Goin' Back Home Again

"Good morning," I said into the phone.

"Not yet," he replied, sounding more chipper than I thought he would. "But it's going to be a real good morning real soon."

"What's going on?" I asked.

"Looks like they jumped the gun," he said. "Tara's agent and publicist have decided you're not coming back, and it looks like they've gone on the offensive to protect her image and make her look like the scorned spouse here."

I nodded. Jesus H. Christ, why did she do this without talking to me? I'd have kept quiet. Shit like this was the last thing either of us needed.

"How you thinking about playing this?" I said.

"I'll tell you when you get here," he replied.

"Get where?"

"Teddy's house," he said. "Wait until the first of the media show up, then get in your vehicle and get out here."

"Why wait?" I said.

"So they'll follow you out here. No sense in putting your mother through this shit on a Sunday morning."

"But what about Teddy's family? There's no–"

"We're fine," Teddy said on another line.

A half hour later, I pulled into Teddy's driveway, a trail of news vans close behind. They must have learned their lesson from the day before, though, because they all parked on the shoulder of the road and none of them came onto Teddy's property.

"So what happened?" I asked once inside Teddy's living room.

"This," Teddy said. He clicked his Tivo and the talk show came on.

I watched.

"Tara," the interviewer said, her voice dripping in false sincerity, "there are rumors that your marriage is in trouble. Any truth to that?"

Tara tried to smile, but failed. A great act, I recognized; I'd seen her do this a million times before.

Getting no response, the interviewer smelled blood in the water and drew her knives. "I'm sorry if this is uncomfortable for you, but the word in Hollywood is that you've started seeing Carl Simpson, your husband's fellow band member in LeadFoot. Is that true?"

Tara started out softly, and the camera zoomed in on her feigned pain. "Carl and I are friends," she said. "I admit that we've been seen together, but he's there solely as a friend to help me through this extremely painful time in my life."

The interviewer struggled to contain her glee. "And what painful things are happening in your life right now?"

Tara looked directly at the interviewer and switched to a look of fierce determination. "Nick has been conducting a series of affairs," she said. "Carl was the one who shared this information with me. I didn't believe him at first, but my agent, who's also one of my oldest and dearest friends, insisted I try to verify the tales of Nick's infidelities. We have confirmed that Carl was telling the truth."

"How many women has Nick been seeing?" the interviewer asked, not believing her good fortune.

"I'd rather not discuss that," Tara said. "Suffice it to say I confronted him with my discoveries last Wednesday, and he stormed out and I haven't seen him since."

Teddy clicked the television off and turned to me. He tried to keep that lazy smile on his face, but he managed only to look upset about the whole thing.

Ethan, on the other hand, was smiling. "Well," he said, "looks like events have overtaken us."

I nodded. Guess Tara and I wouldn't be having that little talk after all. She'd forced my hand, and I now decided to play the cards I'd been dealt–the cards she'd dealt me, actually, from the bottom of the deck–and get her out of my life.

"The choice is now yours," Ethan continued. "We can either let her get away with this, or we can bury her."

My eyebrows rose at this, and I looked at him waiting for him to continue.

"I've documented her little tryst from the moment I learned," Ethan said. "We've got photos, videos, and affidavits. After our little discussion yesterday, I also got on the line back to LA and got some people onto digging some more. I've already heard back from them this morning, and we may have quite a bit more coming out soon."

My jaw dropped. "There's more?" I said.

"Yep," Ethan replied. "Seems she's slept with a few of her co-stars. Half the cast and most of the crew know all about it, and a few are willing to share in the sordid details."

I went cold all over. This was standard bullshit for Hollywood, but I'd never suspected my marriage–or my loving wife–were the norm. The past few days had shown, though, that I was apparently just another part of the perfect facade of America's Sweetheart. She was bright, bubbly, charming, and a loving wife. Not!

"So what'll it be?" Ethan asked.

I looked to Teddy. He stared straight back at me, his jaws nervously clenching and unclenching.

"Bury the bitch," Jenny shouted from the kitchen.

I giggled. "You?" I said to Teddy.

He nodded. "Talking won't do you any good, partner. I think you now have all the answers you need to know where your marriage is."

"So let's talk about the options," I said to Ethan. "If we do nothing?"

