by Brianne Grianne O’Bannahan Esq.

January 6, 2018


In the midst of the powerful, pervasive #metoo campaign, Gary Busey has come forward and accused, well, Gary Busey of sexual misconduct on a cold winter night back in 2016, well within the statute of limitations. The legendary, vaunted actor means to do something about it by bringing his experience into the light, hopefully empowering more people to do the same. I caught up with Mr. Busey in the very same bar the allegations took place to pick his brain on the matter and commend his inspiring bravery.

The bar is drafty and dimly lit, with only half of the lights in operation. At night this would add some much needed charm to the place, which was little more than a dirty dive bar in the middle of Chicago, Illinois, but during the day it lent the decrepit establishment a much more dubious and dangerous air. Mr. Busey takes a seat beside me at the empty bar dressed in a black suit with a black shirt and looks as if he hasn’t slept in days, much less showered.

He points to a booth in the back of the room, surrounded by floor-to-ceiling mirrors. “That’s where it happened,” he says, a shadow crossing over his features as he remembers the horrors of the past. Only then did I realize the place was filled with mirrors on every wall as well as the ceiling. So many mirrors. It looked like a more sinister version of Elvis’s house.

“I was maybe a little drunk,” Busey starts. “I had taken something, I can’t remember what. Some pills, a little coke, a few drinks and possibly a couple puffs of weed.”

I put a hand on his shoulder to give him strength.

“I settle into the booth hungry for some food. I was thinking about ordering wings. I like the green water sticks that come with it. What are those called?”

“Celery?” I respond.

“That’s it! Celery beans,” he says excitedly. “Anyway, I’m just sitting there minding my business, bumping off my car keys, when this man slides into the booth across from me. Good looking guy. Blonde hair, maybe a bit messy, maybe a bit famous. I couldn’t tell but he did look familiar somehow.”

Busey takes a deep breath, a moment to compose himself.

“The looks he gave me, man, still gives me chills at night. Like he already owned me, like he knew what he wanted to do with me.” Busey continues. “The things he said to me I can’t repeat here but then he got real close, I mean like bad breath close, and put a hand on my leg under the table.”

Busey’s shoulders shake and he takes a drink of his water. “I just want justice to be done. Not even celebrities are safe from themselves. I know that now.”

I sincerely thank Mr. Busey for his courage and wish him well. He asks me for my number before tipping his imaginary hat and leaving as quickly as he arrived.

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