One Night With a Rock Star

by Chana Keefer

  “I’ve made mistakes, but… ”

  “I’m not askin’ ya to defend yourself. I’m offerin’ a chance to prove your worth.” He looked at me sternly. “Walk away from this. Cut it off with one swift stroke and let Esther go on with school and life without helicopters and reporters doggin’ her.”

  “You want me to hurt Esther?”

  He ignored my comment and continued, “Now I’m not gonna force ya and cause some kinda Romeo and Juliet scenario. I’m askin’ ya to be a man. Put off what you want for once and think of what’s best for her. Let’s say, in two years, Esther’s outa college, ya still carry a torch, fine, come back around and let her know. But,” he threw down the gauntlet challenge, “I don’t think you’ve got what it takes. You’re used to things comin’ easy. You’ll forget about the little Texas gal and move on. Fine. Get it over with. Don’t hurt her more by draggin’ it out.”

  I was speechless. I’ve got a master manipulator or two in my family so I’ve been expertly twisted in knots before, but something in his eyes got to me.

  “Listen, I’m just a father askin’ you to do what’s right by his only daughter. I’ve been ready to die for her for more than twenty years so, even if this could be somethin’ more than a passin’ fancy, a man with character would at least consider my wishes, seein’ as how you’ve already done a number on her reputation… and mine.”

  Ouch! He knew how to pack a punch. All that was left was to iron out details. My part was simple, but not easy. Cut off all contact with you. His part was to keep you in the dark about our arrangement.

  Eventually, he gave me a slap on the back and walked away.

  I found myself determined to prove myself to him and, in the long run, to you. I’m old enough and experienced enough to realize the feelings you’ve stirred in me could easily consume us. Maybe the smart thing is to step back and put things on simmer.

  But, here’s the bloody fact. This short time with you has been like coming home after a war. How does one walk away from that? Maybe I should just let him bury me and get it over with.

  Why did he have to place it all so neatly on my conscience? The thought of hurting you breaks my heart, but I’m beginning to think his way is best.

  I want so badly to tell you everything. However, I of all people know this break has to appear complete. There’s nothing the tabloids would love more than a secret affair. When we parted, I told you to trust me. I figure you’ve known me one day therefore one day’s trust is about all that will buy.

  I stopped reading for a moment to let it sink in. My dad was the reason Sky had fallen so completely out of my life? I could sort of understand the thinking, but why not let me in on their little secret? Why did my heart have to break to pull off their little ruse? Yes, I did believe Sky was a complete jerk. Was that absolutely necessary? I resented Dad’s interference. Why couldn’t he have told me about this little plot when I was bleeding all over the place about the Karina thing?

  There’d be time enough to grill my father later. For now, I was curious about what else these books would reveal.

  May 22, 1987

  We’re in New York and I know I haven’t been in the best frame of mind. Miah labeled me a “royal jerk” earlier today and I deserved it. I’m so preoccupied and still struggling against wanting to call you, still wondering if this is the best plan. Karina came to the show last night, entourage and paparazzi in tow, and I played along. For her, it’s another angle to further her career. This time I have a motive as well. I know it will take the focus off my time with you, and I also know you will get the wrong impression.

  Had a long talk with Wally. I was shocked to learn he agrees with your father. Moreover, I’m beginning to agree. You are at a crossroads in your life and I don’t want to get in the way of the decisions you’ll make. I want you to have a couple more years to explore your options and develop without my public scrutiny distracting you—and harming you. I also realize you might find someone else. It drives me a bit insane to think of you with college blokes and male models, but something deep down is telling me to care enough to take that chance. I don’t know that I’ve ever thought this way before. How can I be cruel and unselfish at the same time? I miss you. And yet I hardly know you….

  My heart began to thaw. I wasn’t the only one who struggled. Good. He meant for me to get the wrong impression about Karina, huh. Well that had certainly worked like a charm.

  June 2, 1987

  The London papers carried a picture of you dancing with some young man at your school. The caption read, “Sky’s Texas Rose Moves On.” The chap was quite good looking. I hate him.

  At this point, the pages of my journal ran out and I opened the other leather-bound book.

  June 7, 1987

  You’ve put me in the habit of doing this now and, somehow, I feel I’m talking to you when I write. I know you usually address your writings to God… but I’ll talk to you. I was re-reading an entry in your journal where you felt you had failed to properly answer someone who had questioned your faith. You wrote,

  “How can I ever explain the many times You have answered my questions through circumstances? How can I describe the times Your presence has felt more real than these walls? How do I make her understand that You really do speak to me out of the silence… when I can’t prove any of it?”

  That’s what I want. I want to hear something in the silence. Have I been searching so hard that I haven’t taken time to listen? How do I know it’s not just my imagination?

