. It's a sanctuary, and part of their healing process in their therapy, I couldn't agree more! It is wonderful that they put these crack addicts to work, and get them to do something productive, and interactive with nature, the real world, instead of all the superficial bullcrap, that is why I love this place, and why I am clean today, well sort of clean;)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Just me and Jane now, like old times.

Now the promise I made to her father, sure he could have just been putting some comfort in himself by putting the responsibility to lookin after, or keepin an eye on his little girl. Or he could have trusted that I would always put her interest first, and not ever selfishly take anything from her, unlike her evil mother.

Or maybe he understood on some deep level that if I took that responsibility, that it would go to my grave! Maybe he understood just how serious I took that promise, and that I would do anything. I mean anything to fulfill that promise, no matter how unethical, illegal, or at risk or great personal, or professional risk.

But screw it, I ain't got a long time to live or anything, plus the only person I am ever going to let down is myself....and maybe that beautiful creature I am in love with, remember? The one who rejected me? Maybe that was just anger, and maybe she will come around, but who will give first? Will I have the balls to see her again? Or will she have the empathy to call me for another coffee? Or maybe she is right, I am chaos, and like a tornado, and she does not want to get caught up in it, she might lose a shoe in the wind ;)

Me "So what the hell Jane?"

Her "do you always have to start every conversation like that?" She is half-laughing, like a kid hearing a parent swore for the first time. "You can be nicer though, you know?"

Her "Some therapists don't swore or be such buttholes to their patients, especially when they have been patients for such a long time. And no therapist would ever pour orange juice on a patients head, I don't any normal person would even do that!"

Me "Smoke?" It be more of a statement then a question, she's is a model, of course she smokes!

Her "I am not doing ok, ok. Thing are crazy right now, sorry.."

Me "Why the hell?"

Her, with anger "What is your f-ing problem! Why did you come all the way here? Who let you know I was even in here?"

Me "Why do you always ask the same questions, to which you have the knowledge to interpret yourself? You are an little intelligent biscuit, and you are too smart for this stuff, I mean what are you doin to yourself?"

After a long pause.

Me "So what happened Jane to trigger this? Last time I saw you, you were doin fine. You were working lots, travelling, CLEAN and Sober, what changed?"

Her "I did a show in London, and I was working with some girls...They hated me, and wanted to see me fall down on the runway. They cut one of the shoes that I was wearing at the heel, and I fell...onstage" through tears "in London, at a show...I was so embarrassed."

Me "Were you hurt, or just your ego?"

Her "Sore ankle, some bruises, I got a doctor at a walk-in to give me something for the pain, nothing big. Then I got some more, then more, then, you know, I started using every day, like I used to."

Me "So, it kind of replayed a lot of bullying at self-bullying that you would do to yourself? It's like hearing your mom's voice over and over again in your head, right?" Here comes the father inside me, and this is my pretend daughter needing a good talkin to.

Me "You are not in control of what other people think or do towards you. You ARE a good person, and you do add value to the world, but you have to believe that you DO instead of that you DON'T. Without getting all sappy, I do believe in you. I met you when you were a scared poop-less little kid, what were you 14? Just introduced to the ugly world, and the ugly world of modelling all at the same time. Fame, money, people wanting you to be around, wear their cloths, start a trend, all that stuff?" now here comes more father-tone, sorry, but she has to hear this "You are not making your parents proud. You have a gift, and you are squandering it. You could be doing so much better, what is going on?"

Her "I just can't handle the pressure, the shoots, the fame, acting perfect, looking perfect, always being "ON". I am getting older, and these girls are almost 10 years younger, and I am past my prime, and it's getting harder to look and act that way, I feel so fake most days. More and more makeup every day, more pills, and less to eat, it's horrible. I have been thinking about getting work done, you know, get some wrinkles lasered out. Maybe get a boob-job, start another career path, and give up modelling."

ME "Who the HELL is going to hire you, and to do what? That is a bad path, and the path of the pathetic. That path leads to either selling your body or your soul. You have a life outside of this messed up world, and you have the power to get out of it, you just have to walk through that door. You don't need the money, and you are a smart girl and can make a livin doing other things, this is not your life! I am going to assume that your GP has got you on some anti-depressants, "mood stabilizers" or "happy pills", right? Also you probably have a second or even a third stash of pills somewhere right?"

Me "Let me guess, your Agent, no your Mom has them, just in case. So she is treatin you like dirt, taking your money to spend on herself, makin you feel like dirt, and then "helping" you by getting you stoned off prescription drugs so you can keep working? WHAT THE HELL???" I am going to take her complete silence as an agreement to everything I just said, she is way too witchy to not yell disagreement in my face, but all I get it silence, like a silent acknowledgment to the bullcrap world she lives in, and how hopeless her little life is, and how little control she has over anything.

Me "F this stuff, after I leave, I am calling you agent for a termination agreement of all your current contracts."

Her "What? You can't do that!"

Me, with extreme professionalism. "Actually I entitled to act in Your best interest, always. Since I am your long term therapist, and currently have the right to take you out of here, I can make that call. I also could get your mother permission to do what I feel is going to benefit you. And when she disagrees with me, if she disagrees that you need to live a normal life, because SHE is used to the lifestyle, I will blackmail her into thinkin that she will be exposed on one of those expose shows. You know the ones who pick apart the life of a famous person, and make assumptions about why they are so messed up. Then the expose will focus on the controlling witch of a mother who shops more that spending time with her fragile daughter. How the witch mother left her fragile daughter in the care of a pedophile agent, and let him take her all over the world, and use her every way his sick mind wanted! Maybe there will even be a small part in which a very handsome, young, white knight stormed into the castle one day, slayed the evil pedophile agent dragon, saved the princess from her evil step-mother, and sent her to live happily, forever after?

Her "OK, settle down, that is not the way that all happened, and you are not a handsome young knight, you are an handsome old butthole...but you did save me, and I was so happy when I never had to see that monster again." As she shutters. Me, regaining my composure, she does not need my anger right now, she only needs my empathy, or my heart, I think I still got one in there. "You need to be doing an average life for a while, you know, like normal people do? It's going to be a grind, you know getting back to normal, but you ain't a lost cause yet, but you gotta eat something before they stick food down your dam throat, ok? Now, I'll check in, in a few weeks, so I figure you can gain, what 15 pounds by then?"

Her, showing her emotional age, unfortunately immature for her actual age "I am not gaining 5 pounds unless they start feeding my ice-cream 3 times a day!"

Me "Vanilla or chocolate?"

After a bit I wheel her back to her room, and go over "the Plan" with her doctor. I can tell he is really pissed off, but he can recognize that she even looks healthier now, and more hopefully, she got a glow now, instead of lookin like hell.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Now back to my prize, the famous musician. He be sittin on a bench by the still creek, just staring at the flat creek. I wonder if he is thinkin that he be like a feather landing on the creek, just sittin there, staring up at the sky helpless and without the power to get himself out. Or maybe he is thinkin he is just water in the creek, addiction all around him, and letting the creek consume him. Or maybe he is the creek having this little cloud of heaven landing on him, joining with him, and becoming part of all he is. Maybe my dam mind is goin off the rails again, and I should use "my tools" ha, ha, ha :) maybe him and me should be getting high again, but that did not work out so well last time...but it was fun dude!

Me, speaking like a British chap, some familiarity to his past maybe? "Hallo, shall we depart, and make haste, dates to keep, people to inquisite, things of that sort."

He is obviously disturbed from some deep thinking, and a little annoyed "Why did we stop here?"

Me, little cocky "I had to keep a promise, you know, responsibility and stuff of that sort."

Him "This place reminds me of another rehab place I have been, years back. It was the place I went to right after Jessie kicked me out. I went there to try to impress her, show her that I could change, but she would not believe me. It's like something inside her changed, like she had become a completely new person, like she was completely responsible all of a sudden. She would not even see me..."

Me "Does that make you sad, to visit that pain? I mean she probably didn't give you another chance for good reason, you know, history. And here we are again. Is it pain you are masking with your crappy drugs, or is it something else?"

Him, real him, not rock-god, not butthole musician, but the real him is speaking. "I just can't handle being famous....I actually bloody hate it."

Me "Not everyone is cut out for it, lots of pressure, temptations and all that stuff. Too much money, power and public obsession corrupts even the purest of souls. You are a good person, I knew it the first time I met you, but that was years ago, and you probably don't remember. Do you remember this place being like the place you went, or is it the place you went?" I can see the light hittin his face, like de-javu, or some bullcrap like that. He was in so much pain when he came here all those years ago that he didn't even re-

member where he was. Or that there was another patient he met briefly, and became friends with. That patient had a successful, but obsessive career, kind of like his music, that corrupted his own soul. That patient was only here for a few days with him before that patient "graduated" and was set free to get back into society, set free to chase down his own patients, threaten agents, get punched in the stomach by big black body-guards, stood up by the woman of his dreams, and all that fun stuff:)

Me "We better get some sleep, then hit the road tomorrow morning, she said she would only see you for a few hours tomorrow afternoon and that's it. So you had better figure out what the hell you are goin to say, and how you are goin to make it right. She will probably NEVER give you another chance, but she will at least give you a few hours to explain. She is NOT lookin for money, DO NOT even offer, she takes care of herself, she be a smart cracker. She is lookin for closure, and to put the past behind her. She also wants to help you move on. I told her about your recent issues, and she wanted to help. Maybe she still loves you, but you messed up, and sometimes there is NO redoing the past."

After he marinades on that a bit, I get up and start walkin towards the exit, and he follows, lookin around, trying to remember if he had been here before, or if all the rehab places looked all the same.

The next day some stuff happens, which I will get back to later, needless to say the "meeting" did not go according to his plan, but it went exactly how I figured, and EXACTLY as I PLANNED! He is even more self-destructive and angry. He expected her to jump into his arms, and for them to give love another chance, but it was too far gone, too many damages done.

But now it is ripe for the molding, and it's a day and half drive with me, the butthole, who is going to get him on track. My plan was to get him to take a year off from touring, fire that pussy agent of his, and to rebuild his life. I also planned some smaller shows, with his new music he would write in that year, and he would re-become famous, which is a hell of alot harder than becoming famous the first time!

