Outbound

When we came back after dinner I called Air France, then called Jennie. "Be at the airport at 10:30 tomorrow morning. American to LAX, change to Air France."

"Okay."

"Okay."

"I love you."

"I love you."

The reality is more difficult, of course. Loving two women. I mean really, really loving them. Caring for each as you would one. Terry drove me out to LAX the next afternoon and she told me not to say goodbye. "Never, ever, do I want to hear those words from you," she told me. "All I want to hear from you is that you want me, that you need me. You never have to tell me that you love me because I know you do, with all my heart I know you do."

I nodded, looked her in the eye. "And you love me?"

"With all my heart. And I'll always be here for you. Nothing will ever change that."

I kissed her once, gently, then got out of the car and walked into the terminal. I watched Jennie's plane land and met her at the gate, then we walked over to International Departures, waited to board the jet for Papeete. I held her hand all the way through the terminal, and she said not one word to me until we were seated in the lounge, waiting for our flight to be called.

"You feel alright about what happened."

"Yes. I think everything's going to work out well enough."

"You and me? You think we're going to work out?"

"I do. Yes."

"And Terry?"

"I think she's where she wants to be now, doing what she wants, anyway."

"I see," she said -- looking out the window, expecting to fly.

+++++

Troubadour was in the water, ready to load fresh provisions onboard when we got back to the yard, and we spent a day getting things loaded. We got a hundred pounds of ice in the box, then settled in for the night, had some wine and watched the sun set, then we were out light a light. The weather forecast looked grim when we checked the next morning, so we went back to the hotel to sit it out, and Jennie pulled out her lingerie our second night there -- and I plowed her fields, and after that everything got back to normal, or close to it, anyway.

She talked more, we kidded around and went shopping. I bought her a ring, one to wear on her left hand, and she said it didn't mean anything unless I did too, so she picked out a plain band and slipped it on my finger. That really seemed to calm her down and after that we slipped into our old groove. And you see, the thing is I'd taken Terry at her word. I stopped worrying about it, her, and let it slip into the background -- and I focused on Jennie, on making her happy.

We took off two day later and in the aftermath of the storm we had solid wind all the way to Auckland, an all too brief 16 day voyage, but with unsettled seas all the way it wasn't exactly easy, or pleasant.

The plan was to haul the boat for winter, replace some rigging and all the sails (yes, they wear out too, and fast in the tropics), so we'd rent a house while Jennie worked on upping her nursing qualifications. I decided to take that class on diesel mechanics then, too, and we planned to start after our upcoming trip to pick up Tracy in LA. So, first things first, I called Shelly, asked if everything was still a 'Go,' and it was. I got tickets for the two of us headed north, and three coming back. I let Terry know the situation and she told me she was off to Morocco during that time for a shoot, and she told me she was sorry she'd miss me. Okay. Sure. I made a shopping list for boat supplies and we took off on the anointed day.

It's a long flight, and the Air New Zealand DC-8 stopped in Papeete for fuel -- which felt kind of silly. The long haul was next, and after we rolled into the house -- well past midnight -- we dropped into the sack and slept for days. Well, it felt like days. After we ran errands, boat stuff for the most part, we crashed again so we could wake up early to meet Shelly down in Newport the next morning.

I half expected Jenn to be there, but no, that was not to be. Her father was a no-show, too. He sent Tracy with a sheriff's deputy, I think to upset her more than any other reason, but it was a vintage choice even for that asshole. Tracy got to the lawyer's office, upset, and we spent a while calming her down before heading back to the house. We took her swimming that afternoon, took her Disneyland the next day, then for a really long airplane ride the day after that.

And never a word from or about Mommy.

+++++

New Zealand was very quiet and most civilized in the 70s, and an ideal place to raise kids. Jennie decided to get full nursing certification after spending a month in school there; she opted to go for full citizenship a few months later. I opted to remain a US citizen, yet the fact that I had some money and that Jennie and I were married gave her the opening she needed. I decided to get Tracy in the queue for citizenship too, just in case, and so she started school there two years later. Well, kindergarten, but you know what I mean, and by that point Jennie considered herself Tracy's Mum. More important still, Tracy started calling Jennie 'Mommy,'

