Davy's On The Road Again Ch. 14

We followed the tablelands west as it gradually lowered into a valley. The horses seemed to enjoy this trail. We enjoyed it as well since it was scenic and beautiful, mellow and very gradual. I don't know about the others but my ass was starting to hurt. We followed the valley floor until it started to rise up into a large flat grazing plain. A herd of bison was racing across the plain being followed by a pack of wolves. We watched as the chase ensued until one bison began to straggle. Rusty commented that the wolves would pounce at any moment. Sure enough, they began to attack the bison who turned to face them and kick.

"Wolves are better at running down a bison than facing one head on. See how the bison is butting at them and kicking them with his hind legs? But that buffalo was a weak one, a straggler, maybe old or sick...still he'll put up a good fight."

The wolves backed off and seemed to be reconsidering their attack plan. Rusty told us that this could go on for hours as they wore the beast down. We continued on as we climbed several small ridges and then down again along a small stream. Off aways, we could see the falls that fed the stream. It was a fine necklace that streamed down off a ledge. We continued to follow the stream until we found a trail that led through a wonderfully scented pine forest. As we emerged from the forest, we were back at the stables. We dismounted and watered the horses. Then we brushed them down and brought them into their stalls to be fed. Nippier seemed to enjoy the ride and he nuzzled me before we left.

The Rangers thanked us for the care we took with their horses and for our good ride and we likewise thanked them. They asked for autographs and said they'd heard we'd be playing a little concert in the amphitheater by Yellowstone Lake. We told them that we would in a couple of days and they all said they'd try to make it. Wilson then drove us back to the cabins. We were all in fine moods but a bit achy, to put it mildly.

The girls were in the same shape. Amy, ever the resourceful one, had inflated the hot tub and filled it. They were all sprawled around the porch of our cabin now, clad in robes, smoking a joint, drinking wine and looking limp.

"Hey, the cowboys are back from the south forty!" yelled Sarah. "Come-a-tie-yie-yippie-yippie-o!" It was kind of a weak yell.

"You guys look nice and relaxed."

"Relaxed! We're fucking crippled! We hiked our asses off! Our guide was a sadist! We even called the hotel to book massages but they're all booked up today...but first thing in the morning, our bodies belong to them! And how are you guys feeling?"

"My nuts are killing me," said Annie and that broke us up. We couldn't help but agree.

"I'm feeling places I didn't know I had!" added George.

"Well, I have to tell you something," said Amy, "You guys stink. I can smell you wafting over here. Go shower and then hit the tub."

"Yup," I said, "that's my next move."

We each hit our cabins and showered off. As we came out of our cabins, we dropped our robes and streaked over to the tub, Annie included, whooping as we ran or rather quickly hobbled. Thank goodness the tub was hot. The bubbling water was very soothing and all of us groaned in pleasure. The girls brought over glasses of wine and lit up another spliff for us.

"I have to take a picture of this," said Annie. "But not yet, I'm too comfortable...soon. I'll say this - in all my years, I've never met campers who brought along their own hot tub. Talk about 'roughing it'. Ha!"

The girls pulled chairs over and we talked about the amazing day we'd experienced. Talking over each other and babbling away, we all agreed that it was worth it but it's true - you got to pay to play.

Amy filled us in that they had ordered a bunch of pizzas and salad to be delivered in about an hour. Also, she'd tied Santo to a long rope and he was happily rolling around in the grass in front of the cabin, that is until a couple of deer walked out of the woods onto the edge of the large lawn. He began to bark at them and all he wanted to do was chase them but they paid him no mind and obliviously grazed.

Eventually, Annie got out of the tub and dried off. Clad in her cotton robe, she set up her tripod and posed all of us around the tub. She also took some shots of the three guys in the tub sipping wine. For one picture, we mooned her. Finally, we all got out of the tub and slowly dried off, too. I drained the tub while Amy, Mark and Deb set up the screened tent as a dining room. By the time the pizza arrived, we were starving. Even the crusts disappeared (although I did provide Santo with a "pizza bone" that he happily munched). Happily fed but still aching, we decided that it was too late to nap and too early to go to bed, so we considered what to do next. Someone suggested that maybe Mark and I might play a bit but we shook our heads. Someone else suggested cards or board games and that went over well. Laura and George asked if I wouldn't mind some interview time and while I really wasn't up to doing anything, I realized that I'd promised them some quality time and this seemed to be it. It was getting chilly so we repaired to my cabin which seemed to have the largest living room area.

