Goin' Back Home Again

When they were all gathered on the porch, I set the ground rules. "All right, we're going to go with ladies first, then we'll go from my left to right. Sound fair?"

They agreed it did, and some young hottie from Entertainment Tonight started out.

"Nick, the YouTube videos of you and Teddy Cooper are currently exceeding ten million hits, and they've been posted for less than eight hours. Are you leaving LeadFoot and looking to form a new band?"

Oh shit, I thought. Goddamned internet age.

I kept the smile plastered on, though, and answered. "I have no plans to leave LeadFoot," I said. "I'm back home visiting with family and friends, and Teddy asked me to join them on stage last night. As you know, we're old friends from way back, and he was a founding member of LeadFoot. I couldn't refuse, and we had a lot of fun together."

"But you've left in the middle of your record negotiations," the lady said, this one in her mid-thirties, her hair locked in place by a bottle of spray, and her navy blue suit immaculate on this steamy Saturday morning. "The rumor in LA is that you're fed up and leaving, that you don't want a new record deal for LeadFoot. Any truth to that rumor?"

I shook my head. "No. We have a very capable manager, Ethan Rose, who's in charge of the negotiations. I just needed a break, and here I am."

"What about the rumor that you and Tara Boyd are having problems?" said one of the men.

"And that she's now seeing your bandmate Carl Simpson?" another said right after him.

I smiled and tried to avoid the questions. "Ladies and gentlemen, Tara and I love each other very much," I said. "She's busy getting ready for her new season, and I just decided that now was a good time to take a break. That's all it is."

They spent another half hour trying to get me to clarify my answers, but I managed to dodge them all and kept with my basic story. Seeing it going nowhere quick, they all thanked me for my time, apologized to Mom for any damage they'd done, and wandered back to their vans to edit the interviews for the evening news.

I apologized to Mom, then told her I was going to Teddy's house for a cookout. She said she'd been invited a few weeks back, and she and Bob would probably be dropping by when he got back from the office. Then I packed my two guitars back into the Escalade and took off early. I took the long way down back country roads to make sure none of the news hounds were on my trail, and pulled into Teddy's driveway at half past twelve.

"Back here," I heard Teddy call as I got out of my vehicle.

I followed the sound of his voice and the smell of barbecued pork shoulder around the back of the house. He was on the deck smoking a lot of pork shoulder in an humongous smoker. Just off the deck, three tots, two girls and a boy, were splashing around in shallow side of the in-ground pool.

"Pretty exciting morning, huh?" he said, looking at me while he took a drink of iced tea.

"They were here, too?" I said.

He nodded, seeming none too pleased with the development.

"What did you do?"

He smiled. "Told them to get off my land or I'd call the cops and have them all arrested for trespassing."

I laughed. "Wish I could do that."

I grabbed a can of Diet Pepsi from a nearby cooler and sat on one of the lawn chairs, watching him mop the pork shoulders with something before shutting the lid and sitting down next to me. We spent the next twenty minutes chatting about anything and everything, watching the children in the pool the entire time.

It started pretty serious with me apologizing for having so little contact the past six years. He waved it off, though, genuinely understanding. "That's why I never wanted that life," he said. "But you did, and I know how busy it keeps you." That was his final word on the matter; apology apparently accepted. Then he told me who else was married, had children, and working where before he he got serious on me.

"Why are you back?" he said.

I didn't answer, preferring to stare at a copse of oak trees in the distance.

"You can talk to me, you know," he said, his voice going low.

I said nothing for a minute, but then turned and looked at him.

"Teddy, are you happy?"

He got a quizzical look. "Sure I'm happy. Aren't you?"

I sighed. "I don't think so."

Teddy said nothing.

"It's not what I thought it would be," I continued. "Oh, I guess it is, but I'm beginning to realize that it's not what I want anymore. It's too much."

"Then get out," he said. Simple as that, just get out. Walter had said the same thing, but it had far more impact coming from Teddy.

"Not that easy," I countered. "I've got obligations. There's the guys in the band; they're all counting on me. And I've got a wife. Hell, she'd never move here."

He nodded. "Rumor true?"

My eyes narrowed as I looked at him.

"The reporters were calling out questions before they finally took off," he explained. "One of them said Carl was sleeping with Tara."

He saw the look on my face and nodded.

