Goin' Back Home Again

"All right," I said, "I've made some decisions here, and I've got some demands of my own."

At that, Rob and Jimbo again exchanged high fives and Will again pumped his fist. I smiled at their excitement and hoped they were ready for what they were getting themselves into.

"What are your demands?" Teddy said.

"I'm not running this band," I said.

"Of course not, Nick," Teddy said. "It's a partnership. We'll all make the decisions together."

I shook my head. "Doesn't work that way, Teddy," I said. "You guys make the decisions and run them by me. But that's it. I don't want to have to make the decisions anymore."

I turned to Ethan. "That's been the problem with LeadFoot for way too long. I felt like the weight of the world was on my shoulders and mine alone. Like I was babysitting a bunch of two-year olds. Now it's time for someone to babysit me, okay?"

Ethan looked at Teddy, who turned to me and spoke. "But you want the power to veto everything?"

I nodded. "It's not like I'm being undemocratic here. You guys just make the decisions then come to me to make sure I'm okay with them, y'know? Gives me a chance to hear what you're thinking and where we're going, a chance to maybe change things if it's a bad idea. And I only mean the major decisions, Teddy. I don't give a shit what we have for dinner or where we stay or, within reason, who we hire. Ethan already knows all of that crap anyway."

I looked at all four of them and leaned forward. "There's no majority rules here, guys. Trust me on this, if three of us start ganging up on the other two, we're not going to make it. So everyone has to agree to all major decisions anyway. But I don't want to have to make the decisions or even be a part of the process anymore, okay? Think of it more as just you keeping me informed after you've made the decision yourselves."

Teddy looked at the other guys, and they all either shrugged or nodded.

"Guys," I said, "I'm in no condition to make these decisions right now. My head's too far up my ass with everything else. So if you want me, these are my terms. Otherwise, we're standard and equal partners on everything. Songwriting's separate, of course, but you'll all have your own chances at that if you want them."

"Works for me," Will said.

Rob looked at Jimbo, got his assent, then said, "Us too."

I looked at Teddy. "Well, partner, you wanted this and now you've got it. You okay with it?"

Teddy looked at Jenny, who gave a pensive nod of her head.

"Suppose so," he said, his eyes staying on Jenny.

When Monty returned, he had basic agreements drawn up for Ethan to get to our attorneys for review. Columbia had agreed to Teddy's terms, though, and they didn't need to know about my conditions. That was just between Ethan and my fellow band members.

In any event, in the past five days, I'd left one of the biggest acts in rock music and one of the most famous and beautiful wives in the world. Now, without time to pause for a breath, I was embarking on a whole new band with a whole new cast of characters.

All the while, the only two thoughts running through my mind were why Tara had betrayed me so horribly–and apparently for so long–and would I ever be able to make a go of it again with someone new, someone like Aimee?

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

My first question was answered around noon the following day. Teddy and I had huddled together late into Sunday night working out the kinks on two songs, two songs of mine he'd re-worked and that now needed final polishing. Around eleven on Monday, Will, Rob, and Jimbo joined Teddy and I in the pole barn and started working on arrangements for the first song, "When I Get Back." Will was a pleasant surprise in the arrangement department; he repeatedly offered fresh takes on tempos and arrangements, taking a slow ballad and turning it into a rockabilly number with dual lead vocals and shimmering background underlaid by a pulsing guitar sound, driving bass, solid drums, and complementary piano line. I'd never envisioned the song being played that way. Then again, I'd never had a piano in LeadFoot–unless it was some studio musician brought in for a song here and there–and the new arrangement worked far better with this new lineup.

Teddy was the first to see her. My back was to the door of the pole barn, watching Jimbo on drums and strumming the rhythm on acoustic guitar, when Teddy's lead line ended in a screech. I turned to him with a laugh when my eyes followed his and the joy left my heart.

"Hello, Nick," Tara said.

She looked like hell. I knew from Ethan last night before he left and Jenny again this morning that the press was having a field day at her expense. It seems the private investigator's report had been confirmed, and now additional affairs were leaking out nearly by the hour.

"What do you want?" I said, my voice sounding harsh.

"Fellas," Teddy interrupted, "why don't we go up to the house for awhile?"

They couldn't get out of there fast enough, Rob and Jimbo ogling Tara as they walked past. Play your cards right and you'll have her, I thought.

