My Appetite For Destruction (22 page)

It really felt great to be back home. I looked forward to hitting the Strip, checking out the clubs, and catching up with everyone. It was time to kick back and enjoy L.A. again.

S
omething about being back home made me want to reach out to my closest friends and just reconnect. I was really burned out on band business for the time being, and dialing up my two best friends and kicking back seemed like the perfect way to decompress from eight months of nonstop touring. So as soon as I got settled, I contacted my childhood chums Ricardo and Jackie.

I planned to meet them at the Rainbow. Driving over, I was all pumped up and realized how much I was looking forward to seeing them. Friends are the gold in my life; there is no currency more valuable. And while I will put up with a lot of shit from my friends, I never had to with these guys. They always treated me well, and they loved me long before it all took off. Those are the best, most precious buddies to keep for life.

As we were having drinks, I was delighted by the fact that these guys hadn’t changed a bit. We laughed about that day in Jackie’s backyard when Jackie and Ricardo wanted to be in their fathers’ lines of work, and I said I wanted to be a rock star. On this day, our futures couldn’t have looked brighter. The guys were so psyched about what was happening with
GNR
, and they were so excited for me. They went on and on about how great the album was and how much they loved the video. We realized that each of us had, in his own way, fulfilled his personal prophecy.

Ricardo told us a friend of his was staying at a fancy hotel up Topanga Canyon. He invited me to come over and party with them. Jackie had to be up early and passed on the idea but promised to stay in touch. Ricardo and I went to the hotel, and that’s where I met Ricardo’s pal Dennis. He was a very big, intimidating guy, but like a lot of guys with his build, he was just a mellow dude.

It turned out, conveniently enough, that he was also a coke dealer. He had hundreds of little square ziplock bags filled with rocks—not crack rocks, but coke pebbles, powder that’s hardened. Each bag’s contents weighed an eighth of an ounce, “eight balls.” Dennis was very generous; he was like, “Go for it, dude, whatever you want.”

“All right!” I was truly appreciative. I remembered smoking the shit at Bob Welch’s house, so I decided to get some baking soda. Problem was, I never actually cooked it up while I was staying at Bob’s. I watched Ted take a mix of coke and baking soda and pour it in a glass tube. The tube he used was actually a cheap glass cigar container. He would then pour a little water in. He would heat the tube, waving it over a stove, and in a few seconds,
clink,
a hard piece of crack had formed. But I just couldn’t do it. I would end up with mush. I’d add too much water or baking soda and never got the hang of it.

I must have wasted $3,000 worth of coke trying to get that little “Kernel Clink” sound. Thankfully, I didn’t pay for it. Dennis was impressed enough with me, the
rock star,
that he didn’t seem to mind at all. I remember being in there totally wasting all that coke. He had so many bags and I just kept trying and trying. Ricardo was a very responsible guy and even though he was partying with us, he still went to work in the morning. Dennis and I hung for a few days before I had to get back to business with the band. After that, I would hook Jackie, Ricardo, and Dennis up with passes and tickets whenever we were in town.

A
fter checking out of Topanga, I went to a sushi nightclub in Hollywood. There, pop artist George Michael was waiting in line. I got in line too, and George took an instant interest. He was talking with some friends, but his gaze never strayed far from me. Once inside, I noticed him again, looking my way, trying to flirt with me. He sent one of his boys over. “
George Michael
would like to buy you a drink.” This was before George publicly came out of the closet. His sexual orientation, however, wasn’t necessarily in question. I graciously declined.

In the band, no one knew where the other guys were, nor did we care. Doug really kept it together. He again got us rooms at Franklin Plaza so we would all be reunited in time for our next venture. Doug would make up an itinerary every day. He would post it on the door of our hotel room or he would slide it underneath. It outlined what time to get up, what time to be on the bus, what time we were leaving, plus scheduled interviews and such.

