Devils & Blue Dresses: My Wild Ride as a Rock and Roll Legend

became my road manager but today he was helping me find a guide and a translator. He had a friend who knew a man, and after looking in his directory he handed me a piece of paper with the name, address and telephone number for a Jurgen Osterloh.
    We arrived in Paris and took a small (really small) hotel room near the airport. We unpacked and were discussing what to do next, because we were so removed from everything except airplanes. I decided to call Jurgen and ask him what was near us that we might enjoy––restaurants, etcetera. As soon as he spoke I could hear excitement in his voice and he was very happy over my arrival. Jurgen was a German national who had been living in Paris for some time. He was aware of my rising popularity in Germany through his many friends there, and insisted we throw our belongings back into our suitcases and spend our holiday with him.
    When the taxi arrived at
Du bis Vitale
we realized we were in a very expensive part of Paris called
Trocadéro
, about five blocks from the Eiffel Tower. Jurgen’s home had four levels and was done up nicely, and the neighborhood was a scene from
Irma La Douce
. At the end of the block was a bakery and a grocery, and directly across was a bistro filled with characters from an Edgar Allen Poe novel. We spent our entire holiday with Jurgen going to clubs and restaurants, parties, and racing about Paris in his big Mercedes sedan touring the architectural wonders. It was magnificent. I promised, at his insistence, to stay in touch.
    When we arrived home I rang up Tom and told him Jurgen had offered his assistance in getting me hooked up in France and was willing to entertain a meeting upon our return to Europe. To be honest, I had reservations about Jurgen’s ability to pull that off. My first impression of him was of a wealthy playboy with hip connections and a constant flow of beautiful young women who were all, ironically, models, when asked what they did for a living.
    Jurgen was also an extremely handsome man with an excellent command of the French language, which became obvious when he and his French maid carried on with their bickering and fighting as if they were an old married couple. Jurgen’s face was much like a young Clint Eastwood, and he was tall and elegant and yet very masculine in the way he carried himself. He had spent time in prison in Germany for the crime that had given him his wealth but, in fact, it was no crime at all. It was a legitimate con of European corporations who, when faced with the fact that they had been taken by this brilliant young man, could do nothing to hide their embarrassment other than insisthe do some time. If Jurgen cooperated he would be allowed to keep his fortune––provided he leave Germany.
    We were about to return for another tour and to record the album that was supposed to have been done on our last trip, but the technology wasn’t ready. So we held the meeting with Jurgen in Paris and he introduced us to his French partner and friend, the very likable Bernard Ossude. Bernard’s grandfather was an artist who had some of his works displayed in the
Louvre
. A deal was made and Bernard arranged for us to license some of our masters with Underdog Records in Paris. I was thrilled. I felt as if I was slowly but surely going to conquer Europe, and I also could someday force my way back onto the American charts. Things were looking up and it was settled that we would perform at the Palace in Paris, with national television as well.
    I did have a moment of doubt as I wondered how all of this would sit with Uwe, because really, it was Uwe who had made all of this possible. I had become very fond of Uwe in spite of our initial bad start, and held so many loving memories from my few years in Germany that I didn’t ever want to do anything to lose that or to harm it. I soon discovered that the Germans really weren’t concerned with the French and the French didn’t give a damn about the Germans, so everything was going to be fine. With that in place we began to move forward.
    We began the tour in France with the TV appearance and the show was brilliant, but Billy Csernits had thrown out his hip while gyrating for the cameras and was in pain. To “help,” someone gave him some heroin. I had done heroin in the past and had gotten over it, but this was an introduction that Billy might still be having trouble getting over. It would all come down to how strong his will was, because what I’ve learned about