When we were alone, I sat on one of the stools and waited her out. I didn't bother to hide my anger or contempt for her, and she was hesitant to move from the entry of the pole barn.

Then she whispered something, and I couldn't make out what she'd said.

"What?" I said.

"I asked if you could call the dogs off now," she said, tears streaming down her face. This was real, I thought, remembering her inability to cry on demand. "Just tell them to stop. You've made your point."

"I didn't pick this fight," I said, my voice rising. "And now you–who told everyone that I was the wandering spouse–you have the fucking nerve to stand there and ask me to do what you didn't have the decency to do for me?"

"It wasn't my idea. It was Janice," she pleaded, confirming my thought that her manager was behind this. "She said you would ruin me unless I was proactive."

"Bullshit," I thundered. "She said you could turn goose shit into goose liver pate is what happened, didn't she?"

Tara didn't bother denying it. "You were leaving me," she said.

"You were fucking around on me," I countered.

Anger flashed through her tears. "Oh grow the fuck up," she hissed. "You knew about it."

I was flabbergasted. "How the hell can you think that?"

"Didn't you ever read the tabloids?" she said. "Christ, they printed nearly every hook up rumor there was."

"But you denied them all," I countered. "I quit asking after awhile figuring it was just the usual bullshit."

She said nothing, brushing the tears from her face and keeping her eyes low.

"Jesus, Tara, with Carl? You had to know I had no fucking clue, didn't you?"

She nodded.

"So what made you think I knew about any of the others? You knew I'd be pissed. That's why you kept it secret. So you also knew I'd be pissed about the others, right?"

She nodded again, no longer bothering to play this off with the Nick-didn't-give-a-damn scenario.

"So how many of them were there?" I said.

"Does it matter?" she asked, afraid of being forced to answer. "Most of them you now know about. Or at least Ethan does."

"So they're all true?"

She nodded.

"And that's not even all of them? That's just 'most of them?'"

Her look told me she realized now that she'd said too much.

"Can't we get past this, Nick? If I stop, can we get past this?"

I laughed, and her pouty look turned to indignation at being rejected.

"Let me ask you something, Tara. Let's say you find out every time someone's been coming to your house they've stolen something. Not just a one time thing, but a couple of dozen times. You find out about it, you gonna invite them back?"

"This isn't our houseguests, Nick," she screamed. "This is our goddamned marriage."

"That's right. You stole something way more important than silverware, Tara. You stole my fucking self-respect. You gutted something I thought was perfect. Now I wonder if we ever even had a marriage. I wonder if you ever even loved me or if you just needed me as some new publicity stunt."

This brought forth a whole new round of tears. "You were never a publicity stunt," she cried. "I've loved you since the first time we met. More than I've ever loved anyone, Nick. You've got to believe that."

"That's because you're wrong," I shot back. "You've always loved you more than you've loved me."

Her look told me I'd struck a chord with that one.

"So what you told me before," she said, "on the phone? It's true, isn't it?"

"Yeah, Tara," I said, knowing what she was talking about. "I've been faithful to you since day one."

She nodded, again wiping tears from her face and sniffling. "You're right," she finally said. "I'm not good enough for you." She laughed. "Hell, I wouldn't stay married to me."

She walked over and touched my face with her fingertips. "Please, Nick, for old time's sake? Can you have Ethan call the dogs off?"

"And the divorce will go through on the prenups?" I asked. "No protracted legal bullshit? No more attacking me in the press?"

She smiled and nodded. "Cross my heart."

"And my stuff from the house?" I said.

"In my car," she replied, nodding her head toward the driveway.

I nodded, thinking about it. What the hell? I thought. This would get it over with quickly and with no hassles. I wouldn't have to go back to LA, and I'd be done with her with a few strokes of the pen. Best of all, I realized, the last day's events had already tarred her image as much as it would be tarred, and Carl was now a voice from my past and nothing more. So yeah, was I going easy on her? Maybe a little. But the immediate end of hostilities and an opportunity to move on with my life seemed a small price to pay.

"Okay," I said. "The divorce gets filed immediately. Irreconcilable differences. And I see the proposed settlement documents by next Monday and it all sails through. Think you can do that?"

She hugged me in response. "I promise," she said.

"You get it done, and I'll call off the dogs."

She broke the hug. "You think you can call them off now?"

"The sooner I have the paperwork, the sooner I get Ethan off your ass," I said.

She wasn't happy, but her look told me she'd gotten better than expected.

