Unplugged (A Portrait of a Rock Star) (20 page)

The next few weeks were spent in my new Audi R8 Convertible, driving back and forth from Sparta to Livingston to the studio and back to Sparta.  Teaching piano to marveling children was both inciting and gratifying. And, the highlight of my days.  The enthusiasm from my pint-sized students was helping to fill the empty hole in my forsaken heart.  Their pride in their progress was unparalleled.  These were children who had their whole lives taken from them and yet their resilience was mind-blowing.  I would continue to teach these inspiring young performers, but when their stay at the hospital ended, it would sadden me to say goodbye.  If they lived near east coast New Jersey, I’d schedule lessons, bringing along my small keyboard, but it wouldn’t be the same.  These children needed real pianos to keep them ignited.

Although I was spending ample time at the Saint Barnabas Burn Center, I avoided Mara’s room.  Her betrayal, disguised as concern, triggered the smarting deep within the crevices of my heart.  She’d claimed I needed a home for my soul, but she’d closed the doors on the only dwelling place I’d ever wanted to reside.  Mara was my home.  Without her, I would always be lost and homeless.  I couldn’t fathom finding myself, if she weren’t along for the journey.  I’d already taken the road least traveled when I chose stardom.  For me, it was desolate and barren of purpose.  Rejoining the Rock ‘n Roll world was like handing me a loaded gun; if I had to do it again, without a driving force, I’d rather not be in this world.  And if Mara weren’t my mainspring, what would keep me going?

***

Holland was extremely busy lately.  We were meeting with our producers and stagehands; we were putting the finishing touches on our album and rehearsing every spare minute.  Traveling the roads of New Jersey was getting tiresome, but I needed the comfort of my own things.  For a soul so lost, the familiarity of my own house was essential.

My promise to Mara to quit the use of alcohol had been as futile as any addicts’ word to go clean.  If I had ever had any respect for myself, ever, I couldn’t remember.  Sure, when I was the great Tagg Holland, singer/songwriter/Teenage America’s heartthrob, I may have had a false sense of self-regard, but it wasn’t real.  It was never real.  All that glitters is definitely … broken glass, where I was concerned.

What the heck was I thinking when I had proposed to Mara?  No one as special as she is could ever really fall for a golden loser like me.

I took one of the bottles of whiskey that I’d been storing on my counter lately and poured myself a glass.  Obliviously downing the first, I poured myself another and realized that, although I was alone in the house, I was never really alone when I was with my intoxicant.  With every swill of whiskey, I toasted with my past demons. With every quick swallow, I drank with my berating and incorrigible father.  With every swig, I celebrated with my dead wife and son.  With every empty glass, I pushed and shoved at the crowd to just let me be.

My resolve to become a better person was weakening with every bottle I downed.  The familiar routine of lighting up, drinking up and passing out was a comfort all its own.  The lonely embrace of my recliner was the only affection I sought and I was so close to throwing it all in again.

Damn Auggie and his demand to play again.

***

Some time in the middle of one drunken night, I felt a terrible tremble while sleeping.  I turned over, knowing that in my inebriated state, I was accustomed to hearing lots of unusual noises. Only, this time, the clattering sounded too real.  And it hadn’t ceased when I sat up.  The sound was emanating from out front.  I hastened to the front window where I caught the tremor’s source.  The yellow Camaro, forced into the large Oak tree standing in my front yard.  This time, instead of taking matters into my own hands, I dialed 911 and alerted them of the car crashed outside my house.  I slipped a pair of jeans over my boxers and hurried out the front door.  Stumbling down the stairs, I made it outside.

The Camaro had been abandoned.  The Sparta police showed up instantly.  “Mr. Holland.  Officer Rodriguez.”  The cop extended his hand when introducing himself.

Accepting his handshake, I began to explain what I’d heard.  “Officer Rodriguez.  There was a tremor about ten minutes ago, I came outside and saw the car.  I assume the shaking came from the crash.  She must have hit hard.”

“She?”  Officer Rodriguez asked.  “You saw someone at the scene?”

“No.  I didn’t, but I’ve seen this car before. A woman drives it.”

“Do you know the woman, Mr. Holland?”

