In the Air Tonight

Then, I saw that face at the party, and it all came rushing back to me.

A producer friend of mine, Art Griffin, invited me to his place in Malibu for a launch party for another artist. At first, I told him I wouldn't be able to make it. I had booked a private plane to get back to L.A., but there were some mechanical issues that would have delayed my departure, so I sent Art my regrets. Then, as luck would have it, another plane became available. I called Art and told him the good news.

I was mingling around the hors d'oeuvres table, chatting up some bubbly blonde, when I spotted him across the room. I couldn't believe my eyes. There was no mistake that it was him. I had burned that face into my memory. I excused myself from the blonde, found Art, and pulled him aside.

"You see that guy over there with the light blue blazer?" I asked him.

"Yeah, that's Tom," he said. I fucking knew it!

"What's he doing here?" I asked.

"He did some remodeling work for us last month. I thought he'd get a kick out of coming here. He's a good guy. You know him?"

"Yeah," I said. "I know him."

"You should go say hi," Art said, patting me on the shoulder.

I nodded and faked a smile. I positioned myself behind a column and watched as Tom excused himself from the group and headed toward the rear of the house. He exited through the back door, and I waited a moment before I did the same. I really didn't know what I would do or say to him. I could feel that familiar bubbling sensation in my gut. After so many years, I thought I had permanently entered the final stage of grief: acceptance. Seeing that face again, however, evoked familiar emotions that had been long suppressed. All of the pain I had felt for so long was caused by that man. Meanwhile, he seemed perfectly fine. I even heard his wife took him back. He didn't suffer a bit. He needed to understand the pain he caused. It was time to wipe off that grin.

I found him standing at the edge of the pool, facing away from the house. He was smoking a cigarette, completely oblivious that I was standing behind him.

"Hey, asshole," I said.

He turned to face me and I slugged him as hard as I could. He stumbled backward and fell into the pool. At first, I thought it was funny. I figured he'd emerge completely soaked from head to toe. He'd ruined what was probably his best suit. He'd have to sneak around the house to his car, with his tail between his legs, like the bitch he was.

Instead, he just flailed around in the water. Arms and legs waving furiously. You'd think he'd be shouting, but instead, he just sort of stuck his face out of the water and frantically gulped for air. That's when it occurred to me that he didn't know how to swim. A grown man who doesn't know how to swim. What were the odds?

My hand was throbbing. I knew instantly that I'd busted it again. I produced a cigarette from my jacket and lit up. It didn't take long before his face submerged and faded below the surface. He was still flailing around as he sunk to the bottom of the pool. His eyes were bugged out, and his mouth was gaped wide open. A few bubbles rose to the surface and then...he went still.

I took another drag of my cigarette and smiled.

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++

CHAPTER TWO: VANESSA

I was just about to head to bed when my cellphone vibrated. It was my old friend, Allison, who I'd met while living in L.A.. Although we kept in touch, it was rare for her to call.

"Vanessa," she said in a hurried tone, "turn on CNN. Quickly."

I snatched the remote and tuned in to CNN. A solemn-looking newscaster stared into the camera.

"...the owner of a successful home improvement business based in San Bernardino that catered to wealthy celebrities. His body was found at the bottom of the pool by one of the guests at the party later that evening."

A photo suddenly appeared on the screen and my knees buckled. I nearly dropped the cellphone and my throat tightened. I hadn't seen Tom Schilling in years, and yet he looked no different in the picture than I remembered.

"Authorities are questioning the guests to determine the cause of this tragic incident. So far, no information has been provided. Schilling leaves behind a wife and daughter."

I shut off the TV. "I can't believe it," I said to Allison. "I...can't believe he's dead. That's so sad."

"There's something else," Allison said.

"Wh-what is it?"

"Phil was also at the party that night," she said. A cold chill crept up my spine, causing the tiny hairs at the back of my neck to tingle.

"How...how do you know that?"

"A friend of mine was there. He told me Phil was there for a while, but left before the body was found."

Allison kept talking, but I couldn't tell you what she said, as my mind was reeling. It couldn't be a coincidence. It just couldn't be. Memories came flooding back to me as if I had stumbled across an old shoebox filled with long-forgotten photos.

I was only in the sixth grade when I first met Phil. We lived in New Jersey and played in the school band. I played the clarinet and he played the drum, of course. Although we continued to flirt with each other throughout middle school, we didn't begin dating until high school. He was my first real boyfriend and my first lover. We were madly in love in those days, and completely inseparable at all times. It drove my parents crazy.

We married shortly after graduating from high school and had our first daughter, Jessica, shortly after that. It was around that time that his music career began to take off. Up until then, he and his band played local gigs wherever they could. A music agent happened to be in the audience at one of those gigs and approached the band afterward. He persuaded Phil and the band to consider moving to Los Angeles, where he assured them there would be greater opportunities.

I vehemently opposed the idea at first. I had spent my entire life in Jersey. Uprooting the family and moving to the other side of the country would be a dramatic change in lifestyle. I wasn't comfortable raising Jessica in such a radically new and strange environment, nearly 2,500 miles away from our friends and family. The band was excited for this opportunity, however, and Phil was adamant that this decision would lead to riches beyond our imagination. In retrospect, he was right about that.

