Her Next Husband

"I'm not sure why she chose not to remain in contact with you, but that part was totally on her. Several times, my staff asked her if she wanted to call home or a friend, to let them know she was okay, and what she was doing. It would've been good word-of-mouth PR for us, so we encouraged it. She said that she'd 'take care of it later.' We foolishly believed her.

"As to her spending the night at my house, the hotel asked her to leave due to the negative publicity and the influx of the paparazzi. We discussed moving her to another hotel, but feared that it would happen again. Finally, they talked me into letting her use one of my spare bedrooms. Let me assure you that nothing happened during her stay. Cindy, my wife was home that night and she can verify that. If you want to talk with her, I'll give you her cell number—provided you don't give it out to anyone else.

"I have many misunderstandings to apologize for, and I want to convey my deepest apologies for all of that. My staff had to listen to my ranting on the plane all the way here, and I'm not sure that was adequate punishment, although I can be pretty rough on them. I'm still not sure if one of them will still have a job next week."

He shot an angry glance at the woman who'd invaded my living room last week. Her head lowered in guilt or shame—I'm not sure which.

I sat there silently for a moment, and watched them squirm. I looked deep into his eyes and judged him well. "Well, I'm going to trust you on this one, since I have no reason not to. I'm not going to call your wife, and I'll accept your apologies, if you'll accept mine for calling you a wife stealing bastard."

His face relaxed, "That seems very fair to me." We shook hands and one of his staff took a picture of us doing it. He looked at me and saw the angry look on my face.

"Delete that picture, right now!" he demanded. His assistant scrambled to quickly obey that order.

"You know, it's only fair that since you personally came all this way, just to apologize and straighten out this mess, that your PR people can prove that it happened. I just don't like being caught off guard. Let's get a couple of good pictures of the two of us." I even had them take a few with my camera phone.

She handed me back my phone and I pretended to look at the pictures. Actually, I turned on the voice recorder.

"Brad, there is something you should know that might help explain why I reacted the way I did. Dolly's been a huge fan of yours since your first big album came out. She even joked that you would be her 'next husband.' If she'd done it a few times and stopped, it would've been okay, but several thousand times later, I think it took on a fantasy life of its own in her mind. When she left here last week, she didn't say goodbye to me, but I heard her muttering something about 'finally meeting her next husband.'"

"Man, she's one sick puppy. I'd never have tolerated that kind of disrespect, if I were you. You must really love her to put up with that!"

"Yeah, I've got almost thirty years down on what I thought was a life sentence that started with 'I do.' She puts up with my crap, and I with her crap. It's a give and take, but I'm not sure that I have any more to give."

"I hate to hear that, Curt. You're a good man, and I hope you can put it back together. That's a lot of years to just chuck out the window. By the way, was that you that left a message with my staff?"

"Yes, I did. I usually don't like to mince words, that way I don't get misunderstood. Sometimes, I do come on too strong."

"We were having breakfast when you left that message. The maid, Cathy, walked in and reluctantly said she had a message for Dolly, but warned us that it wasn't nice. Cindy had a mouthful of juice and lost it all over your wife. I thought Dolly was going to die of embarrassment! Then Cindy dragged me in the other room and demanded that I get Dolly out of our home—right friggin' now! I couldn't laugh then, but it was funny as hell!"

"I wish I could've seen that!"

"Curt, there's one more thing you should know. We announced to the media that Dolly Dylan won the contest. WE are the ones that used her maiden name on the hotel room. Celebrities register under assumed names all the time, that way we don't have obnoxious fans and the paparazzi calling our rooms at all hours of the day and night, but if someone needs to get through to us, they still can—if they know the right name. My staff just did that out of habit, and a few of them just knew her as 'Dolly Davis,' or "Ms. Davis,' so she may have just went along with them, and used her former name. Under times of great stress or excitement, people have done stranger things."

"I understand...thanks for telling me that."

We chatted as just two guys for about an hour, and then a curious neighbor drifted over and recognized my guest. Claude ran back home to get his wife, and Bradley said that this was about to turn into a circus rather quickly. I told him that I understood and I thanked him for coming all this way to try and save my marriage, and mostly to apologize like an honorable man.

