Free High On Arrival by Mackenzie Phillips Page A

movie, Go Ask Alice . After the movie came out I did another TV movie— Miles to Go Before I Sleep with Martin Balsam—and single-episode parts in Baretta and Mary Tyler Moore . I also got a part in a film called Rafferty and the Goldust Twins with Sally Kellerman and Alan Arkin.
    Alan Arkin was a great teacher and a gentle soul. How lucky I was to work with him at such a young age. Much of Rafferty was shot in Arizona. We all were there together. Rosie was my legal guardian on the set, Nancy was my stand-in, and Patty was my best friend. I became, at fourteen, involved with a stunt man in his thirties. Rosie, consistent in her distrust of older men, hated him and the trouble she was sure he’d cause. But we girls loved him.
    When Rafferty came out in 1975 the attention was intoxicating. I flew to New York for the premiere, appearing in one of the first issues of People magazine. A profile of me in Interview said that I walked around like a young Bette Davis sucking on my cigarettes and flicking the ashes to the floor. I just loved my work. I loved what I did.
    In New York I found Dad living in the Stanhope, a luxury hotel favored among celebrities that was on Fifth Avenue across from Central Park. I walked into the room and he said, “Hey, Laurabug, give your old dad a hug.” This was the first time I’d seen my father since he left us to be evicted, but there was no drama, no accusations or recriminations. I was just grateful to have him back. This may sound strange, but it never occurred to me to be mad at him for disappearing. Anger didn’t exist, not for me, and seemingly not for his other children, wives, friends, or Aunt Rosie. Dad was a remarkable man. He was so powerful and charming and brilliant that being around him, being in that orbit, was glory enough. We didn’t expect him to adhere to the social standards of the common man. That wasn’t how he lived. We knew that he never promised anything. It was hard to hold him accountable when he accepted no responsibility. He just was so clearly and consistently himself that for a long time we took him as he was and even loved him for it, in a warped way. Later, my family would have reason to be angry at him on my behalf, and even later than that I would excavate my own ingrown shards of anger. But in those days we all let it go.
    Now, in my new incarnation as a press-worthy child star, my father relished the attention I was getting. It matched the high-flying life he and Gen were living, hanging out with luminaries like Colin Tennant, who owned the island of Mustique, and Princess Margaret. Besides, Dad was suffering a bit of withdrawal from the attention he’d received as the brains behind the Mamas & the Papas. He craved the limelight. Hitting the scene with his famous daughter more than doubled the buzz. We led a fancy life, going to Mr. Chow every night and to nightclubs.
    When Colin Tennant rented the Kennedy compound on Montauk, Dad brought me out to stay. One of Andy Warhol’s cronies was there with his niece. I got in big, big trouble for seducing the niece. I don’t know exactly how it happened. She and I were friends, about the same age, and one night we started playing some rather innocent but naked games in my bedroom. In the morning her uncle pounded on the door, telling us to open up, while Dad appeared at the window. Her uncle was very upset, shouting, “How dare you? She’s just a child!” I was kinda thinking, Well, what am I? After that I wasn’t allowed near her anymore. For the rest of the vacation we’d wave at each other from across the room apologetically.
    I didn’t see how her uncle could judge me—he was flamingly gay—but I wasn’t fazed. This wasn’t my first same-sex dalliance and it wouldn’t be my last. Like my father, I let momentary desire carry me like a current—I never drew lines at gender, age, circumstance. Later, when I was clean, I would discover that those lines existed, that they were coded in my DNA. At