  Gram has told me for years that faith requires a leap. She says if there’s no questioning, there’s no faith since faith is, “the substance of things hoped for, the evidence of things not seen.” It sounds, from your journal, like there are times when you question as well. You speak of getting away from an experience with God and then, very soon, looking back to wonder, “Was that just emotion? If feelings come and go, does that mean God ebbs and flows as well?”

  I also have to be honest and wonder, would I have such an interest in spiritual matters right now if it wasn’t a way to better understand you? Am I simply serving selfish interests here?

  I could tell the schedule grew extremely hectic because Sky’s entries became sketchy and infrequent for a while. Finally he wrote:

  November 28, 1987

  Have felt like a rat on a treadmill for the past three months. How I wish I could walk in the fields with you. Found something in Milan on the last leg of our tour that I’m thinking of sending for Christmas. I know it’s a bit of a violation of “the agreement,” but I’ll send it anyway. Hopefully you won’t chuck it in the loo.

  Looking forward to a visit with Gram. The holidays will never be the same without Mum, but it will be a break from the madness. Need some peace and quiet to write again. Have some sketchy ideas, but am just too tired. Need time to let them breathe.

  Some young ladies backstage in Amsterdam brought you to mind. They must have gotten fashion ques from Karina—hide nothing, reveal as much as possible. I admit they were pleasant enough to look at, but I wanted to tell them to tuck it away, to do themselves the favor of being a bit reserved.

  We men tend to be a warrior lot. If something’s too easily won or comes too cheaply, its value lessens. If just anyone can get at it, it’s not rare. We’ll dig and dig for that elusive vein of gold, but if it was just lying on the ground to be picked up it wouldn’t be precious; no challenge or mystery. I appreciate that you make yourself rare.

  I’m following a random thought here. Perhaps that’s why God doesn’t write neon across the sky to tell us how to get at him. Perhaps that’s why he’s surrounded in a bit of mystery and we’ve got to seek him with all of ourselves to find him. Perhaps that’s why we have to risk all our pride and self-importance to take that leap into thin air. What do I truly have to lose? I could be wrong and make a fool of myself. But I do that all the time for far lesser stakes.

  January 8, 1988

  Had a bit of a date last night. Someday I’
ll find it comical. I still can’t believe I agreed to go. Chloe was telling me about this “good” friend who was a “great” girl who had so much in common with me. Chloe brought along her man and we went to a very nice restaurant with a private room. What can I say? I was utterly bored. I’m sitting in this lovely restaurant with a lovely young woman thinking about fighting with you in the hay. What have you done to me?

  Next, Sky told of a much-needed break from the road. Already he was gearing up for his next album.

  February 16, 1988

  Some of the topics are a bit different this time. I’m never good at hiding real life struggles when it comes to music. I’m tired of the pressure. I feel like people look at me and see a walking meal ticket. I sound spoiled. How many people get to make a living doing what they love? I think I’m just tired… seeing the glass half empty. The love is only as deep as the next hit record. Were you drawn to me that way as well? Am I a fool to believe attraction would have been there even without stardom? You were so genuine, but would I have been just an old guy with a guitar if I wasn’t famous?

  It was hard to believe Sky ever dealt with insecurities. Wow. He was human after all.

  There were several entries of struggles in the recording studio and his thoughts to present this album in a different way, perhaps with some type of multi-media presentation. Finally, he spoke of meeting a guy named Paul who hooked him up with the organization to get funds to needy countries. They asked Sky to be a “poster child” for them, as he put it, at his concerts and through the sale of his products. At first he had a pretty sour attitude toward the whole thing so they invited him along to see their work firsthand. I could relate only too well to his reaction on that trip.

  March 21, 1988

  The children’s eyes haunt me in my sleep. I can’t imagine how I would feel if it was my own child without proper food or shelter. Met a little girl named Esmerelda. The interpreter learned she was six years old and her family’s home was destroyed by fire last year--four other siblings. I wanted to take her home with me. She was absolutely adorable with wide brown eyes and little pigtails. I felt I’d been handed the world when she finally graced me with a smile. We had a little jam session with the kids beating on cans with sticks as I played guitar. Esther, you would have loved it.

  It’s exciting to think what I do would help these people meet vital needs instead of just making a few rich people richer.

  It was amazing we had been on such similar paths without the luxury of communication.

  The noise from the party downstairs wound down as I returned to my reading. Sky had written a bit about Jeremiah, his new school friends, and his early success with soccer, or “football” as they called it. Once when they were kicking around a ball in James’ yard, Jeremiah mentioned I had never answered his letters.

  I wondered if you were so put out with me you wouldn’t write back to him. That’s hard to imagine. I explained a bit of what was going on to Miah. He declared the plan “bloody stupid” saying, “She should tell you to jump in the loo. I know I would.” Thanks Jeremiah.

  I was glad to think Jeremiah hadn’t held it against me for not writing. In the meantime, I enjoyed the peek inside Sky’s world. So much was foreign to me with the managers and record executives and pressure about the success of his next project.