It will be hard, but if he really loves her, and wants another chance with her, he will do it for her, and I will help him for his son's sake. Again, he does not even know about his son, Oliver, what a funny name, but it's some omage to his own heritage, but he has no idea that little Oliver even exists.

All he ever said about it was, "She gained weight." Dumbbutt, she just carried your baby, you turd! And is now raising him, while working and not taking nothing from NO ONE. He is so dumb, he had a diamond of a woman, with one of the most beautiful souls this I ever met, and he threw it away. What a waste!

But if he knew the entire picture, he would be crushed, I mean more crushed than he already was. In the end, she would not give him another chance, but he did not deserve one.

She viewed it as a chance to get closure on him, justify her decision to not involve him in her life, and in the life of her sons. She wanted to check him out to confirm in her mind that he is still a piece of crap, not like the guy she fell in love with, but the guy she kicked out after dozens of sluts while he was on tour, not to mention all the drugs.

He is not in a space when he can actually give himself a chance, but I will get him there, it's my delusion...

Me, "So we need to get back, you got a show to do."

Him, "What the HELL, you said I wasn't doing any shows anytime? What the hell are you doing?"

Me, I don't know half the time, I am just figuring crap out as I go, "I figured a small show with a small band, your older songs, you know, get back to basics. I figured you needed that."

Him, obviously anxious to talk to me, and get his therapy started. "What about therapy, don't we actually need to talk about things? You know, get myself better?"

Me, with great annoyance, "F THERAPY!!! WHAT THE HELL DO YOU THINK WE HAVE BEEN DOING?"

Him "All we have done is driven around, gotten food, shot the poo for a while, we have just been hanging out."

Me "Sometimes I get further ahead when we are just talking, but I am not you friend, al-though I do like you." Then I say with half a heart "I'd like you a lot better if you stopped playing such crap, and actually played something that mattered. I mean God, your al-bums have sucked butt for years."

Him, finally pissed off, and full of anger, FINALLY!!! "My music is MY MUSIC, I don't play it for you, I don't even like you. I don't care if you like it or not, F the fans, F the papers, F the reviews, F the Money, F that life, the music matters, nothing else F does."

I love it:) pure passion, pure truth, and something that I Actually agree with, finally the British prick put up a fight. Maybe I can funnel his intensity into some therapeutic music.

Me "Ok, let's do some music then, instead of this bull-crap you have been living. You will do a good show, if you actually care, instead of being so high you can't even see the crowd! Now let's get our stuff together, and get you back for that show, because in your crappy life, at least the show might matter a bit." And just like that, I told him. Maybe a bit too spiteful, but he need tough-love!

Me "and no one likes me...I am force, like the wind, I just exist man to blow stuff around."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

We drive back, and say almost nothing the entire way back. He is silently hating on me

for my harsh words, and possibly angry with himself for them being so true. And I am silent because, because it's my plan! He is getting no remorse from me, and no kind

words, no encouragement, he need to stew on my words, make them resonate, and

slowly digest into his soul for maximum absorption effective. It's like I stuck him with a long needle into his heart, and it bypassed all the cancer caused by drugs, self-doubt, anger, addition, self-loathing...straight to the heart of what matters in his heart.

After a day and a half of silence, he speaks, HE SPEAKS, finally, I actually thought he was such a stubborn butthole that would be silent all the way back, but HE SPEAKS.

We are sitting in a diner in the middle of butt-poo-no-where, ordering steak and eggs at 2 in the afternoon, yum. Him, after studying the menu for almost 10 minutes straight. "Do you think my music matters?" he says quietly, without looking up, really wanting to hear an answer.

Me, that ain't no loaded question...."That ain't no loaded question there kid. No music matters, and all music matters, nothing matters, but which matters to the listener...Now you have to decide if you are the listener, the words, or the music? Music is life, your life, this crappy thing called LIFE, and you are your music, now write something that F-ING MATTERS!" and without skipping a beat, I toss a pad of paper and a pen, and I go back to minding my own business.

Waitress comes and I order for both of us, and after I finish my plate, and sit there for another half an hour, I start ordering coffee, it's going to be a long night. I think I answered his question with enough questions that he will write an grand opus, one that will leave a little mark on this world long after my butt is ash, and he be an old man for-getting his own name.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Now he be writing, and writing, writing like a dam fool, just writing for almost 2 hours, and I say we need to get going. Then he is writing like a mad man all the way back, and into the night, so much so that I took a long detour, and he did not even notice:) I drove as long as I could get away with just so he could explode him dam mind onto that paper, literally blowing his literary brains out, literally.

If I am not good at anything else in the world, I am good at ripping away at the hard shell every person wears when they go out into the world. Then I am the butthole, you know, the good kind of butthole, that smashes their hard candy shell, and I get to the chocolate goodies on the inside.

Every person in this world has a gift or talent, could be kindness, beauty, artistic, acting, honesty, selflessness, athletic, or in this kids case, his gift are his words. Now, words are just letters on a page, arranged in some kind of order that makes some sense to the person who reads them. But there are a rare few who can put letters together in such a way that causes intense emotional reactions in the reader of those letters. Because those letters create words, and those words create sentences, and those sentences matter, even if the butthole who wrote them doesn't. Sometimes, in even rarer instances, goodness spreads in this crappy world because some dickhead spent the time to put those letter together, and he tries to make the world a bit less crappy.

After he gets home, I get his agent to setup a small concert, and I check on him, and he is obsessively writing and testing music in his studio, in the basement of his mansion. I bring him food, and I stay long, but say very little. He is constantly trying different melodies, different rhythms, all that music crap that is foreign to me. I ain't got no clue how to make music, let alone anything anyone would want to listen to.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I actually attend his show, I mean I wait for him backstage; I don't want to be in the crowd. He plays all new music for 40 minutes straight, and the crowd is going ape crap.

He finishes his show with a new song, a love song called Sweet Jes, how appropriate:) It sounds like a HIT to me. Emotional, real, and very raw, bordering on agony.

After the show I put my hand on his shoulder, and I say, with pride "I am proud of you kid."

He smiles, and goes into his dressing room after signing a bit, and doing some photos.

He is actually engaging with people, and he seems like he just had his best show ever!

Maybe that was enough to win back his fans, and redeem what fame he still had left.

Everyone loves a train wreck, then a triumphant return to glory, it's like seeing a friend recover from tragedy, go to rehab, then come back clean and sober, and at the top of their game...it's beautiful:)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I am in the backstage area, just hanging out, taking in the pride of being successful one more time. A little pat on my shoulder, and I actually feel good about myself, then I see her, my angel. She must have gotten another backstage pass from that friend, or maybe she snuck in, maybe she snuck in to see if I would be here?

I just stare at her, not knowing what to do, or if I should run the opposite direction, and she starts slowly walking towards me. She is either here by chance, or maybe she took a chance to see me? Maybe I am thinking too hard, and I should just stop trying to control everything, and let something happen beyond my control. Maybe this is vulnerability, feel icky and uncomfortable.

Her "Hi, small world. You know, you could have made another appointment."

Me "You said you never wanted to see me again."

Her "I just said that, I was so sick of your bullcrap, and I needed to give you a taste of your own medicine. You know, the same medicine you gave him. Wow, what a show, and what a change from the last show!

Me "Would you be ok, you know, if I started making appointments again?"

Her "No, I can't see you that way again... sorry. But if you wanted to go for coffee again, I'd be ok with that."

Me "What?"

Her, she cuts me off before I say anything else. "I get it now, I get you, I see what you do now, and the chaos that you live in has a purpose, even if it makes no sense. I never got it after seeing you all those time, I never got it till I saw what change really looked like."

Me "What about your boyfriend?"

Her "I never had a boyfriend, I have not had one since my divorce. But I did meet this guy at a conference once that I really liked, but he was such a chicken crap that he made up a huge, complicated, lie to keep seeing me, instead of just asking me for coffee. What a pussy!"

Me "You would honor me if you let me take you for coffee, and allow me to explain who I am, what I am all about and why I do what I do... it's nice to meet you finally...............my name is......

Her, she puts her finger over my mouth, and I stop my sentence. "Tell someone who gives a sh*t."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Years later, I'd like to say that he reclaimed all of his past fame... that this new song, Sweet Jes, that it became number one... a classic song revered for decades and loved by millions... but maybe it doesn't matter. Maybe all that mattered, is that he wrote his soul out, got his life back, conquered his demons, and got to finally express his love for something.

Maybe life doesn't have a score card that other people can see, maybe personal redemption is priceless and without value to anyone else... maybe the only thing that matters, is... this.

The End

Years later, I'd like to say that the musician reconnected with his Jessie, and they live happily ever after...but this ain't no fairy tale.

Year after the musician had another rise and fall with fame, he was back playing smaller shows. He was clean, had been so for years, very slipped once, good job kid, he did it, not me.

Years, and years went by, and he never did get Jessie back, but, he never did meet anyone else that mattered.

Years of a content life, happy, but empty. The shows mattered, and he poured everything into them, but after...he would cry in his dressing room...hoping to get her back... but it never happened.

Years after I helped his sort his life out, he did a very small show at a bar. After the show the musician signed autographs for a while, meeting people and taking pictures. He had a new life, a good life, and he was someone to aspire to be, a real role model, you know?

Years later, the once famous-musician was now a middle aged man, greying hair, and his boyish looks were replaced with fine lines.

A young man waits at the back of the line, and waits for almost an hours to see the musician.

It is the young man's turn, and he hesitatingly approaches the musician.

The musician "Hallo young lad, do you want a photo or autograph?"

The young man, very quietly...says "An autograph please, and can you make it out to Oliver." But he holds the small photo tight between his fingers, and doesn't hand it to the musician.

The musician "Well, come on now, let me have it there son."

The young man "I was going thru some things in my mom's home...she passed away last week..."Tears swell up in the young man's eyes.

