Unplugged (A Portrait of a Rock Star) (10 page)

My days went by quickly enough; jamming sessions began early in the morning and ended close to nine at night.  But, my evenings dragged.  I looked forward to my nightly phone calls to Mara, but she usually got tired two hours into the conversation and I’d end up spending sleepless hours alone.  With my thoughts. 

The reunion tour was lingering in my mind.  The creative aspects of writing songs, and uncovering new musical talents within me, were therapeutic in my mental recovery, but the trepidation that manifested as queasiness, in the pit of my stomach, every time I thought about performing on stage and re-entering the world of celebrity, were disquieting.

Then there was the whole blonde-stalker-thing.  I couldn’t bring myself to admit it out loud, but that blonde wasn’t just any blonde.  That blonde was my late-wife.  That blonde was Crystal.  Or at the very least, Crystal’s ghost, because I was the one who had confirmed her body at the morgue.  I knew she was dead.  So why was I seeing her, in the trees, in my yard?  It was creepy.  She was watching me.  But why now?  After all this time, why would Crystal pick now to come back into my life?  Was I so crazy that I would conjure her up in my mind?  Maybe the guilt that suffused me was presenting itself as her ghost.  Since coming back to Somers’ Point, remorse was always at the forefront of my emotions.  I couldn’t even bring myself to approach the stairs to the second floor, where we slept.  The rec room on the main floor had become my make-shift bedroom, while the guys made a home on the second floor, avoiding the master bedroom, at my request.

My continued apprehension about everything had led me to one conclusion, however.  I would sell my Somers’ Point house.  I was already contemplating finding a new location to rehearse; somewhere central to all of our residences, so that Ronnie, Matty and Johnny didn’t have to uproot themselves during the week.  Ronnie and Johnny lived near my dad in Rumson and Matty lived more up north in Glen Ridge.  It made sense all the way around.

Since I was having another sleepless night, I decided to leave for Sparta before the early morning.  All the way home, I had this eerie feeling that a new yellow Camaro was following me.  It would appear in my rearview mirror every several miles or so.  I was sure I wouldn’t be the only one traveling from the shorelines to North Jersey, but the blonde woman driving the Camaro was the perfect likeness to Crystal. A replica to the woman who stood in my trees. It couldn’t have been coincidence, because the car was still hovering behind me as I entered Sparta.  After my turn off into Lake Mohawk, the Camaro disappeared, but I had the chilling sense that I’d see it again.

Mara’s Letter to Brad

August 9, 2010

I’m writing to you this morning out of obligation.  The melancholy my heart is suffering is extreme.  The highlight of my days had always been curling up on the couch with a cup of tea and my journal of letters to you; like when we were married for that blissful, but very, short year.  We’d shut the world out at night and drink our tea as we nuzzled close to each other.  I was so content being married to you.

But now, it seems there is someone else who has captured my heart.  Bradley, I think I am falling in love with Tagg.  When I’m near him, it is so hard to focus, because all I’m thinking about is being wrapped in his arms.  It may not be such a great situation, though.  I hardly think Tagg is ready for a relationship, he hasn’t even dated anyone since his wife died.  I haven’t dated anyone either, so I only see it ending badly; rebound relationships usually never work.

Anyway, my dear, I’m sorry to burden you with this dilemma.  It’s not like you can read what I’m writing or know what I’m thinking, but the whole process of keeping this journal is for me, essentially.  It allows me to believe you are still a big part of my life.  That’s why I feel bad to be forcing myself to write to you.  It shouldn’t be that way.  I’m confused, Brad.  And, I’m sad.  I don’t want you to fade from my memory.  I don’t want to stop loving you.  It makes me faint-hearted to wonder if falling in love with someone else could cause a lessening in my love for you.

I can’t finish writing now, Brad.  I need to go cry.

***

In the morning, I drove to Mara’s to surprise her.  She was on her porch, engrossed in a book and hadn’t heard my car approach the driveway.  When she did finally see me, I caught a glimpse of her wiping her eyes, like she was crying.  On the white wicker table next to her, I noticed her journal to Brad. She didn’t say anything about it, so neither did I.

After dabbing another tear from her eye, she stood up to hug me.  “Tagg… you’re early.  I wasn’t expecting you until tonight.”

“I hope I’m not intruding; I couldn’t wait to see you.”

“Of course not, it’s a welcome surprise.”  We peered into each other’s eyes as I left my hands on her lower back, just below her waist.  Her hands remained around my neck until she moved them to my shoulders as she pried herself away.  “I’m glad you came, early, Tagg.  I did miss you.”  Her actions didn’t seem to match her words.

“It’s okay if you want me to leave, Mara.  We can see each other later if you’d like.”

“No, Tagg.  Really.  Stay.  How about some coffee?”

Her offer seemed genuine, so I told her I’d love some, and followed her into the house.  “So, Mara,” I was trying to start some kind of conversation.  “I made a decision.”

“Oh?  What kind of decision?”