“Uh.  I’m not sure how to answer that.”

“As precisely as you can.” He clipped.

 I explained the whole story to Officer Rodriguez.  From the first time I saw the car following me to the news of its registrant.  Officer Rodriguez looked as befuddled as I felt.

I leaned against the maple tree that stood beside the Oak on my front lawn and suddenly thought of Mara. And her Rush song analogy.  “Hmmm.”  I said out loud to myself, thinking that Mara had me wrong.  I wasn’t the strong Oak tree, absorbing all the sunlight.  In my mind, I believed myself to be the overgrown pine tree just trying to blend in with the other pines.

Officer Rodriguez and his partner came back from taking a look around the woods.  “Mr. Holland, this isn’t yours is it?”  He held up an open gas container.  “We found it on the side of your house.  It’s half empty and your house is doused in it.  Well, one side of it is, anyway.”

My jaw dropped.  “No.  It’s not mine, but, my…other house was burned down last month.  I…” I was stunned.

Officer Rodriguez cut in, not allowing me to continue.  “Yes, we heard.”  The cop paused, looking pensive.  “Something tells me you were about to be burned again.”

I didn’t think the cop’s double entendre was at all funny.

Just then, there was a rustling in the trees.  Rodriguez and his partner withdrew their guns and approached the wooded area.  They’d ducked and covered, afraid of what they would find.  Not only could there have been a killer, but there were also lots of bears hidden in the Sparta woods.  Behind the trees and brush, a flaxen-haired woman was whimpering.  She came staggering out from behind the woods holding a near empty bottle of vodka and crying tears running down her cheek.  She was tall, thin, and pretty, but extremely drawn and pale.

My eyes had to be betraying me.  It had to be that it was too dark for me to see clearly.  The policeman handcuffed her and brought her to the patrol car, two feet from me.

I gasped.

“Crystal?”

The next morning, I canceled all of my appointments.  I had been up late, spending most of the night at the police station and I was too baffled by the news I’d learned last night to successfully accomplish anything.  Holland was laying rhythm tracks today and I wasn’t scheduled to lay the vocals until later.  I wouldn’t really be missed.  In fact, my band was pretty sick and tired of seeing me drunk and depressed, so I’m sure they’d be grateful for my considerate absence.

I took my pity partying outside on the dock, instead of on my living room recliner.  I could feel winter creeping through my sweatshirt as I laid face up on my wooden dock.  The cold wind on my face ironically felt like the slap I’d needed long ago.  Instead of numbing me, the cold, fresh, winter air made me all too aware of the hole in my heart and chaos in my life.

Last night’s visit to the SPD left me reeling with confusion, sadness and anger.  I had learned the truth about the night Crystal found me unfaithful.  And my self-inflicted isolation may have been a punishment in vain.

I had not been the only adulterer in our marriage.  And it was not me Crystal was running from that fateful evening, but rather someone she was running to, the night she crashed.

Not only was Crystal ‘two-timing’ me, but she had a whole other life going on in which I was unaware.  She had a plan.  A plan to get away.  And she would take my son with her.

***

Last night’s disclosure, at the police station, played in my mind over and over and each time I heard it, made it no less distressing to hear.

“Mr. Holland,” Officer Rodriguez began.  “Are you familiar with a woman by the name of Catherine Sparks?”

I shook my head, but took a moment to think about it.  “No.  Not that I can recall.”

“You don’t recall your wife ever mentioning her?”

Again, I shook my head.  “No.  Should I?”

An odd expression crossed the officer’s face as he nodded.  “How ‘bout a Cameron Cummings?”

Well that caught me off guard.  “Crystal’s sister?  What does she have to do with anything?”

Officer Rodriguez just stared at me.

“What?”  This conversation was beginning to get creepy.

“What do you know about Crystal’s sister?”

“Officer Rodriguez? Would you mind just getting to the point?  I have a terrible headache and this is just nonsense.  Who the hell was driving the Camaro?”

“You know her as Cameron.”  He took a dramatic pause, obviously to leave open, room for my reaction.

“Crystal’s sister.”  It wasn’t an inquiry.

“No sir.”  Officer intoned.