The musician, not instantly connected to the young man, and sees the pain in his eyes. "Son, I am so sorry. My mam died a few years back also, I am sorry to hear." The musician is actually reliving some of the pain, why? Why? It's been so long ago, why does this young man's pain hit him so hard? It's like he was on the moon playing his show, and meeting his fans, but then crash landed back on earth going a million miles an hour. He is a human again, he is just a man, sitting there one man to another, and feeling his pain.

The musician "What was she like?"

With pause, the young man says "...she was the most beautiful person I ever knew... It was leukemia, she never really had a chance."

The musician "I am sorry...well let me sign that, and you can get on my way." Knowing if he keeps talking to this young man, that he was about to be overwhelmed with emotion.

The young man "I found this photo in my mom's house..."then he hands the small photograph to the musician, with his shaking hand.

The musician sees himself and Jessie, his beautiful Jessie in the photo. They are a lot younger, and the photo says "Sweet Jes", written with a black sharpe.

The musician's mouth never dropped so far open as he looked at the photo, then back up to young man, who was overcome with emotion, but trying to pull himself together.

The young man "...I found this photo, and...I never knew my father...she told he was a good man, but had to work on himself before I could ever meet him...I think...I think you are my father........."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

NOW back to the artist, he gets out of rehab tomorrow, time to work. He has arranged for a friend to pick him up. Now he was smart to assume his phone calls were being listened to, which they were, but he actually used code to get his buddy to pick him up, and for his buddy to be carrying, nothin like leaving rehab and getting high on the car ride home!

Now I am going to his buddy's house to intervene. His buddy is a tough guy, but I am bringing the Heat with me, he has no chance.

His buddy, let's call him drug-pushing-butthole, now drug-pushing-butthole is livin in this rat hole in the hood. But again, no one is beyond my reach, not the nurse I bribed to listen to the artist conversations and record them, not the cable company I lied to and got drug-pushing-butthole address, or my buddy cops I asked to do a raid on his house just before I arrived.

6 pm, drug-pushing-butthole should be home, high, watching some stoner show, or getting company, but the company he is getting tonight to going to be very upsetting, for him.

I get there right on time, amazing considering the 2-hour drive I just made:) I get there as the cops arrive, they are late, but I am going to just watch the show, then jump in right on cue.

They spend no time flipping his apartment, then they bring him out, handcuffed, into the back of the cruiser, time to get into character.

I walk up with a powerful stride, I could walk through a wall, and I ain't stopping till I get to this drug-pushing-butthole.

I nod at one of the cops, then I sit in the back of the cruiser next to the drug-pushing-butthole.

Me "How you doing tough-guy? Not exactly the night you had planned eh? Well, I'll be short and sweet, since I got stuff to do. You are not going to be playing butthole-drug-taxi tomorrow, you will be in jail, but you won't be gettin charged though..."What the hell, no thank you?? With anger "What no thank you? You know the crap I had to pull to do this??

Him "ok, ok, thank you, ok." He didn't know what else to say, but he was also high and he just got a huge hit of adrenaline from having the police break down his front door.

Him "I got somewhere to be tomorrow."

Me "Are you listening son? Do you realize where you are? You are my world, you ain't got crap to do tomorrow, but cover your butt in lockup, literally. I am not your attorney, but I just saved you from alot of crap here. Buddy, you got arrested, they found a whole bunch of crap in your apartment, if it weren't for me you would be lookin at prison time, at the same time if it weren't for me the cops would not have busted you tonight, but your just a pawn I had to get off the board."

He is now pissed off, he obviously only listened to the part of what I said about me getting him arrested tonight. "You got me arrested, your dead man, YOUR DEAD,

I'll find..."Then my anger peaks and I hit him, lightning bolt left to his jaw, out like a baby, so peaceful now.

Me, speaking to his unconscious body "Could have been different man, you should have just shut up when you had the chance. Sorry man." I know this guy might remember me, maybe he will remember what happened tonight, but I got the strangest feeling like I set in motion a series of events that I am going to regret...Whatever, stuff happens every day, if I am going to get killed for hitting this little puke, so b it.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The next day I show up at the Famous-Musicians rehab centre, but he ain't expecting me, he is expecting his drug-taxi-butthole friend.

He steps out the side door, the door that all the famous buttholes leave this pit-stop from.

He sees me, sort of recognizes me, like sort of remembering someone you had a dream

about, and you weren't sure if they were a real person that you saw before you had that dream, or if they just looked like someone you had a dream about. Or maybe he dreamt about me during his time in this drugless-hellhole-jail, whatever, I am a ghost coming to haunt his life. He is a piece of distorted clay needing to be molded in a master-piece.

Then looks beyond me looking for his drug-taxi friend, but he ain't coming little fish, swim over this way and come to the net. He stays put, not coming to the bait of familiarity, but staying strong, maybe his friend is just late, and maybe he will just have a smoke and wait.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Time to step into character and step into this guy's world.

Me "Hey, looks like I am here to ruin your day, again. Last time you got so messed up,

you passed out, and your sorry butt got carried the hell out of your dressing room."

Him "...huh?" Maybe not saying anything to me will be in his best interest, maybe I am a mental patient, or a reporter, or some crap like that. No little fish, I am the coming to disrupt your crappy world.

ME "I am not a reporter, I am your ride, your court-ordered taxi. Here take my cell and call your a-hole agent, and he will say I am your ride." Then I hand him my cell phone.

Without a second of hesitation, he grabs it from my hand, calls his agent, and has a 5-minute conversation about what the hell is going on, who the hell I am, and what the hell was going to happen. His agent told him everything, then, very much against his will, his agent lied about where I was driving him. He told the musician that I was taking him to his apartment, but I was taking him to get him messed out his brain, and party "like a Mother-Loving-RockStar baby, WOOOO!!!";)

Him "I got one more call to make." Then he turns and makes a quick call to his drug-taxi-butthole friend. He is asking him to meet him at his house in a bit, so he can score.

Me, while he is calling, and the phone is ringing, and said with alot of condescending arrogance, man this is going to feel gooooood "He's in jail, and can't come to the phone right now. If you want to buy some drugs, please leave a message at the tone. Thanks, and have a great day!"

He waits till it goes to VM, leaves a short message, and then hands the phone back to me.

Him "Ya, I think I remember you...." almost sizing me up "I guess you are my court-appointed therapist, I didn't realize you guys also were taxi drivers, business must be slow. Is this your crap car?"

Me "my crap car is a reflection of not my status, my money, or my influence, but a reflection of the best car that I will drive after it's been puked, peed and shat in, a few dozen times by drug addicts like you. Now do you want to get in, or do you want to walk, it's a long way home."

After he is in and we are driving. "So how was rehab?"

Him, nothing to say.

Me "Not the talking type are you, I guess you are used to ignoring problems, I get it, you are too famous and cool to talk to some butthole you don't even know. Want some weed?"

I hold a big fat joint in his face so close he can smell the goodness inside the paper co-coon.

Now I got his attention, he looks at me with a little more detail.

Me "Got nothin in my plans tonight, want to have some fun?" I light up the joint and take a small hit, I better be careful her, I am playin with fire. "Tell you what, you start answering questions, I share what I got. I met up with your guy last night, and I have a bit of his stash, coke right, that is what you like, right? Don't be shy, I ain't drugging you tonight." With a slightly high giggle "Actually I am drugging you, but not like that, I need you awake tonight to get to the bottom of this," holding the joint.

Me "I mean the bottom of this joint, not the bottom of you bullcrap issues, ha." Ok, I am getting high way to fast, it's time to pass the Dutch to this beach. I pass it off without even asking him if he wants any, I just know he does.

Him "So this" puff "is therapy" where did you get your degree? SnoopDogUniversity?" then he kind of laughs.

Me "So why have you tried to flush your life down the drain? You got some talent, I mean you are no superstar, but you could have a career, man, what the HELL are you doin?"

Him, deep breath "I got some good stuff happening, but you know, the pressure, the fans," puff "the money, the fame, the women, always being "ON", its alot of pressure. I was happy once, and wrote some good stuff, but then I messed up."

Me "Are you punishing yourself for messing up a good thing? What have you done in your short life to mess up so bad?"

Him, long pause "I am not sure" puff "it's just this life is crazy, all the chaos, all the contracts, all the shows, all the interviews, it's impossible to keep up. So I take a bump" puff "so I can keep up, otherwise, I wouldn't be able to keep up."

Me, puff, "Ain't what I asked you kid...I asked you what you did to mess up a good thing?"

Me "What did you do to hurt her?" That was profound, I hit him with the haymaker, as stoned as he is, as stoned as I am ;)

I had a plan to hit him early and hit him often, his crap ends tonight. No f-ing weeks of bullcrap therapy, no months of weekly sessions, no RELAPSE, HE IS GOING TO GET FIXED STARTIN TONIGHT!!!

"WHAT did YOU DO to Hurt HER?" puff

Him, puff, puff, holy crap kid slow down. With emotion behind his eyes, or they are just gettin glossy because he is getting baked, man I'm kinda stoned also, but I got to stay hungry, err stay clear-headed, I am gettin way to messed this errly, I was hoping to stay ahead of him, but hez a carear stoner, it's been years since I got high, so high...."I hurt this girl I was with, I was clean, sort of, and I was happy with her. Then I went on tour, and things got out of control."

Me, without missin a beat, I got him talkin and have to keep it rollin, ha, rollin ;). "OK, then what, how long were you with her?"

Him "years back, I wrote some good stuff then....all my good stuff, then I started touring, and I started using. By the time I got back, I was a mess, and she kicked me out."

ME "Did U deserve a second chance."

Him "Ya, I mean, maybe, I loved this chick, she was awesome, but she was too good for me." With self-pity, oh man is going to cry stoned? "She was perfect, beautiful, smart, got her stuff together, you know she was a dental hygienist."

Me "like she cleaned teeth?" ok, I am official not havin any more, I am starting to talk dumb.

Him "Ya, she had a degree or something, and she had good parents, good family. They all hated me, I don't imagine they like me any more now. I lived with her in Michigan, and we lived pretty good for almost year, clean you know, no drugs, no bad stuff."

Me "So what did you do, I mean this Jessie sounds pretty cool." I just gave up gold information. He never told me her name, and I knew it....maybe he is just too high to notice.

