Asked what their lives would be like if Cobain were alive, Love replies, "I don't think we'd still be together. He had such a high tolerance for [heroin], always going to death's door. By the time I stopped doing it six years ago, I'd had it. Enough."
"But I'd have found him a good wife. I'm good at that. I get along with my ex-boyfriends. Edward [Norton] loves/hates me. But I did dump him, so it's got to be tough. He still has mine and Kurt's marriage bed, I should get that back. Jeff Mann, dumped me, and after that I said, 'I'm never getting dumped again.' Well, if you consider a suicide getting dumped, which I guess it is, getting dumped on an epic level."
Cobain has yet to be put to rest, in more ways than one. His 23-volume journals were finally sold last month to Riverhead Books for a reported $2.8 million and are certain to cause a storm on publication. And after splitting the husband's ashes with his mother, Love has yet to find the suitable spot to bury them. "I can't get Kurt buried anywhere," Love says. "No graveyard in Seattle wants him. Although many in Hollywood do. They like that kind of tourism."
After five hours on the road, not five minutes away from We Care, Love changes her mind and tells the driver to turn around. "It's too late to go to the We Care spa tonight," she says. "It's so grubby and gross there." Dialing information, she calls the Ritz in Palm Springs. "It's
Courtney Love," she says. "I'm in the neighborhood and I'd like to book a luxury suite for tonight. Do you have one with a private pool? No? Hot tub? Is a masseuse available? No? Then open the yellow pages and get a certified massage therapist to come in and let's hope it's not a crazy old hooker or something."
The limo pulls up. The door is opened. And out steps "a Dr. Seuss character on chemo." But she doesn't care. Hat in hand, Love smiles back at the stares, lights a cigarette, and strolls through the lobby to the front desk, where the clerk, as instructed, is scanning the yellow pages.
One week later, "Hey, it's me," Love's voice is low and conspiratorial on the answering machine. She's calling about an interview request I left with her mother.
"Let's not scare my scary mother, because she's scary, okay?" she says. But that's not all. "I have to deal with legal insanity today. I'm being followed. Some guy in a black SUV, and it's terrifying. If anything should happen to me in the next month that seems untoward, don't say I didn't say anything about it... I have two phone lines, so I don't think my phones are tapped. I've been taking pictures of the car for court. I think they're trying to get to me. You have to remember a lot of the music business ends up in Cherry Hill, New Jersey, where the Sopranos really come from, so there's an aspect that's frightening, about as frightening as my mom...."
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