Free Devils & Blue Dresses: My Wild Ride as a Rock and Roll Legend by Mitch Ryder Page B

behavior things were beginning to get more depressing.

     
    We hadn’t been home for months and the reality of our situation was beginning to sink into our young minds. We had no money and there was never enough food to quell our teenage appetites. I had lost the sense of being a star in the manner we had all enjoyed back in Detroit. New York was clearly not going to be as easy to conquer as we had first imagined. In a moment of self-pity, I surrendered to the advances of a waitress at a nearby restaurant. It was the first time I had cheated on Susan and, as if by some kind of karmic payback, I got the crabs. I freaked out, shaved myself and did the whole “God, please forgive me” thing until everyone was sick of hearing it. We were all unhappy with our situation. We avoided calling back to Detroit unless it was an emergency, because of the outlandish cost of the telephone.
    I, for one, felt very disconnected and was ashamed for many reasons. I thought we were failing. I found myself thinking more and more about Susan and our unborn baby. We were all dealing with crazy emotions and we weren’t really drinking or doing drugs yet. That would come later. I became lonely and depressed and, like all of us, was wondering when we were going to begin recording records. There had been very little communication between Bob Crewe and us.
    Then the telephone rang. It was Bob and he wanted to know if I would join him for dinner. Naturally I was excited, because it meant we finally had some movement, but I would have been blind not to see the disappointment on the faces of the band. That evening we had been arguing about how to share a can of pork and beans for dinner and I was being singled out for preferential treatment. It was the first notice that I would be considered and treated differently than the band. It was the planting of a seed. But more importantly, it was the plan laid bare, and we refused to accept it at face value.
    Mr. Crewe lived in a beautiful complex on Central Park West called The Dakota. This is the same building that John Lennon lived in and would be murdered outside of some years hence. On this day, there was a smartly dressed green and gold uniformed doorman at the gate entrance––which was quite different from the occasional passed out bum that graced our entrance––and he escorted me to my destination. I had never been in the home of a wealthy person and the opulent furnishings, smooth fabrics, high grand ceilings, deep rich marble, detailed wood moldings and carvings, woven tapestries, exotic plants, and discreet lighting were overwhelming. There was soft musicfloating through every room of the home, and then we went to the dining area to be seated.
    Now, with my mind not distracted by the pre-emptive strike of decadent ambiance, I got my closest look yet at the man who would make me a star. I suppose energy would be the most apt word to describe Mr. Crewe. Whether he was talking, walking, or smiling, he was alive with energy. I believe he smiled the entire time I was there. He carried himself in an effeminate manner and I could not take my eyes away from his gaze.
    It was a fine meal. Extraordinary. Apparently it was a meal he had put together out of things that were “just lying around.” There was a lot of pointless talk and laughter and the mood was relaxed. There were no drugs, however, Mr. Crewe had one glass of wine with his meal. In the back of my mind I couldn’t help think of the boys and the can of beans back at the hotel. I was trying to make sense of it and at the same time ease my guilty conscience about why I alone had been invited.
    We returned to the living area and Mr. Crewe began to engage me in a slightly more thoughtful and serious conversation. We spoke of music and artists and my dreams and desires, great performances I had seen and he shared his views on the same. It was all very polite and I felt as if I had made a good impression, in spite of the fact that I was in way