Him, obviously redirecting "Let's go get some food, I am starving man, hey, can I get some food in this belly?" Definite change in behavior, either drug-related, or he is covering that he picked up on the name and is replaying our conversation to see if he mentioned his name, or trying to figure out how I would know it.

ME "Sound like just what the doctor ordered, I am starved." I wonder if he actually knows if I am a doctor, or if he just thinks I am online certified 2-week program shrink.

Buddy, I got no special education, other than a Ph.D. in Butt-Kickin, the real education of LIFE, plus some crap on paper that makes me 2 legit to quit... man, I am stoned and hungry!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

So we get to some diner, some butt-hole all night place. I picked him up hours ago, just at the end of the day, and it be night time now, my time. Time for coffee, pancakes, whipped cream, sausage, bacon, ham, toast, hash browns, cherry pie, ice-cream, and it's time to piss, he goes first.

On my way to piss I pass him and give him a grin, he should be ok, I have the keys, my wallet, my cell, he has nowhere to go. On the way back from the loooongest piss of all time, I walk past a payphone. As soon as I see it I walk as fast as possible back towards the table, not too fast to look weird, but very fast. He is just sittin there, he either didn't try to call anyone, or he didn't see it. Ok, maybe I am getting a little paranoid, or maybe he is not as sharp as I thought he was.

Me "so, how is the food? Looks good man." Then we talk for about 30 mins about the weather, nothing important, just two guy's kind of high jokin back and forth. Fun, but got us nowhere. I got to get him back to his chaperone, I got a retired cop friend who does an off-book half-way house, mainly the rich, famous, and famously pains-in-the-butt. He is a good guy, he is a none-bullcrap-her-son guy, and he is tough as they come, old, but tough as crap. "I arranged temp housing for you with a friend of mine, he will look after you for a bit. But don't piss him off, it is court-ordered, and if you bail, cops will pick u up and take you in, drug felonies are a hard thing to get out of. Consider this your last chance, after your last chance, plus his cookin is so good, he's a barbeque king!"

Him "Sure." That was too easy, no resisting, he is either getting tired and he just wants to hit the sheets, and doesn't care where, or something is up.

I pay, we walk out towards my car then I see that he set me up. He DID make a call, he

called his butthole-drug-taxi and him and another guy are waitin at my car, but I am too busy putting one foot in front of another towards my car, but I am too close now and can't run away. Now I am a tough guy, I can fight with the best of them, but the musician pushes right towards his goons.

I act stunned, and uppercut his one friend, not the drug-taxi-butthole, but his less than quick friend dumbbutt friend, BAM and he is on the ground. His drug-taxi friend gets a hold of me and hits me relentlessly, obviously, he does remember me punching him out. The musician stays out of it, thinking I will go down and it will be over, but he doesn't know that I am tough as they come, and I TAKE NO CRAP FROM NO ONE!!!

I have to KICK it into gear now, literally. I kick him in the side with all my high power, I can't feel a thing, and I am going to feel it tomorrow, I am very high still...man. He recovers and punches me pretty hard in the left cheek, that will hurt tomorrow. But I gotts hands like a f-ing ninja, and I hit him so fast in the jaw, ha, right jab, BANG....what not enough, left hook to the right eye and he is knocked out. But I am a good enough guy that I do catch him and lay him gently on the ground. I don't need this butthole to hit his head and die, or worse, get brain damage and come after me, again, and come after me with a gun and not his fists.

By that time his other friend wakes up and starts to get up.

Me "STAY DOWN, OR YOU WILL DRINK YOUR NEXT MEAL THRU A STRAW CHUMP!!!" good boy, lie down.

Now to the musician "Get in, or I will put you in!" Without a beat, he jumps in. He probably realized not to mess with me.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Now with all my senses, and taking advantage of him being scared, and not knowing what to expect from me, professionally "So, I'll pick you up tomorrow afternoon, like 3ish, just be ready to talk, and make sure you got some food in you, then we will get to work, ok?" I am just going to be a cucumber right now, cool man. Brush off what just happened, he is just a scared kid, using a piss-poor tactic to get out of his mess, but it's not the first time I had the crap kicked out of me, I think it's the eleventh or twelfth, can't remember, I am still kind of high!

Him "Look man, I..." bashfully...searching for the words, but totally caught off guard by the crap he just saw.

Me "DON'T apologize, I ain't your mama, you didn't "borrow" the car and you

smashed it up, you go grovel to your mama, I ain't her. I am like your brother who is

sayin "cowboy up pussy", it's time to get to work kid, and I'll see you tomorrow at 3."

Then I drove him home, no talkin, no lookin over, just drove him the home to his million-dollar home, I don't even wait for him to get into the gate. I almost don't even want to stop, I just wanted to slow down to about 10, open his door, and kick his butt out!

But I am going to get nowhere with him IF I do that.

I am going home to try to clean sorry butt up and get ready for my date tomorrow with my lady. It was tough enough to explain to her last time about some minor cuts and bruises, I am going to level with her, and tell her the truth. What is the truth? The truth is that I am a lie to her, she is the only good thing in my pathetic life, and she doesn't even know it.

Its date time, I arrive an hour early, 12 pm, I want to scope out the best seats in this place, and it might take a while for people to leave.

Coffee, I am sure she will have a tea or something like that, I had better not too much coffee, or I'll be super jittery ::::)

1:15, She is either late, or she is no-showing me. She is not that cruel, or unkind, she is too sweet to not show up.

1:30, Her tea is getting cold, and so is my hope that she is going to make it.

2 pm, I am now officially stood-up, I got to go get the musician, and I am NOT going to be in a GOOD mood.

We will get back to the musician, his story can wait. It's a good story, but I have to skip ahead to my next appointment with her, I gotta get some closure here.

I wait impatiently in her waiting room. It is a week after she no-showed me, and I am still kind of angry. I am going to keep myself composed, but I am hurt, angry and confused.

Receptionist "It's your time now." I got the sense that she actually knew who I was this time, I think I am messed now.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Her, the sweetest creature I have even seen. "Good afternoon, how are you feeling today?" She says with a sly grin.

ME, afraid to speak, and afraid of what she knows "Not bad actually...well not great actually, I mean I am here, again."

Her "Yes you are. Do you feel like we have been making progress over the past 2 years or so? I mean we have been seeing each other every 2 weeks for a long time, and I am not sure we are making progress. Do you feel like we are making progress?"

Me, once again she must be baiting me, she knows what I am, who I am, and that I have been lying to her since day one. "Doctor, we were going to meet up for coffee last week...what happened?" I say meekly, she has such great power over me.

Her "Ya, ya, it's disappointing when you put your trust in someone, then they let you down, week after week. You see them every other week for 2 years, week after week, disappointment after disappointment. You have hope for them that they will show up, but someone else keep showing up in their place, even though you know that the person you are waiting for will someday show up... but they never do..."

Ok, she just killed me, I am breaking on the inside. The "date" was a lesson in humility, revenge for the person I pretended to be, week after week.

Me "I am sorry, I just..."

Her "are a coward? A lying fraud? You have been coming here for 2 years pretending to be someone else, WHY?"

Me "I, I, I have to go...I am sorry." And I stand up with my tail between my legs and start to walk out.

Her "I can't see you again..." she says with great pain. "Either in this room or anywhere else."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Me, I just walk out, I don't look at a single face all the way to my car. I hit my steering wheel while I sit there for 15 minutes. What the hell have I done, what the hell have I done? I have hurt my angel, she didn't deserve this, it is ALL my fault, and I have messed up the best thing I ever had, even though it was fake.

You know there are moments in life when you turn your back and run, take your punishment, and you just walk away. I mean I should just walk away, move on and LIVE with IT.

Live in shame, go further down the downward spiral, and ignore the goodness in my crappy life.

F this crap, it's now or NEVER baby! I get out of my car, I storm back towards her office, and I walk into the reception area, she stands up to stop me, and says "You can't go in there!" I don't even look at her, and I storm into her room, and if the door was locked, I would have kicked it down!

She is sitting on her desk, and she has teary eyes, like she had been crying since I left.

I look at her and say "Ok, you got me, I ain't sure how, but ya have figured it all out, I ain't sorry."

Me "The reason I have been lying to ya, lying to keep seeing you is because I want to see you, I wanted to see you every day for the rest of my life. I am not sure what that means, and I am sure ya never want to see me again, but I am in love with you, and I have been since the first night I met you at that conference in Denver 3 years ago. You probably ain't got a memory of me, but I remember ya, and I can't get you out of my mind. Maybe ya know who I am, or you think you do, or what I do, maybe less than the full truth, but the ONLY truth is that I want to see YOU again...I ain't sorry for lying, I am just sorry to be hurtin ya, you don't deserve this bullcrap."

Me "Just meet me for coffee, and let me explain. If nothing else, give me the chance to make this right, then you can decide to never see me again, and I WILL accept it."

Her "I am sorry I can't. Your life is complete chaos, if you can even call it your life, do you even know where your life starts and your work ends? The lines are so blurred that there is no separation between the two, do you even realize that? You have been pretending to be someone else so long, you don't even know who you really are, do you?"

Her "You are going down a very dark path, and I don't want to be involved with it." Then with a lot more anger "A fake name, fake job, fake clients, fake stresses....you are a total fraud, and I can NOT see you again, GET OUT!" Pointing towards the door. Then with great pain, sorrow, and almost rehearsed. "You are a good person, but you need to leave, and Never come back."

And without missing a beat, I turn and walk the out... CRAP!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Now its time for the musician. I leave her office, I AM GOING TO BE ANGRY AT MYSELF, WHAT THE HELL HAVE I DONE??? I PUNCH THE STEERING WHEEL SO MANY F-ING TIMES MY HANDS START TO BLEED.

I have to calm myself down, maybe I'll get another shot with her, after she calms down, and maybe I'll see her again?

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Hours later, it's time for the musician, I get to his place 20 mins early, I am pretty much always prompt. I wait, wait, and wait. He is either 15 mins late, or he is not coming out.

Too bad for him because I am coming into his house to look for him, and no locked door will stop me!

