With his arms crossed, strolling about, Dooley asked, “Who did you see Everett Lester threaten, and for what reason?”
“Well, on several occasions he became angered when people approached him in public,” Gray answered so quickly that his response seemed rehearsed. “Like when someone would come up to him at a urinal and want to shake hands…”
This brought a relief of laughter from the crowd. I think I even smirked. But Dooley nipped it.
“Did you ever see Mr. Lester threaten the psychic known as Madam Endora Crystal?” Dooley asked, throwing a cloak of silence over courtroom B-3.
“No, I did not.”
Dooley approached Gray. “Mr. Harris, what is the most violent act you ever saw Everett commit?”
Boone was on his feet in an instant. “Your Honor, we object on the basis of relevance. What if someone asked that question of your life or mine or of Mr. Dooley himself, for that matter? In each instance, I am certain the answer would certainly be most incriminating.”
Boone stared at Judge Sprockett, who debated for several seconds while fiddling with something in front of him. “Objection overruled. I am interested in Mr. Harris’s answer.”
Gray rubbed his chin with his pudgy right hand, shook his head, and raised his eyebrows. “Geez, I don’t know, sir. There was a time once in, I think, Pennsylvania. We were doing a concert with a number of other bands. But it was Thanksgiving Day, and we found ourselves at one of the only hotels in town—a motor lodge of some sort.” He breathed deeply. “There were no restaurants open, and we were all kind of ticked off because it was a holiday and we were away from home, apart from our loved ones.”
For the life of me, I could not remember what Gray was talking about—or where the story was going.
“Well,” he continued, conjuring up the strength in his lungs to continue, “Everett had been deep into drugs to pass the time, and he was totally out of it; I mean, falling-down wasted. We were all in one hotel room. I forget whose room it was. But all of the sudden, one of our roadies burst into the room with a wastebasket.
“He had been collecting all the Gideon Bibles from our rooms, up and down the hallways. And he barged into the room where the band and I were gathered, pulled out the bottom drawer of the nightstand, and yanked out the Gideon Bible. Right then he began ripping out pages and throwing them into the trash can. Next thing we knew, he doused the torn-up Bibles with alcohol and lit the wastebasket on fire.”
Groping to remember the incident, I sat dumbfounded, feeling the eyes.
“When Everett kind of came to for a minute and inquired what was going on, what was burning, he went into an outrage. From behind, he grabbed the roadie around the neck, took a knife out of his pocket, flicked it open, and put the knife to this young fellow’s throat.”
Whispers made their way through the courtroom.
“Please continue,” Dooley raised his voice, enjoying the drama yet wanting Gray to finish the gory details.
“The knife slightly punctured the roadie’s throat. And Everett ordered him, while still in a headlock, to put the fire out. The young man grabbed an ice bucket, filled it with water, and dumped the ice on the flames. Everett had him in a headlock the whole time.”
“End of story?”
“Well…yes,” Gray said, almost as if disappointed.
“You hesitate, Mr. Harris. How does the story end? Was the man fired?”
“Not exactly. Everett told him he could keep his job…if he fished the legible pages out of the trash can and read every one of them.”
Dooley grinned. “Well, you may as well finish.” He snickered. “We’re all waiting with bated breath. What did the young man do?”
Gray himself laughed now. “Actually, he read every page. The next thing we knew, he joined the Peace Corps.”
I guess somewhere in the recesses of my mind I always thought I would marry Liza Moon. Now she was gone. Just another dagger in my heart to prove that life was meaningless, that nothing mattered. You just lived and died and…who cared?
A flood of bitterness and rage filled my soul. I seemed to be walking beneath a dark cloud, unable to break into the sunlight. Sorrow ate away at me. Even though all the world wanted to be close to me, I was so alone. No one really wanted to be a true friend.
I was becoming dangerous.
