Some people will recognize this was the behavior of an alcoholic, and yes, that is true. However, I don’t blame any one person or event; yes, I was an alcoholic and I have been proudly sober for many years now. My life has changed completely, and I give all credit to my Creator whom I choose to call God, my persistent dedication to recovery, and the loving help of others who may have similar stories. I don’t know anyone’s reason for drinking, nor will I pretend to analyze anyone else. I only can say that we have a common space on the same sinking ship and we must survive or die– but first get out of the drowning sea of alcohol. That is the way it is– some must die for others to live.
When I arrived back home in LA, Jack had some unhappy news for me. My dear boss and old friend Reni Otolina was here in Westwood; Jack helped him to get a gorgeous home not too far from UCLA medical headquarters, because his daughter Rona was now paralyzed from the waist down. She had been out smoking pot, drinking and partying with her friends, like teenagers do, and she wanted to be the first to jump in the pool.
When she and her friends got to her home, it was dark, and unknown to her, the pool had been emptied by the caretaker. Of course, nobody expected anyone to be diving into the pool at 3am. But she just ran and jumped in the empty pool, and now she was a paraplegic in a wheelchair. Reni had brought her and his entourage to LA because UCLA had the very best doctors and facilities at that time.
I found that my dear friends were here but poor Rona was paralyzed. The very next day they were celebrating her sister Rina’s birthday and of course we were all invited. The names of this family were as follows: Reni, his wife Rene, and the the two girls Rona and Rina. I told him it was a good thing he didn’t have another daughter because she would have been Rana, which means frog in Spanish.
So we arrived to yet another fantastic party in Westwood near the UCLA medical center. There were movie stars and socialites, most of them from Venezuela. It was a full house. We went in to say hello to everyone and then, needless to say I headed straight to the bar. In front of me, behind the bar, playing around with the bartender, was a very tall blonde young man. He just stared at me and I stared back at him. I said my respects to everyone without taking my eyes off of his eyes, which were following me around the room. Then finally I was near him again, and he came out from behind the bar and put his arms around me. We said hello with the most passionate kiss in front of everyone! Not just a friendly beso (kiss) on the cheek, as is customary in Venezuela or Spain. And his name was Jose!
We were talking all night, dancing, and laughing, while Jack was again doing business, wheeling and dealing as usual. Jose number three and I became lovers at first sight, and for a long time he even moved into our big ranch house. I fell in love with this young man. We would bicycle, ride horseback, and go dancing at the discos. But he had a secret– he was more gay than straight, which I did not know and probably did not want to believe. Quaaludes were his drug of choice and cocaine too. In 1974 our lives proceeded to become one big party at our beautiful very comfortable ranch home in Northridge.
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