A new book is shedding light on the final days of thelate Anthony Bourdain.
Anthony Bourdain and Asia Argento.
Reads one of Bourdain’s last texts: “You were reckless with my heart.”
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(Argento did not respond to PEOPLE’s request for comment, but told theNew York Times, “I wrote clearly to [Leerhsen] that he could not publish anything I said to him.")
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That night before he went to bed, Ripert, who had the room next door to Tony’s at their hotel, Le Chambard, and who had of course been worried about his friend, put his ear to the wall and heard peaceful snoring, and slept better himself as a result.
His whole adult life, drinking and eating with friends had been Tony’s definition of joy. And he had a particular affection for the hearty cuisine in that sauerkraut-scented corner of the world. But the night out with friends, away from his phone, may well have triggered a moment of self-discovery. By briefly reliving his past with Schillinger and Ripert and his crew, he may have gotten a glimpse of how far he had come. By experiencing what he had been, he may have seen more clearly what he’d turned into—a character out of a sordid, slightly deranged James Ellroy novel, a doomed and desperate lover who hired a private detective to soil an obscure kid actor for the sake of a woman who respected him less for each effort he made on her behalf. The kind of man who had talented, loyal people living in constant fear of being banished from a show for which they’d worked hard and given up much to make great. It was an especially horrible thing for Tony to learn about himself, that he had lost his integrity in pursuit of a woman who seemed to spend her life performing for the paparazzi and clowning on Instagram, but perhaps there was some consolation and peace in finally seeing things for what they were.
The next day Tony was fighting with Argento again. She was pulling out of the India episode in which she’d been scheduled to appear, she said, because she couldn’t stand him and his possessiveness. His browsing history showed that in the last three days of his life he googled “Asia Argento” several hundred times. On the night before he died he was involved in a text exchange with her:
AB:I am okay. I am not spiteful. I am not jealous that you have been with another man. I do not own you. You are free. As I said. As I promised. As I truly meant.
But you were careless. You were reckless with my heart. My life. De Russie . . . It’s only that that hurts', my A.
Perhaps it’s in both our characters. But you are always honest with me. I want to be honest with you.
I do not begrudge you this part of you.
As I hope you will not begrudge me.
But it’s that that stings.
I meant and mean everything I have ever said to you. But I hope you will have mercy on me for these feelings.
AA:I can’t take this.
AB:It would have been so easy to have helped me out here. I required so little. But “f— you” is your answer.
As they continue their dialogue, she complains about his “idiot possessiveness,” calls him a “ducking [sic] bourgeois,” and tells him to “call the f—ing doctor.” “I am the victim here,” she says.
AB:My A. I can’t believe you have so little affection or respect for me that you would be without empathy for this.
source: people.com