"He tried that with Jenny once," Teddy said. "Few years back when his folks had that big anniversary party and he was back in town for a few days. He tried talking Jenny into joining him in his hotel room."

"And?"

Teddy smiled. "She threw a drink in his face. Doused his fires pretty quick."

I laughed. "Well," I said, "Tara seems to have stoked the fires."

"So what're you going to do?"

I shrugged. "I don't know, Teddy. Honest to God, I love her. I love being around her. She's fun and funny and cute and adorable. Outstanding in the sack, I guess. I'm comfortable around her, I guess. The thought of changing all of that really scares me."

"Hold that thought," Teddy said, rising from his chair and going into the house. He returned a minute later with two beers and handed me one.

"So you talk to her about it yet?" he said.

I shook my head. "Tried, but she won't do it unless we're face to face. And I'm afraid to do it face to face right now. I'm afraid I'll just take her back and it'll all happen again."

He nodded. "Well, pardner, let me offer my two cents worth." He took a pull from the beer before continuing. "You need to find out why she did it. Don't worry about the fact that she did it–that's all over and done with. It's the why that'll tell you if she'll do it again." He grinned broadly, then said, "Unless, of course, that California's changed you so much that you don't mind sharing her. I'm told you famous types get off on shit like that."

I laughed. "No," I confirmed, "it hasn't changed me that much."

"Anyway, some people are just wired that way, guys and gals both," Teddy said. "They don't see it as such a big deal. Either the way they were raised or the way they're wired, I don't really know. But if you find out the why, you'll find out if it was just a one-time mistake or the first of many more to come. Then you need to ask yourself if you can live with it if it happens again. I know you say you're not into that, but what if it's five years from now? Will you then give her yet another shot, wondering how long until it happens again?"

I nodded, mulling over what he'd said. Walter hadn't put it quite this way, but, then again, he'd never liked her from day one.

"So you could forgive Jenny if you walked in on something like this?"

"I'd like to think so," he replied. "But again, that really depends on the why."

He leaned forward. "Let me tell you something," he said. "I'm not going to use any names here, but let's just say you know them. Anyway, he walked in on her and a boyfriend doing the dirty. It was the first time ever–and he's pretty sure she told the truth about that part of it–but the underlying reason is why he left her."

"Which was?" I prodded.

"Which was she didn't love him anymore." He looked me dead in the eye. "Some people can't stand the thought of being alone, so they lasso in the new horse before they cut the old one from the herd. I'm not saying it's right, but it happens a lot. And that's what she was doing. She found someone she thought she could move out of their home and into his and she was kind of taking him for a test drive."

I thought this over. "So if Tara was just caught in a bad situation, maybe didn't really fight the temptation as much as she should have for whatever reason . . . ."

"Like you guys are going through a rocky patch or something," he offered.

"Okay, then you're saying that I should just forget it?"

"No, I'm not saying you should forget it. I am saying, though, that you should consider it when making the decision about what to do with your marriage."

He leaned back. "Nick, everyone's different. But if you really and truly love her, and you're convinced she really and truly loves you back, then you may want to consider trying to fix the lawnmower before you throw it away and go buy a new one. Unless, of course, the evidence indicates that the lawnmower's too damned broken to be fixed."

I spit my mouthful of beer halfway across the deck.

"Did you just compare me to a lawnmower?" Jenny shouted out from the kitchen window.

"No, dear," Teddy yelled back. Then he leaned in close. "Only you can make these decisions, Nick. You know that, don't you? Only you'll ever really know whether you can salvage a good marriage from this. All I can tell you is that this shit–no matter how wrong; and it is wrong–happens to marriages all the time, and people get over it and wind up happily married for fifty years."

I nodded, and we shifted the conversation to other topics as people started showing up.

About fifteen minutes after our little conversation, it was my turn to get the beers. Into the kitchen I went, and froze when I saw Jenny and Aimee whispering near the sink as they stirred big bowls of cole slaw and potato salad.

They froze when they noticed my presence, and Jenny tried to pass it off with a quick hug and peck on the cheek. Aimee, though, couldn't look me in the eye, and she barely managed to mumble a hello in response to my greeting. They'd been talking about me, and I was worried they'd heard too much of my conversation with Teddy.

Trudging back out to the deck with an armful of beers and sodas, I passed them around.

"Something wrong?" Teddy asked.