Scrabble seemed to be the popular choice and they set up the board around the table. Laura, George and I set up by the fireplace. I smiled as they both set up little digital recorders. "Okay, shoot!"

Laura asked me about the fallow years, after I was dropped from the label. "It was a tough time. I was confused. Whereas they had treated me like a valuable asset before, suddenly I'm dropped, and in a very insulting way. My friend and manager, Danny, called to tell me that my contract had not been renewed and that I no longer had a label to distribute my music. I'd known that my sales were down but I assumed that was due to changing tastes and the national addiction to disco. But I still had a loyal core audience and I felt that the niche I was in would continue to sell records and fill halls. Unfortunately, the label didn't see it that way. Suddenly, it was more difficult to get booked, too, without label support. A lot of the concert halls were disappearing and being replaced by arenas - and since my music was less show-bizzy and more intimate, arenas were not good venues for me, not that they were calling me. I started to play smaller gigs and outdoor festivals. My audience showed up and they were great gigs. I still owe George Wein and Quint Davis for booking me into Newport and Jazzfest but gigs like that became fewer and further between. I was spending a lot of my own money just to stay on the road. Finally, I began to book myself into smaller rooms and I found somewhat of a home there. Places like The Main Point, My Father's Place, Stephen Talkhouse, The Cellar Door kept me working and kept me out there but it also broke me with all the traveling and the low payouts."

"But you still had royalties coming in, didn't you?"

"Royalties and mechanicals were the devil's tool used by the labels and the publishers to keep their shady accountants working. My checks were negligible and rare. Occasionally, one of my songs would be used in a film or a television program and it was like found money. Also, you have to remember that my family was growing up and my costs were increasing as my income declined. College was looming and I took work wherever I could find it. I was losing my dignity and self-esteem but I had no choice, I needed an income. My wife never worked except in low-paying hobby jobs so after a few years of frustration, I was seduced into a job selling liquor figuring that my musical career was over. I worked mostly nights selling to clubs filled with rummies and addicts. It was humiliating and humbling. Selling booze, I began to feel like I was being punished. I couldn't find my muse and my music began to sound stale to me. Still, every time I was offered a gig, whether it was a benefit or a festival, I jumped at it and gave the audience my best. While my heart was in it, I found my chops failing. People began to treat me discourteously, like a has-been. Even my wife, who I'd always considered my best friend and partner, began to act rudely to me. I was lost, surrounded in a world of drunks and addicts, losers...and I began to feel like one, too."

"Did anyone offer you any help or advice?"

Oh, sure and God bless them. I will always love them for that. Some like James Taylor, Bonnie Raitt, Loudon Wainwright, Jackson Browne, Judy Collins, Jimmy Buffett and others asked me to open shows for them and those were some of my best times. Playing with those who appreciated me and my music kept me alive. Eventually, the liquor company asked me to leave because I couldn't - I wouldn't put in the time. And I was really glad because it was not something I wanted to do, it was forced upon me and it didn't help my mind one bit plus my heart wasn't in it. Those gigs with my friends kept me going. I found a way to make a living and to maintain my dignity, as well as my credibility to myself."

"When did things really go south for you...really turn sour?" asked George.

"About 1990, my relationship with my wife began to fall apart. She began to be abusive to me and I could not understand why. I tried to repair and salvage my marriage...we went to counseling and therapy but nothing seemed to work. She didn't want it to work and wouldn't put in the effort required, but I couldn't see that. I wanted things to improve so badly I was blind to what was obvious. She began to lie to me and that really broke my heart. I couldn't figure out what was really going on with her. Various therapists told me that she was hiding something and that there was no way to repair the damage until she came clean. Her response was that they were charlatans and frauds and things just got worse. It all came apart in '93. I'd just returned from a small four-city tour that went very well. I shared a bill with Leon Russell. I mean I played well and the audiences were enthusiastic and responsive and I had some money in my pocket. I returned home feeling full of hope and confidence. As I walked through the door, she said to me, "I need my space and you have to go." Go where? What space? I turned into Homer Simpson overnight. I found that I was locked out of my house and then started receiving nasty phone calls...lots of her screaming at me. Over what? Why was this happening?

