March 26, 2018
Damn. Then, the rear door of that car opened and we all clearly saw who it was getting out, alone. Our driver had been correct – it was government, maybe even MI5 alright, but not for us. It was for (foreign born permanent A+++ list celebrity), who we call L.D. - who was exiting that car, alone. She looked nervously around, making eye contact with us in our car, and tripped slightly on the curb. As she recovered herself, she raced up the steps to a townhouse-looking place that had all the lights off. At 3am. By herself. None of us uttered a peep or even a breath.
I'd seen something when the lady stumbled, a little glint of light, but in my drunken mind knew I saw something fall. I slowly exited our car, as my mates told me to get back in. I walked over to the sidewalk, looking down…looking…and saw it. Yep, it was an earring. L.D., in her hurry, had lost it when she stumbled. Now H3 was out of the car, and I showed him too. I was bent down, picking it up when a man opens the rear car door and exits from where she'd been. He gets out and tells us to piss off. Very military in his demeanor, but obviously surprised. He had no clue who we were, nor did we of him. At that time anyway. I told him that his friend had dropped – "I told you to piss off! Go! Now!", he barked. So I pocketed the fallen pearl earring, and thought about offering it to the man. But how do you do so to a guy so rude? H3 tugged my arm, and we went back to the car. The entire time being stared down by that driver, that military-looking red-haired man, whom I'd only see again in tabloids years later.
Back in our car, we all kind of sat there quietly, as our driver eased onto the street. I looked at H3, and MS looked at me. "What? Was that who I think - " she asked. H3 and I both realized we'd seen something we likely should not have, even though we could not say for certain what was going on. We just both knew – even drunk – that it wasn't something we wanted to discuss ever. But there was no question who the lady was, which likely meant either press or cops would be in the area (if not already hiding somewhere). We didn't need a scandal or drama. I told our driver to go – forget about the side trips. MS said, "And I'm all dressed up for nothing?" and laughed. We all made a pledge then and there not to repeat anything we'd seen – or anything we'd thought we'd seen. We all held to that promise until a tragic accident many years later nullified our pact for us.
We took H3 back to the hotel, and as it was past 4am, figured it was all quiet. Nope, nada. I let him out and thanked my pal for a great time. He says he went in and went to sleep, but I have my doubts. MS had decided to ride with me to the airport in the car. Our company's private jet was there, waiting for me to depart. Actually it was waiting to fly all the film canisters and recordings back to the US, but was nice enough to wait on me. The entire ride out to the airport, MS and I became very close friends. The seat divider raised all the way up. She was and is still truly a remarkable woman. I didn't want to leave, and in my then-nineteen year-old brain felt love and passion unlike any I'd known before. It was very passionate, and probably as ecstatic as could be without total abandonment into full consummation. She didn't have to fear a walk of shame, and even intoxicated we both knew it was real. Still I tried everything to talk her into flying to the states with me, and she tried to talk me into staying there. Literally driving onto the runway at the general aviation terminal, the jet was ready to take off.
Almost like a scene out of one of those old movies where the couple kisses before one boards the train for war – she and I shared a lovely, tender kiss right there on the runway. Jet engines whirring, breeze blowing around us, as the summer sun began to peep over the horizon. The co-pilot yelled from the top of the steps, and broke us up. I thanked MS for everything, and sorry if her good time was ruined.
"You're joking, right?", she said. "It was a MAGICAL night. One of my bests…ever."
Glad I wasn't the only one to feel that way. I loaded my guitar case and bags, and waved goodbye as our driver returned Cinderella back home by sunrise. As we departed and made it airborne, I realized I'd lost the t-shirt I'd grabbed for my sister's gift. Then realized that MS was still wearing it. I couldn't stop smiling. As there, in my hands, was that amazing dress of hers – ripped and all. I had to laugh, and fell into a deep, deep sleep.
