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Dr. Balis:
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Hello, Herb.
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Mr. Michel:
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Hey, Doc. I can't really stay long this time.
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Dr. Balis:
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Hmm. I would prefer we do the whole session, Herb. Just coming in for a few...
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Mr. Michel:
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Sorry about that, but no can do today.
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Dr. Balis:
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Hmm. New cell phone?
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Mr. Michel:
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Yes, it is! These things are fucking great! I don't know how I ever did without them. I've got one of the best ones, too. See how small it is?
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Dr. Balis:
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I see.
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Mr. Michel:
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They usually run about a thousand, retail. A buddy of mine got it for me for only five hundred. Cool, uh?
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Dr. Balis:
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Does your friend work for Motorola?
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Mr. Michel:
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No, it's probably hot. Man, I have the best fucking buddies around. I called in some favors, and they've really came through for me.
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Dr. Balis:
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You'll be able to recoup your losses?
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Mr. Michel:
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Better than that! Just look at this roll in my pocket. And I've got even more where that came from.
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Dr. Balis:
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I see. So you have enough now to pay back Greg?
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Mr. Michel:
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More than enough! This is all profit right here.
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Dr. Balis:
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Hmm. I'm not usually in the habit of giving advice on how to handle drug money, but...
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Mr. Michel:
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Don't go preaching at me, Doc.
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Dr. Balis:
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Is it wise to carry around so much cash?
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Mr. Michel:
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I only deal in cash. Credit cards are for losers. Besides, no one's going to try to take it from me. Anyone fucks with me, I'll give them a little of this.
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Dr. Balis:
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Please put your gun away, Herb.
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Mr. Michel:
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I got one of these too, as a backup.
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Dr. Balis:
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I presume you know how to handle firearms?
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Mr. Michel:
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Shit, yeah! I've been shooting since I was a kid. Piece of cake! I'm getting a nine-millimeter next. I've heard those really pack a punch.
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Dr. Balis:
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Hmm. I'm a little surprised you were able to make so much money so quickly.
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Mr. Michel:
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I've got connections! But I'm kind of surprised, too. This is the most I've ever made in such a short time. Sometimes, life throws you a curve ball. Last time I was here, I thought everything was the shits. But I put in some phone calls, and the next day, I hooked up with a guy in Berkeley. Not only did he give me lots of shit to sell, he even told me where to go sell it! Not that I needed his help, but it's nice when things go this easy.
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Dr. Balis:
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Where did you sell it?
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Mr. Michel:
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There was a big party at one of the fraternity houses. All those snotty rich kids in their varsity sweaters and fancy cars were there. They had mommy's and daddy's money to spend. It was like taking candy from a baby. They gave me some shit when I first walked in--some stuck-up asshole pointed at my pants and laughed. What's wrong with my pants?
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Dr. Balis:
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I don't really keep up with fashion.
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Mr. Michel:
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Me neither. You're like me, Doc. Stick to classics, that works best. I like these big bells, they cover up my feet. These are the kind of jeans bikers wear. You wear those sissy-boy straight legs, and your feet stick out like big, old clown feet. I got some extra copies of "NetherLand" from my editor--I figured those smart-ass Berkeley kids could appreciate it. I was going to go to Cody's Books and see if they would carry it, but I got kind of sidetracked.
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Dr. Balis:
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Sidetracked?
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Mr. Michel:
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Yeah, I damn near got into a fight with one of them--this poster boy for Aryan brotherhood.
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Dr. Balis:
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Hmm.
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Mr. Michel:
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You know my poem: "My hopes were all in vain; Tears in cascading rain; Into an endless river of pain." That's one of my best works. This Hitler youth read it aloud, and then started singing, "The rain in Spain stays mainly on the plain." Fucking asshole! I was ready to kill him! Some guys held me back. They were ready to throw me out on my head, but they changed their tune real quick when I showed them what I had.
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Dr. Balis:
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Hmm.
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Mr. Michel:
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I should have brought more, I would have sold it all! I could have inflated the prices, and they would have bought it anyway. I just didn't have time. By the time I cut and weighed it out, the party already started. These were the best fucking drugs these brats had seen in their fucking lives! I'm pretty sure I could have gotten one of those blonde bitches to fuck me.
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Dr. Balis:
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Hmm. Did you take methamphetamine at the party as well?
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Mr. Michel:
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No, I don't want to do too much of that shit. I smoked a joint and had a couple of beers. Too much meth gets you fucked up. It's getting so I can't even write any more.
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Dr. Balis:
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Do you think you might have writer's block?