"Thanks, Nick," she whispered. She leaned in and kissed me on the cheek. "And Nick?"

I looked at her for the last time as my wife. "Yes, Tara?"

"I really am sorry," she said, tears again welling up in her eyes. "About everything. I didn't mean to hurt you, and I still love you."

"I'm sorry, too," I said, deciding to call off the dogs now and just re-start the whole sordid mess if she broke her word.

She was good for her word on this one, though. The settlement documents were delivered by personal courier the next morning.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

So there you have it, the complete true story of those crazy five days.

You all know the rest of the story by now. Carl went bankrupt about eighteen months ago. They forced him to sell all of those fancy houses of his, and he's living in a smaller house in Malibu. He's playing some studio sessions and you still see him occasionally on the arms of some starlet or another.

Vince, our drummer in LeadFoot, quit music altogether. He'd made a series of great investments and wouldn't have to work another day for the rest of his life so long as he kept an eye on things. He's somewhere in Scotland now, painting landscapes and golfing. We speak every couple of months, and he's expressed some interest in maybe working with us on an upcoming album–Will's got some great ideas on dual percussion like the old Allman Brothers Band used to have.

John Bouma, the guitar virtuoso for LeadFoot, is actually our producer now. He's still solid, and he works well with Teddy and Will in arranging what sales have shown to be some great tunes. He's producing other acts, too, both in Nashville and in Los Angeles. Like Vince, he was tired of the road, and this has all worked out well for him.

Tara, of course, was released from her show when the ratings plummeted in the wake of her divorce. Sure, the divorce sailed through quickly and, sure, I called the dogs off immediately. The damage had already been done, though, and the press took in on themselves to keep digging up the dirt. She appears in the occasional bit part, but her credentials have been seriously tarnished and it will be a long time before she is again America's Sweetheart. Funny thing is, Rob finally hooked up with her. He told me about it before I read about it somewhere, all shame faced and worried I'd be pissed. I just laughed, though, particularly when he told me they'd spent the entire evening in bed with her asking about me and talking about me. Even when they were flopping around in the throes of passion, she'd call out my name now and again. Rob admitted he'd have lost his boner if she hadn't been so friggin' beautiful and energetic. Poor Tara.

The Mustang Ranch, the whorehouse in Nevada somewhere, tried to rape us over the use of their copyrighted name, and we decided we wouldn't take such a fucking, even if they were professionals at it. Will kept bringing his basset hound around to practice, and he was named General Beauregard. We all agreed that would be a great name for a band. (I don't care what they say below the Mason Dixon; we aren't named after the Confederate general, though maybe the dog was.)

Five months later, General Beauregard's first album was released to universally glowing reviews. That album, Another Happy Face, featuring the real General Beauregard on the cover, eventually sold eight million copies and produced two number one singles on the rock charts and three top tens on the country charts. Our next album, Saturday Night Drive In, released in conjunction with the start of our first major tour, outsold the first and went diamond, selling eleven million copies in little more than a year. The concert tour sold out before we even played our first show, and the reviews of that were, if anything, better than the album reviews.

Teddy seems to be handling everything pretty well. He brings Jenny and the girls along on the tours, and they travel in their own bus. I join them sometimes so we can work on songs, but we rarely get anything done that way with the racket all of the kids put up.

The kids? Well, you've got Teddy's little girls, plus you've got to count Brighton and Walter. Walter, you all know from the huge cover photo in People was born ten months ago to Nick and Aimee Harlan, the hometown boy made good and his beautiful high school sweetheart. That's how they printed it up, anyways, but now you know that was just a bunch of crap Ethan and the guys in publicity came up with.

The real story was a little more drawn out. It was actually almost eight months after that weekend before Aimee agreed to a date, and it was a few months more before she finally accepted the proposal I'd made on that first date and every date thereafter. She accepted by proving to me that what you hear about the quiet and reserved girls is all too true, and she's spent almost every free moment since then trying to screw me into an early grave. I'm not terminal yet, though, and I hope she keeps coming up with new tricks to keep my off balance.

We live in a house just down the road from Teddy and Jenny and the girls. We've managed to keep a close semblance of normalcy in Grant City where everyone has known us both most of our lives and don't really care if we make a lot of money.

And Walter? Well, I'll save all of that for another day and another story. Just suffice it to say that he forgave me and sends you all his regards.

The End