I shook my head and tried to get back into my conversation with the Will, the piano player from the night before, about who was better, Warren Zevon or Ray Charles. After much discussion and too much input from the others, we agreed that it was too much like comparing apples to oranges, though Ray Charles was certainly a better jazz player and Warren Zevon a more versatile songwriter.

After thirty-five or so people were gathered, we all decided that now was a good time to play some music. Best get the entertainment out of the way before we were too drunk and got pork grease all over our instruments. Everyone gathered in the pole barn, the inside of which was finished out enough to permit for full-scale sound on a small scale, and I carried my guitars in from my vehicle and plugged them into the spare amplifiers that were sitting around.

About a forty-five minutes into it, Teddy begged me to do "Time to Start Again," a hugely successful ballad from our first album and one of the first songs Teddy and I had ever penned. It was about a painful breakup, and the singer was trying to convince the spurned lover that he should give love another shot. The best arrangement consisted only of lead vocal with minimal harmonies accompanied by fingerstyle guitar and a soft piano line. I agreed, and sat on a stool behind the lead vocal microphone, starting the guitar line and waiting for the piano to begin.

When the piano line came in, I looked around the crowd and saw Aimee standing at the back, slowly swaying to the music. Her eyes were locked on me, and mine again locked on hers, which is where they stayed through the whole song. For whatever reason (and fuck you, I'm well aware of the reason), I poured my heart and soul into it, turning an already sad song into a real emotional roller coaster. By the end, when the spurned lover answers that he just doesn't know if he's ready and the instruments die out, you could've heard a pin drop. Then I felt a slap on my arm and looked away from Aimee. Everyone in the room was watching us, back and forth. Aimee, too, noticed, and she turned a bright red as I tried to concentrate on something else.

"I think it's time to take a little break here, don't you fellas?" Will suggested from the piano.

Everyone agreed, and everyone started filing out of the pole barn in search of cold beers and lemonade. In little more than a minute, the barn was empty except for Aimee and me, me still on the stool and her still standing thirty feet away.

"I heard the whole conversation earlier," she said after a moment. "You and Teddy, on the deck."

I tried to smile, but failed. "Yeah, well . . . ."

"I'm sorry," she said. "I know what it's like, and I have some idea what you're going through."

"Thanks," I finally managed to say. What the hell was wrong with me? She'd spoken more to me in the past twenty-four hours than in the previous twenty-four years combined. In response, I'd now managed a whopping three syllables.

"Did you like it?" I tried. "The song?"

She sniffled a few times. "It was beautiful," she said. Then she tried to laugh. "I swear, Nick, if I go out there right now I'm going to bust out crying."

I smiled. Then I slid the capo down the neck of the guitar to the second fret and started playing another number. "Maybe this will cheer you up then," I said. I started singing "If I Only Had A Brain" from The Wizard of Oz.

Some tears had welled up in the corners of her eyes, but she started wiping them away and laughing, her lips occasionally syncing the lyrics. Toward the end, I heard her faint soprano voice join in for the encore.

Finished, I patted the seat of the stool beside me. "C'mon," I encouraged, "let's sing another."

She looked over her shoulder, hesitant. "Don't make me beg anymore," I said, maybe a little too serious. Either way, she was soon seated next to me.

"So I take it that was your little boy in the pool when I got here?" I started, plucking some notes while I spoke.

Her face lit up. "Brighton," she said.

"Adorable," I noted.

"Thanks."

I fiddled around on the guitar for a few minutes, snatching the occasional glance at her and smiling when our eyes met. She was less shy, I noticed, and I decided to just say what Ron had been after me to say for a decade.

I stopped playing and folded my arms over the top of the guitar. "I've wanted to say something to you for a very long time," I started. Her face got serious, maybe a tinge of fear in her eyes. "I don't want this to come out wrong, and I'm not really–"

"Me, too," she jumped in, putting a hand on top of my forearm and stroking it lightly. "Since you asked me to Homecoming."

The look of utter disbelief on my face was hard to mask, and she looked into her lap as she continued. "I blew it. I wanted you to ask me, but when you did I was terrified. I wanted you to try again, but knew you wouldn't."

She looked back into my eyes. "I've wondered these past years, especially the last three years since my divorce, how much everything would've been different if I'd just managed to say yes."

I still had that look on my face, and it must have been getting more incredulous.

"Say something, Nick."