"Do nothing and it's your career that takes a beating. Makes any new record negotiations for Mustang Ranch problematic at best."

"Come on," I said. "This shit happens all the time. Never hurt Mick Jagger, did it?"

Ethan laughed. "No," he agreed. "Then again, Mick Jagger's whole image was always the bad boy. Your's, on the other hand, has always been the quiet, thoughtful poet. The good boy, in other words. Let this go unchallenged and you risk destroying the image. From Columbia's point of view, they risk untold millions on a sudden unknown. Remember, Nick, you've got tremendous crossover appeal, both the country and the rock markets. The rock fans won't carry, but old Marge in Fucksville, Mississippi–who goes to church every Sunday and drags her husband along–she's going to have a problem with you."

I looked out the picture window at the gaggle of vans lined up and down the road, then I turned back to Ethan. "All right," I said, "tell me how to play it."

His grin went ear to ear, and he clicked open his briefcase.

Twenty minutes later, Teddy had the press all set up in the pole barn. They were ready when I stepped in and strode to the front.

"Nick," they shouted in unison, then a flurry of questions shot my way in a cacophony of sound.

When they finally quieted down, I started. "Same rules as yesterday, folks," I said. "We'll start with the ladies, then go from my left to right with the men." I looked at the young cutie that had started the day before. "Sorry, but you went first yesterday," I said, then turned to the smartly dressed professional who had gone second the day before.

"Mr. Harlan," she started. Her tone was condescending, and her eyes were ablaze with anger. She was either pissed at my evasions from the day before or furious that I could so blatantly cheat on poor Tara Boyd. Ethan suspected she'd be the ideal first choice, and her tone told me this was going to go down as planned.

"Ms. Lockhart?" I responded, trying to keep an innocent look of pain on my face.

"Mr. Harlan, your wife this morning told Valerie Plymouth that you have ruined your marriage with a long series of affairs. Is there any truth to her allegations?"

I took a deep breath, turning to make eye contact with the gathered reporters before turning back to the minx who thought she had me dead to rights.

"I very much regret to say that Tara was at least partially correct," I started. At this, a dozen lightbulbs flashed and temporarily blinded me. This helped me keep the grimace of pain on my face as I continued. "Tara was correct in that our marriage is most definitely over. She was incorrect, though, in alleging that I was ever unfaithful to her or to our marriage."

At that, I pulled the contents from the manila envelope in my hand. Then I turned to the young cutie from Entertainment Tonight.

"Your turn, Ms. Miller," I said.

"So you're saying you've never cheated on your wife?"

"Not once," I said. "If she has any proof to the contrary, which she claimed this morning, then I'd sure like to see it. Because I'll tell all of you right now: Until Wednesday afternoon, when I walked in on my wife and one of my oldest friends in the world having sex in our house, I thought I had the perfect marriage. Now, however, I know that is not the case."

"You're saying she was the one cheating?" the first male in line said as the lightbulbs started exploding in my face and the cameras and microphones moved in closer.

"Unfortunately," I said, "that is exactly what I'm saying."

"Do you have any proof of this?" the original cougar demanded, her disbelief evident.

"Your turn," I said to the next man, ignoring her.

He looked at the cougar and smiled. "Do you have any proof to back up your allegations?" he said.

"This report was prepared by A & R Investigations of Malibu, California," I said, holding the papers aloft for all to see. "As you will all soon see, my wife was somewhat less than truthful this morning, and this report will bear that out."

"In what ways was she untruthful?" the next reporter asked.

"She has been having an . . . intensely physical relationship with Carl Simpson for at least the past two months," I said, my voice shaking at the end. I took a minute to compose myself, damned near pissing my pants with inner glee as I played the part of scorned husband to the hilt.

"This report contains dates, times, photographs, and more," I continued after a minute. "And what's more, I've been informed that this was apparently not the first time something like this happened in our marriage."

"Do you know the identities of any others?" someone shouted.

"I really don't want to go into any greater detail on any of this," I said, stuffing the report back into the envelope. "My manager will make a redacted version of this report available to all of you shortly. Until then, I just want to make it real clear to all of you. I loved my wife with all of my heart, and I thought she loved me in return. I have been faithful to my marriage and to Tara from the day we met, and I would never have done anything to jeopardize our marriage. I have never cheated on her, and I would have gone to the grave without doing so. I regret to say, though, that it has been a dreadful shock to learn that Tara did not feel the same way and act the same way."