Then I asked him why he didn't do any of the bluesy stuff like what was on his earlier albums anymore. I also mentioned that I really like the "unplugged" version of Dock of the Bay I saw him do on a late night show many years ago—just him and his guitar. I told him that I had a couple of his older albums, where they "still spelled his name right."

He laughed, "You know, that's not a bad idea. That was the music of my soul, not the commercial crap they've had me doing for years. I have to go, but it was great meeting you, Curt. Good luck with Dolly." And with a quick wave, his group was back in the limo and heading off into the sunset—towards the airport in Terre Haute (which is west of here) would be my guess.

My neighbors, Claude and Jenny, who were a few years older than Dolly and I, arrived just in time to see the limo take off. "I told you that you were taking too long. Now you missed him," Claude chastised.

Jenny looked at me, "Was he really here? Did you know he was coming?"

"He sure was, and no I didn't know," I replied. "He had the class to come all the way here to set the record straight on a few things and apologize for the crass thoughtlessness of his staff. He didn't use his celebrity status, as I made it clear right off the bat that I didn't like him. He brought me around, though. He's alright in my book."

"Wow,theBradley Morgan, right here in our little town," Jenny said dreamily.

Claude popped in, "We saw you on Ellen. Is that what really happened? Did Dolly ignore you all like that?"

"Yes, she did."

"Man—that ain't right! I feel for you, Curt," Claude sympathized.

"Is Dolly back yet?" inquired Jenny.

"She got back this morning. I think she's staying with Scarlett."

"Is she afraid to come home," Jenny tactfully asked.

"No, she was here, demanding to be let in, since she left without a key," I replied. "I refused to let her in."

"Good for you!" Claude cheered. "You can't let a spouse—or anyone—disrespect you like that and then come into your home. There's no limit to the crap they'll try to get away with, when they obviously don't care about how you feel. In a good relationship, you have to have mutual respect."

"But, at some point, you're going to take her back, right?" Jenny asked hopefully.

"Only time will tell. First, she has to quit lying to me. Every time I get a message from her, she's lying to cover something up. Second, she'll have to take responsibility for her actions. We'll see where it goes from there."

"But you two are such a good couple! It would be a shame for you to break up."

"I agree, but there are some things you just can't live with, and have any self-respect left. Do you know what I mean?"

They looked at each other, "Yeah, we do. We'll support you no matter what you do, and please remember if you need someone to talk to, that we're right next door."

"Thanks, you two. I'm doing fine. It's time to go in before the mosquitoes start to bite. Goodnight!"

"Goodnight, Curt,..and good luck!"

I felt better that night as I laid my weary head on my familiar pillow. I still wasn't used to sleeping alone.

I took to doing some household chores that I'd been putting off. I worked inside and outside without anyone bothering me. Thursday, about mid-morning, a van pulled up in front of my house and I saw it before they saw me, as I was cleaning out the gutters on the roof. It was a news van from a local TV station; the dead giveaway was the writing on the van.

Since I had some new developments in my story, I told them that I'd grant them an interview. I cleaned up a bit, and we sat on the porch and sipped lemonade while we chatted.

"Yes, the rumors are true, Bradley Morgan took time out of his schedule and came here to see me, man-to-man, and set things right. I'd never been a big fan of his, but he had the class and sincerity to sit right there, in the chair where you are now, and apologize to me for the way his PR staff treated me. We talked for almost two hours before he had to leave. He's a class act that hasn't been sullied by Holly-weird, land of the wannabe's." They showed a picture of Bradley and me I sent them from my camera phone.

"Did you get any explanation as to why your wife ignored you, as you stated on the Ellen Show?" my interviewer asked.

"No, but I did get more insight into this dream date contest. It was all on the up-and-up. Heck, if my wife had checked a box on the many entry forms she'd filled out, the box indicating she was married, I would've been invited to go with her! I guess she didn't want that as I would just be in her way. Also, we were supposed to be contacted a week ahead, so we could make plans and such, but one of his staffers thought it would be so much 'more romantic' (I made quote mark finger motions) if they just showed up like the Publisher's clearing House people do. It backfired on them, mostly because they were misinformed by Dolly."