I search every room in his place, no one home, I search the entire grounds, no one home, I search every garage and vehicle, no one home. Little bastard bailed on me. It's time to put out my own personal APB – all-points-bulletin, meaning I text in a mass text all the bouncers at the places he goes, bars, restaurants, strip clubs, etc...Everywhere he frequents.

I send another mass text to some of his friends I got to know while doing my leg work when he was in rehab, his body-guard, agent, PR puke, and his mother, everyone I know he contacts regularly. The one person I hesitate and decide not to involve is Jessie, his Jessie.

She has not spoken to him in 4 years, and she would be heartbroken, again. Then she would be caught up in his bull-crap life, again. Plus he has no idea I even know about her, it took a lot of digging to find her, his one true love, his best year, his best music, his clean and clear year. He also has no idea he has a son...you see, I am not savin the musician's life, I am savin his sons.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Hour later I get a hit, bar district downtown. A bouncer I know spotted him across the street going into a strip club, and that he looked all messed up. Once again, I am breaking a lot of ethical rules by confronting him all high and crap. I am also going to break actual laws by forcing him into my vehicle if he puts up a fight. I am pretty sure he knows not to mess with me, but he is pretty messed up, so, say what say what, anything can happen:)

I bolt downtown to pick up his sorry butt, a little excitement and challenge in my evening, but all part of getting him on track.

After circling the block for an hour I see him stumble out of the strip club and go to hail a cab. I speed up and cut off the cab, and he hops into the back. I pull out before he realizes that he is not in a cab, ha!

Him "What the hell?"

Me "Hello sunshine, did you miss me? You missed our session earlier today, consider this a makeup session...First we are going to establish some ground rules, then we are going to get some food and coffee, then I'll take you home and we can pick up where we left off, tomorrow, say 2 pm?"

Him, looking for me to stop at a red light so he can hop out. But sunshine, I have seen every trick before, and I have a system of not slowing down below 20, meaning he can't get out, unless he wants to take a big chance jumpin out of a moving car, only a dumbbutt would do that!

Him, a bit later, laid back, almost accepting that he is going for a ride. "Hey man, why don't you get a hobby, girlfriend, or a life? Why do you have to come and ruin my night, what is wrong with you man?"

Me, I snap, lose it, my fragile connection between actions and consequence breaks because this little puke, HE MESSED WITH THE WRONG GUY TONIGHT. I slam on the breaks and jump out. I drag him out to the sidewalk, kickin and screamin, and I pull out my fist and hold it ready to smash his face.

Me "HOBBY? YOU ARE MY F-ING HOBBY! YOU LITTLE PUKE, ALL THAT INFLUENCE YOU HAVE, ALL THE GOOD IN THIS WORLD YOU COULD BE DOING, ALL THE PEOPLE YOU COULD BE INSPIRING! THE CHANGE IN THIS WORLD YOU COULD BECOME! AND YOU ARE OUT GETTING ALL MESSED UP, LOOKIN AT NAKED SKANKS, AND YOU STINK LIKE SWEATY BALLS n BUTT!!! YOU ARE MY HOBBY, NOW GET YOU STUFF TOGETHER OR END UP IN THE DITCH."

I point to a large dark ditch just beyond the sidewalk. "What you don't know is that there a lot of people who need you, care of you, and Need you to be a complete person and not a complete waste of life. You could be so much bigger than your music, your bullcrap persona, your tabloid bullcrap life, YOU COULD BE SOMETHING GREATER THAN YOU." I get back into my car and take a minute to calm the hell down. I've got to get it together, or I am going to drive this car off a cliff! He gets in, into the front this time, and says something important and useful to me.

Him "I want to get better...and I need your help getting my...my girl back."

Me "This is step number one, welcome to therapy, I'll work with you now, and we will FIX this."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Loral calls me the next morning before I am supposed to go get the musician. She tells me the usual messages, nothing much new there, then she says "Jane is back in rehab...

She fell out in Paris, and they shipped her back for 30 days." That name, Jane, and her situation hits me like a ton of bricks. I thought she had conquered her demons and was livin a good life, finally.

If I had a daughter, it would be Jane. I met her when she was 14, she was just getting famous in modeling and was just about to start doing the overseas shows, that is when I stepped into her life, but that was a while ago.

Her mother was one of these "my daughter is famous, so that means that I am famous" types, total witch.

Her father was a good man at heart but had his demons....drugs, alcohol, women, too many addictions to sort out while treating his daughter, plus her parents had been separated since Jane was young.

Me "What the hell, when did this happen? How long has she been there?"

Then more bricks hit me. Loral "Three weeks ago, and she has been in rehab for almost 2 weeks. She is refusing to do treatment, group sessions, or even getting out of bed. They are really worried about her, and her Mom decided to call you."

Me "Well no s, idiots, dropping her in rehab is like dropping her in a lifeboat in the middle of the F-ing ocean! Where is she?" Loral give me the details, and my mind is racing, figuring out a way to get to her as quickly as possible. She is out of state, about a day's drive. I'll have to get there soon or she will starve herself to death. They probably don't know her history, all the suicide attempts, all the starving, all the times she had to be force-fed. She might just be another skinny model to them, but she is MY responsibility. Her father died a few years ago, and I swore to him that I would take care of her, and I ain't feelin like burying her this week.

I turn around, I am not getting to the office today, and I drive very fast to the musician home. I knock and ring his doorbell for 15 minutes, then finally his agent answers, he looks pretty messed up, like he was up all night, not sure what that means yet.

I storm into his room, and he is sitting his bed, lookin like a lost puppy. I knew he was broken, but I didn't think he was this lost!

Me "We are going on a road trip, I can't say when we will be back, but we have to leave, NOW!"

Musician "Are you kidding me, I have stuff to do, I can't just leave, I am very busy."

Me "I am going to open up here, I need your help, I have a client in crisis, and I am going to lose her if I don't get to her soon. And I mean to lose her to her demons, and she will die without my help. Plus we will need the time to talk, and you need a break from your life!" Also, which I don't tell him, is that Jessie, his Jessie, is willing to see him if he is clean and sober. I also convinced her to let him know about his son, I said he had a right to know. It's an extra half-day drive, but when a crisis happens, I got to face it.

Him "But..."

Me "But NOTHING, you want to get better, or do you want to sit in this room for days, then finally give in, get all messed up, then feel bad and sorry for yourself? I can help you. You want me to help you. But my help has conditions, and this is one of them. Are you worth my time? Do you deserve a second chance with someone you love, or do you deserve to live a pathetic lonely, crappy life?"

He obviously does trust me, I am never sure why people would be so willing to give up their freedom to me, a complete stranger, and total butthole? Maybe they are just so desperate that they would trust anyone at this point? Maybe they trust people too much, and that is part of their problem. Or maybe my intensity makes them trust me, maybe they feel my passion, and they finally feel cared for? Or maybe they are sick of having their freedom? Sick of getting what they want when they want it, tired of getting into clubs, restaurants, tired of having women all over them, tired of having so much money that it poisons their souls.

They are all my children, needing me to guide them to a better life and direction, instead of livin on the razor edge of reality and death.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

We drive for hours without him saying a word, and the first lesson of therapy is "Don't speak first" Make the silence so palatable that they have so much to talk about that they explode into conversation when they have had enough.

Him, with incredible sincerity "I am sorry I had you beaten up. You seem like an ok guy, and I know you are just trying to help."

Me "Thanks, but I am not an "ok" guy, and I am just here to help, plus I deserve a good butt-kickin once and a while. Now tell me about your life? Pretend I know nothing about you, nothing about your music, celebrity, tabloid bullcrap, and this is the first time I have ever met you. But don't talk to me like a reporter or some friend, I don't give a crap, I am not interested in what you want others to perceive your life to be, I ONLY care about what your life ACTUALLY is! Now talk, and don't stop."

Him, after a long pause, he is either trying to decide what to disclose, or what he wants me to believe about him. You see everyone wears a mask, and often people wear different masks for different people. He has worn the mask of bad-boy celebrity, addict, in and out of rehab, jail, etc...for years. I wonder if he knows who he really is, or remembers who he was that year he had with Jessie, was in love, and wrote beautiful music? Not that he cares about our relationship, but he might have too much pride to actually be a real person for a minute...it seems like we have that in common.

My mind goes again to my women, my doctor, my lovely...my mind goes to how I messed up with her so bad, how I kept livin a lie with her, and how I should have just admitted my love to her from day ONE!

Him "I write music, and I perform...I like what I do..." with pause and almost second-guessing himself to actually be open "but I find it hard and stressful sometimes, you know? The fans, the people around me, the money, the drugs, the women, like I can make one call and get any drug I want, delivered in a few hours no questions asked. I can be with any woman I want, and I hate it! I am not doing too good man...the pressure eats at me...I can't go anywhere without being swarmed, autographs, photos, people asking me stupid questions, questioning who I am, the kind of person that I am."

Him "Reporters following me around day and night, going through my garbage. People writing bullcrap stories after interviewing my "friends", their all just lies and liars. My family only being there for me because of my money. Or because of the people I can introduce them to, or take them places."

Him "People around me stealing my money, talking me into different investments, discussing different career moves, what interviews and TV shows to do. Like I am a musician, I don't care about anything else, and I don't know what they are talking about most of the time."

Him "Everyone obsessing with me day and night, I just want to be left alone. So I use, a bit, I use to get away from it all, it's my only escape...I guess my other escape is when I am writing music...I find peace in that."

Me "Is there anyone in your life that doesn't use you, or that you feel yourself around?"

A bit a bait, come here and take the bait, say her name, open up and become a human livin on earth again! "There has to be one good person in your life, everyone needs someone."

Him, he tears up, and says "Ya, I had a girl, once. She was perfect, smart, and loved me for me. She asked me, no she begged me to not go on tour...She begged me to just live with her and write music. I started building a sound studio in our home, just doing my thing from home, and things were good for a while. I LOVED HER, BUT I MESSED UP."

Me "How?" Even though I know the answer, I ask anyways, knowing is one thing, and understanding is another. He is re-walking the road of his life in his head, and I need him to stay on track to get him the peace he deserves.

