VA-ROOM!

1/31/1997

VA-ROOM!

It’s sleek, all right…jet black and slick as a foggy evening in San Francisco. As sexy as midnight.  I held out as long as I could…longer than most.  But it was time…past time.  In Southern California, you are what you drive and I was tired of being known as a Jeep.  I was on the wagon for an eternity, but when I fell off the wagon, I fell hard.

Porsche…there is no substitute.

VA-ROOM!

I’m cruising the streets of Los Angeles, looking for everything in all the right places.  The top is down…the shades are on …daylight makes no difference.  I’m on a mission.  Make no eye contact.  Be seen, but don’t see.  Head cocked…radio blaring Atlantic’s Best R&B of the ‘70s…Vol. 13…that’s the wicked man, Wilson Pickett…tunes are perfect…they transcend age and generation…cigar gripped in the fingers of my left hand…not lit…I’m even bringing back a little of the gangster lean.  I’m so fucking cool.

VA-ROOM!

I’m on the search…the search for the perfect tattoo.  I’ve been on that search for a while.  I almost found it last summer…you remember.  But it was the company that was perfect…not the tattoo.  And I sobered up just in time to keep my left cheek from looking like a mosaic.

Of course there were other things to do this week.  Hollywood was shinning like a diamond on the soles of someone’s shoes.  The AMAs were being televised and many of the movers and shakers were doing a little bit of both.

It was high noon at the O.K. Corral as record companies strutted and preened.  Those who won proclaimed the importance of the AMAs since they were voted on by the “people,” whoever “they” were.

Those who didn’t win dismissed the AMAs as nothing more than a made-for-television event that didn’t sell records and was as reliable as any decision in the WWF.  I didn’t care.  It wasn’t the AMAs that were important, but what surrounded the event.  The “pah-tees,” my man!

VA-ROOM!

This week, I had the unique privilege of spending time with two of the brightest people in the record business…certainly the most influential record executive of the past two decades…Arista’s Clive Davis…and possibly the most influential record executive of the next two decades…Elektra’s Sylvia Rhone.

The AMAs could have almost been called the Elektra Awards since the company ran off with so many of them.  And the party at the Four Seasons Hotel afterwards was the perfect example of a typical “star-studded” Hollywood event.  With Ms. Rhone and the effervescent Greg Thompson acting as the perfect hosts, the stars shone quite brightly.

It was Keith Sweat who thanked Sylvia (on national television) for “taking me to the next level.”  The truth is, spending time with Sylvia takes us all to the next level.  The guys from Metallica were cool, but I had to duck out when the Motley Crue boys swept in.  Besides, the big, nasty redhead by my side was more than a little miffed when Pamela Lee put her tongue in my ear.

Then it was back into the Porsche to blast through the night.

VA-ROOM!

It was at the bar where she brought up the tattoo thing again.  This, of course, immediately include the others in the mix.  There was talk of stars and bars and musical notes…of whales and tails and things I wrote…of pirates and flags and even a goat…of colors and shades and even some quotes.

I hated them all.  And the people who made them.

The continuing quest for the perfect tattoo would have to wait for another, more perfect time.

VA-ROOM!

The tach is absolutely red-lined…the Porsche is straightening out the curves of Coldwater Canyon…the hood pointed toward the sky…the sound system is on Volume 11 now and LTD’s “Back In Love Again” fills the canyon.  The big, nasty redhead is catatonic…head thrown back…hair blowing in the wind…mouth agape…eyes parted like a snake.  She knows what’s coming.  I reach over and wipe a spot of corn starch from behind her ear.

VA-ROOM!

If you hit Mulholland Drive just right…96 miles per hour to be precise…all four wheels of the Porsche will leave the ground.  What a rush.  Of course, timing is the key.  There’s other traffic to consider and the traffic light at the top of the hill can be a real bitch.  Any less and only the front end comes up…any more and you’ll fly over the highway and into Johnny Rivers’ swimming pool halfway down the other side of the hill.  It’s precision, but I am a professional.  I’m fearless.

VA-ROOM!

It was in mid-air when the thought hit me like a lightning bolt.  The perfect tattoo.  Of course.  I twisted the wheel so when we hit the ground we went into a spin.  Three tight turns and we were headed back down the hill to Sunset and the “You Pick It, We’ll Stick It” tattoo parlor.

The big, nasty redhead was excited.  I was excited.  The quest was over.  I had found the perfect tattoo.

VA-ROOM!