The sound of my palms, slamming the metal table, echoed in the small room.  Officer Rodriguez bounded backwards, nearly falling off his seat, when I launched myself out of my seat.  “Fuck this.” I stormed out the door, where two more officers stopped me from going further, apparently watching our conversation through the one-way mirror.

“Mr. Holland.” Rodriguez bolted after me.  Restrained by the two officers leading me back into the holding room, I was forced to hear him out.  His buddies slammed me back down in the chair, as if I were the criminal.

“What the hell?”

“I’m sorry, Mr. Holland.” Rodriguez turned toward his men.  “Enough.  I got it from here.”  The door shut and then there were two.  “Cameron Cummings was not your wife’s sister.” He paused again, but I made no move.  “She was her lover.”

“What?” My head shook.  “No. You’re wrong.”

“Her real name is Catherine Starks.”

“No.  The woman in the Camaro could not be Cameron.  She looked nothing like her.”

“How close did you get a look at her, Mr. Holland?”

“Uh.” A stutter was all I could muster.

“She bleached her hair.  Wore heals… had a nose job… all to deceive you.”

“What!” Now this was ludicrous.  “You’re saying Crystal’s sister… or… lover, changed her appearance, put a car in Crystal’s name, changed her name, for that matter, all to deceive me?” I was incredulous.

“Yes, sir.  According to Ms. Starks, she began deceiving you before you … married her lover.”

“What?”  This was getting crazier by the minute.

“It seems, sir, that your marriage was a ruse.  I am sorry to be the one to break this to you.”  He dropped his head in an attempt to look sincere.

I dropped my head into my hands … in an attempt to hide my tears.  Don’t ask me why, but I was beginning to take this news hard.

“Ms. Starks claims that Crystal used you to get pregnant and once the baby was born, she was going to leave you to be with her lover.  They wanted a family and this is what they conjured up.”

No. I couldn’t believe that.  “Why would she even bother to marry me then?  I could’ve gotten her pregnant anyway.”

“I don’t know sir.  Ms. Starks says Crystal needed to be cognizant of her reputation.  She was respected as a reserved and conservative actress.”

“Mmm.” That sounded like Crystal.

“So she posed as Crystal’s sister so no one would question why they were always together.  Including yourself, sir.”

I ran my hands through my hair and then used one hand to cover my mouth.

“According to Catherine, the night your wife found you… philandering,” he whispered, “she hadn’t been away on a film shoot… she was living with Catherine.”

I just shook my head.  It’s all I could do.

“She held residence there when she wasn’t with you.”  He hesitated, apparently troubled by what he had to say next.  He took a deep breath before exhaling dramatically.  “The night she fled from your house… she’d called Ms. Starks from her cell… excited to have an excuse…” he lowered his again, “to leave you, sir.  She’d expressed such excitement over the phone and Catherine had begged her to hurry home.  She was racing to begin her new life.”

I banged my head, three times, on the table.  When I looked at the officer, I’m sure he caught sight of my tears, falling rapidly down my face.  The betrayal I felt was worse than believing I’d been the one to blame for Crystal’s death.

“In any event,” he droned on, “Catherine was so engorged with guilt and anger that she’d averted the blame toward you.  Over time, she said, she’d even started to believe it.  Her only comfort was that you seemed as miserable as she was.  But when you’d started to resurface, she couldn’t handle it.  She needed to take you down.  She wanted you to feel as bad as she felt.”

I wiped my brow.  “So she burned down my house?”

“She went crazy, Mr. Holland. And, by the way, she claims you’ve seen your…” he cleared his throat, “mistress, recently?”

“Um, you mean the one from seven years ago?” Yes. That’s who he’d meant.  “Yeah.  I ran into her in the city some time ago.  Why?”

“Evidently, Catherine hired the woman to taunt you.  But the woman claimed that Catherine was getting a little too obsessed, so she backed off and gave her back her money.”

This. Was. My. Life.

***

The brisk wind woke me from my musings.  Abruptly, I sat up.  I needed to run, yet had nowhere to go.  My blood was racing so vigorously through my veins that it felt like even it wanted out of my body.  I was devastated by the news of late, yet nothing comparatively close, to the torment going on in my heart caused by Mara.