During a brief break from the DeathStroke Rowdy tour, Endora flew to one of my favorite homes, a waterfront condo in Bal Harbour, Florida, near North Miami, to cheer me up. She promised a full-blown psychic reading, and I was all for it.
After a catered dinner and a few drinks, she shooed me out of the living room while she broke out her bag of tricks. I went to the bathroom, then ducked into the den, clicked on the big-screen tube, and stood channel surfing for a few minutes.
My condo was situated on the top floor, the thirty-second story, of a building complex known as The Towers, whose twin peaks hovered beautifully over ritzy Bal Harbour, providing a breathtaking view of the Atlantic Ocean. One major network news anchorman had a suite in the same building, as did several Hollywood stars.
My unit had three spacious bedrooms, three baths, a kitchen and breakfast area, a large den with a bar, an office, and formal living and dining rooms. Liza had helped me decorate using the finest furnishings money could buy. It was truly elegant and had a style that was all Liza.
By the time I came back, the living room was lit only by dozens of candles, including a large black one that sat just off to Endora’s left. Some sort of incense was burning, and Endora beckoned me to sit with her on the floor, insisting I cross my legs Indian-style and remain positive; negative vibes, she assured me, would produce an inaccurate reading.
Next, she opened the lid of a shiny wooden box, which she’d been clutching most of the evening, and removed something that was covered in a square of silk. From beneath the purple cloth she brought out her treasured tarot cards, which she had spoken of often. There were seventy-eight cards in the deck, and I was not allowed to touch one of them. Not yet, anyway.
Looking through the deck, Endora picked out one card—the King of Swords. It was a card that matched my astrological sign, Aquarius, and my skin and hair tones, dark. She placed that card facedown on the table horizontally.
Next, she gave me the privilege of shuffling the deck until the cards felt “warm,” which I imagined they did. I cut the deck with my left hand “to invite order from the universe,” as she had insisted.
Dealing from the bottom of the deck, Endora carefully set three cards vertically, facedown, above the King of Swords, then one card facedown vertically on top of the King of Swords, then three more cards facedown vertically beneath the King of Swords.
“Okay, let’s be quiet,” she said, putting on her game face.
Closing her eyes, Endora began to kind of fade away into her own little world. Her posture was straight, but she seemed totally relaxed. Her arms rested on her crossed knees, with her hands open and facing up, as if each hand was about to receive an apple.
The humming began slowly and quietly, immediately making me feel uncomfortable. Then deeper groaning came, mixed with bits and pieces of what sounded like other languages. Slowly, her chanting grew louder.
What the—? Endora had never pulled anything like this before. She revealed remarkable truths to me in the past, but we never “entered in,” as seemed to be happening this night, high above the coastline of the Atlantic.
“Say your name,” Endora ordered with her eyes still closed.
“Everett Lester.”
“Repeat it, louder.”
“Everett Lester.” I was really concentrating now, really trying to make this work. “Everett Lester…Everett Lester.”
Endora reached the far left card in the top line and flipped it over. The words on the card read The Fool. “Adventure…energy…zeal.” Endora spoke each word with utter clarity and deep emotion. “You were wild and carefree as a boy. You went in a million different directions. You were gullible. Oh,
how you searched for acceptance, taking many risks to find it, not caring about consequences.”
A breeze off the ocean swept through the condo, blowing the black curtains at the sliding glass door to the balcony waist-high into the room. The candles flickered. Two went out completely, leaving trails of smoke twisting in the air. Chills ran up my arms.
She turned over the second card in the top row: the Ten of Wands, “Oppression.”
A string of unintelligible verbiage poured forth from Endora. Her chanting, the whole setup, gave me the creeps, big-time. It had been a hot day in North Miami, but my apartment was freezing. Endora acted differently than I had ever witnessed, as if she had up and left her body and someone else, a stranger, now occupied it.
“Domination of mind, body, spirit,” she groaned, sadly. “You were completely and utterly stifled as a child. Stifled! Your father—insecure, controlling. Although somewhere deep inside he wanted to, he did not know how to love. So he raised you like he was raised. Pure repression.”