“The decision to sell my shore house.”

Mara simply nodded.  “That makes sense.”

“It does?”

“You don’t use it and it brings back bad memories.  I’m surprised you’ve kept it this long.”

Leave it to Mara to make things sound so easy.  “I guess you would understand, wouldn’t you?

“When are you putting it on the market?”

“As soon as I get the place cleaned up.  You saw it.  It looks haunted.  Straight out of a movie set.”

“Did you do anything with it while you were there this week?”

“No.  We were too busy learning some new songs I wrote.  We’ve almost got enough for a new album.  It seems we all had a lot to say over the last years.  Besides, Auggie’s been pressuring us about getting one out.”

“He sure does pressure you, doesn’t he?”

“Mmm.  Always has.  It’s not a great thing, though.   Sure, he pushes me to push myself, but sometimes I think I’m living out his life.  He wants me to be a mini-him.  I don’t know, I just don’t have the passion like he does, but, I’m trying.   Anyway, I wrote you a song.”

“For me? Why?”

“Why? Did you forget already what I had told you on the boardwalk?  I owe you everything.”

“Thank you Tagg, but you don’t owe me anything. You are the one who has made the progress, not me.”

“No. You are the one that made it possible.”

“But you did all the work.”

“Okay.” I had to stop this before it got out of hand. “Let’s agree to disagree, okay?” I hesitated on my next question, not sure how to phrase it. “Mara…our first concert is on New Year’s Eve, at the new Meadowland’s Arena.  I was wondering if you’d like to come with me?”

“Don’t you have to go with your band?”

“No.  I don’t have to.  Besides, I’d rather go with you.”

“Oh.”  She paused briefly. I hoped she wouldn’t rather stay home.  “Tagg, can I watch from in front of the stage or do I have to stay wherever you go before you go on?”

She was sending mixed signals.  “Why?”

“Well,” she shrugged. “I’d like to watch the show.  Live.  Like when I was fourteen… and fifteen and seventeen… and I believe the last Holland concert I went to was when I was twenty or something like that.”

“You went to that many Holland concerts?”  I hadn’t realized she was such a fan.

“Almost every tour; whenever you played in New Jersey.”

“Wow.” I was stunned.  She didn’t seem the groupie type. “You were one of the die-hards, hunh?”

“Yup.  Holland and Bon Jovi.”

“Aah.” All the girls loved Jon.  “Yeah, Jon’s still around though.  He only got better as he got older.”

“But so did you.  Your music towards the end was starting to really mature.  It was awesome.”

Towards the end.  Before my life stood still. 

Still standing on Mara’s porch, I turned unwittingly toward the road.  And there it was again.  The yellow Camaro.  Parked on the side of the road.  Leaning against the car’s door was the blonde, staring right at us.  I stood from my wicker chair and posed my hands on the porch railing, positioning myself to get a closer look.  But just as quickly as I spotted her, she got in the car and took off.

“Tagg, what is it?”  Mara wondered.  “What’s the matter?”

I was frozen.  I couldn’t move at all.  All I could manage was to mutter the word “Crystal” in a hoarse whisper.

“Crystal?”  Mara’s question was almost as quiet as my statement.

But I was still deadened.  Powerless and incapacitated.  I could not have been mistaken.  I was just looking into the face of my dead wife.  And she was staring back at me.

“Tagg, is everything alright?”  Mara’s hand was on my shoulder, while I was still in a trance. Not unlike the first time Mara witnessed my insanity. Like the Matchbox Twenty song Unwell, sooner or later, Mara would see my illness buried deep inside.  I slowly retracted back to the chair.  I felt my skin go cold and my body shut down.  “Tagg?”  Mara was confounded.  I couldn’t blame her.  I wasn’t able to take hold of myself.  “You look like you just saw a ghost?”

My voice was still barely audible, but I did sputter, “I think I just did.”

“Crystal?”

“Mmm.”

Mara got up and went inside.  I wanted to go after her, but I couldn’t.  I was still numb and unable to move, but somewhere in my mind I was afraid that Mara was mad.  Hurt, in some way.  Fortunately, for me, she was back out in a flash, handing me a glass of water and a wet washcloth.

“Tagg, drink the water.”

I did.  Wiping my brow with the cloth, I slowly felt the sensation in my limbs return.   “Thanks.”  I said, but I don’t even think Mara heard the mumble.

“What happened Tagg?”

“You didn’t see that yellow Camaro by the road?”

“Um.  No.  Should I have?”

I shrugged.  “I don’t know.  There was this car on the parkway that seemed to be following me.  I can’t be sure, but I saw the same Camaro enter the road from the Somers’ Point exit.  It remained behind me all the way up to Route 15.  I swear it was the same car I just now saw, parked across the street.

“But, why did you say, ‘Crystal'?

“The woman driving the car.  I think it was…Crystal.”

“Tagg, maybe she just looked like Crystal.”

How could I say this without sounding utterly insane?  “I’ve been seeing the same woman standing near my house nearly every day this past week.”

