One Night With a Rock Star

by Chana Keefer

  Thanks for the encouragement old man.

  I guess I was under the impression all my questions would be answered and all my inner struggles would cease when I decided to follow Christ. Don’t know where I got that, but it’s obviously not the case. Was asking Father Mike, (feel so silly calling him that when he’s my age) what I should be doing, what I should be avoiding, etc. as a new follower. I expected him to tell me to never drink again, to wear a blindfold around pretty girls, to throw away my evil telly, but his answer surprised me.

  He said, “Just read the gospels, focus on what Jesus did and notice the way he treated people. He’s the best example you’re going to find.” He followed that with a statement that set me free in many ways, “God needs good men in your industry too.” Hmmm—more inspiration to use my position to influence for good.

  I must say, I thought I had a pretty good grasp on Jesus’ life, but he was a radical and a bit of a rebel. He was soft as silk with those who had failed and knew it, yet scathingly blunt with those who thought they were better than others. I like him.

  October 1, 1988

  Jake is an avid fan of the nighttime soap, “Lone Star.” His VCR is set to record it faithfully and he brought one of the recent episodes to show me. Didn’t tell me a thing, just watched it with me and then watched me as you came on the screen. I think Jake put me in an unstable chair by design, because when you appeared I fell over. I hit rewind and played your part at least twenty times while Jake poked fun, but I didn’t care. After a while I did it simply to aggravate him. Just so you know, I’m your biggest fan. You looked fabulous and did a smashing job with your two lines. Spending a few days on a set with Dennis Long, eh? Don’t like the sound of that. I know too many film stars. They’re almost as bad as rock stars.

  Since we’re on the topic, I recently attended one of those posh, high profile bashes in London the record execs love for all the free publicity. Saw newly married film celebs Carl Harrison and Denise Elton. There was a media frenzy when they arrived and they posed and promoted to perfection. I really like them both. For their sakes, I hope this relationship can survive the chaos, but I won’t put money on it. The business of playing up to the paparazzi and gossip columnists is like feeding sharks while your hand is bleeding. Few live to tell the tale--or celebrate their second wedding anniversary.

  Gram once described the love of the public as “a mile wide and an inch deep.” She’s right. It’s a dangerous drug. I want to play my music and sell records, but I don’t want that to BE my life. When I have a family with the right person, I will guard it fiercely. That won’t be up for public consumption.

  I’ll bet you have a lot of questions about my former marriage. I’ll try to give the condensed version here although it’s not usually something I enjoy revisiting.

  I met Karina soon after the release of my first album. She and a couple of her friends were well acquainted with the Paris nightclub scene and made quite an entrance at this particular industry bash. Famous models are always welcome since they add so to the marketability of publicity photos.

  I was, of course, struck by Karina’s beauty and flattered by her obvious preference. It was all over the papers the next day that we were an item (which didn’t hurt my ticket sales or her modeling opportunities in the least). I was still overwhelmed by success and greatly enjoyed the heightened attention from gorgeous young women. I loved the excitement of the game of cat and mouse we played with the paparazzi and, I confess, I was not thinking of being careful or wise. I was young, successful, quite rich, drunk with fame, immortal, and determined to make an ass of myself like so many blokes before me. Before long, Karina was in my bed and soon thereafter divulged she suspected a pregnancy.

  That bit of news brought me up short. I had been raised well enough to realize a child could not be taken lightly and quickly broached the subject of marriage. She was very agreeable to that prospect and the wedding was arranged within the same month. Karina had no desire to be a tubby bride and I was eager to do the “right thing.” My family was disgusted with this series of events but, to their credit, they did their best to appear supportive.

  Both of our careers were immediately white hot and extremely pleasing to managers, agents and countless others who benefited from them.

  We had been married for six weeks or so when I realized Karina was scheduled for a swimsuit spread in the Caribbean the following week. I’m not the most knowledgeable about pregnancy, but that didn’t add up with the fact she was supposed to be approximately three months along.

  In one of our rare private moments, I questioned when she should start “showing.” That moment marked the beginning of the end of our relationship.

  Karina said she had experienced a miscarriage the week before our wedding, but hadn’t wanted to ruin the plans. Now, I may be thick, but I knew she was lying. I wondered if she had fabricated the pregnancy, but a couple calls to appropriate doctors put that fear to rest while raising an even greater one.

  These same doctors were not aware of a miscarriage and, in fact, had a pre-natal appointment on the books for her the following week. When confronted with these facts, Karina coolly informed me she had been advised to “put off” having children and had, in fact, acted on that advice before we wed. I recalled a time when she had canceled modeling assignments. I had assumed she was experiencing morning sickness, but she had been recovering from an abortion.