Over the next few years I got busier, and that band had ups and downs. Especially the singer HT. Personal issues and problems had me worried about my friend. It wasn't til several years later that I got word from him that he would be in Los Angeles and wanted to catch up. Of course I would. He came in time for my birthday, and we went out to dinner to celebrate. He told me he wanted to try more acting, and if I could help him in that area of the biz. Sure I could, and would. We wound up talking all night outside at my house on the balcony. A few bottles of wine later, like vampires fleeing the sun, we decided to reconvene around the holidays. He was proud to be a new father, and wanted to get on with the next phase of his life. He knew I'd be there when he returned.
When we parted that early morning, before he got in the car to leave, he said to me: "I think I'm going to like growing old if I can do it in style. Never wanted to get old. Maybe this is where I need to do it – seems to work for you". I told him he was a long way from old, and this was his home if he wished. He called me "little brotha" and gave a hug.
It would be the last time I ever saw him.
A month later, they found his body in his room. All kinds of horrible conspiracies, gossip, and garbage about his death. I know it was suicide, because nobody could kill my friend but himself. Nobody could take his force of life from him, but him. It hurt and stung badly, especially knowing we were going to soon be closer than before. It wasn't to be, and like so many friends after him I replay his memories and crush myself wondering if I could've only reached out...if I'd only known. Why didn't he call me? But it's all for naught. He left a young child that he was proud of and loved dearly; a band that misses him still; and a stunned world who will forever recall his bright light. I still look at that final parting shot of the video that night from the concert. It is a haunting look from the singer, almost prophetic as he holds my guitar in a frozen frame. I think he would've liked it. Even in death my friend is magnetic.
Very recently, the guitarist KG decided to auction off some of his guitars for charity. It went very well, but there was one guitar noticeably absent from the offerings. Probably because it is sitting – as I type this – in my living room right now. And to this day? No one has played it, or even changed the strings since that night HT strummed and banged it live at the close of that show. A moment captured for eternity. Draped along the side curve of the guitar, is a swath of glittering black cloth that used to be a dress. What's left of it, anyway. The last time it covered a human body was MS, that night, when she changed outside the pub. Atop that black shining dress is a small, clear box with a single pearl earring inside. The one dropped by that now-gone lady in her hurry into a friend's home that night, driven there by her ginger-haired military lover on a secret leave. It too has never been in another ear or worn by anyone else. Together they all make a little shrine, dedicated to this night. A night that can never be repeated for all of eternal history. Even that original stadium has been torn down and never will be played again by anyone. Some epic nights remain those brief beautiful moments.
I'm so happy to see that MS recently announced a kicking new pop album, and an upcoming tour. Still an amazing woman, beautiful, and a rocking pop genius. She's now married happily with a family and works her garden when not spotting aliens. Part of me will carry our moment together too, forever – in my heart. She's worthy of the best and I'm honored to have been worthy of her best, even for that moment that crazy night.
I look back on those days and hear the laughter, see the extravaganza, and feel the electricity from those moments that make life worth living. To have lived through a moment where the peak of perfection is captured live for all future generations to witness. A moment of fun, power, and excitement. I was honored to be a friend of those guys, and treasure it among my best moments. Yes, I smile at it when I think of my departed friend, and that moment…that goes on forever. That one mad, sad moment that was part of our friendship. As is my ongoing friendship with H3 and the connection we still share. So that's the story.
With so many friends dying of causes, natural or unnatural – I have found that life is never as certain as it should be. It takes work and fortitude to live and keep going, no matter our hurts and struggles. Sometimes we have to just make ourselves keep going to see the sun rise one more day. No matter the pains, conditions, tragedies, and losses we all suffer as humans; we can still look back at time when all was right with our worlds. When that light shined, and we remember our reasons for living. In the faces of our children or even in the memory of a magical moment 27 years ago. We must all choose not to fade away, and not to burn out. Find the strength in those memories that live forever. As our friend said, there's nothing better we can do, than live forever.
We must choose to live. Just live, baby…live.