On October 16, 1987, we began a new leg of the tour in Bay Shore, New York. There was a Japanese metal/rock band, also signed with Geffen, that was opening the shows for us. They were named
EZO
. They wore crazy, bright makeup, like Kiss, and their U.S. debut album was produced by Gene Simmons. They spoke broken English but they had an American crew. The band themselves did not associate much with us, but when they did, they were terrific.

W
e played in Baltimore, Maryland, on October 18, and then it was on to Philadelphia, Pennsylvania. This was where I met my first true love. We were playing a club called the Trocadero. I went to sound check in the afternoon. There, Fred Coury, a genuinely nice guy from the band Cinderella, introduced himself to me. We were hanging out, walking around, shooting the shit, and smoking cigarettes. We entered the Troc from its main entrance. We opened the big doors, and there, standing at the bar straight ahead, was the finest ass I had ever seen. It was so tight you could palm it with one hand. She was standing with her girlfriend, and when she turned to talk with her, I saw just how perfect the whole package was. I said to Freddie, “I gotta meet that girl.” Freddie said he knew her. “Let’s go, right now.”

We walked over and Freddie introduced us. Her name was Cheryl. I was already instantly attracted to her, and after just a few minutes of conversation, I knew that this was the girl for me. She was so down-to-earth and so sweet. We hung out that entire afternoon, just getting to know each other.

That night we played our show, and after, I brought her back to my hotel room. We talked most of the time and kissed a little, but I was so impressed with her, I really wanted to take this slow. I chose to treat her right. I got her number, and I would call her every night thereafter. We talked about everything and I discovered that she’d had only two boyfriends. She told me she had sex with each only once, and each time lasted about two seconds. I sensed that she wasn’t like so many other girls who were all “take, take, take.” She wasn’t looking around to see if something better might be coming along. She hadn’t fucked a bunch of guys and she wasn’t a user. Shortly after, I would fly her out to be with me in various towns and cities.

Surprise! I was deeply in love. More on this a bit later.

Even though we had shot it, our video was not getting played. David Geffen had to call in a huge favor from the head of
MTV
to get one fucking airing of “Welcome to the Jungle.” They tried to bury it at like five a.m. on a Sunday morning. But guess who’s wide awake at that hour on a Sunday and just getting in from a night of partying? That’s right, kiddies,
GNR
Nation! Legend has it that “Welcome to the Jungle” hadn’t even gotten done with its one airing and the
MTV
switchboard was lighting up like a Christmas tree. They were all demanding to know one thing: when would
MTV
be airing the video again?

Soon we started getting played in regular rotation, and our popularity grew and grew. We went from playing clubs to theaters very quickly. On the big tours, we were being told that more people were coming to see us than to see the headliners, like the Cult and later, Iron Maiden.

When we were on tour, we would take care of business, and it would be time to hit the road for the next city. Often it would be around three a.m., and there would be no sign of Axl. The parking lot would be completely empty, except for one car. And there, inside, would be Axl and whatever groupie he picked up that night. We’d yell, “Axl. Come on, fuck her already. We’re going.” He’d yell back, “Fuck you!”

F
inally, reluctantly, he would join us, insisting that the object of this night’s desire come along. This eventually caused a lot of commotion, because shortly after we’d leave, Axl would find something fatally wrong with his date and turn on the poor girl. We would sit there in stunned silence as Axl would make a big show of getting rid of her. We knew better than to get involved.

A
fter we played the Ritz in New York, we were invited to appear on
Headbangers Ball.
It was very exciting. We went to the
MTV
building, and everyone treated us like the celebrities we were rapidly becoming. “Can we get you anything? Would you like a makeup or hair person? Have you eaten?”

They had people literally running around, catering to our needs, and I guess it was cool. You’d look out the window and see traffic and the people walking around Times Square. They had gold records and promotional posters all over the walls.