"I was utterly bereft. I crashed wherever I could find a bed or a couch or the back seat of me car and I cried a lot. What had happened? Where did I go wrong? What did I do?Well, eventually, through the divorce proceedings, I discovered that she'd been having an affair with my estate lawyer and that all my physical assets had disappeared. My name had been forged on all sorts of documents - from deeds to portfolios, even going so far as a forged document giving him power of attorney. I had nothing except my guitars. Even my car wasn't mine anymore. I went through all my money fighting the divorce and it looked like I might win some of my stuff back but then some kind of deal went down and the Judge issued a summary decree, giving her all my assets and granting the divorce. On one day, I had several million dollars in assets and on the next, I had $250,000 dollars and debts. Danny tried to help me but there was little he could do as the Judge ignored his testimony. Somehow, the Judge and her divorce lawyer had something going but I never found out what. I wanted to go after the boyfriend but was told it would cost me a million dollars and ten years of my life. And there was no guarantee I'd win or get anything back. I was told to just move on with my life. But inside, I was devastated and destroyed. In a fit of pique, I punched a wall and broke my hand...now I couldn't even play. I became depressed and suicidal. I wanted to die...and I tried to...really."

There was a long silence before Laura asked, "What happened with the wife?"

"Of course, six months after the divorce, she and the lawyer/boyfriend broke up. They were two whores out for a scam and I was it. I've never spoken to her since. My children send me messages but I pay no attention. She lives in Florida now and spends her time buying designer shoes and pocketbooks. Whatever. Fuck her. See? I don't think about her anymore until you ask me questions and, honest as I am, I dredge all this bitterness back up...but I suppose the bitterness will never disappear."

"So now, you're broke, you're out of work, you're divorced...what happened next?"

"They say you have to hit rock bottom first before you can climb back up, right? I lived in my East Hampton home for a few years until I had to turn it over to her. She promptly sold it against the wishes of my kids, who loved that house as much as I. During that time, I worked wherever someone needed a hand. Some days, I was carrying a wheelbarrow filled with bricks around a construction site. The next day, I was digging mosquito trenches in the salt marshes. I worked as a clerk in the hardware store. I worked on fishing boats and crewed up whever I could...tough work but good pay, you know. I kept busy doing a lot of volunteer work for Big Brothers Big Sisters, Make-A-Wish and the Food Pantries. I did anything to keep from being idle. I was alone and I was lonely so I got Santo from a local shelter when he was just a pup. I was making enough to survive but just enough. I didn't go to the movies or out to dinner or out on dates. I even stole newspapers off front yards, that's how broke I was. Sometimes, for fun, I'd sing back-up behind groups at The Talkhouse or The Wild Rose as my hand wasn't healing well. But mostly, these were ways to cover my sadness, loneliness and depression. I was so dispirited. You know, when you are a performer and an outgoing person, it's a difficult transition to make - like suddenly being stranded on a desert island. I was very alone. Fortunately, some friends and neighbors introduced me into yoga and meditation and that helped me a lot. They brought me back out into the world and able to meet people again. They brought me back to my music. They saved me, really."

"After I moved out, I rented a small place. It was just big enough for me, for Santo, for my computer...and not much more. But it was near the ocean and it had a hot tub, so it certainly wasn't a horror. I became social again and started playing again...mostly benefits for war veterans and worthy causes like that. Things seemed to be turning around for me. I played a few private parties for big muckimucks and I had a few bucks in my pocket. I was dating again, getting laid and even, for a while, in a relationship with a young yoga instructor. I got lucky when a few friends put on a big benefit for the Wounded Warriors in Montauk. I was asked to play a set so I put together a band of local players and opened the show. It was a hell of a bill with Paul Simon, Jimmy Buffett, Garland Jeffreys, Phoebe Snow and Suzanne Vega. I sat in with Jimmy on a few songs, too. It was a euphoric gig and I was sky high. I attended a party afterwards in an oceanfront mansion and listened to all the talk about how I should hit the road again.

