Duxford Airfield (the band) Pt. 04

"Tim, you drive," Andrea said as she handed me the keys for the rental car.

Neither the ladies nor I really talked very much during the brief drive back to the motel. I was hungry and suspected that Andrea was too, Helen said she had a banana and a few apples in her room which would hold her until morning. The motel where we were staying was only a short distance away from us and we were soon parked and locking up the car inside the motel's secured lot.

Three abreast and arms around each other, we walked back into the motel's lobby with Helen between Andrea and me.

Helen had brought her laptop with her on this trip and right now she wanted to be alone and do some editing work on Danny's autobiography she explained as we waited for the elevator. Then she planned to take a hot bubble bath and catch a movie in her motel room. It sounded like Helen planned on an early bedtime.

Andrea and I both hugged Helen and saw her safely inside her motel suite, which was adjoining ours. Andrea and I then entered our own room. As before, our adjoining doors were left slightly ajar to provide Helen with a bit of extra comfort.

Apparently, Helen had already completed the main body of Danny Wickersham's autobiography and it'd been approved by the publisher, months ago. (This was the so-called bullshit version of the book as Helen referred to it.) Helen explained that with, the bullshit version of the book, all she'd done was regurgitate much of the public knowledge already surrounding Danny Wickersham and Duxford Airfield.

Helen had done her usual chronological homework and personally interviewed Wendy Weeds and the other band members on numerous occasions while Danny had still been alive. It hadn't been any problem for Helen to chronicle all the well-known facts surrounding Danny Wickersham and Duxford Airfield during the latter half of nineteen sixty-eight onward. All of that was common knowledge and well documented. Andrea and Helen had even been present for much of the band's history during the mid to late eighties when Duxford Airfield had regrouped briefly.

What wasn't common knowledge, or even known to any of the other band members, was Danny Wickersham's actual past history, before nineteen sixty-eight. Apparently, this mystery was a big deal within the entertainment world as well as among millions of Duxford Airfield fans across the globe.

Danny Wickersham had promised to grant Helen Lunsford, aka author Kathryn Dalloway, an exclusive and intimate accounting of his mysterious past, which no one in the world seemed to know anything about, including Andrea and Helen. Danny had been in love with both women but he'd never revealed his past to anyone, including them, - ever.

...Apparently, Wendy Weeds wasn't even sure of Danny's past, prior to nineteen sixty-eight.

Andrea had recently explained to me that even seasoned journalists couldn't seem to dig up any solid answers on Danny's past life, before his time in the band, Duxford Airfield. When any journalist or talk show host had ever asked about his early years, before Duxford Airfield, Danny had always laughed and replied with some ridiculous story or another. On camera, with a straight face, Danny had claimed to be a secret undercover government agent or that he'd originally come from outer space as an infant and then been raised by a group of nuns, living somewhere within the secluded Area 51. The comical answers concerning his past soon became a hallmark for Danny and the band.

Danny had been a good bullshit artist if nothing else, I thought with a shrug. I personally surmised that Danny's mysterious past and tall tales were probably originally conceived by some high-paid marketing specialist who'd expertly calculated that all the wild stories and unknown past would fit Danny Wickersham's personality and boost the record sales of Duxford Airfield exponentially, and Danny's mysterious past and crazy stories probably did exactly that.

Allegedly, with his biography, Danny was finally going to provide the whole world with the facts of his early life, prior to nineteen sixty-eight. This was something that he'd never done before with any journalist, talk show host, or anyone else. (THIS version of the book) is what Helen had been after. The curiosity surrounding Danny's distant past had grown to mythical proportions over the decades and chronicling it in a book would have been the "cream" that Helen's readers and publisher craved, Helen had explained.

An honest biography that finally revealed Danny Wickersham's early life could very well have made the Best Sellers list, it had been explained to me.

Aside from losing a dear friend, Helen was also bitterly disappointed that fate had stolen this chance at a once-in-a-lifetime wealth of knowledge out from under her with the passing of Danny Wickersham. According to Helen, writing a book was almost like having a wild and exciting love affair. "Authors and biographers have literal dreams about writing a biography with the actual legend sitting right in front of them" Helen had explained to me with moist eyes. This was something that I'd never thought about before but it made sense.

For me, a similar scenario would be to sit down over coffee with some of the actual engineers of the 359 Peterbilt. In this light, I could easily empathize with Helen's frustration and disappointment. I had once imagined the questions which I would ask if given such an opportunity, "When was the 359's concept first placed before the engineers? What were some of the challenges they faced? How many were built with the extended hood? What inspired the Corvette dashboard of the 359?"

