by Adam Nimoy
* * *
Last night I went to the Saturday night meeting with Justin. It was held in an old house that is dedicated to AA meetings around the clock. It was a speaker meeting, and while this young Brit went on about his drinking and drugging days in the UK, I noticed a woman sitting directly in front of me. I couldn’t see her face. She had very light brown hair, almost blond, and it was straight and pretty. She turned around, recognized me, and smiled. It was Rae, the girl who was with me and my parents at Bernie Taupin’s party thirty years ago. When the speaker was finished, Rae and I stood up and hugged.
“You look really good,” she said.
“So do you.”
“What have you been up to?” she asked.
“I’m writing a memoir and you’re in it.”
“Really?”
“The Bernie Taupin party.”
“When you threw up on Sunset Boulevard?”
“That’s the one. You took very good care of me that night.”
“I was so nervous, I didn’t know what I was doing. When we got you home, your father put you on your bed and you were quoting Nietzsche. Nietzsche and Neil Young.”
“My Nietzsche and Neil phase.”
“You were delirious. You were also calling for Jerry Garcia. Jerry and your father.”
“My father was right up there with Jerry Garcia? Huh. Fascinating. You know, I woke up in the middle of the night calling your name but you were gone. The next day you were incredibly sweet to me. I had taken a shower, washed all the puke out of my hair. We were standing outside by the pool. You were holding me.”
“I nursed you back to health?”
“Something like that.”
“You promised me a copy of that picture they took of all of us at Bernie’s. I still want it.”
“No!”
We laughed and I promised to scan a copy and send it to her. I kept it from her because not long after the Taupin affair, Rae dumped me in the most unceremonious way. I had done something similar to a girl four years before, so I guess it was just payback. But I kept the picture anyway.
Rae was actually my next-door neighbor when I lived with my parents at the house in Westwood but we didn’t start dating until my sophomore year in college. Her parents divorced and her mother died of complications due to alcoholism. Rae has been sober for three years and divorced a year. We exchanged phone numbers.
* * *
This morning, I get a call from my sister. She’s spending the week in New York, staying in my mother’s apartment.
“How’s it going out there?”
“Well, the apartment’s a mess, as usual.”
“What are you talking about? I went through every room when I was out there with Maddy. I went through that entire linen closet. Did you know Mom has towels from, like, a dozen different sets? She doesn’t get rid of anything.”
“That’s our mother! Where would she be without us?”
“Julie, where would we be without her?”
“I know, I know, you’re right. No, the linen closet looks good but the kitchen was a mess and I had to reorganize the whole thing. You know me, I like my kitchens clean.”
“Yes, you do!”
“Listen, before I forget, I want to tell you that when I got here, there was a letter for you left with the doorman.”
“A letter? From who?”
“It’s from Beatrice.”
JACKSON AND US
MY DIVORCE BECAME final in September 2006, just in time for Rosh Hashanah. I got the call from my attorney. “Happy new year, your marriage is over.”
It was sad and scary and strange all at the same time. It still amazes me that there was so much that brought Nancy and me together in the first place and so much that we lost along the way. Now I’m just feeling relieved that I can begin a new phase in my life.
Before Nancy signed the settlement papers, she sent me a flurry of hate e-mails with several Yiddish curses thrown in for good measure. Instead of trying to force her to sign, I called her and told her that it was time for both of us to get past this phase and move on. I told her that she shouldn’t worry, we were going to be friends for the rest of our lives and that I would do the best I could to make sure she was always all right.
She started crying.
“Just tell me again everything’s going to be okay.”
“It’s not going to just be okay, it’s going to be great. We both still have much to look forward to. We will always be family. There will always be the family gatherings. And whomever you’re dating will always be welcome. I’ll even take him skeet shooting.”
This seemed to make her feel better and she told me she loved me and I said the same to her. And I meant it. But it’s funny how saying this to her means something so different now than it did when we were married.
And now that we’ve moved past the divorce, we have, once again, gone back to being friends. Me and my ex, my ex and me.
It’s good for the kids that Nancy and I still get along. And though some members of my family don’t seem to understand why I maintain my relationship with her, I don’t really give a damn. It’s not like we’ll be getting back together. It’s not like it’s keeping Nancy from dating or stopping me from chasing loose women.
* * *
It’s the springtime again. Jonah turned fifteen and man that kid is getting tall.
“You’re changing,” I said to him several weeks ago as I was dropping him off after school and we were walking up to the house.
“You mean I’m getting smarter?”
“Not with that D in biology you’re not. I mean your body’s changing.”