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Mr. Michel:
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No, that's not it. I don't have the time. And it's all because of that fucking bitch Lenore! I'm doing this all for her, so we can have enough money. I have to pay back Greg, pay my rent, pay the PG&E bill. I pay for fucking everything. And all she does is sit on her ass and cry that she doesn't want a goddamn abortion. I don't know what the fuck her problem is. I tried talking to her, but she just didn't get it. Maybe her brain rotted out just like her pussy.
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Dr. Balis:
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You did try to talk to her about it?
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Mr. Michel:
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Yeah, I sat her down and said, "You sad, sorry, stupid little cunt. If you don't get that brat sucked out of you, you're on the street." I don't even know if it's mine! Who knows who she has fucking that gross twat of hers.
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Dr. Balis:
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Was she treated for the kidney infection?
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Mr. Michel:
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Yeah, but now she's got something else--vagina bacteria or something. It's getting so I don't even want to fuck her anymore. I bet her pussy smells like rotten sardines, or cat food, or even worse. I don't even sit next to her anymore. I don't want to be in the same room with some diseased chick. I'm feeling sick just talking about it.
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Dr. Balis:
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Has Lenore seen a doctor about this?
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Mr. Michel:
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I don't know. I don't care. Maybe if her crotch rots away, she'll have a miscarriage, and we won't have to pay for the abortion.
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Dr. Balis:
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I see.
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Mr. Michel:
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I think she's turned against me. She treats me like I'm the enemy. I wonder if she called and told mom some lies about me, and that's why my mom won't talk to me anymore.
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Dr. Balis:
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You haven't talked to your mother since you went to visit her in Pacifica?
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Mr. Michel:
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Not really. I called her a couple of times, and she said she was busy and hung up real quick. Then when I tried to call her back, I got her machine. And then she took the phone off the hook. I don't know what's with her, she must be in some of her moods or something.
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Dr. Balis:
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Hmm. Does your mother experience mood swings?
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Mr. Michel:
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Yeah. My mom's a good woman and all. She went through hell to raise me by herself. She's done speed in one form or another most of her life. She's built up a tolerance over the years; she can do shit loads of it now. Mom's not going to change. And since she's older, she crashes more often.
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Dr. Balis:
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Does she get depressed?
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Mr. Michel:
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No, nothing like that. When you do that much meth, after a certain point, your body can't take it anymore. It used to be once a month--she would have to spend a few days in bed sleeping it off. Now, it's more like once a week.
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Dr. Balis:
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I see.
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Mr. Michel:
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Come to think of it, maybe she does get depressed. Once, I came to see her, and she was lying down on the couch, but she wasn't asleep. She was all crying and shit. The guy she was dating broke up with her, but that was months ago, and she was still sad about it. He was a real creep, that guy. He was such a phony, but mom couldn't see it. He was young, not much older than me, and kind of good looking. I always thought he looked queer. He wore those silk shirts in fag colors, like he was some kind of girl. He was only using my mom for drugs. And when he got tired of her, he dumped her--not even a thank you or a fuck you. He just stopped calling one day.
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Dr. Balis:
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Hmm.
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Mr. Michel:
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I wonder if she's doing that to me?
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Dr. Balis:
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What do you mean?
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Mr. Michel:
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I wonder if she's blowing me off for some reason. Maybe she's mad because Lenore's knocked up. That doesn't make sense, though. She's been through the same thing. Mom used to let girls in trouble--you know, teenage girls who got pregnant--stay at our house in Fresno if they didn't have anywhere else to go. I don't know what's with her.
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Dr. Balis:
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How often did you and your mother used to see each other?
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Mr. Michel:
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I'd go visit her maybe once a month, and we'd talk every week at least once or twice on the phone.
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Dr. Balis:
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Hmm. Have you tried asking your mother if something's wrong?
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Mr. Michel:
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Uh? Do you mean like leaving a message on her machine--now that she doesn't talk to me anymore--and asking if she's mad at me and how come? I hadn't thought of that. You know, I could do that. I could just come on out and ask her what's the matter, did I piss her off or what. Doc, sometimes you do pretty well. They must have taught you well in shrink school.
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Dr. Balis:
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Thank you.
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Mr. Michel:
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Maybe I should call her right now? She's probably home. No time like the present, right?
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Dr. Balis:
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You could try to do that, Herb. Our time is up.
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Mr. Michel:
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Hmm. I guess I stayed for the whole thing, hmm? Well, it's settled then. I'm going to call her and lay it on the line. I'll see you in two weeks, Doc.
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Dr. Balis:
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Take care, Herb.
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Mr. Michel:
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I'll take it any way I can get it!
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Dr. Balis:
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Goodbye, Herb.
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Mr. Michel:
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Later, Doc.
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###
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Doctor Balis' Notes on this Session
Transcripts of Herbert Michel's Communications