"Is Dolly back in town? Have you talked to your wife?"

"Yes, and yes. It's not going very well though. I keep catching her telling me lies."

"Well, that will never do. What else did you talk about with Bradley Morgan?"

"We talked about some fishing spots in this area, and I invited him back to go fishing with me. I don't look for that to happen, though. He's a very busy man, and this is a long way for him to come."

"Well, there you have it, folks. A big name celebrity, namely Bradley Morgan, came to our neck of the woods, for a quick visit to take responsibility for some of the big mess that his Dream Date contest has become. When push came to shove, he manned-up and took the heat himself. As Curt Dylan said, 'He's a class act.' Bill Yoder reporting for WFDET news."

That was what my kids and wife saw on the evening news that night. I'm sure that their jaws hung down a bit with a couple of revelations that I made public, but I wanted everyone, including Rhett and Scarlett, to know how I was treated by my so-called "loving wife of twenty-eight years." She started this mess; it was becoming more and more clear what she had in mind for her trip out west, and her plans sure didn't include me in her future—IF it had worked out like she wanted.

CNN picked the report up, and it went national, though slightly edited. I later got a thank you card from Bradley Morgan, for the praise I'd given him on the air and a reminder that he just might take me up on the fishing offer, but he'd phone "at least a week ahead." A "smiley face" and an "LOL" followed the last remark. And it was signed, "Brad."

Scarlett and Rhett both took me to task for airing my dirty laundry on the local news, but they also chewed out Dolly for her newly revealed misdeeds, as well. I agreed that I wouldn't do any more interviews, as I didn't have anything new to say, anyway.

All was quiet for the next couple days. I had the yard looking great and even fixed a few things around the house that I'd been putting off. Saturday night, Scarlett called and asked if I'd be in church the next morning. I said that I had planned to be there, especially since I'd missed last week when I was in California. She said that Mom would sit with her, and her husband Sam, and if I wanted to, I could sit with them also.

"I don't think church is the place for a reunion of this kind. I don't want to disrupt the service, so I'll sit with Rhett and Betty," (who usually sit with her parents) I informed her.

"I understand..." she replied. There was a pregnant pause afterwards.

"Scarlett, was there something else you wanted to say?"

"Yes...Dad...when are you going to talk with Mom? She is going bonkers over here. All she does is cry and talk to herself. I can't make any sense of most of what she says. I'm beginning to be afraid for her."

"Bring her over tomorrow afternoon around two. I've calmed down enough that I have some perspective on things. Tell her after church, though; I don't want her getting any ideas or causing a scene."

"YOU, Mr. Publicity-hound, are worried about causing a scene?"

"I chose an appropriate venue for that; church is not an appropriate place for that sort of thing."

"I suppose that you're right. See you in the morning."

"Love you, Scarlett."

"Love you, too, Dad."

Just like that, the showdown was set.

We both behaved ourselves in church and afterwards the next morning. After being invited to share Sunday lunch at Betty's parents, which I accepted, I headed home to prepare for... for what, I wasn't sure. They don't make manuals for this sort of thing.

I had a pitcher of lemonade and two glasses sitting on the front porch, on the wooden table between Dolly and my favorite "sunset watching" chairs. If Scarlett and Sam wanted to stay, they could sit inside, pretend to watch TV, and eavesdrop like family is mostly expected to do.

Shortly before two, the three of them arrived in Sam's Buick, and saw me sitting there on the porch. As they approached, after seeing the pitcher and glasses, Scarlett asked, "Dad, wouldn't you rather do this inside the house?"

"Actually no, I wouldn't. You two are welcome to go inside, watch some TV and have a drink, if you want to stay. If not, I'll call you when she's ready to go back."

Dolly spoke up, "Curt, I was really hoping that we could get this worked out this afternoon, and I could stay at home tonight."

"Whereas I won't rule that possibility out, I sincerely doubt that we'll be able to work through all the crap to the point where you'd spend the night here, in one afternoon. As to coming inside, our problems started out in a very public way, and maybe that's the best way to try and end them. Also, I hope it'll keep the conversation more civil, as we're outside for all to see and hear us. Dolly, why don't you have a seat right there—where Brad sat when he was here?" I rubbed it in her nose that he was here when she wasn't.

