Having money to me was like having a tank full of gas it didn't mean much if you didn't have an imagination. No matter how poor I'd been, I'd never felt as impoverished as the rich people I knew whose capacity for fun was stunted.
And there was no one more fun than Georges.
After a few years of traveling to Miami, we bought a condo overlooking the ocean. It would be something Georges could run point on - I knew touring around with me had diminished his sense of personal purpose. At first, he was flying from New York to supervise. But then he started spending so much time in Miami, he rented a place. There was an endless string of problems - not uncommon for a renovation, but I heard through a friend that the people he was hanging out with were shady. And each time I saw him, he'd gotten a little bit skinnier.
GEORGES AND I had never strictly outlined the terms of our relationship, but it was understood that we were not to hurt each other's feelings. Neither of us would have done anything to make the other uncomfortable when we were together, nor would we have attempted to police each other's behavior when we were apart. But I had a sense that he was doing things I wouldn't like. I just wasn't ready to face the details. Our lives were becoming increasingly separate.
When we met in Las Vegas for my sister's wedding, he was emaciated. He slept all day. After, in Los Angeles with me, it seemed like he was sleepwalking. As I drove him to the airport to fly to Miami, we argued in the car. He was so angry, and I didn't know why. "Just stop the car right here," he said. "Let me out." I persuaded him to let me take him the rest of the way, but he was distant, agitated, and weird.
A few weeks later, I went to see him, feeling seasick on the flight. When I arrived, I had barely dropped my bags when he looked me dead in the eye. "I have something I need to tell you," he said. "I am addicted to crystal meth."
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