"Well fuck me," I whispered. "Didn't see that one coming."

She giggled, then laughed, and soon we were both laughing at the ridiculousness of it all.

Then she got a serious look on her face. "But that doesn't do either of us any good right now," she said. "I'm not going to seduce you, and you'd damned well better not seduce me. You're married, Nick, and I'm not going to play the other woman in that little drama."

I leaned my head down and rested my cheek on top of her palm, enjoying her smooth, cool skin. "After ten years, I'm just glad we're both able to manage complete sentences around each other, Aimee. Tell the truth, I'm not really looking to inflict my baggage on anyone right now." I lifted my head and looked back into her eyes. "Especially someone I care so much about. Okay?"

She nodded. "And don't you think I'm gonna be there for you if you decide to leave her," Aimee continued. "I want to make it clear, Nick Harlan. I'm fond of you, but we don't know each other any more. So you'd best not be thinking you can just go get a divorce and hop right into my bed, got it? I'm not a part of that equation. This is between you and your wife. Teddy's right: You need to decide what you want. I just want you to know that if you think you want me more than you want her, don't be relying on that, understand?"

I nodded, more than a little sad. Tell you the truth, our sudden conversation had dear old Tara damned near out the door until the last little part of the conversation. Aimee was right, though. No sense moving from one wet dream to an old high school dream with someone I barely knew. My pecker had done enough thinking for me to last a few lifetimes, and it seemed high time to really start getting my shit together.

Thus, it comes as no surprise that we then heard a helicopter whup whup whupping into a landing nearby, and a whole new mess of shit was about to be dumped into my lap.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Aimee and I stood outside the doors of the pole barn and watched the rotors of the helicopter come to a stop a couple of hundred feet away. Then the side door opened, and I watched Teddy's little girls tear off with open arms, screaming "Uncle Ethan!" I was surprised they knew Ethan, particularly well enough to call him Uncle Ethan. I, on the other hand, was a total stranger to them, and my guilt returned at having not stayed closer with Teddy.

Ethan hopped out of the copter and turned, holding his hand out and helping an older gentleman get out after him. I swore under my breath when I recognized him–Monty Evans, the exec at Columbia in charge of negotiating our contract.

"You know him?" Aimee asked.

"Yep."

I walked toward them, soon joined by Teddy as we strode across the lawn. Teddy seemed pleased to see Ethan and puzzled by the obvious anger on my face.

"Hey, fellas," Ethan said with a broad grin. "Mind if we crash your party?"

"Of course not," Teddy replied, shaking Ethan's outstretched hand before introducing himself to Monty.

I, on the other hand, ignored both outstretched hands, preferring to glare.

"Come on, Nick," Ethan pleaded. "Don't be that way."

"What're you doing here?" I said to Monty.

He fidgeted in response. "Well, perhaps this isn't the most, uh, conventional way of doing this."

"I'm on vacation," I shot back. Turning to Ethan, I continued, "I thought that point was made crystal clear."

Ethan ignored my anger and went back to smiling. "Shit happens," he said. Then he took off toward the house, speaking along the way. "The newest shit is the video of you guys last night pasted all over the internet."

"Sorry, Nick," Monty said. "You, too, Mr. Cooper. This is becoming huge, though, and we can't wait any longer or it'll get a whole lot worse. I don't suppose you can get the rest of that band out here, can you? The ones you were playing with last night?"

"They're up at the house," Teddy said, his voice getting wary.

"Can you both spare maybe fifteen minutes of your time here?" Ethan said. "With the other guys from last night?"

"No," I said. "We're having a cookout. This is neither the–"

"Nick, will you please just humor me on this?" Monty pleaded. "You really don't understand. The shit's hitting the fan over the video and the rumors about you and Tara and Carl."

Ethan stopped and wheeled on me. "Goddamnit, Nick, you don't understand," he said. "Monty's bosses now have the whole story. Hell, all of LA has the whole story, and it'll be all over the papers, the news, the fuckin' internet within twenty-four hours. And his bosses are understandably hesitant to even continue talks with LeadFoot at this point. The whole thing's too explosive for them, and they don't want to spend millions to be left with their dicks in their hands if Carl's little escapades have caused, or can still cause, a major rift. Understand now? You may be in the unemployment line–your career on some serious skids–unless we get this dealt with before the shit hits the fan."