Richard Pryor included me in so much of his life that I found myself falling in love with him.
We had a few good months early on, but soon enough, Richard started missing his âusingâ buddies.
As his friends began trickling back into his life, he introduced me to some of them, and they were sensitive to his situation at first. They got high before they got there and Richard got very busy writing and setting up deals.
I became the go-between. A producer would call me and say, âHowâs he doing? Do you think heâll show up today?â
Richard and his friends used to hang out in the kitchen. One afternoon, I went into the kitchen and saw a pile of cocaine sitting on a mirror next to a razor blade and rolled up $100 dollar bills.
Richard acted like he hadnât been indulging, but I knew better. I saw the signs, his bloodshot eyes, the lines of coke and the empty bottles of Courvoisier.
After his friends left, I got on his case about relapsing and I asked him, âWhy do you keep feeding your friends and loaning them money?â I added: âWhy doesnât anybody say, hey, Iâll bring some ribs and a roast over or a six-pack or a bottle of wine?â They donât bring anything, you supply it all.
I also suggested he get his financial matters in order to help him save some money for himself and his childrenâs future. Richard didnât trust managers, and he refused to give over his power and authority to anyone-except me.
He wanted me to take over his finances, but I refused. âI have a career, too, I reminded him. I need to focus on myself.â
One day, I went in for my annual checkup with my gynecologist. After the exam, he asked me to step into his office to talk.
âPam, I want to tell you about an epidemic thatâs prevalent in Beverly Hills right now. Itâs a buildup of cocaine residue around the cervix and in the vagina. You have it. Are you doing drugs?
âNo,â I said, astonished.
âWell, itâs really dangerous,â he went on. âIs your partner putting cocaine on his penis to sustain his erection?â
âNo,â I said. ânot that I know of. Itâs not like he has a pile of cocaine next to the bed and he dips his penis in it before we have sex.â
Suddenly, I had a nauseating flash of one of Richardâs famous lines: Even my dick has a cocaine jones.
âAre you sure he isnât doing it in the bathroom before he comes to bed?â the doctor asked.
âThatâs a possibility,â I said. âYou know, I am dating Richard Pryor.â
âOh, my God,â he said. âWe have a serious problem here. If heâs not putting it on his skin directly, then itâs worse because the coke is in his seminal fluid. You can have some serious cervical and uterine problems. You can even become sterile and you might have to have a hysterectomy.
"Will it ever go away,â I asked. âItâll go away eventually,â the doctor said.
In the meantime, he has to wear a condom or youâre going to be a very sick woman.
Later that evening, I told Richard, I have cocaine inside of me. Itâs eating me up and it could kill me. Have you been putting it on your penis?
âNo. Of course not,â he answered quickly. I took a deep breath. âI have to ask you to wear a condom when we have sex.â
âWhat?â was all he said.
I said, âyou have to Richard,â I pleaded with him. âOnly for a while. I have to get rid of these lesions so I donât get infections.â
He said, âI hate condoms. I canât feel anything.â
âWill you at least talk to my doctor?â
I realized at that moment that I was not truly loved by this man.
-âA Memoir: My Life In Three Acts,â by: Pam Grier with Andrea Cagan
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