  What was her real reason for not wanting to marry me?  Was she still hopelessly in love with Brad that she couldn’t betray him by committing herself completely to me? Or could she really not trust me? Was she wondering why I hadn’t been in to see her lately? Did she even care?

My interrogating thoughts never did take long to spiral downward, plummeting me into a deep abyss.  My heart was hollow without Mara’s love and I was drowning in my own self-pity.  I either had to talk to Mara to win her back or risk standing in quick sand again, unable to claw my way back out this time.

What I knew to be the right thing to do and what I’d actually do were two totally different actions.  When the going got tough, the weak took off running straight in the opposite direction. Mara was right.  Running is what I did best.  I’d become too dependant on Mara’s affection and if she was right and I needed to find out what made me tick, then I needed to do it alone, but I was afraid to confront her about it.  Scared of losing her forever.  What if I ventured away from her for a while and she found she was easily content without me?   Ineffectively avoiding her would give me the same unwanted result, but running away was what I did. It was what I knew and I was good at it.  I’d disappeared for more than seven years; I could do it again.

In the end, that is what I did.  I had shunned Mara.  She’d recovered from her burns well enough to leave the hospital and I wasn’t there to see her through it.  I failed her, once again.  She had always wanted only the best for me, while my selfish, commiserating psyche delivered her my worst.

My mom and dad attempted to get me to talk to her, but I had declined, seeking martyrdom instead of paradise.  My mom tried to show compassion, but Auggie had had enough.  His son was a lost cause and I was an embarrassment to him.  “No self-respecting adult acts this way, Taggart.”  He had told me two days ago.  “You’re not fit to be a man and I don’t see how you are going to pull off entertaining fifty thousand people two days from now.”

I wasn’t fit to be a man.  Such encouraging words from such an endearing father.  No wonder I’d turned out such a mess; confidence building was not my father’s strong suit, and I certainly wasn’t trying to construct my own self-esteem.

But I was making an effort to entertain a bunch of middle-aged fans so that they could revisit a time when their lives were not so encumbered.  I was no different from my followers.  We had all reached a time in our lives that came way too fast.  Some were where they’d wanted to be; some were where they’d expect they would be; some resigned to a life they never really asked for and some, like me, were still searching for that all-important call to a more principled existence.

There was a part of me that would enjoy singing up on stage tonight.  I was good at it and I knew it.  Some would say that my life did have purpose; I was providing enjoyment to a mass amount of people through my music.  As my idol, Bono so brilliantly stated,
“It’s such an extraordinary thing, music.  It is how we speak to God finally- or how we don’t.  Even if we’re ignoring God.  It’s the language of the spirit.  If you believe that we contain within our skin and bones a spirit that might last longer than your time breathing in and out – if there is a spirit, music is the thing that wakes it up…and it seems to be how we communicate on another level.”
  And Like Bono, I wanted to give back with my gift of music.  I wanted to pay back the people who counted on me to entertain them. Feeding their souls and awakening their spirits was just one way I could do that.  And though I knew that was a valid purpose, deep in my bones I could feel, there was another reason for my being here on this earth.  Another reason I was handed so freely, this beautiful passion for music.

****

Mara’s Letter to Bradley

December 30, 2010

Dear Brad,

Life has been rough lately.  I haven’t written in a while.  I’d been in the hospital.  Tagg’s house caught fire, with me in it.  Each day I am feeling better and better, though. 

I am sorry I haven’t written in a while.  Writing to you was a way of keeping you in my life.  And that was good, at the time.  But, I think it’s hindering me from moving on.  Having you still be a part of my life is allowing me to hang on to the hurt and pain of losing you.  I hadn’t realized this, but I need to let go of the pain in order to love again.  It is a burden really, because my fear of losing Tagg, like I lost you, resulted in me losing Tagg anyway.

I need to end my correspondence, so that I am truly free to love Tagg.  I need him back.  I want him back.  I know he doesn’t come without his faults, but aren’t we all at fault of something?

I loved you Bradley and I’d missed you terribly.  But it’s time to close this chapter of my life and start a new one… with Tagg, if he will still have me.

Rest in peace, Brad. And know you were loved.

Love, Me