In Helen's case, she'd not only lost a friend of four decades with the passing of Danny Wickersham but also a writer's golden opportunity within her own writing career. Helen had recently told Andrea and me that she almost felt like Danny was laughing and taunting her from across the river now. At times she was actually angry at him for having passed away.

...When Mom had passed in twenty-eighteen, I had found myself becoming angry with her on several occasions over the next year and a half that followed, this was a normal part of the grieving process, I'd been told. Maybe the reason that I'd found myself belittling Danny Wickersham within my mind for the last day and a half was that I was afraid I would have liked the man as a friend. Pondering over my own logic during the last hour, I realized that I'd actually cast blame upon Danny for falling in love with Andrea and Helen, a normal human emotion. I was the one who'd married Andrea, for God's sake, so if anyone should be able to empathize with being in love with her, it should be me.

Even though Danny Wickersham and I had never met, Danny had known of me, through periodic correspondence and telephone conversations with Andrea. According to Andrea, Danny had very sincerely wished us both joy while simultaneously hiding his own heartfelt sorrow at seeing her marry someone else...

This took a strong man.

Andrea confided in me that one night, in nineteen eighty-nine when Danny had been quite drunk, he'd declared with an extremely bitter tone that his past life had been filled with so much utter sorrow and horrific waste, that he'd contemplated suicide. Andrea told me that it was her belief that Danny's wild stories and jovial attitude were nothing more than overcompensation to cover some kind of emotional scars from his past. Danny Wickersham never spoke another word of his past ever again, Andrea said.

"I need a walk, let's go!" I said a little more abruptly to Andrea than I had intended.

I then quickly closed my eyes and held up my right palm, as a sign of apology for my unintended rudeness.

"...Sorry," I said quietly.

Andrea took my hand.

"Honey, I'm proud of the way you've stepped up to the plate for me. I know that you're a bit frustrated with all of what's happened in the last few days but you've held strong for Helen and me and we love you for it," Andrea said in a soothing tone.

For some reason, this statement went straight to my heart and I quietly sat down on the bed with moist eyes.

"C'mere," I said to her.

Andrea sat on my lap and put her arms around me, engulfing me with her jasmine scent.

"I am so fucking glad that I'm married to you now and not Susan," I said looking her in the eyes.

"I am too" she answered as she kissed me.

"...How did Danny get all the scars on his face?" I asked, the question now coming from out of nowhere.

"Car wreck, when he was a little kid," Andrea said quietly.

"Was Danny really the guy that you say he was?" I asked.

"I wouldn't be here if he hadn't been, Tim. Danny was one of the finest men I ever knew, after you and Dad" Andrea said, looking me deeply in the eyes.

"I could never measure up to your father, Andrea" I replied, closing my eyes.

"You're more like him than you think, Tim, and you would have liked each other," Andrea said.

A few tears streamed down my face with Andrea's answer.

"I wish we could ride our bikes right now," I said whimsically as I ran my face through her jasmine-scented hair.

"Let's do a walk instead," Andrea said jumping up and pulling me by the hand.

We took an evening stroll and I immediately found myself feeling better during our mile-long walk, it was good just to be alone with my wife and have her all to myself. After some brief window shopping, we soon found ourselves breaking bread together within a deserted little Subway shop which was hidden away inside some little no-name strip mall. As always, a refreshing Coca-Cola seemed to cure my mental fatigue. I mostly drank water but for some reason, a Coca-Cola seemed to always cure a fatigue-based headache for me. I'd learned this little trick, years ago, while spending long amounts of time inside the cab of a truck.

"Andrea, has Helen ever been married? I asked as I bit into my sandwich.

We were now sitting at a corner table by the shop's windows.

"Twice, her first husband passed away in two thousand and four and the second guy was a studio engineer, nice guy, but he was apparently under the impression that monogamy was some type of wood," Andrea replied, matter of factly.

I'd heard Andrea use her monogamy analogy before but for some reason, it now struck me as incredibly funny and I couldn't stop laughing.

"Think you'll be OK, Tim?" Andrea asked sarcastically as she shook her head and rolled her eyes at me, almost as if I were a small child with a case of the giggles.

"...There'll never be another woman like you, Andrea Millhouse" I replied, wiping my tears of laughter.

