Six months later....
I proposed to Bekka yesterday. She said she'd think about it.
Three months ago I sold my last bag of speed. There were a lot of people disappointed with my decision, because they greatly relied on me for their income. I assured them they wouldn't be out of business for long: there was sure to be plenty of others who would take my place. Besides, my day job at Inana Productions was taking up too much of my time, and you didn't want me to be even less reliable than I've been, right?
Boss was certainly disappointed. I had been worth ten to twenty thousand dollars a week to him. "If ya wanna jump back in, say the word an' I'll set you up," he told me. I explained to him, as I'd explained to my clients, that I was making decent money, legally, and my only interest in the chemical compounds I had been selling was as a consumer. Boss wouldn't sell me less than an ounce at a time, and even that was a favor, so I kept Inana stocked up like usual. Boss and I still hang out together over a few beers. We're no longer in business together, but we remain friends.
I inherited Rick's job at Inana. After we got him dried out the family decided it was best to have him somewhere they could keep a close eye on him. He's now a janitor for the various studios, a damn mop-jockey. He's got a studio apartment in West Hollywood and has calmed down quite a bit. Lesson learned: the family will take care of you, but it's tough love. Not too bad. In the old days they would have just killed him.
The day after the ill-fated run to Chatsworth, Angel offered me the job of General Manager of Inana Productions, Inc., which I accepted under the terms that (a) I was only an employee, and (b) he'd have to teach me what to do. You'd be surprised at the amount of paperwork involved in producing porn, and how much time is spent in the company of lawyers (thanks Traci). Now I get credited as "Producer" on the videos Inana releases.
Vinny repaid his debt by helping me launder the $12,000 cash I had saved. He spread it around among the six studios, then wrote checks to me (as a consultant) over a period of two months. Bekka wasn't happy with this deal, but saw the reasoning behind it. I still slept in the spare room for a couple nights, though.
The job goes okay. Interviewing would-be porno queens three days a week is surprisingly tedious, and a depressing number of applicants offer to demonstrate their skills. Sorry dear, I'm attached. What would have been a dream job at eighteen is a bit of a slog at twenty-one. Go figure.
And a beautiful woman just came in and said the word "Yes" in my ear. If you'll excuse me, I'm going to go celebrate now. Rather loudly. 1989 is going to be a good year.