Him "I toured, too much money to turn it all down, and I started using again, I just couldn't keep up. I needed help keeping up with all the interviews, shows, parties, women, rehearsals, you know I would have died if I had to do that all sober! Then I came back, and she had left me. Someone told her I was using again, that I had been unfaithful to her, and...I broke her heart..."

Me "You are not a sum of your actions, you are not your money, you are not your fame, you are not your sports car, you are NOT what people believe YOU to Be. You are someone with an incredible gift, incredible talent, and most importantly, you can become someone special to another person. You can have a human connection with this chick, and you can become something greater."

Me "I find that people get too caught in livin their bullcrap lives, that they are just living bullcrap. Their bullcrap cars, houses, jobs, vacations, families...it's all for show. They are not living. Whether they are fillin my car with gas, flippin my burger, or singin on my radio, they are just shadows or a reality that they are all struggling to accept, and fillin their lives with "things" instead of something that really matters."

Me "What matters?"

Him "Are you asking me? Are you asking me what matters? I don't know what matters, but I did feel really good with her. That year was the best ever. She was my everything, and I ruined it."

Me "What matters?"

Him, with anger "Why do you keep asking me? I don't know what matters? I have ruined everything good in my life, and now I am in a car with you, going God knows where. I thought you might have some answers for me man, but all you have is questions, what the Hell man?"

Me, matching his anger "WHAT MATTERS?"

Him "Let me out, I don't have time for this bullcrap. You are just like everyone else, you are not here for me, and you are here to get something from me."

Me, I reach over and me fights my finger away, and I push my finger right into his chest, and he tries to fight my finger away, but I am way too strong. And with my single finger I point to his chest, and say with fierce intensity "This matters." I take my finger away, and I don't say another word, it's his turn to talk.

Him, after a few minutes, he starts to cry, finally letting out his emotional pain from the pain he caused his woman, his Jessie, his love...I needed to get him to a place where he could grieve for the pain he caused someone else. I needed him to be accountable and face his consequences. He is a good kid, an incredible talent, a world-famous musician, rich and recognized all over the world, and he is crying in the front seat of my car.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

After a while of silence, and after he puts his sunglasses back on, and stares out the window for what seemed like hours, I say "She is willing to see you again. After we see my friend and get her straightened out, we will go see her." Now I was expecting him to be excited, ask questions about it, ask me how I even knew about her, ask me the details, but he just sits silently for another long stretch. He is either trying to decide what to say to her, to me, if anything, or he is so overcome with fear to see her again that he is just trying to absorb what I just said.

Him, again after a pause that seemed hours long "My only question is why does she want to see me?"

Me "I don't know, you will have to ask her your dam self."

Then after a few more hours of driving, we arrive at the rehab centre, SunnySide Rehab and Addition Center, nice courtyard, and nice cedars:)

I have been here a few times in my life. I have had a long hard road in my recovery, and I have seen some clients here, I wonder if the head doctor is still here.

I leave the musician in the lobby with some food and something to read. "I'll be a few hours, DO NOT LEAVE. Then we will hit the road again, ok?" He just nods, and stretches out. He is all alone in the waiting room, and he needs some time to think about himself. I enter into the nurse's area, and hand the secretary my number, and I say quietly "If he leaves this room, call me immediately! Thanks." She just says ok.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Now back to my Jane, she has refused all food, treatment, and visits for the past week, she probably weighs 90 f-ing pounds now. I talk to her doctor quickly, he fills me in.

He is a good honest guy, he just wants to help, but he is not sure how to help at this

point. He tells me she has only has till tomorrow before they will force-feed her, that is if she doesn't kill herself first. They don't know it yet, but they are playing with fire, and she will strangle herself with her IV if left for a minute.

I go back to the nurse's station "Has she been drinking anything lately? Water, coffee, anything?"

Nurse "She drinks orange juice, but is refusing to get out of bed to get it. Doctor's orders for the past few days, she has to get out of bed to get her OJ. She also said recently, that she does not get out of bed for less than $2500 and that anything else is a waste of her time, that is almost a direct quote."

Me "I'll bring her some." And without hesitating, I go to the fridge, pour a big tall glass of OJ-goodness:)

Nurse, after exchanging a few looks with the other nurses in the room, and as I am walking towards her room, "That is against the doctor's orders...You can't just come in here and do what you want mister!" Then, I assume, she picks up the phone and either calls the doctor or security. Either way, I only have a few minutes before this intervention is over, so I better make it count. I pick up my feet a bit to give myself a few more seconds.

If I wasted my time explaining my approach, getting permission to ask her doctor to do it, her doctor calling her agent for a reference, asking her mom for the ok, going back and forth, probably not getting an answer-back today, bla, bla, bla, logistics, STUPID politics, she is going to die before I can get anywhere with all that stuff.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I walk carefully into her room, don't want to startle her. Her room is bright, holy it's bright in here! Obviously, another ploy to get her out of bed, "let's leave the windows open and all the lights on, then she HAS to get out of bed", amateurs. Man, it's BRIGHT

in Here, there is a wicked afternoon light shining right into her room almost cooking her slowly, must be like 95 in here. But she ain't' a normal patient, she is a tough nut to crack, and she would rather cook and starve herself and die, then give in.

She is half-sleeping, head covered with her blankey, hoping to put up a physical wall to avoid anyone coming into her room. She is probably really weak, and I pity her.

I do love her, not like love from a man to a woman, but love like she is my niece, or neighbor's kid I watched grow up. My approach will have to be swift, patient, but I also have a fire burning in the waiting room.

Me "Good afternoon sunshine" I do talk in a very caring tone, maybe that is enough for her to recognize my voice, but be confused with the caring nature in which I am speaking at her, that ain't my way!

She does not budge, "I have your Orange Juice, freshly squeezed from the Orange Orchard out back." There ain't' no orchard out back, there be a forest, which she may or may not know.

"Do you want to sit up and have some?" I wait for about 30 seconds, and her body is tense and rigid.

She is probably trying to decide what to do, if I will go away, if I am actually here, or if she is confused about who she thinks is standing over her bed. If she actually thinks it is me, she is probably wondering how far I will go, and what I am capable of.

She does know me well, she heard the story of what I did to her agent, her first agent.

At first, she did not believe that anyone would go to such lengths to protect her...that someone would do something so crazy, but she did not know ME that well then, now she does.

I pour the delicious OJ goodness over her head and step back, again, I only have a few minutes to get her out of bed before security hits the room, so I gotta make this time count!

She "WHAT THE HELL!!!" She jumps up in her bed, she be not quite out of bed, but it's only been a minute, and I called her doctor in advance and bet him I could get her out of bed within 5 minutes. He be a lot older than me, and said that "he did not want to gamble a patients safety and well-being for a simple bet" f that, LIFE IS A GAMBLE!

She "You?" Very confused, weak and almost hopeful, like she just got a shot of fear juice. "What the HELL, why are you here?"

Me "I am here to save you, you know starvation is a really crappy way to die, you should know, what is this your fifth-time trying this? These other people don't know you, BUT I KNOW YOU. Now get out of bed, and let's get you cleaned up!" after a long pause, she puts one foot down. Maybe I gave her hope by showing up, maybe I proved that someone actually wants her to live, besides all the liars here, or maybe I am fulfilling a dying promise to her father that I would always look after her, "daddy did love me."

I help her to the bathroom, and the nurse bursts into the room, very agitated, pissed off, but surprised to see her out of bed. Me "Good, perfect timing, Nurse Wilson" I cheat and look at her name badge "This young lady would like to get bathed and go for a walk around the gardens with me. Can you ensure that she will be ready in 30 minutes, I have many things to attend to today."

Holy crap that was hard to act so proper, but it was actin to not make the nurse more upset, and to prove to her that I am a professional.

Wow, what I really wanted to say was, "YO, b-face, if you can get your Fat butt here so fast, can you get her skinny butt cleaned up, put her sorry butt in a wheelchair so I can wheel her around for a bit, you know because she can't get out of the chair and walk away. Then I have her full attention for an hour or so, then I'll get her back to your bullcrap therapy, and I'll be back in a few days to sort this stuff out! Also, you can go back to your union chair, with your union coffee, your union donut, and your union lazy butt growing job!" Sometimes, just sometimes, I filter what I am going to say, and I talk like a real person, otherwise, I would have no friends, instead of the one I have.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I go back to the waiting room, I half expect the musician to have gone, but he is sittin there, like a lost puppy, reading a fashion magazine, what the hell man, Fashion magazine?

Me "Coffee, you look like hell."

Him "sure, I also need something to eat, like a sandwich or something." He is going to need a lot more than a sandwich, kid's looks like he weighs 100 pounds, I think forearm weights more than his thigh!

Me "Sure, we only got a bit of time, then we have to go for a walk with a friend, then we will hit the road again."

Him "When are we going to do our therapy stuff, you know like some sessions or something?"

Me "Man, we are doing them! Now let's get our stuff together, then we can get back on the road."

A bit later we be walkin, the world-famous musician, me, the butthole, and Jane, my little Janey. I leave the musician in the middle of the gardens, a beautiful botanical garden cared for by the patients. It's a sanctuary, and part of their healing process in their therapy, I couldn't agree more! It is wonderful that they put these crack addicts to work, and get them to do something productive, and interactive with nature, the real world, instead of all the superficial bullcrap, that is why I love this place, and why I am clean today, well sort of clean;)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Just me and Jane now, like old times.

Now the promise I made to her father, sure he could have just been putting some comfort in himself by putting the responsibility to lookin after, or keepin an eye on his little girl. Or he could have trusted that I would always put her interest first, and not ever selfishly take anything from her, unlike her evil mother.

Or maybe he understood on some deep level that if I took that responsibility, that it would go to my grave! Maybe he understood just how serious I took that promise, and that I would do anything. I mean anything to fulfill that promise, no matter how unethical, illegal, or at risk or great personal, or professional risk.

