On the third day, I go back to my hotel room for a hot shower and a change of clothes before returning to the mansion.
"You should have just stayed here," says Depp.
When I tell him I needed to change my underwear, he grins.
"That's why I always wear two pairs," says Depp with a smile. "Matter of fact, I'm wearing six condoms right now." I laugh, which seemingly encourages him: "I also have a dental dam if you need one."
We are all punch-drunk in each other's company, but some are just plain drunk. Maybe it is the booze and hash, but Depp seems happy to just have someone to hang out with, even though we have exhausted the ins and outs of his case. Someone mentions they can't stand Oasis. This is enough of an opening for Depp to grab an acoustic guitar and spend 20 minutes tuning it, before squawking out a few notes of "Wonderwall." My head pounds, but you can tell the guitar brings him comfort, taking him back to his younger days when he was a male ingénue and not a punchline: bankrupt, isolated and one more mistake away from being blackballed from his industry.
He talks about his early days living with a few roommates in an L.A. flophouse. One time, after ending the previous night in a cheap Venice Beach motel, Depp returned home. Within 48 hours, everyone was scratching below the belt. There was an apartment meeting: "We're itchy. Why are we itchy?"
Depp shaved his entire body. He looked at the crabs under a magnifying glass.
"They look like crab-crabs, like from the sea." He laughs a bit. "I gave everyone scabies," says Depp, taking another drag on a cigarette. "You know how hard it is to tell your roommates that?" He puts on a voice that sounds like Kramer from Seinfeld: "‘Uh, I got scabies from a hotel room, I swear. Sorry, dude.'
He recalls going to the drugstore to buy Kwell, an anti-scabies medication. "I think the guy was, ‘Price check on the Kwell.'"
Everyone laughs, but Depp isn't done.
"My roommate couldn't say much. He was a bank robber." I say that sounds like bullshit, but Depp tells me to look it up.
"He was the ponytail bandit," he says. "He was 11 and 1, but that one will get you. He only robbed banks in Beverly Hills."
I look it up on my phone, and there was, in fact, a ponytail bandit in L.A. at the time. Depp nods after I show him confirmation.
"I told you," he says. "I don't lie."
The night turns into early morning. A light snow begins falling on the grand backyard of the house, a backyard that no one in Depp's entourage has set foot in during their stay.
"You should have just stayed here," says Depp.
When I tell him I needed to change my underwear, he grins.
"That's why I always wear two pairs," says Depp with a smile. "Matter of fact, I'm wearing six condoms right now." I laugh, which seemingly encourages him: "I also have a dental dam if you need one."
We are all punch-drunk in each other's company, but some are just plain drunk. Maybe it is the booze and hash, but Depp seems happy to just have someone to hang out with, even though we have exhausted the ins and outs of his case. Someone mentions they can't stand Oasis. This is enough of an opening for Depp to grab an acoustic guitar and spend 20 minutes tuning it, before squawking out a few notes of "Wonderwall." My head pounds, but you can tell the guitar brings him comfort, taking him back to his younger days when he was a male ingénue and not a punchline: bankrupt, isolated and one more mistake away from being blackballed from his industry.
He talks about his early days living with a few roommates in an L.A. flophouse. One time, after ending the previous night in a cheap Venice Beach motel, Depp returned home. Within 48 hours, everyone was scratching below the belt. There was an apartment meeting: "We're itchy. Why are we itchy?"
Depp shaved his entire body. He looked at the crabs under a magnifying glass.
"They look like crab-crabs, like from the sea." He laughs a bit. "I gave everyone scabies," says Depp, taking another drag on a cigarette. "You know how hard it is to tell your roommates that?" He puts on a voice that sounds like Kramer from Seinfeld: "‘Uh, I got scabies from a hotel room, I swear. Sorry, dude.'
He recalls going to the drugstore to buy Kwell, an anti-scabies medication. "I think the guy was, ‘Price check on the Kwell.'"
Everyone laughs, but Depp isn't done.
"My roommate couldn't say much. He was a bank robber." I say that sounds like bullshit, but Depp tells me to look it up.
"He was the ponytail bandit," he says. "He was 11 and 1, but that one will get you. He only robbed banks in Beverly Hills."
I look it up on my phone, and there was, in fact, a ponytail bandit in L.A. at the time. Depp nods after I show him confirmation.
"I told you," he says. "I don't lie."
The night turns into early morning. A light snow begins falling on the grand backyard of the house, a backyard that no one in Depp's entourage has set foot in during their stay.
阿喵