“Are you sure?  Couldn’t it be someone that just looks like Crystal?”

“Maybe.  But, Mara, have you ever seen anyone that looks like Crystal?  She was tall, thin, blond, flawless skin, blue eyes, perfect cheekbones, full lips, absolutely…”

“Perfect.”  Mara completed my sentence with pinched lips and no emotion.

“Yes.  Her physical appearance was perfect, but, Mara…” I didn’t even know what to say.  This wasn’t about how I felt or didn’t feel for Crystal.  This was about her reappearing from the dead.   “Mara, I know it was Crystal.  Well, I don't know for sure, but it’s not a ghost.  I saw the car.  It was there.  Ghosts can’t drive cars.”  I didn’t even want to think how ridiculous I had just sounded.

“Tagg. Um. Are you sure she…died…in that accident?  I mean, well…could she be alive?”

“No.  I’m sure she died.  I was the one that confirmed that the dead body was her’s.”

“Oh.  Well, then, I don’t know what to tell you.”

I leaned my head in my hand.  “I’m not going to go through this again Mara.  I was just returning to normal.  Returning to life.”  Acid was building in my stomach; I could feel it burning a hole right through.  “I can’t do this again.”  I cried.  “I don’t want to go insane, Mara.  I don’t want to go insane again.  I just want to be normal.  I want my life to be normal.”  And still, I cried.

Mara placed her hand on my knee.  “You’re not going insane again, Tagg.  There has to be a logical explanation.  There has to be.”

We finished our coffee on the porch and found ourselves in silence for a while. What conversation could actually follow the one we just had?  But we couldn’t just sit there.  We had already been uncomfortable because I admitted to being mentally crazy.  I couldn’t leave her on that note. So, I tried to reclaim some dignity and asked Mara if she’d come to dinner with me tonight at my mother’s. Mom had invited me over the weekend and asked me to have Mara come along. Mara gave me a reluctant yes.  I guess that was better than a no.

Driving down to my mom’s house in Franklin Lakes, I had found out that Mara used to live nearby.  “Well, it was near to Franklin Lakes, but it wasn’t affluent.  I grew up in Haledon, about ten minutes down the road.”

“And it didn’t look like this?”  I’d motioned to all the huge, beautiful houses around us.

Mara laughed, “No, not at all.  So, how long has your mom lived here?”

“Oh, not long.  She bought it about five years ago.  Before that she lived in Deal, New Jersey.  That’s where I grew up.  When my parents divorced, Mom kept the house, Dad moved to Rumson.  But, once I moved up to Sparta, Mom didn’t want to be so far away.  So she bought this house.”  And as I said that, we had pulled into her long driveway.  Of course, there was a passcode to enter through the gate. 

“Wow, it sure is gorgeous.”  Mara was talking about my mother’s mansion-style, fieldstone home.  We proceeded up the drive and to the front door.

“Mara, Tagg, come on in, darlings.”  Mom hugged us both and kissed us both on the cheeks.  One kiss on each side, just like the Europeans.  Mom and her airs.  But she could be very down-to-earth when she needed to be.

“Thank you for having me, Ms. Taggart.”

“Please, honey, call me Kenya.”

“Okay. Kenya.  Thank you for having me.  I made this.”  Mara handed my mom a chocolate cheesecake that she whipped up after I’d asked her to come this morning.  I still don’t know how she had time; she had three clients today.

“Mara, you like to bake?”  Mom seemed surprised.

“Yes.  It calms me.”

“How can you get any more calm?  You always seem so…self-possessed.”  Mom seemed proud to have thought of the correct word to describe Mara.  “And, anyway, how can something like...baking, calm anyone?”  Never did anything remotely to do with domesticity did Mom find relaxing.  Only during my near-decade-long life hiatus did she ever cook.  And that’s only because she was tired of watching me eat packaged junk food.  Usually, she’d hire a live-in cook, or more recently, she’d just eat out.  Tonight, however, she had a meal prepared for us by the talented culinary artists at the Market Basket.

After dinner, we sat on Mom’s deck and had a few drinks.  I had my usual Corona, while Mara and Mom had a few Malibu Bay Breezes.  Mom correctly pegged Mara to be the Malibu type.

“So, Mara.” Mom surreptitiously questioned Mara while I headed in for another beer, but I stopped at the door to hear what she was going to ask.  Curiosity, you know.  “How is he doing?  Were you able to break through?  He seems to be coming out of his shell, so I guess it’s working.  Right?” 

“Yes, Kenya, he is doing fine.  It makes me happy to see him happy.” Mara answered.

“Here’s a check for all your efforts.” Mom handed Mara what looked like a personal check.  “I really appreciate it.  You’ve been absolutely wonderful for his well-being.

What the hell?  A check? She was taking a payment from my mother?  Mara was being paid.  For what?  I was already paying her to train me.  Boy did she have me fooled.  I stormed back out the door, in such a rage, I felt the blood burning through my veins.  “What the fuck?”