"What they all didn't know was that I was on Food Stamps and eating some meals at the shelter. I felt like a fraud that night. The next morning, I checked my email and surfed the web. I checked my Lotto numbers and discovered I'd won the lottery. It was a huge prize and after taxes, I had well over one hundred million dollars. I spent the next year putting things right again. I took care of my mother, my sisters, my kids and some friends who had helped me when I needed it, even though they didn't have much themselves. I made donations to lots of organizations who were also there for me. A few months later, my ex contacted me through a lawyer saying I still owed her money. Can you believe that? Here I am eight years after the divorce and she wants to steal more? Unfuckingreal. I had a lawyer contact her lawyer stating that I now intended to revisit the divorce, to press criminal charges against her and the estate lawyer and to litigate until she was broke. She caved as I knew she would. But now, after I'd settled up my accounts and made a lot of things right again, I started to consider what I intended to do with my life. My heart was telling me to travel and to learn from the road, so after some research, I rented an RV and left Long Island, intending to return in a month. That was seven or eight months ago and here I am in Yellowstone...full of music and my muse, surrounded by friends I love and living it up every day...and I've never been happier. And with that encapsulated history, I'm done for the night. Save your follow-ups for tomorrow, okay?"

I finished off my glass of wine and topped up a roach in the ashtray. The room was very quiet. I looked around and saw that everyone had been listening to me and not playing their game. I felt naked. Amy came over to me and took me by the hand.

"Shit! Why is everyone looking so glum? I didn't even talk about the really bad stuff, the dark stuff...some things are not for publication! Come on, dammit, light up a spliff and let's dance!" Still, they looked upset. "Listen, everybody, there's eight million stories in the Naked City, right? This is just another one of them, that's all. It even has a happy ending. Look, it was a positive ordeal for me in that I gained a depth and appreciation of my art that ran deeper than my talents. It's why I'm here...right now...today. So take the blues and shove it. Lighten up!"

"Ok. On a another subject, my friend, we left the tent and the tub out," said Mark, "you want to stow them?"

"Good idea. Let's get a couple of flashlights in case there are feral beasties lurking."

We went outside and sure enough, the flashlight picked up the eyes of an elk at the edge of the field. We went about stowing the tub and the tent and whatever else we left outside. We stopped to toke up and dig the darkness when George asked me a question.

"Davy, in your lowest days, what kept you from suicide? Were you afraid? Could you have done it?"

"George, I wasn't afraid. There were times when I was planning it out. I could have done it. Something in me said 'wait' - 'wait for tomorrow'. I wasn't ready to see how the story ends. I believed that something could happen. Lightning could strike. And it turns out it did. I got lucky, that's all."

As we walked back, everybody was leaving to their cabins. We wanted an early start on the day and we were all so beat, it was the right time to hit the sack. Santo was snoring away on the couch as Amy led me to bed. We snuggled up and quietly talked.

"I had no idea that times were so tough for you, baby. It hurt me to visualize what you went through. I felt so bad listening to you tell it but, as you said, you're here and you're here with me and that's the real story. Hallelujah."

"Yup. It took me all that to get next to you. It was worth it, every second."

"I want to make love to you, but gently. We're both mighty sore after today's workout but I have to feel you cum inside me."

She stroked me gently and I could feel her love in her touch. I rolled onto my side to face her and we softly kissed letting our tongues slide along our lips. There's a kiss that fits, if you understand my drift. It's a kiss that is for you and you alone, like two puzzle pieces that link. She added soft kisses around my face and especially on my eyelids. I nibbled on her ear and felt her breathing rate increase.

You ever have that feeling that you really, really want to fuck but your body feels like it just got off a horse? Believe me, it's not a thrill. I nuzzled Amy and whispered in her ear, "I love you, Amy, but my body is telling me that it loves sleep, too. I can hardly move."