In order to maintain US citizenship I had to return home periodically, roughly twice a year, and of course Terry always happened to be there. On my first trip home I upgraded the recording studio in the basement and started working on my next album and, as Jennie's sister Niki had a helluva a voice I asked her to come down and work on a few songs with me. I moved into the pool house for the duration of her stay and Terry behaved herself, and after three months hard work I sent the masters over to MCA and sure enough, they liked 'em. Serendipity released in '76 and happily it went gold by summer's end, and the title song included Niki's voice -- and almost overnight she became a minor sensation. She'd penned several songs and we arranged them, I played keyboards on all of them and had some friends help with the other instruments and MCA loved her album, too. It went platinum in a month and all of a sudden she was not only famous, she was rich as snot. She took off for Wisconsin after the master tapes went to Burbank, leaving me alone with Terry for the first time in six weeks. We tore into each other and only came up for air after a week, just before my scheduled return flight came up.

And still, no word of Jenn.

Jennie and Tracy met me at the airport -- in Papeete -- as it was time for Warren and Michelle's annual visit to Moorea. Tracy and Michelle went on walks looking at flowers while Jennie and her father worked at the clinic, and soon enough Tracy was working at an easel with Michelle, painting flowers.

I spent my days working on my biggest canvas yet, an eight foot tall by twenty four foot wide panorama of, you guessed it, a misty mountain in the fog. Framed by windblown trees and a rolling surf in the distance, however. Then I got word MCA wanted me in LA for a concert in the Amphitheater, so I called Shelly -- in the middle of the night my time -- to get the lo-down.

"A bunch of people want to do an Electric Karma tribute concert, Aaron. They want you there, and they want Niki to take Deni's place. She's asked me to represent her, by the way. It would mean the big time for her."

"What? A concert at the Amphitheater?"

"No...haven't you heard? They're talking the Coliseum. A hundred and twenty thousand people. Some big names have signed on already."

"What would Niki take home?"

"Maybe a half million, maybe a little more."

I whistled. "Okay. When?"

"Does that mean you'll do it?"

"Shelly...when?"

"October. You have three months to get ready."

"What's my take?"

She told me and I whistled again.

"Aaron, you can't turn this down. It's the chance of a lifetime for Niki, and it'll keep you in the spotlight for a whole new generation of listeners...you'll be set for life. So, Tracy will be set for life."

"Okay, tell 'em I'm in. You take point for now, start setting up rehearsals, probably late August, early September. See if MCA is interested in cutting an album of the concert, and ask Dean if he'll do the stage. You do good and you can have twenty percent of my cut, on both the concert and the album, including my residuals. Got that?"

She was silent for a minute. "You mean it?"

"Shelly, my life would be shit without you. Make this work, get Niki on the fast track. Yeah, I mean it."

"Aaron...I don't know what to say."

"Well, Shelly? This is the best way I can thank you for everything you've done. But, thank you."

"Yeah," she said, and I could hear her voice crack a little. "Could I ask you a personal question?"

"Sure."

"What's going on with you and Terry? Is there anything that could blowback on you?"

"Maybe."

"If it happens, am I authorized to do damage control?"

"Absolutely. Write that into our contract."

"Okay."

"Anything in the wind?"

"No, nothing. Just a gut feeling."

"Well, if something crops up, make it go away."

"Will do. Should I call, leave messages at that clinic?"

"For now. I'll see about getting some kind of phone at the house."

"Okay. Bye."

"Yeah, bye."

When I turned around Jennie was coming out of the OR, her dad right behind, and they were both dripping in sweat. She saw me on the phone and frowned as she came over, and Warren came up too.

"What's up?" she asked. "You look jazzed."

"You better sit down, both of you."

They sat; Warren looked concerned. I told them about the concert, and about the deals I was trying to get Niki. "It'd mean a half million in the bank, on top of what she's made on the album already, but it would put her in the spotlight. She'll be big. Bigger than big, would be my guess. She took my advice, signed with Shelly, my lawyer."

Warren's hands were shaking. "My girl...will make more in one night than I do in ten years?"

"Yup."

"Holy smokes."

"Yup."

"You're doing all this for her -- why?"

I looked at him, then at Jennie. "You're my family, all I've got left in this life. Niki is too. I'm doing what I can for my family. Simple as that."

I looked at Jennie. "Rehearsals in LA, end of August, concert is on Halloween, in the LA Coliseum. I think we should all be there. All of us."