Interviewing us was a guy named Smash, the host of the
Ball.
This, however, would be his last appearance, as they were completely revamping the show. We taped the show on a Wednesday to be aired on Saturday, but we weren’t down with how it all worked. Slash was reading off some tour dates and he announced the show at the Ritz in New York for Friday night, and Smash corrected him by saying it already went down the night before. Slash was like, “No, man, it’s this Friday,” totally forgetting the airdate of our interview.

Since it was the last show of the “old”
Headbangers Ball,
Smash asked us to trash the set at the end of our piece, which we did gladly. Before going to a commercial break, Smash said, “C’mon, boys, on three, let’s rock. One, two, three . . . let’s rock!” Nobody in the band knew what the fuck he was talking about so we were totally silent. He must have thought this was some group conspiracy to make him look bad. “Well, thanks, guys,” he said sarcastically.

Next up was a show at
CBGB
, the famous punk rock club in Manhattan. Duff was particularly excited because his heroes Iggy Pop and the Ramones had played there. A lot of my favorites like Blondie and Talking Heads had started out there too. When we got there, I said, “Are you sure this is CBGB?” It was the smallest room, very,
very
intimate. It held only like fifty to seventy people. I just couldn’t imagine that all those famous bands had played there.

We performed an acoustic set and I rocked the tambourine. We debuted some songs that we hadn’t played publicly yet. The lyrics “I used to love her . . . but I had to kill her” from “Used to Love Her” got a huge laugh. And “Patience” got a very nice response.

We also played “Mr. Brownstone” and “Move to the City.” Someone yelled out, “Drum solo!” so I shook the tambourine wildly. Everyone laughed. After
CBGB
, we played the Horizon in New York on Halloween. Then we went to Washington, D.C., and after the show we went out with the crew—
Mötley Crüe.

Previously, in the winter of 1986, our publicist at Geffen, Bryn Bridenthal, had invited us to the record release party for the Crüe’s
Girls, Girls, Girls
album. It was at the Strip Club on Sunset, the same place where they later shot the video for “Girls, Girls, Girls.” We were socializing and partying while listening to the new record. I thought it rocked. We talked with their people, who loved
our
record and thought
we
were a great band. It was so amazingly humbling to me. These guys were my heroes.

In Washington, we met vocalist Vince Neil, drummer Tommy Lee, and bassist/songwriter Nikki Sixx. We didn’t meet guitarist Mick Mars until we were touring with them. Mostly it was Tommy and Nikki hanging out with us. We got along so famously we pretty much knew from there on that we were going to do a tour sometime. We just
had
to.

T
hat Christmas Eve, Nikki invited me to hang out over at his pad. He had a bunch of girls over. We were drinking and partying it up. Nikki asked me if I wanted to do some coke. “Hell yeah!” We went up to Nikki’s bedroom, where he had this huge walk-in closet. We went in the closet for some extra privacy. This was where he had his paraphernalia. He retrieved a tablespoon and a syringe from a hidden compartment. He mixed the coke with a little water in the spoon and sucked it up in the needle. He shot me up because I didn’t really know how to do it. The feeling was great, not what I expected. I wasn’t freaking out, like all anxious or something. I saw this leather jacket hanging there in the closet and I said, “Dude, that’s a great leather jacket.”

“It’s yours,” he said. It fit me perfectly, and that made me feel a little more entitled to his amazing gift because, well, I knew it couldn’t have fit him and his six-feet-three frame.

After shooting up coke, we continued with our orgy. There were so many hot young girls there, finer than fine. They were the hottest chicks I had been with at that point. The oldest couldn’t have been twenty. They were wearing lingerie and silky nighties. They were making out with each other and eating each other out. They had a dildo and were fucking each other with it. I was aroused the whole evening and blew at least three loads. At one point, Nikki and I were sitting on the couch getting blow jobs. We had seven or eight girls, with at least three girls sucking our dicks at any one time. It was great. It was beyond great. Think of partying with all that prime flesh. Okay? Now dream of how it would be to do it at a party with one of your all-time rock idols.