But screw it, I ain't got a long time to live or anything, plus the only person I am ever going to let down is myself....and maybe that beautiful creature I am in love with, remember? The one who rejected me? Maybe that was just anger, and maybe she will come around, but who will give first? Will I have the balls to see her again? Or will she have the empathy to call me for another coffee? Or maybe she is right, I am chaos, and like a tornado, and she does not want to get caught up in it, she might lose a shoe in the wind ;)

Me "So what the hell Jane?"

Her "do you always have to start every conversation like that?" She is half-laughing, like a kid hearing a parent swore for the first time. "You can be nicer though, you know?"

Her "Some therapists don't swear or be such buttholes to their patients, especially when they have been patients for such a long time. And no therapist would ever pour orange juice on a patients head, I don't any normal person would even do that!"

Me "Smoke?" It be more of a statement than a question, she's is a model, of course she smokes!

Her "I am not doing ok, ok. Thing are crazy right now, sorry.."

Me "Why the hell?"

Her, with anger "What is your f-ing problem! Why did you come all the way here? Who let you know I was even in here?"

Me "Why do you always ask the same questions, to which you know how to interpret yourself? You are a little intelligent biscuit, and you are too smart for this stuff, I mean what are you doin to yourself?"

After a long pause.

Me "So what happened Jane to trigger this? Last time I saw you, you were doin fine. You were working lots, traveling, CLEAN and Sober, what changed?"

Her "I did a show in London, and I was working with some girls...They hated me and wanted to see me fall down on the runway. They cut one of the shoes that I was wearing at the heel, and I fell...onstage" through tears "in London, at a show...I was so embarrassed."

Me "Were you hurt, or just your ego?"

Her "Sore ankle, some bruises, I got a doctor at a walk-in to give me something for the pain, nothing big. Then I got some more, then more, then, you know, I started using every day, like I used to."

Me "So, it kind of replayed a lot of bullying at self-bullying that you would do to yourself? It's like hearing your mom's voice over and over again in your head, right?" Here comes the father inside me, and this is my pretend daughter needing a good talkin to.

Me "You are not in control of what other people think or do towards you. You ARE a good person, and you do add value to the world, but you have to believe that you DO instead of that you DON'T. Without getting all sappy, I do believe in you. I met you when you were a scared poop-less little kid, what were you 14? Just introduced to the ugly world and the ugly world of modeling all at the same time. Fame, money, people wanting you to be around, wear their clothes, start a trend, all that stuff?" now here comes more father-tone, sorry, but she has to hear this "You are not making your parents proud. You have a gift, and you are squandering it. You could be doing so much better, what is going on?"

Her "I just can't handle the pressure, the shoots, the fame, acting perfect, looking perfect, always being "ON". I am getting older, and these girls are almost 10 years younger, and I am past my prime, and it's getting harder to look and act that way, I feel so fake most days. More and more makeup every day, more pills, and less to eat, it's horrible. I have been thinking about getting work done, you know, get some wrinkles lasered out. Maybe get a boob-job, start another career path, and give up modeling."

ME "Who the HELL is going to hire you, and to do what? That is a bad path, and the path of the pathetic. That path leads to either selling your body or your soul. You have a life outside of this messed up world, and you have the power to get out of it, you just have to walk through that door. You don't need the money, and you are a smart girl and can make a livin doing other things, this is not your life! I am going to assume that your GP has got you on some anti-depressants, "mood stabilizers" or "happy pills", right? Also, you probably have a second or even a third stash of pills somewhere right?"

Me "Let me guess, your Agent, no your Mom has them, just in case. So she is treatin you like dirt, taking your money to spend on herself, makin you feel like dirt, and then "helping" you by getting you stoned off prescription drugs so you can keep working? WHAT THE HELL???" I am going to take her complete silence as an agreement to everything I just said, she is way too witchy to not yell disagreement in my face, but all I get it silence, like a silent acknowledgment to the bullcrap world she lives in, and how hopeless her little life is, and how little control she has over anything.

Me "F this stuff, after I leave, I am calling you agent for a termination agreement of all your current contracts."

Her "What? You can't do that!"

Me, with extreme professionalism. "Actually I entitled to act in Your best interest, always. Since I am your long term therapist, and currently have the right to take you out of here, I can make that call. I also could get your mother's permission to do what I feel is going to benefit you. And when she disagrees with me, if she disagrees that you need to live a normal life, because SHE is used to the lifestyle, I will blackmail her into thinkin that she will be exposed to one of those expose shows. You know the ones who pick apart the life of a famous person and make assumptions about why they are so messed up. Then the expose will focus on the controlling witch of a mother who shops more than spending time with her fragile daughter. How the witch mother left her fragile daughter in the care of a pedophile agent, and let him take her all over the world, and use her every way his sick mind wanted! Maybe there will even be a small part in which a very handsome, young, white knight stormed into the castle one day, slew the evil pedophile agent dragon, saved the princess from her evil step-mother, and sent her to live happily, forever after?

Her "OK, settle down, that is not the way that all happened, and you are not a handsome young knight, you are a handsome old butthole...but you did save me, and I was so happy when I never had to see that monster again." As she shutters. Me, regaining my composure, she does not need my anger right now, she only needs my empathy, or my heart, I think I still got one in there. "You need to be doing an average life for a while, you know like normal people do? It's going to be a grind, you know getting back to normal, but you ain't a lost cause yet, but you gotta eat something before they stick food down your dam throat, ok? Now, I'll check-in, in a few weeks, so I figure you can gain, what 15 pounds by then?"

Her, showing her emotional age, unfortunately, immature for her actual age "I am not gaining 5 pounds unless they start feeding my ice-cream 3 times a day!"

Me "Vanilla or chocolate?"

After a bit, I wheel her back to her room and go over "the Plan" with her doctor. I can tell he is pissed off, but he can recognize that she even looks healthier now, and more hopefully, she got a glow now, instead of lookin like hell.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Now back to my prize, the famous musician. He be sittin on a bench by the still creek, just staring at the flat creek. I wonder if he is thinkin that he be like a feather landing on the creek, just sittin there, staring up at the sky helpless and without the power to get himself out. Or maybe he is thinkin he is just water in the creek, addiction all around him, and letting the creek consume him. Or maybe he is the creek having this little cloud of heaven landing on him, joining with him, and becoming part of all he is. Maybe my dam mind is goin off the rails again, and I should use "my tools" ha, ha, ha :) maybe him and I should be getting high again, but that did not work out so well last time...but it was fun dude!

Me, speaking like a British chap, some familiarity to his past maybe? "Hallo, shall we depart, and make haste, dates to keep, people to inquisite, things of that sort."

He is obviously disturbed from some deep thinking, and a little annoyed "Why did we stop here?"

Me, little cocky "I had to keep a promise, you know, responsibility and stuff of that sort."

Him "This place reminds me of another rehab place I have been, years back. It was the place I went to right after Jessie kicked me out. I went there to try to impress her, show her that I could change, but she would not believe me. It's like something inside her changed like she had become a completely new person like she was completely responsible all of a sudden. She would not even see me..."

Me "Does that make you sad, to visit that pain? I mean she probably didn't give you another chance for good reason, you know, history. And here we are again. Is it pain you are masking with your crappy drugs or is it something else?"

Him, real him, not rock-god, not butthole musician, but the real him is speaking. "I just can't handle being famous...I bloody hate it."

Me "Not everyone is cut out for it, lots of pressure, temptations and all that stuff. Too much money, power, and public obsession corrupts even the purest of souls. You are a good person, I knew it the first time I met you, but that was years ago, and you probably don't remember. Do you remember this place being like the place you went, or is it the place you went?" I can see the light hittin his face, like de-javu, or some bullcrap like that. He was in so much pain when he came here all those years ago that he didn't even re-

member where he was. Or that there was another patient he met briefly and became friends with. That patient had a successful, but obsessive career, kind of like his music, that corrupted his soul. That patient was only here for a few days with him before that patient "graduated" and was set free to get back into society, set free to chase down his patients, threaten agents, get punched in the stomach by big black body-guards, stood up by the woman of his dreams, and all that fun stuff:)

Me "We better get some sleep, then hit the road tomorrow morning, she said she would only see you for a few hours tomorrow afternoon and that's it. So you had better figure out what the hell you are goin to say, and how you are goin to make it right. She will probably NEVER give you another chance, but she will at least give you a few hours to explain. She is NOT lookin for money, DO NOT even offer, she takes care of herself, she be a smart cracker. She is lookin for closure, and to put the past behind her. She also wants to help you move on. I told her about your recent issues, and she wanted to help. Maybe she still loves you, but you messed up, and sometimes there is NO redoing the past."

After he marinades on that a bit, I get up and start walkin towards the exit, and he follows, lookin around, trying to remember if he had been here before, or if all the rehab places looked all the same.

The next day some stuff happens, which I will get back to later, needless to say the "meeting" did not go according to his plan, but it went exactly how I figured, and EXACTLY as I PLANNED! He is even more self-destructive and angry. He expected her to jump into his arms, and for them to give love another chance, but it was too far gone, too many damages done.

But now it is ripe for the molding, and it's a day and a half drive with me, the butthole, who is going to get him on track. I planned to get him to take a year off from touring, fire that pussy agent of his, and to rebuild his life. I also planned some smaller shows, with his new music he would write in that year, and he would re-become famous, which is a hell of alot harder than becoming famous the first time!

It will be hard, but if he loves her, and wants another chance with her, he will do it for her, and I will help him for his son's sake. Again, he does not even know about his son, Oliver, what a funny name, but it's some homage to his heritage, but he has no idea that little Oliver even exists.

All he ever said about it was, "She gained weight." Dumbbutt, she just carried your baby, you turd! And is now raising him, while working and not taking nothing from NO ONE. He is so dumb, he had a diamond of a woman, with one of the most beautiful souls this I ever met, and he threw it away. What a waste!

But if he knew the entire picture, he would be crushed, I mean more crushed than he already was. In the end, she would not give him another chance, but he did not deserve one.

She viewed it as a chance to get closure on him, justify her decision to not involve him in her life, and in the life of her sons. She wanted to check him out to confirm in her mind that he is still a piece of crap, not like the guy she fell in love with, but the guy she kicked out after dozens of sluts while he was on tour, not to mention all the drugs.

