“We were tight, still are as far as I know. You didn’t get the song because it was about Sarah and how hard she took the breakup. You’re an idiot, you know that? It’s been months and she still cries. No way was I going to reward you for doing what you did to her.”
He sighed into the phone.
“You’re right, I was and still am an asshole. I don’t know what I was thinking. I’ve tried to apologize to Sarah, but she refuses to talk to me.
Can you help me?”
“Oh no, I’m not going to be your go between. Maybe she’ll calm down and talk to you eventually, but right now you need to give her space. And don’t try to rope Moira into this, she’s pretty mad at you right now.”
“Any advice? I know I don’t deserve her, but I want her back bad.”
“All I can say is you’re still a public figure. Give an interview or two and bring it up. She still watches TV. Maybe she’ll see it.”
He was abject and miserable in the interviews. Told the reporter he made the biggest mistake of his life. He actually said me wished he was me, so he could write the perfect apology song. The most compelling statement he made was he wished he could see her one more time, just to say how sorry he was for causing he so much pain.
Sarah saw the interviews and came to us for advice. I gave the universal truth.
“Are you happier without him or with him? Can you forgive him? Does he deserve it? Do you think he’ll do it again? Be sure about all of that and you’ll have your answer.”
She thought about it for a week and asked me one day if he could come over for our once monthly barbeque. Moira and I told her to do what she wanted, we’d support her.
He came, stayed away from her for awhile, then gradually worked his way over to her. They said hi, and just stared at each other for a second. We watched them pretty closely, and soon they were on a bench talking quietly. They talked for about an hour, and she went inside.
He left, but not before hugging Moira and me. He was crying as he thanked us.
I thought things went wrong, but Moira went in, then came back with a smile.
“They have a date tomorrow.”
They went to a movie and dinner, then she insisted he bring her straight home. I peeked out the window when they got home.
Moira laughed at me.
“Don’t worry, daddy. He’s not going to hurt your little girl.”
I couldn’t help it, force of habit. I went from having one little boy to having him plus five girls. Three teenagers, a preteen and a seven year old who was always following her sisters around. Seemed like there was always one or two teenage boys hanging around the house. I spent many weekend nights not sleeping until the girls were home from their dates.
We were rich, not billionares, but very, very, comfortable. When we suddenly inherited five kids, we had to find a bigger house.
We looked, but couldn’t find anything we liked, when an old friend gave us a call.
We met Mike and Shanna Hoage at a roadside peach stand. They were on vacation, driving aimlessly in his 1968 Firebird convertible. Shanna and Moira hit it off right away, and I liked Mike. He was huge, 6’6″ at least, and probably weighed two hundred fifty pounds. He was in real estate out west, and was worth about half a billion. We didn’t find that out until later. Moira and Shanna exchanged emails, and when we toured out west we invited them to the shows.
I usually read people pretty well, but couldn’t get a fix on Mike. He reminded me of me when I was having compartmentalization issues, but I was guessing it went a lot deeper.
He did us a favor and found us a house locally that wasn’t even listed yet. It belonged to some financial whiz who made some very bad investment decisions.
Moira gasped when she saw it the first time.
It wasn’t a house, it was an estate. One hundred twenty acres completely surrounded by a six foot chain link fence. An olympic size swimming pool that could be enclosed, a hot tub and waterfall. A six car garage, a three bedroom guest house, a two bedroom apartment over the garage.
The house was three stories with a basement. Nine bedrooms, state of the art kitchen, formal living room, dining room, den, and library. Seven bathrooms.
Mike got it for about forty percent of what it was worth, and it was still more than I ever expected to make in my lifetime.
Mom and Dad moved into the guesthouse so she would never be too far from her grandchildren, and we used the garage apartment for guests.
Everybody had privacy, and we converted the basement into a media
layroom, where the kids could hang out and we could keep an eye on everyone.
There were two ponds and a large creek running through the property, and in the summertime you would find my Dad, Aaron, and often Suzy, fishing. A tractor and all the equipment came with it, and Dad would amuse himself with a garden, mowing the fields, and scraping the driveway when it snowed. We had professional help, he just enjoyed doing it. He lived happily for ten years before a heart attack took him. Dottie lived another eight years but was never quite the same.
I added one more accomplishment to my resume. I used to tell Aaron a bedroom story about a wandering minstrel and the fairy he fell in love with. I expanded it into a childrens’ book, got a really good illustrator, and published it. It was very well received. I dedicated it to my own personal fairy, with all the love I had.
Moira and I had only one real problem our whole life together. Freddie got the acting bug, and did a few movies. Of course, he made sure we had bit parts, part of his superstition going back to the videos.
Moira loved it and started taking acting lessons, and gradually got bigger and bigger parts. Oddly enough, I was offered several parts in other movies, seems I was a natural, stemming from my early habit of morphing into whatever group I was with when I was younger.
I didn’t like it when Moira had to go on location, couldn’t stand the thought of being away from her. I did do an indie film once while she was on location. Double Shot of Love, about a middle aged bar owner who was widowed, and his twenty something gay daughter, who both managed to fall in love with the same woman. It was a hit at Sundance and Montreal, and actually made decent money. I got a few offers, but my heaqrt wasn’t in it.
This was the only time in our relationship that we had serious trouble.
My personal snake was named Calvin. He was Moiras’
manager, and he had his sites set on her from the beginning. I didn’t like him, called him Chipmonk, which pissed him off no end.
He worked her hard, often on location when I wasn’t around. I told Moira, but she laughed it off, saying he didn’t mean anything, it was just fun.
She was forty five by then, still beautiful, but not a starlet. She was on location when they decided to rewrite the script to include a nude scene. He was trying to get her to do it, saying it was the only way she could compete with the younger actresses.
He was spiking her water with a mood inhibitor, and had installed hidden cameras in her room and shower. His plan to seduce her went to pieces when Megan flew up to see why we were having trouble talking to her. Alvin tried everything he could think of to keep them apart, but she raised so much hell with the production company that she got to see her.
She called me and I immediately chartered a plane and told Megan not to leave her side. I told her in the meantime call Mike Hoage, he only lived an hour away. I don’t know who Mike called, but in forty five minutes four very large men with serious attitudes were right behind Megan and Moira. One got her checked into a hospital and had a drug screen ran, while one of the others searched her room. He found the minicams, and they found the drug used on her in Alvins’ room.
He declared no knowledge, then he insisted the drugs were hers, then said she wanted to be filmed to prepare for the nude scenes. The DA and the judge didn’t believe him.
No one knew who posted bail, but he disappeared. Permanently. Forever, never to be seen again.
Still think I’m pure as the driven snow? There was a guy in LA who learned the hard way I wasn’t. And to quote Forrest Gump, “That’s all I have to say about that.”
Moira retired, saying she never wanted to spend another night out of my arms.
I still write songs, but not like I did. Moira still appears at a benefit, or charity event, and we still play one or two dates with Freddie and
Jenny when they tour just for fun.
We spend our days together with the grand kids, five to be exact, with one on the way and three weddings to go before we get more. And we lived happily ever after.
POSTSCRIPT: Nonnie’s guitars got the highest price for Les Paul guitars up to that date, 638, 000 dollars.
I never did get my Squire back.
But I did get my 1969 Mach One back, paying almost twice what I sold it for, but he knew I had it and that I wanted it bad.
Thanks for sticking with me ’til the end.