The black candle between us blew out with the wind.
She had my attention.
In fact, I didn’t care how all of this looked—she was dead on the mark.
With the flick of two fingers and another string of gibberish, she flashed the Nine of Pentacles, the third and last card in the top row.
In a slow, alluring voice, Endora began almost singing now, her eyes still closed: “You have done it. The higher power within has taken oooover. Accomplishment, Everett Lester, accomplishment! You have overcome your morbid childhood. You have acquired wealth and reached the very pinnacle of success.
“The past has been read,” Endora declared with finality, reaching for the card that was facedown in the center of the table, covering the King of Swords, which represented me. “Now, the present.”
With a similar flick of the wrist, she flipped over the Ten of Swords, which had one word in bold, black type: “Ruin.” I immediately searched her face for a response, but there was none. Nothing seemed to remotely faze her; it was as if she was there with me, but her emotions were not. Eerie doesn’t begin to describe it.
Leaning forward with her elbows on her knees, Endora rested her head in her hands, closed her eyes, and exhaled deeply, rocking slightly.
“The moths of cruelty and hatred and loss have eaten away at you. Your life is like a stone wall that’s been through wars and turmoil. Some sides of the wall appear strong and unbroken—even glamorous. But much of the wall is crumbling away, decaying…ruined.”
Endora’s arms slowly lifted upward, and her head rolled from side to side. The chanting came low and deep now. Building faster and faster.
I was startled when she suddenly whipped her arms out to her sides, like an umpire signaling “safe.”
“Quiet!” she uttered, eyes closed, head cocked sideways, eyebrows up, as if listening to a voice coming from the other room. “‘Move on!’ they’re telling me. ‘Move on!’ Let us see what the gods hold in store for your future.”
Again, with a flash, she flicked over the first of three cards in the bottom row.
At first, I couldn’t read the word at the bottom. My eyes fell instead to its picture: an hourglass.
“Death.” With her eyes open now, she looked at the card then at me. “It doesn’t mean what you think. Do not worry. It is good. A sign that says, if you do not fear change, if you do not stagnate, if you embrace change, you will be transformed. Death of the old, beginning of the new.
“This is what we’ve been discussing, Everett. Exactly what we’ve been talking about! If you are strong and press on and recognize the leader the gods have made you and embrace the afterlife that awaits you on the Other Side, all fear of death will be gone. All of your anxiety will disappear. And you will not only be set free, but so will your massive following.”
As she broke into another chant, her head bounced back and forth. “Death to the old, life to the new—let us see what this next card reveals for you.”
She reached for the second to last card and flipped it over, slowly this time.
Her eyes grew big.
As quick as a hiccup, rage filled her face as she read the words on the card: “Ace of Cups…the ‘Love’ card.”
Her eyes penetrated mine.
Not a word was spoken for many seconds.
“Well…” She attempted to compose herself. “What do you know about that.” She looked almost faint. “Quiet…quiet for a moment, Everett. Give me complete silence.”
After placing the card faceup in its rightful position, she held her jeweled hand about an inch above the card. As she did, she shut her eyes and tilted her head back, looking straight up into space.
When Endora’s hand started to quiver ever so slightly, I assumed it was just her age. But then the hand that hovered over the Ace of Cups trembled more, and eventually, shook severely.
“What is it?” I asked.
“Silence!”
A fierce wind ripped through the condo. Endora’s glass, holding the remains of a bloody Mary, spilled across the glass mantel and down the side of the fireplace. Each candle in the room suddenly blazed one hundred times brighter than normal, brighter than any candle was supposed to burn. The three that had gone out were now torches.
Endora’s head was still thrown back; both of her arms and her shoulders were shuddering violently. It looked like she was taking off in the space shuttle.