He is not in a space when he can give himself a chance, but I will get him there, it's my delusion...

Me, "So we need to get back, you got a show to do."

Him, "What the HELL, you said I wasn't doing any shows anytime? What the hell are you doing?"

Me, I don't know half the time, I am just figuring crap out as I go, "I figured a small show with a small band, your older songs, you know, get back to basics. I figured you needed that."

Him, obviously anxious to talk to me, and get his therapy started. "What about therapy, don't we actually need to talk about things? You know, get myself better?"

Me, with great annoyance, "F THERAPY!!! WHAT THE HELL DO YOU THINK WE HAVE BEEN DOING?"

Him "All we have done is driven around, gotten food, shot the poo for a while, we have just been hanging out."

Me "Sometimes I get further ahead when we are just talking, but I am not your friend, al-though I do like you." Then I say with half a heart "I'd like you a lot better if you stopped playing such crap, and played something that mattered. I mean God, your al-bums have sucked butt for years."

Him, finally pissed off, and full of anger, FINALLY!!! "My music is MY MUSIC, I don't play it for you, I don't even like you. I don't care if you like it or not, F the fans, F the papers, F the reviews, F the Money, F that life, the music matters, nothing else F does."

I love it:) pure passion, pure truth, and something that I agree with, finally the British prick put up a fight. Maybe I can funnel his intensity into some therapeutic music.

Me "Ok, let's do some music then, instead of this bull-crap you have been living. You will do a good show, if you care, instead of being so high you can't even see the crowd! Now let's get our stuff together, and get you back for that show, because in your crappy life, at least the show might matter a bit." And just like that, I told him. Maybe a bit too spiteful, but he needs tough-love!

Me "and no one likes me...I am a force, like the wind, I just exist, man, to blow stuff around."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

We drive back and say almost nothing the entire way back. He is silently hating on me

for my harsh words, and possibly angry with himself for them being so true. And I am silent because it's my plan! He is getting no remorse from me, and no kind

words, no encouragement, he needs to stew on my words, make them resonate, and

slowly digest into his soul for maximum absorption effective. It's like I stuck him with a long needle into his heart, and it bypassed all the cancer caused by drugs, self-doubt, anger, addiction, self-loathing...straight to the heart of what matters in his heart.

After a day and a half of silence, he speaks, HE SPEAKS, finally, I thought he was such a stubborn butthole that would be silent all the way back, but HE SPEAKS.

We are sitting in a diner in the middle of butt-poo-no-where, ordering steak and eggs at 2 in the afternoon, yum. Him, after studying the menu for almost 10 minutes straight. "Do you think my music matters?" he says quietly, without looking up, really wanting to hear an answer.

Me, that ain't no loaded question...."That ain't no loaded question there kid. No music matters, and all music matters, nothing matters, but which matters to the listener...Now you have to decide if you are the listener, the words, or the music? Music is life, your life, this crappy thing called LIFE, and you are your music, now write something that F-ING MATTERS!" and without skipping a beat, I toss a pad of paper and a pen, and I go back to minding my own business.

Waitress comes and I order for both of us, and after I finish my plate, and sit there for another half an hour, I start ordering coffee, it's going to be a long night. I think I answered his question with enough questions that he will write a grand opus, one that will leave a little mark on this world long after my butt is ash, and he be an old man for-getting his own name.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Now he be writing, and writing, writing like a dam fool, just writing for almost 2 hours, and I say we need to get going. Then he is writing like a mad man all the way back, and into the night, so much so that I took a long detour, and he did not even notice:) I drove as long as I could get away with just so he could explode him dam mind onto that paper, literally blowing his literary brains out, literally.

If I am not good at anything else in the world, I am good at ripping away at the hard shell every person wears when they go out into the world. Then I am the butthole, you know, the good kind of butthole, that smashes their hard candy shell, and I get to the chocolate goodies on the inside.

Every person in this world has a gift or talent, could be kindness, beauty, artistic, acting, honesty, selflessness, athletic, or in this kid's case, his gift are his words. Now, words are just letters on a page, arranged in some kind of order that makes some sense to the person who reads them. But there are a rare few who can put letters together in such a way that causes intense emotional reactions in the reader of those letters. Because those letters create words, and those words create sentences, and those sentences matter, even if the butthole who wrote them doesn't. Sometimes, in even rarer instances, goodness spreads in this crappy world because some dickhead spent the time to put those letters together, and he tries to make the world a bit less crappy.

After he gets home, I get his agent to set up a small concert, and I check on him, and he is obsessively writing and testing music in his studio, in the basement of his mansion. I bring him food, and I stay long, but say very little. He is constantly trying different melodies, different rhythms, all that music crap that is foreign to me. I ain't got no clue how to make music, let alone anything anyone would want to listen to.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I attend his show, I mean I wait for him backstage; I don't want to be in the crowd. He plays all new music for 40 minutes straight, and the crowd is going ape crap.

He finishes his show with a new song, a love song called Sweet Jes, how appropriate:) It sounds like a HIT to me. Emotional, real, and very raw, bordering on agony.

After the show, I put my hand on his shoulder, and I say, with pride "I am proud of you kid."

He smiles, and goes into his dressing room after signing a bit, and doing some photos.

He is engaging with people, and he seems like he just had his best show ever!

Maybe that was enough to win back his fans, and redeem what fame he still had left.

Everyone loves a train wreck, then a triumphant return to glory, it's like seeing a friend recover from tragedy, go to rehab, then come back clean and sober, and at the top of their game...it's beautiful:)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I am in the backstage area, just hanging out, taking in the pride of being successful one more time. A little pat on my shoulder and I feel good about myself, then I see her, my angel. She must have gotten another backstage pass from that friend, or maybe she snuck in, maybe she snuck in to see if I would be here?

I just stare at her, not knowing what to do, or if I should run the opposite direction, and she starts slowly walking towards me. She is either here by chance, or maybe she took a chance to see me? Maybe I am thinking too hard, and I should just stop trying to control everything, and let something happen beyond my control. Maybe this is a vulnerability, feel icky and uncomfortable.

Her "Hi, small world. You know, you could have made another appointment."

Me "You said you never wanted to see me again."

Her "I just said that, I was so sick of your bullcrap, and I needed to give you a taste of your own medicine. You know, the same medicine you gave him. Wow, what a show, and what a change from the last show!

Me "Would you be ok, you know, if I started making appointments again?"

Her "No, I can't see you that way again... sorry. But if you wanted to go for coffee again, I'd be ok with that."

Me "What?"

Her, she cuts me off before I say anything else. "I get it now, I get you, I see what you do now, and the chaos that you live in has a purpose, even if it makes no sense. I never got it after seeing you all those time, I never got it till I saw what change really looked like."

Me "What about your boyfriend?"

Her "I never had a boyfriend, I have not had one since my divorce. But I did meet this guy at a conference once that I liked, but he was such a chicken crap that he made up a huge, complicated, lie to keep seeing me, instead of just asking me for coffee. What a pussy!"

Me "You would honor me if you let me take you for coffee, and allow me to explain who I am, what I am all about and why I do what I do... it's nice to meet you finally...............my name is...

Her, she puts her finger over my mouth, and I stop my sentence. "Tell someone who gives a sh*t."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Years later, I'd like to say that he reclaimed all of his past fame... that this new song, Sweet Jes, that it became number one... a classic song revered for decades and loved by millions... but maybe it doesn't matter. Maybe all that mattered, is that he wrote his soul out, got his life back, conquered his demons, and got to finally express his love for something.

Maybe life doesn't have a scorecard that other people can see, maybe personal redemption is priceless and without value to anyone else... maybe the only thing that matters, is... this.

The End

Years later, I'd like to say that the musician reconnected with his Jessie, and they live happily ever after...but this ain't no fairy tale.

Year after the musician had another rise and fall with fame, he was back playing smaller shows. He was clean, had been so for years, very slipped once, good job kid, he did it, not me.

Years, and years went by, and he never did get Jessie back, but, he never did meet anyone else that mattered.

Years of a content life, happy, but empty. The shows mattered, and he poured everything into them, but after...he would cry in his dressing room...hoping to get her back... but it never happened.

Years after I helped him sort his life out, he did a very small show at a bar. After the show the musician signed autographs for a while, meeting people and taking pictures. He had a new life, a good life, and he was someone to aspire to be, a real role model, you know?

Years later, the once famous-musician was now a middle-aged man, greying hair, and his boyish looks were replaced with fine lines.

A young man waits at the back of the line and he waits for almost an hour to see the musician.

It is the young man's turn, and he hesitatingly approaches the musician.

The musician "Hallo young lad, do you want a photo or autograph?"

The young man, very quietly...says "An autograph please, and can you make it out to Oliver." But he holds the small photo tight between his fingers and doesn't hand it to the musician.

The musician "Well, come on now, let me have it there son."

The young man "I was going thru some things in my mom's home...she passed away last week..."Tears swell up in the young man's eyes.

The musician, not instantly connected to the young man, and sees the pain in his eyes. "Son, I am so sorry. My mam died a few years back also, I am sorry to hear." The musician is reliving some of the pain, why? Why? It's been so long ago, why does this young man's pain hit him so hard? It's like he was on the moon playing his show, and meeting his fans, but then crash-landed back on earth going a million miles an hour. He is a human again, he is just a man, sitting there one man to another, and feeling his pain.

The musician "What was she like?"

With a pause, the young man says "...she was the most beautiful person I ever knew... It was leukemia, she never really had a chance."

The musician "I am sorry...well let me sign that, and you can get on my way." Knowing if he keeps talking to this young man, that he was about to be overwhelmed with emotion.

The young man "I found this photo in my mom's house..." then he hands the small photograph to the musician, with his shaking hand.

The musician sees himself and Jessie, his beautiful Jessie in the photo. They are a lot younger, and the photo says "Sweet Jes", written with a black sharpie.

The musician's mouth never dropped so far open as he looked at the photo, then back up to the young man, who was overcome with emotion but trying to pull himself together.

The young man "...I found this photo, and...I never knew my father...she told he was a good man, but had to work on himself before I could ever meet him...I think...I think you are my father........."