Not only is he getting taller, but I could see that his mouth is different, his mouth and his teeth. He’s older now. In the past two weeks alone, I’ve seen him change. He’s definitely not the boy he was on our trip up to Santa Cruz just months ago. He’s finishing his first year at Santa Monica High and he’s actually doing better than in his days in middle school, now that he’s figured out that homework is supposed to be turned in. And he’s been in guitar class blowing them away, because his guitar work just keeps getting better. There’s going to be another benefit concert for the Santa Monica Malibu School music program. Once again, Jackson Browne will be playing. I’m reminded of when we all went to see Jackson play that outdoor benefit two years ago and how Jackson pulled me out of that embarrassing moment between me and my kids and that blond bombshell who sat down next to me and I’m thinking, Yeah, that’s when we put the kibosh on that situation, me and Jackson, Jackson and me.
This year, Jackson has decided to invite some of the guys from the guitar class, including Jonah, to sit in on a few songs at the concert. The boys in the class have been rehearsing with Jackson for weeks, and when I pick Jonah up after school, it’s Jackson said this and Jackson said that. Now, it’s Jonah and Jackson and Jackson and Jonah.
The day of the concert, we’re sitting around waiting for the twelve o’clock sound check for the show that night. This year, the concert’s being held in Barnum Hall, the school auditorium that’s been completely refurbished and now really looks like a concert hall. I’m sitting third row center with my video camera to film the rehearsal and the boys are outside playing guitars while we wait for everyone to show up. Nancy’s sitting in front of me and we’re so bored waiting that we actually get into an argument. It’s been months since the divorce was final and things have settled down considerably, so I guess we’re due to go a few rounds. I don’t even know what the hell we’re fighting about, but I’m thinking to myself, How did I let myself contribute to getting into this? And while Nancy’s really going at it, I find myself wondering whether or not I ever made a proper amends to her for all that pot smoking I did during the course of our marriage. I did send her an e-mail amends, but I’m not sure that really counts. After the Therapy Police episode, I made a halfhearted amends to her over the phone but then reminded her of our mediation appointment the following week and that prompted her to
tell me to f--- off, so I’m not sure that one really counts either. Note to myself: Must ask my sponsor about this.
The fight with Nancy is in full swing, and we’re really getting into it—the mud and the insults are flying from both sides, when suddenly, the lone figure of Jackson Browne appears onstage. Just in the nick of time. Just like at the concert two years ago. And we’re back to me and Jackson.
Nancy runs out to get the boys. Band members and technical people start to arrive and the rehearsal gets under way. Jonah’s finally up there with all his friends as Jackson runs through a long list of incredible songs.
As for the fight with Nancy, I figure I’ll have the last word later at the show because I happen to know that she has seats in the mezzanine while I’m sitting in the twelfth row. That night, before the show, she starts complaining about having to sit upstairs. So as a consolation, I give her my binoculars.
When the concert starts, I get a text message from her asking if there are any seats nearby. I gleefully reply, “So sorry, but no.” Now I’m really enjoying my twelfth-row seats, even if they are all the way over to the left aisle. And this year, I don’t have to worry about blond bombshells sitting next to me because (1) Jonah’s onstage, (2) Maddy’s upstairs sitting with Nancy, and (3) to my left is the aisle and to my right is my mother. My phone starts vibrating again with another text message. It reads: “Turn around.” I get a little agitated because I know what’s coming. I turn around and there, two rows behind me, are Nancy and Maddy. And they’re waving to me all excited. Nancy sticks her tongue out at me.
The show just rocks. The band backing up Jackson is outstanding. And Jonah looks great up there, sitting with his buddies in a row of acoustic guitars while Jackson stands in front of them at the mic. Jonah has a little step-out solo during one of the songs and he’s wailing away. But then I notice that he’s chewing gum, he’s freaking chewing gum while he’s playing, and it’s really annoying. I know he sees me because he knows where I’m sitting, and now I’m standing in the aisle against the wall and when he looks my way I desperately try to signal him to close his mouth. But he keeps chomping away. Then I notice that Nancy and Maddy are no longer behind me, they’re dancing with the crowd in the center section right in front of the stage. And just at that moment, just when I want to throttle somebody because I’m pissed off about Jonah chewing gum and Nancy snaking up front and the argument that afternoon, in that exact moment Jackson starts playing “Take It Easy.” Only this time, he’s singing it to Nancy and Maddy, who are dancing right in front of the stage.
But because I’m still basically your run-of-the-mill self-centered drug addict, I know Jackson really means it for me.