"My name isn't Andrea Millhouse, Tim" she replied.

"No, but it used to be," I said as I began eating again.

Andrea's phone pinged with a text message, which she briefly glanced at with a sour face...

"Was Danny in Vietnam?" I asked in a serious tone.

"Army, after Basic Training he got assigned to an Officer's Messhall, here in the States, he never went overseas. Danny was a fabulous cook, by the way, Tim. It's a wonder that some woman didn't marry him just for that fact alone." Andrea replied nostalgically.

"Andrea, that's what I can't figure out, the guy must have had a hundred gorgeous women a week falling at his feet, why was he so hung up on you and Helen?" I asked.

"Tim, when someone becomes famous overnight, like Danny and the band did, they very quickly acquire a host of fair-whether friends, an entire entourage of them. - You've heard the expression that entertainers are the loneliest people in the world? It's true; because you never really know who's a gold digger or who's sincere, and all of it very quickly becomes a mental quagmire of confusion. Believe me, there are a lot of professional gold-diggers out there and I think Danny must have dated every single one of them" Andrea explained, shaking her head in recollection.

"In other words, he knew that you and Helen genuinely loved him for exactly who he was, not what he was," I said with speculation.

"Love is always the answer, isn't it, Tim?" Andrea asked with a statement.

"Mom always thought so" I replied quietly.

We were both silent for several minutes as we ate our food.

"Andrea, I guess I've judged Danny pretty harshly over the last few days, at least within my mind. I'm genuinely sorry that you and Helen lost such a dear friend" I said quietly.

"You've done fine, honey, none of this has been easy for you either, I know. Danny was a wonderful guy and we loved him. There were several times, over the years, when I'd wished that I had been in love with him, Helen's the same way." Andrea answered, closing her eyes.

"Yes, I think I can understand that" I replied.

"Have you heard from Ricky or Brenda, today?" Andrea suddenly asked, changing subjects.

"Ricky texted me an hour ago, Andrea," I said without emotion.

"Oh, good, I'll call Brenda tomorrow sometime," Andrea said, more or less to herself and thinking out loud as she stared out the shop's windows.

"She'd like that," I said, finishing my sandwich and wiping my hands.

Leaving a five-dollar tip, Andrea and I left the Subway shop a few minutes later and began strolling back in the direction of the motel.

"Tim, I need to use the ladies' room, I'll only be a minute," she suddenly said as we neared a convenience store.

"Sure honey, I'll just wait outside here" I replied, sitting on a concrete retainer wall close to the gas pumps. As Andrea went into the convenience store I sat looking off toward the desert sunset.

Five minutes later my wife returned and we began walking again.

"Tim, Gail just texted me, at the Subway shop. You and I have something to discuss with Helen when we get back to the motel, and you won't like it," Andrea said as she ran a hand through her hair and sighed.

"Is everyone OK?" I asked, suddenly on guard.

"Yes, everyone's OK" Andrea sighed, closing her eyes.

Andrea then took out her phone and dialed.

"...Helen? You better put some clothes on, Tim and I will be back at the suite in a few minutes and we have something you need to see....Something Abraham Springwell wrote in an article. Yes, your Abe....Fifteen minutes probably, OK, see you in a few." Andrea said into her phone and clicked off.

"What's wrong?" I asked.

"Tim, promise me that you won't be mad, OK, please?" Andrea asked.

"...Honey, I won't be mad," I said gritting my teeth a little.

We stopped walking and sat down on the bench at a bus stop. Andrea then opened her purse and handed me a small newspaper.

I opened the rolled-up newspaper and instantly saw a large color photograph of Andrea, myself, and Helen as we walked arm and arm together. The newspaper was "The International Monitor", which was a smut newspaper. The International Monitor (otherwise known as TIM) is one of the publications sold in every grocery store check-out line between London England and Homer Alaska. Looking at our photograph, I soon realized that the photo had been taken only a few days before as the ladies and I had walked down an L.A. sidewalk not far from Helen's house. However, Andrea, Helen, and I had been masterfully photoshopped into another photograph of Danny Wickersham's funeral.

The headline screamed ROCK KING DANNY WICKERSHAM'S LIFELONG MISTRESSES ACCOMPANIED BY BODYGUARD AT FUNERAL:

Saying nothing, I just slowly brought the newspaper up and held it against my face like a washrag and closed my eyes as Andrea and I sat at the bus stop.

"...Tim, neither Helen nor I knew anything of this, please don't be mad, OK, honey?" Andrea asked timidly.