"Okay," she said, looking me in the eye, "we will be." I could tell my hands were shaking too, and she looked at them, then up at me. "You okay?"

"Yeah, I don't know. Hyped, I guess, is the word."

"Why don't you go up to LA now. Get started. I can see it in your eyes...that's what you want to do."

I nodded my head. "I know. I want to be here with you guys, though."

"So stay, head back with Mom and Dad."

"Yeah. We'll see. I need to finish my painting, spend some time with Tracy. Maybe a little with my wife, too."

She came to me and we hugged, and Warren stepped outside, lit up a Camel and coughed. Then we kissed.

"You should know," she whispered. "I'm pregnant."

I blinked, then my eyes went wide. "Holy smokes!" I managed to say -- before she kissed me.

+++++

Different people bring out different things in me.

I thought about that all the way up to LA. When I was with Jennie I painted. I painted because I became interested in the visible world, the visual world. When I was with Terry I fell into my music. I could think music because she had been a part of my life since my teens, when music became important to me. When I was around Jennie the music almost stopped. When I was even thinking about Terry music poured in from every direction, but when I was around her music grew into a tidal wave.

I'd written all of Electric Karma's music, Deni the lyrics, so that music would always be a part of me, yet when I put together the first solo album all that vibe slipped away. There was nothing about Karma I wanted to incorporate. But that was then and this was now. Now, sitting on that 747 all I could think about was Deni and the music we'd made together. And flying home to Terry was opening the floodgates of memory. By the time we landed I had written three new Karma songs. With Niki on vocals, no one would be able to tell this wasn't Electric Karma -- so why not cut a new Karma album? Get my old buds from San Francisco to cover guitar and bass and drums and the sound would be as authentic as it had been eight years ago...

Warren and Michelle regarded me as some kind of sorcerer all during that flight, but when I told them what I was thinking they kind of sat back and watched -- in awe, I think. I asked them to have Niki call me as soon as they got home, then we said our goodbyes. I found the baggage claim had been moved -- again -- and it took me a while to find my bag -- then Terry -- but she was where she said she'd be. She drove straight home and ran for the shower, and I ran down to the studio and put my notes on my keyboard, then ran back up and joined her.

"Do you have anything going on the next three weeks?" I asked.

"No. Why?"

"You may not leave my side for the next three weeks, not once, not at all."

"You're on fire, aren't you? I haven't seen you like this in years."

"I finally put two and two together, Terry. I can't write good music unless you're by my side. They stuff I've churned out when you're not near me is garbage. Ever since Lucy-Goosey, when you're with me it all comes together. You are the music in my life, my love. Without you I'm a hollow shell."

She looked at me as if I'd slugged her in the gut, then she came to me, put her arms around me and I felt her crying on my chest -- then I lifted her face to mine and we kissed.

"You called me...my love? Do you realize...?"

I nodded my head. "Of course I do, because I feel that now, as surely as I ever have. You are so much a part of me it's insane. It's surreal. I can't even think music without you..."

"Aaron? Are you okay?"

"No, Terry, I am not okay. I am on fire. I am on fire because you have set me on fire. You've set me on fire ever since I've been interested in writing music. I doubt that I've ever written anything that wasn't for you. Do you know the first piece of music I ever wrote was named after you. A little piano concerto. For you."

"I didn't know..."

"I think I always wanted to impress you, to be worthy of you."

"Worthy -- of me?"

"Yes, you. The most beautiful woman in the world."

"Aaron...you can stop now."

"No...I can't. I've got at least ten songs to write, and you'll need to stay right by my side. All the time. Understand?"

"Alright."

I picked her up and carried her out of the shower, then I dried her off, every inch of her.

"What color would you like me to wear for you tonight?" she asked.

"Nasty."

She smiled. "I hoped you'd say that."

"I know. You have for a long time, haven't you?"

She smiled, nodded and left the bathroom. "Give me a minute, would you?"

I went to the kitchen, fixed a Perrier and looked out the window at lemon trees blossoming in a breeze, and I could even smell them inside that moment, then I walked back to the bedroom. The lights were off, only a few candles blazed on a corner table, but Terry was there. Shiny black latex -- everywhere. The highest heels I'd ever seen. A riding crop.

"Dear God."

"Come here," she commanded, then: "On your knees. Crawl to me. Crawl to me and lick my shoes!"