Questions were again being shouted out in a wall of frantic sound. I ignored them, holding up my hands for silence.

"Ladies and gentlemen," I said, "I know you all want to ask many more questions. However, I ask that you now respect my wishes–my need–to deal with this whole mess privately with the few family and friends that have offered me their support since I learned of all of this a few short days ago."

With that, I turned and exited the pole barn leaving Ethan to deal with the rest of it all.

"How'd it go?" Teddy asked.

I was drained. It had been fun for awhile, but now that it was over, it finally all hit me. My marriage was dead; my wife had betrayed me repeatedly and I'd never suspected a thing; and now the whole goddamned world was going to be following this for quite some time.

Jenny hugged me, tears streaming down her face. "You really deserved better, Nick," she kept saying. All I could do was hug her back and try to keep the tears at bay. I managed, but barely so.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

By noon, the press had all departed and the boys from the band pulled into the driveway.

"Any word yet?" Jimbo asked for all of them.

"He'll be here in about an hour," Ethan said.

This was the first I'd heard of this.

Seeing my look, Teddy spoke. "Nothing's decided yet," he said. "Let's see what they say, then we'll talk amongst ourselves, okay?"

I shrugged. Wouldn't hurt to listen, but I was surprised that Teddy seemed to actually be considering this.

Forty-five minutes later, Monty drove down the driveway in a Lexus SUV. Once we were all seated around the living room, Monty started.

"Columbia wants to sign you all to a recording contract," he said.

Rob and Jimbo exchanged high fives, and Will pumped his fist in excitement.

"Terms?" Teddy asked.

Monty laid them out. They weren't great up front, but there were incentives built in if record sales matched or exceeded expectations. All told, it was almost as good as they'd been offering for LeadFoot, which was surprising given LeadFoot's proven durability and popularity. Still, they recognized that my participation was essential to this deal, and Monty made that crystal clear from the outset.

"So LeadFoot's dead?" I asked.

He nodded. "Tara's little antics this morning guaranteed that," he said. "Your response, while great for your, kills the band, though. They're not interested in re-signing LeadFoot just as the turmoil is hitting."

"What if we get rid of Carl?" Ethan posed.

Monty shook his head. "Doesn't matter. Then we've got to deal with an unknown–a new band member and whether the fit is any good–at the beginning of a new contract. Then, of course, there's the songwriting."

Monty turned to Teddy. "It's not just Nick they insist on," Month said. "It's the songs, too. And you. They think there's great chemistry–between all of you." He looked around at all of the band members, making sure they understood. "We want all five of you or nothing. Frankly, fellas, they think they could make a go of it with just Teddy and Nick, but I convinced them otherwise. You guys put up a really different sound, something we're not hearing much of and would like to explore a little more. Still, there's a risk, one that record companies don't often take. That's why they have the terms they do. They don't think they can lose on this with Teddy and Nick's involvement, but I'm convinced the payoff is going to come from what all five of you do."

Monty waited patiently while we all took that in.

"I'd have some condition," Teddy said. Then looking at the rest of us, he added, "Assuming you guys want to do this, that is."

I watched Will, Rob, and Jimbo nod enthusiastically. Teddy's eyes then bored into mine, waiting for a reaction.

"I'm interested," I said. "Doesn't look like I'll have anything else to do, does it?"

That seemed good enough for Teddy, and he continued. "I have a family," he said. "They're going to come first. Always."

I smiled, liking where this was going. Monty seemed unsure, though.

"So I'm going to give this two years and two albums," Teddy continued. "I'll take a leave of absence from teaching. But if I'm not happy with this in two years–if this is hurting my family–then I want an option out of the third album."

"Anyone have a problem with that?" Ethan asked.

We all shook our heads except Monty. "That may change some of the terms," he said.

"The terms don't change," Teddy said. "All that changes is we can opt out of the third album if I want to quit and if they–or you–don't want to do it without me."

"What do we get in return?" Monty said.

Teddy smiled, and I knew he'd already planned this out well in advance.