Now I knew what Ricky's text message had been referring to...

"Awesome photo dude!"

...How many of my friends had already seen this, I wondered? For some reason, our elderly friend Hans suddenly came to my mind. Without any effort at all, I could clearly see the smirk on his face as he stood in a check-out line someplace. Hans would undoubtedly buy a dozen copies... Emma Zimmerman should get a real hoot out of this, I bet...

Hans would be showing this bullshit paper to everyone he could; and laughing. Telling anyone and everyone, that he knew the people in this photo...

"Tim, please don't be mad, OK?" Andrea begged.

"Oh my God, Andrea" I moaned, still holding the paper against my face and trying to hide from the world.

"Tim, it'll be OK, we'll get through this, honey," Andrea said, now with feigned optimism.

"Oh my God, Andrea" I moaned again...

I suddenly realized that I was shaking violently now, whether, from anger, fear, or frustration, I wasn't sure, I suspected that it was a combination of all three, I'd never realized just how sacred a person's privacy actually was until this very moment, now that I had none.

For a brief moment, I thought I was going to vomit.

Breathing deeply, I began to counsel myself now, as I had earlier while inside the elevator in Alan's office building. -...OK, this is part of the gig when you're involved with a beautiful woman, sometimes you have to do things that you don't like. Man-up and let's just get through this rotten sonofabitch - do it for Andrea.

...Is Andrea even worth all this trouble? I suddenly asked myself doubtfully. I knew Susan's curt reply to this question would certainly be a definite"No, she's NOT worth it, Tim."

...I hesitated for just a hundredth of a second.

- Yes, Andera's worth the trouble, and she's done nothing wrong, neither has Helen.

"Tim, I'm so sorry, honey, I didn't know this was going to happen, I'm sorry, OK?" Andrea now spoke with tears in her eyes.

I flopped the paper down on my lap with disgust and put my arm around Andrea's neck.

"From the looks of this photo, it would appear that you've probably been fucking your bodyguard for quite some time now, Andrea Millhouse," I said, matter of factly and kissing her.

Looking at me through her tears, Andrea's eyes conveyed a confusion within them, at what I'd just said.

I kissed her again.

"Are you fucking your bodyguard, Andrea Millhouse?" I asked in a serious voice and holding up the newspaper, as proof.

"...Yes, but,...we're marri -...I mean..." she began to stammer in confusion.

Andrea and I then both simultaneously broke out in uncontrollable laughter at the absurdity of it all as I lifted her onto my lap and we began crying, kissing and laughing all at once.

" - You folks going downtown or what?" A harsh and impatient voice now demanded.

I quickly broke away from Andrea and looked up into the open doors of a transit bus at a driver who'd probably been sitting and waiting on us for a whole minute.

"Naw, we'll catch the next one, we're kind of busy right now" I replied to the driver.

"The next bus comes at seven AM!" the driver said a little put-out at having to wait for Andrea and me to make up our minds whether we wanted a ride or not.

"We'll still be here, see you bright and early," I said cheerily as I waved.

"Suit yourself," he said with an incredulous shake of his head.

The pneumatic doors of the bus closed with a hiss of air and the bus took off with a roar. I recognized the sound of the engine as an 8VSilver92T Detroit Diesel.

"I still think Andrea Millhouse has been fucking her bodyguard," I said holding up the newspaper and shaking it as proof again. I then quickly stood up and began dragging Andrea down the sidewalk behind me.

Holding my hand now, and struggling to keep pace with me, Andrea began a rambling and fanatical one-sided litany while using a high-pitched voice and overly dramatic Boston accent.

"She's a nymphomaniac, DON'T trust her for a single minute! My next-door neighbor, Maria, back in Southie, used to go out with Andrea's half-sister's cousin's boss, Mickey Martello, I know ALLL about Andrea Millhouse, Tim. All she ever wants to do is SCREW all the time, you wouldn't like her, stay away from her, she's trouble! I'm not someone that ever spreads rumors but from what I've been hearing, Andrea Millhouse just can't EV-VER stop fucking, ya know what I'm sayin'? That's, like, why she got 86'd from Natwomar for life. It's, like, a REAL problem for her and she needs professional help. 'Cause, like, she can't stop fuuuckiiing, but I don't gossip, so like, I wouldn't know, ya know? Ya know what I'm sayin'?" Andrea quickly rattled off, using the high-pitched voice.