We made the move and Phil's band, which they renamed "Revelation", played at every venue they could find on an almost-nightly basis. They soon became wildly popular and earned enough profit to allow them to book some studio time. Phil wrote the lyrics for most of the songs on their first album. I was so proud of him.

When that first album was released, that is when our life veered into realms I could have never imagined. We were invited to lavish parties and introduced to celebrities. We made so much money, we were able to leave our small apartment and purchase our first house. Phil earned more money in a year than he had earned in his entire lifetime.

Revelation released their second album within a year of their debut and launched their first tour. I couldn't stand the thought of being apart from Phil for so long, so I took Jessica on the road with them. It was fun living out of hotel rooms and visiting city after city - for a while. By the end of the tour, I was ready to go home and return to some semblance of normality.

Even after we returned home, Phil was hardly around. When he wasn't writing, he was drumming. When he wasn't drumming, he was hanging out with the band. Whenever he did spend time with Jessica and me, I felt as though he would prefer being elsewhere. I began to feel like an obligation.

Revelation released their third album, which many have since determined to be the pinnacle achievement of their entire body of work. I chose not to go with the band on their next tour, which had blossomed into an international tour. While I stayed at home with Jessica, Phil was touring in places like England, Paris, and Berlin. He would call me every night, but when we spoke, I could tell his thoughts were as far away as he was, physically.

The band would periodically return to L.A. between legs of their tour - sometimes for days, sometimes for weeks. It was during one of those breaks that Audra was conceived. I experienced some difficulties during her pregnancy, and was hospitalized several times for dehydration. I just couldn't keep anything down. Even crushed ice would come right back up, as if my body were rejecting this alien growing inside of me.

Phil was in Raleigh, North Carolina, the first time I was hospitalized. Thank God my Aunt Jennie was there to take care of Jessica. She was the only relative I had on the West Coast. I don't know what I would have done without her. I knew that Phil had made commitments, but it still bothered me that he had seemingly placed a higher priority on his band over his wife and family. If I had to pinpoint a moment in time when I first began to resent the band, that was it.

Thankfully, Phil was present for Audra's birth. We chose not to learn the baby's gender before the birth, and I could tell from the expression on his face that he was disappointed. He tried to hide it, and insisted it didn't matter, but I know that it was very important for him to have a son. I remember feeling strangely guilty that I hadn't provided one for him.

The band took a break for a few months at around that time, and it was nice having Phil around the house again. I quickly learned that raising two children was more than merely doubling the workload. I was grateful to have a helping hand. Then, just when I thought our life would settle down for a while, turmoil reared its ugly head.

Luke Vincent, Revelation's lead singer, decided to leave the band to pursue a solo career. Although his decision seemed like a knee-jerk whim to many, Phil had seen it coming for a while. There was some tension between the bandmates on the road. Things were said that shouldn't have been said, and it seemed only a matter of time before it all unraveled.

The remaining members of the band were left with a major decision to make. None of them wanted to break up the band permanently. They had put so much blood, sweat, and tears into building their brand name. It would have been a colossal waste to toss it all out the window. They contemplated a few lead singers to replace Luke. Then Robbie, the lead guitarist, tossed Phil's hat into the ring.

I had always told Phil he had a pleasant singing voice, from the moment I first heard it in middle school. Not only did he have talent as a singer, but his voice was similar enough to Luke's that he could sing the band's older tunes at concerts with some plausibility. Phil was reluctant at first, but the idea soon grew on him. They recorded their next album with Phil on lead vocals. The critical reaction was immediately positive.

Although he missed sitting behind the drums, he seemed to greatly enjoy the attention and fame that came with standing at the front of the stage. From that point on, we couldn't go out in public without someone recognizing him. It was exhilarating at first, but it soon became tedious. We would be in the middle of having a conversation over dinner and some fan - usually a perky young woman - would interrupt us for an autograph or a photo. Phil soaked it all up like a sponge. The moment a fan showed up, he would completely ignore me. My resentment became a constant companion.

I didn't think it was possible, but he became even more focused on his career at that point. Now serving as the face of the band, he felt more pressure than ever to make it succeed. He became moody, and often hostile, toward me and the girls. He had a trigger temper, which would flare at any given moment for even the slightest reason. He was often condescending toward me, as if I were no longer worthy of his company. His ego inflated beyond control.

I found out that I was pregnant during the band's first tour with Phil as lead vocalist. It was not a planned pregnancy. I wasn't quite sure how to tell Phil, as it seemed inappropriate to give him such news over the phone. I would have waited for him to return home, but unfortunately, I suffered through another difficult pregnancy and ended up in the hospital once again. I had no choice but to tell him.

"Baby, I'm pregnant," I said over the phone.

There was silence for a moment. Then he finally spoke. "How did you let this happen? I thought we agreed no more kids - at least until we can figure out what's happening with the band."

"Yeah, well, I'm sorry to inconvenience you and the band, Phil."

"Don't you start with that, Vanessa! Don't you dare make me feel guilty for providing for our family! I'm working my fucking ass off over here!"