The next day, I go over to the house and we recap the highlights from the night before because it really was an incredible show. David Crosby also performed and played some of his hits from the Byrds all the way through to Crosby, Stills, Nash & Young. We’re standing in the living room and I pick up an acoustic guitar and start playing “Take It Easy.” Jonah picks up another guitar and joins in. Nancy sits down and plays it on piano. Maddy’s there and we’re all singing and playing and doing what we used to do before I moved out of that house three and a half years ago. While I’m strumming away, I’m thinking about how far we’ve all come, that we’re miles away from that day on the beach when Jonah cried and cried and that night in the car when Maddy grabbed my steering wheel and kept yelling at me.
In a year’s time, you won’t be able to recognize yourself. That’s what Paula said when this all began.
And while we’re playing, it feels a little nostalgic and maybe a little weird to be here. But it’s all right now. It’s all right because we’re still playing music and singing songs just like we used to. And yes, hopefully, someday, Nancy and I will be with other people and then we’ll just have to see how it all plays out. But for right now, it’s all right because we’re still family and we can still do things together.
And today, at this moment, while we’re having so much fun playing and singing, it’s just us and Jackson and Jackson and us.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
MANY THANKS TO Susan Reynolds who believed and pointed me to Sandra Dijkstra and to Sandra for pointing me to Dan Smetanka and to Dan for pointing me to Anthony Ziccardi at Pocket Books. Much gratitude goes to Anthony, my editor, Mitchell Ivers, and the entire staff at Pocket. Thanks also to Diane Johnson, Randee Marullo, and Mary Ann McQueen for reading and commenting, and to Melissa Benson for keeping me on point. My gratitude also to Douglas Dutton for his enthusiasm and to Jeff Herman for his negotiating skills. And my deep appreciation to Jack Grapes and The Los Angeles Poets and Writers Collective for showing me the way.
Thanks to all those who read and commented on early drafts of this book including Karen Bullis, John Carr, Nancy Forner, Meredith Freeman, Walt Gardner, Bennett Graebner, John Keller, and Joel Kliaman. Thanks also to Joe and Darlene Lacey of Maidenwine and Ed McNally and the Robert Perkins Estate for supplying some of the photos for this book.
I also want to convey my deep appreciation to my mother and father and sister Julie for giving me permission, my children for giving me everything, Nancy for holding down the fort and helping me with the photos despite the fact she’s the ex-wife in this story, my colleagues and students at the New York Film Academy for challenging me, my landlord for keeping the peace, Danny Plotkin for pushing, Ed Marshall, Chris Martin and Laura Spain for guiding, Kieran Beer for supporting, David Adler for listening, Leslie Rutledge for advising, Leah Johnson for calling, Elaine Robinson for crying, Neil and Pegi for exemplifying, The Santa Monica Public Library for existing, and Messrs Hewson, Evans, Clayton, and Mullen for bringing home the dilithium crystals.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
ADAM NIMOY was born in Los Angeles, California, to Leonard and Sandra Zoberblatt Nimoy. He attended the University Elementary School, a “lab school” run by UCLA, where he was the subject of numerous psychological experiments. Experimentation continued at UC Berkeley in the form of mind-altering substances. In a state of mental confusion, Nimoy attended Loyola Law School where he learned that he would never get rich practicing law. In a brief moment of clarity, Nimoy left the law to study filmmaking at UCLA Extension and acting with Jeff Corey. After directing over forty-five hours of television, including episodes of NYPD Blue, The Practice, and Gilmore Girls, Nimoy’s television career abruptly ended due to drug and alcohol addiction and other personality defects.
“They never complain about the work, just the attitude.”
—Richard Weitz, agent, Endeavor.
On January 1, 2004, Nimoy entered a 12-Step program hoping to achieve a major attitude adjustment. He now teaches directing at the New York Film Academy at Universal Studios.
Nimoy lives in Santa Monica, California, where he is spotted around town whenever possible with daughter Maddy, eightteen, and son Jonah, sixteen.
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Copyright © 2008 by Adam Nimoy
All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form whatsoever. For information address Pocket Books Subsidiary Rights Department, 1230 Avenue of the Americas, New York, NY 10020
First Pocket Books trade paperback edition June 2009
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Designed by Elliott Beard
Photo editor: Nancy Nimoy
Photo on page 190 by F. Scott Schafer
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Nimoy, Adam.
My incredibly wonderful, miserable life: an anti-memoir / by Adam Nimoy.
p. cm.
1. Nimoy, Leonard—Family. 2. Nimoy, Adam. 3. Children of celebrities—United States—Biography. I. Title.
PN2287.N55N56 2008
791.4502'8092—dc22
[B] 2008014336
ISBN 978-1-4391-2546-5 (pbk)
ISBN 978-1-4165-7271-8 (eBook)