  I was horrified. With my religious upbringing, such an action would never have been an option. We had an incredible row. I hurled accusations while she hurled collectibles. Soon after, I realized the fault couldn’t be laid entirely on her. I had enthusiastically fathered a child with a woman I barely knew. I did know enough to realize, beneath her polished exterior, she was desperately insecure and afraid of letting go of this career that had meant salvation and security for her and her family.

  There had never been any real trust between us, only sex. She honestly didn’t believe I would protect and provide for her when she might become less than cover-worthy, making her easy prey for those who stood to lose the most from her pregnancy in the immediate future. One of the most vocal proponents of her actions, sadly enough, was her own mum.

  Our flimsy relationship deteriorated. I think, even then, had I been a bit more understanding, she would not have taken things so far. However, every time I looked at her, I saw the child that had been eliminated due to its inconvenience. She fought against my rejection by taking up with other men. She was accustomed to being irresistible, and yet her own husband was pushing her away.

  I know this is sounding like the plot for a bad soap opera and might be entirely more than you ever wished to know. You may never even read this, but it feels good to tell my side of the story for once.

  Anyway, we were at a standoff for about six months, just focusing on our careers and trying to ignore the sham of our marriage. One day she announces she’s pregnant again as if actually expecting me to be happy about it even though I knew this one could have nothing to do with me. I threatened to prove her infidelity while she threatened to take the story to the papers that I was rejecting our child. Finally, wanting to spare the embarrassment to my family, I pulled back on the paternity issue and Karina agreed to a very lucrative divorce settlement, which was what she really desired.

  Karina did not have a baby. Did she have another abortion or was she lying? I’ve been a coward. I never asked.

  I drew a deep breath and lay back on the bed for a moment. So now I knew about Karina. It was so sad and horrible. I was a bit surprised Sky would ever be open to a relationship again after what he had been through.

  The room grew chilly as the fire burned low, so I pulled the comforter around me and resumed reading.

  What a breath of fresh air you were when I met you. I had spent four years angry, disillusioned and alone. There you were, beautiful, young, vibrant, and full of fun. Your hopes and dreams shone like stars in your eyes and were windows to a pure, untarnished soul. In
many ways, it was painful to see in you what used to be in me.

  I was accustomed to being around young women who knew how to manipulate with their beauty and, as a result, I was immune to that approach. Your very artlessness was irresistible. If you said something, you meant it. If you felt something, it shone without guile in your eyes.

  I think I first realized I was… quite taken… when you refused the kiss after our dance at the concert. I was playing up to the crowd, but you wouldn’t be used in that way. I had to know more.

  Yes, it was a cheap trick to take you to my hotel room and you were understandably upset, but even under those circumstances you commanded the highest respect from me--although I would have loved for you to be a bit less reputable. I have dreamed of that night several times, realizing those moments marked a turning point for me. In that room, that one night with you, hope began to stir. There were even moments I forgot “Sky,” the highly marketable musician. At one point, I almost asked you to call me Lester. That was a shock, since usually family members alone use that name.

  It was so hard for me to believe that night had been pivotal for him as well. Many questions had been answered, but I still didn’t understand Sky’s actions after the mess with Karina at the recent concert. I skimmed through several more entries; accounts of Christmas at Helena’s home with James and Jeremiah (Wally had accompanied them on that visit), preparing for the international release of the new project, preparing for the concert tour, etc; however, an entry in April stopped me in my tracks.

  April 17, 1989

  Just woke from a dream about you. In the dream, you were fighting something, or someone, in a struggle for your life. I reached for you, but it was that horrible feeling of struggling against a strong current. I woke in panic and began pacing the floor, wondering what to do. I’ve never been one to give much credence to the existence of evil, but the feeling cannot be described any other way. I probably don’t know how to do it very well, but right now I’m praying for your safety.

  His dream had been three days before the incident with Devin. I remembered asking Marti what brought them home early that night and she said the movie they went to see ended up being so dumb, they left. She forgot a coupon she had for the restaurant they were going to so they swung by to get it. I shuddered to think what would have happened if they had chosen a different movie, if Marti had dated a rich guy who didn’t need coupons. Coincidences? Apparently not. God had prompted Sky to pray days in advance.

  Called your parent’s number this afternoon. It was good to talk to your mum. I didn’t want to frighten her so I just inquired about you, learning about your wrapping up school and about your cat (great name) as well as the progress at the internship. Sounds like there’s no cause for alarm. What was that dream about?

