Let Love Rule - Lenny Kravitz Page 0,56

me, Tisha was looking to live a creative life. She was a free spirit with a beautiful heart. Just to be with her and her family, I braved the long haul from New York, taking subways, the PATH train to Jersey, and the trolley to East Orange.

* * *

One haul threw me for a loop. On my way home from the city, I was about to put in a token to catch the PATH train when I realized I was broke. No big deal. Just jump the turnstile. It was an easy leap, and I landed on both feet. That’s when someone grabbed me by the neck. I turned around. It was a cop, and he had only one word for me: “Busted.” He’d caught me red-handed the very week the local mayor was making an example of fare dodgers.

The next thing I knew I was inside a paddy wagon and handcuffed to a drug addict who had just shit his pants. I nearly choked on the stink. The traffic was slow. The stink got worse. The ride to headquarters took forever. Booking took another two hours. I asked to make a call. The person I knew to call was the same person I didn’t want to call: my father. I knew he had the connections I needed, but I also knew I’d have to eat crow. Not only would I have to say that I was in jail, but I’d have to explain why.

Nonetheless, I did what I had to do. I called Dad and, much to my shock, he was cool. No lectures, no rebukes, no yelling. He called his friend Barry Slotnick, a well-respected criminal lawyer famous for successfully defending Mafia bosses. I wondered if he’d met Slotnick through Uncle Vinnie.

However he’d met Slotnick, Slotnick pulled it off. Within an hour, the attorney got me out with a small fine.

Thank you, Mr. Slotnick.

Thank you, Dad.

There was just one hiccup: while I was in custody, the jail’s computer system went down. That meant that no matter what, they couldn’t release me. I had to spend the night in the can.

I have a feeling my father’s willingness to help actually made him feel good. He got to show me, his rebellious son, that he had power. He could pull strings and get me out of scrapes. No matter how much I might resent him, I still needed him. I had needed him to encourage me to become a solo artist, and I had needed him to keep me from selling away my publishing. I didn’t like admitting it, but I needed him in many ways.

* * *

Back on the streets, I borrowed some money, paid the train fare, and finally got to East Orange. Tisha and I carried on for months. Then she landed a gig in England as one of the three Supreme-like singers in the film version of Little Shop of Horrors. Later, she was also cast as a lead in Spike Lee’s School Daze. Her career was off and running, but in a direction that led her away from me. We remained close, but the love light faded, and soon we broke up.

* * *

Back in the city, things were grim. Despite my web of friends, my couch-surfing luck had run out. I’d spend days and nights riding the subway from the Bronx to Lower Manhattan. With money low and winter coming on strong, I had to think fast.

One slate-gray winter day in 1983, I wasn’t loving the city. I was in between crash pads. The air was frigid, the wind blowing hard off the Hudson. I was in my usual outfit of jeans, a denim jacket, and a raggedy scarf, and even in the January snow, I was still wearing sandals with white tube socks. I hadn’t shaved in weeks—I’ve never been big on shaving—and my nappy hair was contained by an oversize woolen cap. As the snow started falling, I dreamed of the Bahamian sun. I’d used up my friends’ favors and needed to figure out my next move. I was essentially homeless. But this was nothing new—being nomadic was my way of life—and I wasn’t worried. Maybe that’s because I knew my folks would never let me starve. I had nothing, but I lived in an abundant world. My job was to follow the music.

That’s why I was walking down Forty-Eighth Street toward the music stores. It didn’t matter that the snowfall was getting heavier. It didn’t matter that my feet were getting