Over My Head

Do you remember the movie ‘Days of Wine and Roses’? It was Jack Lemon, in a distinctly not-funny role, and that beautiful actress... She died very young, of some kind of cancer. When I read she had died I was shocked. I was so young myself, I didn’t know anyone who had died yet, much less of cancer...it seemed impossible. She was so beautiful. I’ll think of her name. They were husband and wife caught in an alcoholic mess of a marriage, where it all started innocently and romantically, and then unraveled into a kind of nightmare, where neither one could sober up. They had left New York City and moved to her parent’s farm, where the world seemed fresh and new and promising until they hit the bottle again...first her, and then him. I think they even burned down the greenhouse.

Try to imagine this same scenario in 1985, in Los Angeles, Venice actually, in a big house with a kidney-shaped pool out back. A handsome couple with everything to look forward to...what could go wrong? I was 30 when I met my match. We matched in so many ways, including our love of an excellent dry martini. I think some of it was about the shape of the glass, the long skinny stem with a cone sitting above. Who designed that? Some genius. It was like a wine glass, a goblet, only wide open at the top, inviting a long gaze from above where you might see an olive bouncing around or a little yellow spiral of lemon rind resting in the clear cold liquid.

I had married my boss. It seemed like a good move at the time, having just gotten out of a relationship with an artist, a conceptual artist, whose day consisted of getting up at 11, taking a run on the beach, followed by a trip to the library to do research, lunch out with friends, a nap, then off to some openings to make ‘connections’. He wanted me to accompany him, but I would have just come home from my crap job ‘designing textiles’ in a factory building downtown. What it actually involved was doing color separation for spot prints on bathing suits and t-shirts. In those days you would cut each color out of film, which was then made into a silkscreen, each color a new screen. These would be sent downstairs to the factory where some poor schmucks ran the machines that printed the fabric. The day started at 7AM, so the last thing I wanted to do was go to some art events in the evening, where the boyfriend would inevitably abandon me to fend for myself while he shmoozed with important types. Anybody would drink, don’t you think?

So the next boyfriend, who became the husband, seemed like a vast improvement….funny how life is lived by comparison. You get out of prison and find yourself a shitty apartment with a view of a brick wall, and it feels like paradise. Jesus, you can make yourself a cup of coffee in the morning! Read the paper! Pure luxury!

Not only was I thrilled with the new guy, but my parents liked him too. Mom especially liked the house with the pool. It was the life she envisioned for me...shopping and Martinis. The house was perfect for a big party, and we had many. There was a banana palm growing on the property, and we would use the big waxy leaves for display on the buffet table. The menu might be exotic...frog’s legs, deep-fried, laid out on the leaves as if they were jumping from one to another. There would be a sauce for dipping...maybe spicy peanut. And of course all kinds of cocktails. A favorite was something called ‘The Blue Moon’, made with blue curacao and vodka...a splash of pineapple juice. It was exactly the color of the pool water. I have to tell you, it never once occurred to me that any of it was about the alcohol...the buzz. A few sips and life was great. Maybe a year into the marriage we gave one particularly raucous drunken pool party, where halfway through the evening I passed out in the bed. I may have announced I needed to ‘rest my eyes’ for an hour. The ‘master suite’ had a sliding door that opened onto the patio wherein was that pool. When I came-to it was 6AM. I stumbled out of bed, confused and kind of nauseous. I needed a breath of fresh air. I quietly slid the door open, and on first view, I thought maybe I was imagining it...pink shapes floating in the blue water. As my eyes adjusted I realized that there were about 50 hot dogs floating in that pool. I had missed all of it. I stood there for a long time, trying to digest what my life had become. It hadn’t been written yet, but there is a great Talking Heads song called ‘Once in a Lifetime’ that goes ‘This is not my beautiful house. This is not my beautiful wife. How did I get here? My God, what have I done?’ They also talk about water flowing all around, about the money being gone. It’s a prophecy after the fact. It took some years for me to get out, and to quit the booze. That husband found a new wife right away, someone who didn’t drink. Someone who might scoop out the hot dogs.

Jack Lemon sobered up in the movie. They show him sitting at an AA meeting in a grim room where everyone was wearing a hat and a scowl. His wife stayed drunk. The final scene is her shambling down the street with a neon sign flashing ‘Bar’ at the corner. Lee Remick. That was her name.