“No, nnn-no, nooooooo.” She shook, yelling, fighting to keep her hand over the Love card.
“Endora, Endora! Stop it! Stop!” I pleaded, my heart hammering. “What should I do?”
Then I saw the smoke. It rolled up in a swirling vapor from underneath her hand.
Instinctively, I lunged for her arm to get her away from the table, and we rolled hard to the ground.
Endora collapsed, her head drenched in sweat, remnants of smoke still trailing from her right hand.
I shot up on my knees to look at the table, to put out the fire.
But there was no fire.
Instead, the Ace of Cups—the Love card—lay there, perfectly in its place, glowing red hot, like a branding iron. I stared in amazement as its bright orange glow quickly went out in unison with every single candle in my thirty-second-story condominium.
5
TWILA YONDER LOOKED JUST like her name sounded—way-out.
I’d guess she was about thirty-eight. Her face was pale, and her long hair was brown with bleached-blond streaks. She wore stark makeup, including arching black eyebrows that looked as if they were drawn on with a Sharpie. The dark maroon top she wore resembled a cape with webbing under each arm. Her tongue was pierced with a small silver ball. Funny…she looked like a typical DeathStroke fan.
But a fan, it turned out, she definitely was not.
As Miss Yonder clinked to the witness stand with her array of heavy jewelry, I heard the rain begin to come down hard outside. I was tired. It had been a long day.
After all the formalities, Frank Dooley stood beside the witness stand, addressing her as if she were a fragile flower.
“Tell us now, if you will, Miss Yonder, about your relationship to the deceased—Madam Endora Crystal, or, to use her real name, Edith Rosenbaum.”
“Endora and I went way back,” she said reflectively. “I met her at a mutual friend’s house, oh, I’d say fifteen years ago. We became fast friends.”
“How often did you see or talk to Endora?”
“During the last few years we spoke at least several times a week,” she said, as I wondered how she could chew gum, talk, and avoid having the gum stick to the jewelry on her tongue. “She was like a mother to me and a dear friend at the same time. She taught me a lot about psychics and the profession she was so good at.”
“What can you tell us about the relationship between Endora and Everett Lester?” Dooley showed a kindness and patience I didn’t know he had.
“Well, Everett had a macho persona, but deep inside, he had problems.” She cho
mped her gum. “Endora became like a mother to him. Without her guidance, who knows what would have become of him long before now? I mean, the man was obviously messed up.”
“Explain for the court what you mean by that,” Dooley said as he wandered and motioned with his hands for her to tell more.
“Everett Lester was an unstable drug addict. Very insecure. Very unsure of himself, no matter how powerful he came off onstage. The man was a loser. Endora kept his feet on solid ground. He needed her…in more ways than one.”
Think of the feeling you get in your stomach when you go over a hill really fast in a car. Do you know that feeling? Or more accurately, when you are suddenly confronted with drastic news—bad news. Your face goes flush. Your body goes limp. Your lips go dry. Sweat breaks out on your forehead. Do you know that feeling?
That’s how I felt, suddenly, in Miami-Dade County courtroom B-3, as I realized something was terribly amiss.
“Wait a minute now.” Dooley turned on a dime, facing the jury. “What did you mean just now, when you said Everett Lester needed Madam Endora in more ways than one?”
“Simple,” said the dragon lady from hell. “Everett was in love with Endora. She told me herself.”
Quiet surprise blazed through the room.
“They were…romantically involved.”
Relishing the moment, Dooley paced with his arms crossed, waiting. I could almost see a smile on his long face. But no, he was too good to let it shine. He kept his exuberance at bay.
“Now, Miss Yonder, tell us more of what you know about the romance between Endora Crystal and Everett Lester.”
When he emphasized the word romance I actually felt woozy.
“Well, for a long time I didn’t know it was going on. It was only in the last few days of her life that Endora confided in me that she and Everett had been romantically involved.”
Dark Star: Confessions of a Rock Idol Page 5