She cocked her head when I referred to him as "Brad." She'd heard that only his closest friends were allowed to call him that, as his PR people thought it made him sound too common. Most people in Hollywood weren't allowed to call him that because they didn't want to start any habits.

Scarlett and Sam went inside with instructions to make themselves at home. As Dolly began to sit, she was thinking how cool it was to sit where "he" had sat and smiled, but it quickly went away when she noticed that I saw it.

"I don't know about you, but I have two things that you need to do before we can even let you spend a night in the guest room." She looked to me for more explanation. "First and foremost, you will need to quit lying to me. Every word that comes out of your mouth—no matter how bad it makes you look—had better be the unabashed truth. If you so much as tell one little white lie, this meeting is over and you'll need to leave. Even a damning truth is better than a small white lie at this point. Since Brad was here and we talked for over two hours, there isn't a lot that I don't know. Do you understand this?"

"Yes, Curt, I understand and I want to..."

I cut her off. "You'll have plenty of chances to talk; let me finish. The second part is that you have to fully take responsibility for everything thing you've done since last Wednesday night, and be able to explain what was going through your head at the time you did it. If I think that you're—what is it that those Holly-weirdoes call it—'putting spin on it,' this meeting is over. So the simple truth will serve you best today, clear?"

"Yes, Curt."

"Now, you can go ahead with whatever you want to say to me."

"Okay, Curt, I want to say that I'm sorry for ignoring you like I did. I was wrong and it was very rude of me to treat you like that. Looking back, I can't believe that I did it. I want to say that I'm deeply sorry and that I want to come back home. I want things to be like they were between us."

"I'm afraid that's not possible for things to be the same, as your actions have clearly stated for everyone to see that Bradley Morgan is your preferred number one man, and I'm only the backup plan. You have publicly and privately disrespected me to the point where an apology isn't enough."

"Curt, I love you very much, and it took this time apart for me to see just how much. What must I do to prove that I don't love him, just you?"

"Words are cheap, and I no longer trust those coming form your mouth, as I know for a fact that you've lied to me several times since this all hit the fan." I pulled a picture of Bradley and Dolly on the red carpet, showing how lustfully and starry-eyed she looked at him. "When was the last time you looked at me like this? The look on your face just invites him into your bed. Can you deny that...truthfully?"

"Oh, crap! I didn't know it was that obvious! I didn't think about it; I was just caught up in all the glitz and glamour. I had just met him for the first time in the limo on the way to the premiere, and I was still in total awe of him."

"So, if after the premiere, he'd said, 'Let's blow off this celebrity filled posh party, go back to your hotel and slide you out of that designer dress and make love like there's no tomorrow; how would you have answered him?"

"I...I...I'd have probably agreed..."

"Dolly, remember—no spins or half-truths."

"Okay, I'd have jumped at the chance." She had the good grace to at least lower her head in shame at her admission. "But he's married and he knew I was, too."

"And how did he know that? You aren't wearing your wedding rings in this picture, are you?"

"No."

"Did the makeover crew tell you to leave them off?"

"No."

"Then tell me why weren't you wearing them?"

"Are you going to make me say it again?"

"That's part of taking ownership of your actions, so yes."

"You're right; I thought seducing him would be easier if he thought I was single."

"So, your main goal for the weekend was to seduce Bradley Morgan, with hopes of making him—as you so often put it—'your next husband?' And come hell or high water—NO ONE, NOT EVEN YOUR FAMILY—was going to get in the way of your plans, right?"

"When you say it like that, it sounds pretty bad, but...that's pretty close to the truth."

"So, you deliberately excluded me from your trip by not checking the 'I'll bring my husband/fiancée' box on every contest entry form you sent in?"

"How did you...yes, I did." Her shoulders sagged and her head lowered once again.

"I told you that Brad and I talked for a couple of hours, didn't I? He told me a lot of things. So far, you've done well, but it's not over yet. So, how did I fit into your plans if you made it into his bed, but he threw you over afterwards like an old cheap blanket?"

"I'd just tell you what I wanted you to know about my trip, and give you a great week or so of sex, telling you that all that time around Bradley made me so horny, with no way to get relief."