Coreyography: A Memoir (33 page)

In February, Haim and I went to a Super Bowl party at the Playboy Mansion; it would end up being our last public appearance. Afterward, I invited him back for an after-party at my house. He had changed. He wasn’t trying to score. He wasn’t interested in doing drugs. It was as if the Corey I had always known, the hyperactive kid who couldn’t sit still, who was always fixated on that next thing, had maybe started to grow up.

The sun was coming up. I was sitting on the couch; Haim was sitting on the floor near my feet. He stretched out his hand, initiating the secret “Corey handshake.” We had invented it years ago, when we were just kids; I think it’s been incorporated into every one of our movies. He looked at me then, and smiled.

“I just wanted to thank you, man.”

“For what?”

“For this weekend,” he said. “For everything.” He paused, looked around my living room and sighed. “I finally see the world through your eyes and it’s a beautiful place.”

We shook hands again and gave each other a hug and then I excused myself and went to bed. By the time I woke up the next morning, he was gone. I would never see him again.

*   *   *

Corey and I
spoke often about going public with our respective stories. And I know that when he dropped that bomb on the show, when he admitted to being molested, it was a step—the very smallest of steps—toward admitting the root cause of all his inner demons. Still, I wanted him to come forward about the big one—the one that, even in that awkward moment in a diner in Studio City, he was still nowhere near ready to reveal. I wanted him to say the name of the man who had stolen his innocence on the set of
Lucas,
the man who walks around now, one of the most successful people in the entertainment industry, still making money hand over fist.

Even after
The Two Coreys
went off the air—after the blowup and the reconciliation—Haim was under the impression, for a while, that we were going to move forward with a third season. I had to explain to him that there would be no more seasons, that he had burned all his bridges again. I told him that his self-destructive behavior stemmed from what happened to him as a boy, that the only way he would free himself would be if he came forward with that information. If he could do that, a giant weight would be lifted from his shoulders. I told him he wouldn’t find peace until then.

“Why don’t you do it?” he asked me.

“Do what?”

“Why don’t you tell my story?”

“I’ve got my own story to tell,” I said. “And you’ve got yours. You’ve got to write your own story. You’ve got to write your own book.”

At the time of his death, Haim still just wasn’t ready.

When I first started batting around the idea of writing a book about my life, I had no intention of making it a “Two Coreys” story. I had no intention of discussing Corey’s experiences with abuse. But in the wake of his death, I felt like I had to do the one thing he was never able to do.

*   *   *

After nearly forty
years in the entertainment business, I have been privileged to work with some of the greatest artists and innovators of our time, and I’m honored to have made movies that people think of as classics, that they’ll always remember with fondness and nostalgia. I have also lost so many, many friends to the pressures of Hollywood and the dark side of fame. I’m glad I have somehow managed to survive it all. I’m even looking forward to what the future will bring.

In 2009, I got a call from Joe Dante’s office. He was teaming up with producer Roger Corman (with whom I had worked on
Rock ‘n’ Roll High School Forever
) to film a new project. I was more than a little surprised to hear from him—we hadn’t worked together since 1989’s
The ’Burbs,
days Dante had once called some of the worst of his entire career. Reteaming twenty years later felt like a chance to redeem myself.
Splatter,
a dark horror series, became the first original Web series offered from Netflix; these days, producing content exclusively for the Web is a trend that seems to be taking off.

Not long after that, I was pleased to announce the release of my second Truth Movement album.
Technology Analogy
is the album I set out all those years ago to make; I had the pleasure of recording several songs with Pink Floyd collaborators Scotty Page and Jon Carin, and was bowled over when the legendary artist Storm Thorgerson—best known for his work with the rock bands Pink Floyd, Black Sabbath, and Led Zeppelin—agreed to provide original work for the cover of the album.

In preparation for the next Truth Movement tour, I knew I wanted to try something different. Large-scale rock concerts, with their lasers and lights and amps and generators, leave in their wake a notoriously large carbon footprint. I have long been a passionate eco-activist, so I was curious about ways to make our shows more environmentally friendly. With the help of a few biodiesel generators—and the willingness of the folks at Universal CityWalk—Truth Movement was able to perform the first in a series of concerts powered entirely by an alternative energy source. It is my hope that, particularly as the technology advances, many more artists will consider moving their shows “off the grid.”

As for my romantic life, I am content being single, though I am dating—and there is one woman, Courtney, who is closer to me than anyone has been in years. Maybe one day I will again love a woman completely. But my primary focus is and will always be Zen.

Zen is eight years old as I write this, and I often marvel at the fact that he has blue eyes and blond hair, despite the fact that his mother and I are both brown-eyed brunettes; it’s ironic that he looks just the way my mother always thought that I should. He is, in many ways, the little boy she so desperately wanted me to be. And he never ceases to amaze. Just the other day, he sat down to do his homework: math homework. Multiplication. The skill that had been so impossible for me to master, that my parents spent hours and hours drilling—even beating—into my head. Zen, however, sat down, breezed through his homework, and got every question right. He is healthy and beautiful and brilliant, with no trace of having been a premie. Today, he’s actually one of the biggest boys in his class.

Becoming a father has also, amazingly, enabled me to find peace with my own traumatic childhood. I’ve since forgiven my mother for the way she behaved when I was young. I know now that she was mentally unstable; I’m not sure she was capable of having done better than she did.

People are always quick to slap a label on things, perhaps especially the trajectory of a former child actor’s career. And everyone experiences peaks and valleys—it’s impossible to sustain a years-long string of nothing but success. But in the past few years, I’ve been busier than at any other point in my career. I’ve been hard at work on a new solo album and have been collaborating with a slew of new and talented artists, including Fred Durst of Limp Bizkit, Kaya Jones of the Pussycat Dolls, Wu-tang Klan–affiliated producer Supreme, and r1ckone, best known for his work with the Black Eyed Peas. I’ve reteamed with my friend and former costar Sean Astin not once, but twice: We’re at work on a new
Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles
television series for Nickelodeon; he also made a cameo in the music video for my single “Ascension Millennium,” which premiered on MTV in July 2013. I’ve even got a new business venture in the works: Corey’s Angels, an exclusive social club and management company. All that’s in addition to my usual slate of one to three movies a year. (I’m especially excited to announce the upcoming release of
The M Word
, directed by Henry Jaglom, which will be my first lead role in a theatrical release in more than a decade).

Despite the highs and lows, the ups and downs, the peaks and valleys, I’ve never lost sight of my spirituality; I owe so much to God, and continue to put my faith in Him. I’ve never taken for granted the love and support of my fans; they drive me to continue creating. I’ve never stopped trying to be a positive voice, raising awareness for the causes that are near and dear to my heart. And I’ve never stopped trying to make the world a better place for our children. I’ve never really taken a
break
—and I have no intention of taking one now.

Really, I’m just getting started.

On the “Rock On” music video set: Michael Damian and
Dream a Little Dream
costars Meredith Salenger and Corey Haim, 1988.

Alfonso Ribeiro and I kicking it old school after performing “Dirty Diana,” 1988.

Jeff Hoefflin and I watch as Michael Jackson poses with his wax figure at Hayvenhurst.

Majestik, Muhammad Ali, and I, circa 1986.

[Left to right]: Jeff Hoefflin, me, Michael, Emmanuel, and LaToya in Michael’s theater at Hayvenhurst.