Lips Unsealed (a Memoir) (2010) by Carlisle Belinda

Author:Carlisle, Belinda [Belinda, Carlisle,]
Format: epub
Publisher: Crown Publishing Group
Published: 2011-01-14T19:19:15.171000+00:00

I went up to my room and took the coke out of my purse. I couldn’t wait to look at this package that could have cost me my life. I opened it and saw more coke than I had ever seen. I set it on the coffee table. It was like a little white mountain. I couldn’t believe it.

I did several lines and thought it was the purest, smoothest coke I’d ever put up my nose. Seconds later, I felt a strong, familiar jolt that erased the scare of men with guns and put me in a better frame of mind. I packed up the coke, put it in a dresser drawer, and went back up to Rod’s soiree, which went on for a little while longer. Then I brought the girls back to my room, where we put on some music and continued the party.

My room had a wraparound balcony; half faced the ocean and the other half looked back into the hotel’s other rooms and pool area. As we partied, we darted in and out onto the balcony, where we smoked cigarettes, danced, and waved to other people, including Rod and some of his band, who were on his balcony. We gestured for them to come over to our room. They said no, but communicated for us to bring our festive selves to their room.

We did, and we proceeded to stay up all night. As the sun came up, Rod was irritated that he had not gotten any sleep because he had a show that night. He said he had never stayed up all night, never, which I found hard to believe, considering his reputation. But that’s what he said as he cleared everyone from his penthouse, explaining like an old fussbudget that he still wanted to try to catch a few hours of shut-eye.

We took the party down to the pool, where we ordered cocktails and smoked cigarettes. We weren’t the only rockers who had stayed up all night; the place was buzzing, and buzzed, even as the morning sun bathed the hotel in new light. We saw people open their drapes, others head off to the gym, and every so often we looked up toward Rod’s penthouse suite and saw him pacing back and forth on his balcony.

“I can’t sleep,” he yelled down at me.

I couldn’t tell if he was really upset or playing up his annoyance. He seemed upset to me.

“I have a show,” he continued. “I need my rest. What am I going to do?”

That night, the thirteenth, we played the first of our two shows. We went on after Nina Hagen and before Rod. Thanks to the live TV broadcast, we played in front of an audience estimated at ninety million. Afterward, we were sweaty and spent, and intending to go back to the hotel and clean up—that is until Rod sent for me, along with Kathy, and insisted we sit on the side of the stage as he performed. He wanted to, he said, be able to look over at me and see that I felt as tired and miserable as him.

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