  Wally sent the tickets and passes to your address a week ago. I hope I have figured correctly that you would have a harder time turning down an invitation from him than you would from me. Hopefully, in just under a month, all misunderstanding can be cleared.

  The entries grew a little sketchy on tour. I could tell once again the schedule was grueling.

  May 1, 1989

  Am having a bit of a problem with my throat. Kate sent some remedies and teas that seem to have some effect, but three shows in the past five days put a strain on my voice. Someone threw another bra onto the stage during tonight’s performance. Have never understood what I’m supposed to do with those. Usually hand them over to Jake. He says he’ll open his own lingerie shop when he gets too old for touring.

  I admit there are times, like now, when I wonder if I even want to do this anymore. It’s fabulous when everything clicks and the band plays as one and the audience responds. But there’s so much that has to be endured to get through to those moments of magic. At times I get so sick of yet another hotel, another box of fast food, another pushy photographer, another greedy record executive, and yet I know I’m spoiled with the best job in the world. Right now I’m tempted to run away.

  ~~

  I look back at what I wrote a few days ago and shake my head in wonder. Today has been absolutely amazing and yet heart-rending beyond words. We had a free day in Chicago before tomorrow’s show and were invited to visit the children’s cancer ward of the local hospital. I thought I would be expected to cheer them up, but found quite the opposite to be true. Among all the machinery and smell of antiseptic, the purity and life of those tykes was dazzling. I received hugs and crayon art and grateful, melting smiles that made all the s!#* I have to wade through as paparazzi fodder fade away. I took along a guitar and sang a bit with them. One kiddo, Colby, requested “Luna C” and a couple of them even sang along.

  There was a beautiful little girl with the biggest blue eyes and the cutest lisp and a bright blue turban with white clouds painted on it. Her name was Madeline, (“Jutht like the Madeline in the thtorees”) and she requested ‘Puff the Magic Dwagon.’ I didn’t know children these days knew that song, but I tried to muddle through as best I could with Madeline correcting my words as we went along. She finally told me graciously, as she patted my hand, that she knew I’d done my best but her daddy did it better. Very humbling indeed.

  I got quite emotional several times as I realized these brave, beautiful children were in a fight for their lives, facing fears and pain very few have to face in an entire lifetime. Definitely, one of the first questions I want to ask God face-to-face is “Why do children suffer?”

  I want to do more of this type of thing, like the work in Africa and the hospital visit. I like being able to help out where the need is the greatest. Besides, it’s impossible to stay self-absorbed in the face of such gratitude and joy. I end up being changed much more than those I’m trying to help. I feel like the Christmas Grinch with my heart expanding. It’s painful and yet freeing.

  So far, the response to our pleas on behalf of the relief agency has been astoundingly successful. I’m more proud of raising thousands of dollars for that cause than I have ever been of a platinum album or gold gramophone.

  I was once again amazed at our parallel paths and felt pride in his efforts to give. However, my stomach fluttered nervously as I read the next entry. Finally, Sky wrote about the recent concert. I wanted to know and yet I was fearful to discover what caused his rejection. From what I read so far, it seemed he had been missing me as much as I missed him and yet, after that night, he had once again walked away.

  I’ve got to get this out of my system even though I know now you’ll probably never see it and it hurts my hand like the devil to write. The good news is, it was fantastic to see you. However, tonight certainly didn’t unfold as I had planned. Actually, it didn’t even begin as I had planned. Obviously my plans were full of wishful thinking.

  You were rightfully angry and suspicious at the start. I couldn’t blame you. It was amazing you would speak with me at all after my disappearing act of the past twenty-four months. I was almost surprised my serenade during the show worked as well as it had when I met you later. I do wish you could know what a sense of coming home it was to hold you again, to laugh with you.

  I can hardly put into words how it made me feel to witness the complete clashing of my questionable past with the innocent eyes and pony-tailed purity of my hopes for the future.

  My eyes read that last sentence again, trying to fathom what he meant by “hopes for the future.” Was it his future? Perhaps our future?

  I was angry with Karina, but knew, even tonight as she made me out to be a cad, there was a factor I had tried desperately to ignore.

  I can’t change my past. I hate myself for playing the fool with Karina. I wish I could undo all of it and be what you deserve, but I can’t. Your bruised, bleeding face forced me to realize that fact. You don’t deserve to be saddled with my baggage.

  Remember your checklist of items for a desirable husband in your journal? Item number ten always was a bit of a speed bump. Tonight made me realize it’s more of a brick wall.

  You’re right.
You’ve been committed to remaining pure for your future husband and it’s not too much to ask that he would do the same. You deserve that. I believe God is big enough to give it.