"If we stay together, you get an automatic option for the fourth album on the same terms as the third," he said. "And I won't have the right to withdraw and not participate in the fourth album."

Monty thought about this for a moment, then spoke. "I think I can sell that," he said. "When do you think you can get me an answer on the rest?"

"Give us a couple of hours, Monty," Ethan said. "Go get yourself some lunch and come back here at, say, three. See if you can confirm that the terms are good on your end, and we'll let you know in a couple of hours."

Jenny walked into the room as Monty walked out.

"So?" she said.

"They're offering us a real sweet deal," Teddy told her.

She nodded, biting her lip and turning to me. "Are you going to take care of him for me?" she asked.

I looked from her to Teddy then to Ethan, Rob, Will, and Jimbo. They were holding their collective breath, waiting to know whether I was in or out.

Then I saw Aimee standing in the kitchen door, her son on her hip and a look I couldn't read on her face.

"Well?" Ethan prompted.

Here I was, a few hours after learning my marriage had disintegrated. Then, to top it off, I learn the band that had been the rest of my life for the past ten years was now no more. And oh, did I mention that I now had two hours to decide whether to start this whole thing all over again with an old friend I hadn't until recently seen in years and three virtual strangers?

Without a word, I walked out the front door to get some air.

Ten minutes later, my thoughts were broken by a quiet presence behind me.

"I think Teddy really wants a shot at this now," Aimee said. "It's all he's talked about these past few years. He's regretted leaving the band. That's why he got all of those songs to Ethan. He wanted back in."

I turned to face her. "It's all just too much suddenly, you know?"

She nodded, empathy painting her face.

"I mean . . . oh fuck, I just wanted some time to think, to take this all in," I said. "Now that's gone."

She put her hand on my shoulder. "I don't think it is," she said. "Teddy and Jenny care about you. They'll be here for you. The band . . . well, that'll give you something to do to take your mind off things, right?"

She was right, of course. Actually, I couldn't think of a better group of people to be stuck with during the sudden shit storm that seemed to be increasing in intensity.

"What about you, though?" I said.

She was surprised at this. "What about me?"

"If I do this, go back on the road and into the studio and keep at this, how would you feel about that?"

She didn't flinch; she'd seen this coming even if I had only just then thought about it. "How I feel about it doesn't matter."

She took my hand in hers and pulled me along the grass toward the trees at the back of the property.

"Nick," she said, "there is no us right now. There's you and there's me, but there's no we, okay?"

I said nothing, and she seemed content to spell it out over my silence.

"Yes, I like you," she said. "From what I've seen, that is. But we're not the same people we once were, and we never even really knew each other back then. I'm nothing but a vision from your past, someone you think you'll feel comfortable with given all that's happened to you." She stopped and turned to me. "All that is happening to you right now, Nick. You see that, right?"

Fine, she was right. I had my head up my ass and was now enjoying visions long since forgotten.

"But maybe I want to get to know you better now," I said.

"That's fine," she whispered. "Then that's what we'll do, okay? We'll get to know each other. But I'm not going to go running off into your bed, Nick. Now now. Not with your marriage just now crumbling. I don't need that, and my son sure doesn't need me going through anything like that again in the near future."

I listened, staring into her eyes. Sure, I'd heard her. And deep inside I knew she was absolutely right. Still, I leaned in and kissed her. Her lips were pillow soft, her breath minty, her eyes open in horror at first then closed as she started kissing me back. Then, as I gently pulled her into me for more, she broke free.

"Goddamnit, Nick," she said, anger and embarrassment flushing her face and making her eyes sparkle. "Didn't you listen to a thing I just said?"

"Thanks," I whispered in response. "You've at least given me some good dreams for a change. And something to look forward to down the road."

Her anger dissipated and she pulled me in, hugging me tightly. I hugged her back, enjoying the feeling of her body against mine.

"Enjoy this," she murmured, "it's all you're getting from me for quite some time."

I enjoyed it and, yet again, she was right: That was the limit of our contact for some time to come.

Back in the house, all were gathered in the living room. I could hear the low conversation as Aimee and I walked through the kitchen door, but their conversation stopped and all eyes turned to me when we entered the front room. Aimee sat on the love seat, leaving room for me next to her. I sat, looked at her, then looked at everyone else.