  He spoke of delving into the writings of Oswald Chambers and C.S. Lewis to find answers to some of his spiritual questions.

  I love Chambers’ reference to “the good being the enemy of the best” and how it’s our method of getting to what we feel is “best” in this life that displays our weaknesses. I’m beginning to understand I’ll never feel “good enough” to deserve Christ’s life and death and that’s the whole point. Now I just have to decide if he was “liar, lunatic or Lord.”

  Some of the record executives, especially Winston and Elliot, are concerned I’ll alienate much of my fan base with this new emphasis on world hunger and the like. I’ve informed them I can’t do it any other way. Perhaps I will drive away some fans. That possibility always exists with growth, but I refuse to become stagnant due to fear.

  I know someday I’ll be too old to travel the world all the time pushing my songs. Who knows how long I’ll be in demand. You were right. I am in a perfect position to do so much. I want to make a difference while I can.

  I curled up on the bed as I read more of the tug-of-war between profitable business and art. I found myself wishing I could have been there for Sky. One entry stood out in particular in the midst of his remarks about the music industry.

  May 17, 1988

  I dreamed of you last night. It was so very real. You were sobbing like a child. In the dream I held you close and sang to you, I think it was a hymn. Finally you became quiet and looked up into my eyes with a smile. Found myself hugging my pillow quite snugly when I awoke, painfully aware of your absence. I’ve struggled all day with wanting to call you. Rang your home early in the morning and your father answered. He reluctantly answered my questions. No serious boyfriends. That’s encouraging. You’ll be working at a news station next year, eh? I know you will do well. Got the impression your Pop would prefer I lost interest. Would that be for the best?

  Once again I checked the date. Yes, it was soon after the death of Grandma Min. The parallels were uncanny.

  It’s my birthday. Don’t even want to write the date. I try to convince myself to take two June 2nds and skip directly to the 4th, but there’s no avoiding it. I’ve changed my name, maybe I’ll just take a new birthdate as well. Friday the thirteenth would be preferable. It is rather a cruel twist of fate that we lost her on this day. Perhaps I’ll try to be like you and focus on the wonderful, “time in a bottle” moments rather than the pain.

  June 17, 1988

  I leave in the morning for another tour with the relief agency. They didn’t ask me to go this time, I volunteered. I feel I need the perspective these excursions offer. So much of my life is complete nonsense, and yet part of the game. We’re taking a camera crew this time. I want to use some of the footage in next year’s tour. No better way to get to people’s hearts than by putting a face with the plea. Elliot is still not convinced and tries to bully with his record company exec status, but I think he realizes more argument is pointless.

  ~~

  Back from the foray into Africa. Am still overwhelmed by the horrible conditions and human suffering . I left my heart somewhere on a lonely plain with a pitifully thin child with large hopeless eyes, too close to death to notice the flies landing on his face. The enormity of need there moved me to despair. Where are pockets deep enough to set things right? Once again, it’s the children who haunt me. They’ve done nothing to deserve such suffering. I feel numb as if all emotion has been seared to preserve sanity. Why God? How can You just stand by? Are You impotent—uncaring—nonexistent?

  I guess I just started addressing these writings to You.

  I did witness a tearing beauty in the people who work to bring relief to these suffering people. The commitment and passion was like a laser in the midst of the darkest night. That’s where I would see God; flowing between giver and receiver; such a complete paradox to witness such pain and beauty intertwined. Words only seem to belittle what I witnessed. What can I do or say that would begin to make a difference?

  I sat up with excitement as I read the next entry.

  August 15, 1988

  I finally did it. I crossed the great divide. It was amazingly anticlimactic. I heard no angels, saw no visions, yet everything has changed. Now that I’ve done it, I wonder why I waited so long. As I said before, what did I have to lose?

  You do know, my Texas Rose, this is greatly your fault. Your tender, trusting relationship with God as recorded in the journal made me realize that was what I had been longing for. I am going to sleep tonight feeling clean and, somehow, filled. Soul-full… finally!

  Sky was filled. A wave of joy swept over me and I paused to wipe away tears. God had used me floundering int
o Sky’s life as part of the process to reach him?

  Astonishing.

  Humbling.

  A smile began in my belly and raced through every fiber of my being.

  August 25, 1988

  Went to visit Gram this past weekend. She cried when I told her what happened. She dragged me along to that little Catholic church of hers I used to attend when I was a boy. Met the young priest who goes by “Father Mike.” Gram says she knows she’s getting old when her priest is young enough to be her grandson. Father Mike is a bit of a fan but we got over that strangeness fairly soon. I’m going to go back whenever I’m around. I really enjoyed how he makes the Bible so easy to understand. Also, most of the parishioners there have seen me around off and on since I was young so I’m no big deal to them. Old Joseph McClintock told me, “So ye’ve gone and made yourself a big man now, eh? Well, the bigger they are the bigger crash they make when they fall I always say!”