What was that line from Zeppelin's Stairway to Heaven? Ooh, it really makes me wonder?
Like, ooh: just what the devil was Sam up to now? He had probably, on average, been screwing hundreds of women a year – for several years now, though most had more than likely been prostitutes, and yet I remembered his wife had been promiscuous too, terribly so. So, his one marriage collapsed in on itself, collapsed under the weight of all the smoldering infidelities two people could visit on one another. Had they simply decided to ruin each other? Had marriage led them to that precipice, or was it something outside their union that led them to the edge? If so, what had caused them to jump? Really, what set them off?
Ooh, it really makes me wonder.
Extrapolate this, John, if you can. Can you imagine being married to Rhea? Can you imagine being faithful to her, forever? And...can you imagine being married – and unfaithful? What's the point of that, the voice in your head says? Marriage is trust, you think, you hope. If your partner can't trust you, how can you reasonably expect to trust your partner? What goes around, comes around – you reap what you sow – and all the other trite expressions of trust people sell themselves when they get married.
This is the script we were handed, after all. We read from that script all our lives too, didn't we? Society's success depends on it, we're told. What if we abandon the script? Well, things fall apart, don't they? The center can not hold...and mere anarchy is loosed upon the world. Isn't that what the poet said? Or is this something a little more personal than a poem?
So what? Back to Sam. Putting the pieces of the puzzle back together, here's what I'd surmised so far. Sam runs into the 'sex-performer', Brigit, and he probably did what he does best and talked his way right into her vagina. He probably swam the backstroke in those deep green eyes of hers until he was sure she was IT, the woman of his dreams. He sweet-talked his way into her heart, he fell in love and made sure she did too, and that was that, another conquest, another cunt full of his semen and he was ready to move on – and hallelujah, praise the Lord! – just before we left for Munich. Voila, suddenly it's time to grab a nineteen year old snatch, er, snack for the trip and then dispose of her when he'd had his fill. So what, you say? Well, now he was free to roam the back alleys and brothels of Europe, to wallow in Eastern Europe's proverbial all you can eat buffet.
Okay, I think I had that part down, but why all of a sudden had he decided to run back to Brigit? And after all the craziness he'd worked so hard to release on his world, why did he want to return to the woman he'd run from – and now – what the fuck – marry her? She was cute, stunning really, but Sam ran in a different crowd. Would he take his stripper to the Oscars? Would she leave him in peace to write, or would she tear him to pieces fucking other men so he'd pay attention to her instead of writing? Assuming Sam still wanted to finish our ride, would she let him? Or if she let him, would that set off the train of mutually assured destruction that seemed likely to follow?
Ooh, it really makes me wonder.
+++++
I got back from Hollywood in time to talk with Rhea about Cambridge.
Is it what you really want to do? Do you think there'll be time for us?
She seemed coy. Not distant, not unloving. More like she was in on a joke, a joke I naturally assumed was going to be at my expense, but no one was laughing yet.
Another thing hit me. We'd not been intimate since Munich. Not her fault, not mine, either. Doctor's orders, for ten days post-op. Well, that night marked day ten, and I'd been hinting for days that I was ready when she was. She smiled, very coy again. And that was that. Not even the whisper of a thrill. No headache. No 'that time of month' excuses. No nothing, and while that hurt, it made the next day's events and outcomes all the more inevitable.
The rocket company rep arrived right on schedule that morning, and we had lunch at a place by the Santa Monica Airport before he looked over my paperwork one more time, before he offered me the job of a lifetime. Chief Pilot, and I'd be in charge of a large, growing fleet of aircraft, flying as often as I wanted, training new pilots when necessary, and be directly involved making some outrageous aviation history.
Did I want time to think about it, he asked.
No, I didn't need any time, I said as I signed on the dotted line, and that was that. Employment would begin now, he said, though I wouldn't be needed in Arizona until January. I'd pick up benefits today and be on half salary until January 1st, then we shook hands and I drove him back to the ramp where a company Gulfstream was waiting to take him back to Virginia, and that was, like I said, that. I was gainfully employed again, and very happy about it. I was free to run. Again.
Now I had a few people to tell, so I drove over to Sam's place, hoping he'd be there and not in Las Vegas – but then again he'd said he wanted me there as a witness.
He lived in a sprawling – if somewhat compact – house on a bluff overlooking the Pacific Coast Highway and Malibu Beach. Magnum, P.I. lived down the street, if that means anything. A car was out front, a beat up Chevy, not always a good sign, so I rang the bell and waited. And waited. I heard a commotion inside and tried the door; it pushed open and I walked inside. Sam was by the pool. Alone. I heard glass breaking, then Brigit was storming through the living room headed for the front door when she ran into me.
"You two queer or something?" she asked as she shuddered to a stop.
"Excuse me?"
"Are you fags? The two of you?"
"Uh, no. What's wrong, if you don't mind me asking?"
"Well, first thing he tells me this morning is he and you are off to ride motorcycles around the world! He wants to get married then ride off into the sunset!"
"Sunrise, darlin'!" Sam yelled from the patio. "I keep telling you, we'll be riding east about, INTO the sun. Sun'll be setting ON our backs!"
I rolled my eyes. "I see," I said conspiratorially to her. "Why don't you go find a wedding dress while I talk to him?"
It was her turn to roll her eyes. "Pretty damn weird if you ask me!" was about all the girl said as she stormed out, though I heard a few choice adjectives and adverbs under her breath as she chuffed by.
"Wow. I got here just in time," I said. "Marriage still on, or did I miss that too?"
He was writing on a legal pad when I walked out and sat at a table by the pool.
"I don't know what I was thinking," he said. "Irish and a redhead. She'll demolish the house within a week."
"Sam, as long as I've known you, you've never once thought about the women you screw, but Brigit? She'd get pre-cum from a doorknob ."
"She is pretty cute, isn't she?"
"Cute? She'd make Winston Churchill horny, and he's been dead a while, last I heard."
He chuckled. "So? You approve?"
"Approve? Hell, I'm green!"
"You know, she's right about one thing. I love you, John. I never had a brother, but if I had, I'd want him just like you. I know you know that, but thanks for helping me out last night."
"Yeah, me too, bro. Best friend I ever had."