Yes. That was indeed an interesting evening. Interesting music, I think you could rightly say, too.

+++++

I spent the next morning on a song I called Lemon Tree, the afternoon's effort would be titled Shining Need. Terry stood behind me almost the entire morning looking at my scribbled notations, and when noon came 'round she pulled me to the floor and sat on my face for an hour, pulling me with her fingernails until I came -- in her mouth -- but I couldn't get the night before out of my music. When I played it through for her she blushed, then I told her to shower and put on the latex again. "And Terry? You must be meaner tonight. You must take us where we've never been before."

And she did. I was stunned at her ferocity, and how easily it came to her. Her need was shining now, shining right through me on a place I'd never been.

We went out to the swimming pool after, and I left the lights off. We slipped into the water and I pulled her close, pulled her onto me and I held her closer still as I entered. We rocked in the water until I felt myself tensing then releasing inside her, still swaying gently, holding her lips to mine until she began to tremble her way through her own release -- and the water was black now, faint stars danced on the surface -- and I wondered who was out there watching and waiting, circling, ready to come in for the kill...

The next morning? Starlight Blood, a heavy brooding place that scared us both when I played through the final draft. "We have to go someplace lighter now," she said after lunch, "or I may end up killing us both."

"I'm not ready for death, but when I am, I want to die in your arms. Promise me you'll do that for me."

"I promise."

"Death won't be able to hold us apart. You know that, don't you?"

She nodded her head.

Those two lines formed the core of the next track, Fate and Promise.

We made love in the pool that night until we could hardly move, then I carried her to the shower and massaged her back to life, and I pulled her so close to me in bed I dreamt of the way her hair smelled.

Which became Sin Scintilla in our next morning.

She reminded me she hadn't had anything to eat -- but me -- for two days, so we drove down to the beach, to Gladstones, and we ate Shee Crab soup and broiled shrimp on rice pilaf, then we walked on the beach for an hour, her music beating into me as the sand pushed between our toes.

Which became Seashell, an unfolding story about eternal love

And on and on it went. Every breath she took led me deeper into her music.

Until the last track.

Deni. A ballad about Deni, and why she mattered. We were a broken soul, your music made us whole... My other love. Broken, fluttering and doomed. I broke apart and came undone when I finished those lyrics, and Terry helped me up, led me to our bed and when she lay me down I pulled her on top of my face and ate her until she wept too, then we slept.

I called Jerry and Carlos and Pete -- and Niki -- and asked them to come by the house next Monday morning.

"We're going to cut Electric Karma's last album," I told them.

"Far out," Jerry said.

And Pete...my oldest friend in the world would be there in the middle of it all, again. God, I was so happy.

+++++

I could feel the changes Niki was going through, I'd seen it all so many times before. Sudden fame, almost immeasurable wealth had turned her from petite and unassuming to bigger than life almost overnight. She had that force now, the force money confers on the once so meek. She was a year older than I and that, in her mind, justified this new assertiveness -- until Shelly pulled her aside and set her straight.

"Aaron's done this for you," Shelly told her. "All of this. Don't forget that. Don't forget to dance with the one who brung ya."

She mellowed out, tried to accept that Deni was still bigger than she was. That Deni was one of the strongest voices of the 60s, and that the 60s still defined rock 'n roll. People helped her understand what she was being given -- a seat at the table -- if she had the grace and the good sense to sit quietly and listen for a while, to learn.

She was a midwestern gal so full of common sense, and it took her a couple of days but she settled down, watched and listened to Carlos and Jerry, two of the biggest of the San Francisco bigs, as they wrestled with my music. We settled into the new-old vibe again, the collaborative nature of making music. I played a passage and they interpreted what I wrote. The last thing I could do was object to someone hijacking 'my' music -- that's not the process. We took my framework and turned it into our version of Karma in 1968. I led Niki into that wilderness, too, let her phrases blend in the music, and we listened to her when she started making suggestions, because that too is part of the vibe. We'd take her thoughts and blend them into the whole -- because that IS the vibe -- and at the end of the first day I was already looking at Niki like she was part of Deni. Even Jerry, who was still devoted to Deni and what she meant to the scene, started to feel that Deni thing when Niki started singing, and at one point he looked at me and nodded his head slowly, like 'yeah, I get it now, why you chose her.'