"Don't shout at me!" I said. "I didn't plan this. I'm not happy about this. But it is what it is."

From that moment on, we argued constantly. I knew better than to expect him to cut his tour short or make any concerted effort to help me deal with the fact that I was experiencing yet another difficult pregnancy while raising two children at the same time. His solution was to hire a nanny, which helped to lighten the workload, but did nothing to support me emotionally. I became deeply depressed and cried constantly. I had never felt more alone in my life.

Phil, Junior, was born two weeks late. The next leg of Revelation's tour was delayed because of it, and Phil made it no secret that I was responsible for delaying the start of the tour. I detected a glimmer of joy on his face when Junior was born. If nothing else, I had finally given him the son he always wanted. But two days after the birth, Phil was gone. Once again, the band took precedent over his family.

For some reason, I had trouble breastfeeding Junior. He just wouldn't take to it, and it left me feeling rejected. I was forced to switch to formula. Once again, I found myself waking up in the middle of the night, every night, feeding our child, feeling completely alone and discarded. Junior then came down with a bad case of psoriasis, which landed him in the hospital for two weeks. Phil seemed to be very concerned about his son's health, although not concerned enough to cancel a few stops on his tour. As for me, he didn't portray much empathy for my situation.

"Quit complaining all the time," he said to me once over the phone.

"You don't know what it's like," I said. "While you're out traveling the world and playing in front of adoring fans, I'm here with our sick child and two others to care for."

"Traveling the world busting my ass!" he protested. "It's not like I'm out here sight-seeing! I'm not some fucking tourist. You think it's all fun and games?"

"No," I said. "I know you're working, and you're providing for us financially. I get that. I could just use some emotional support, that's all. I feel like a single parent."

"Well, you're gonna have to suck it up for a while longer," he said. "You have a maid to do the housework. You have a nanny to help with the kids. What more do you need? There isn't much more I can do. I have commitments, Vanessa. I can't just cancel the fucking tour so I can come home and help you change diapers."

The next several years were a difficult time for all of us. It was during that time that the gossip magazines began reporting that Phil was having sex with various groupies while on tour. Photo after photo were published showing him walking somewhere with his hand on a woman's back, whispering in another woman's ear, and generally behaving like a hormone-fueled teenager in public. It was humiliating.

Phil denied it all, of course. He would get angry whenever I brought it up - an emotion that was quickly becoming his default. It should have been the happiest time of our lives. We had three amazing children, all the money in the world, and a lifestyle that would be the envy of anyone. Yet, Phil and I were completely miserable. "Staying together for the sake of the children" has become a cliché, and yet that is exactly what we were doing at that point. We were simply going through the motions.

I did not plan my affair with Tom Schilling. It was very much a spontaneous decision that happened for a variety of reasons. I felt neglected and alone. I felt humiliated by Phil's dalliances, and figured a little payback was justified. Tom made me feel sexy, desirable, and important. I really missed feeling that way. It began with some innocent flirtatious remarks and just seemed to expand from there. I could have stopped it at any time, but made the conscious decision to let it run its course.

We had sex twice. The first time, I arranged for my aunt to take the kids for the night. Tom arrived at the house with a nice bottle of wine. We didn't even get through the first glass before he whisked me up the stairs. He ravaged me with such enthusiasm, I couldn't recall the last time I felt that way - if ever. He attacked my pussy with his mouth and tongue and sent me quickly over the edge. He shoved his cock inside me with such force it shook the bed. I spread my legs as wide as I could and allowed myself to surrender all thought to pure, blissful, ecstasy.

We agreed to meet again the following weekend. He took me to a hotel. It was so nice to get away from it all and pretend I was another person for a night. We managed to have sex three times that night before we reluctantly parted. When he said good-bye, we both knew it would be permanent. He was married, and neither of us had any interest in breaking up his marriage. We both got what we wanted out of the experience. I felt like a new woman and had no regrets about any of it.

That experience with Tom was an eye-opener for me. I realized that I didn't need to compromise my happiness and make the sacrifices I had been making. Staying married to Phil for the sake of the children was foolish. He was hardly around them, anyway. When he was, he made us all miserable. Sharing that time alone with Tom made me realize that we could all be happier without Phil in our day-to-day lives. That is when I decided I wanted a divorce.

When I broke the news to Phil, I expected him to be angry. I didn't expect him to be violent. Although I had seen him lose his temper many times, I had never witnessed the bone-chilling violence he displayed that night. For the first time in all the years I had known him, I felt genuine fear for my safety. I really thought he would kill me. I was shaking when he stormed out that night.

The divorce was particularly difficult on my end, as I was left with the task of informing the children. I simply explained that their father and I had many disagreements and had grown further apart. I assured them that they would continue to see their father, and that he would remain an important part of their lives.

After the divorce was settled, the house was sold shortly thereafter. I moved our family back to New Jersey, and it seemed that our family finally became settled as well. The children seemed to adapt well to their new home. They quickly made new friends - no doubt made easier by their famous father. The girls had grown into responsible young women, and Junior had become disturbingly obsessed with the drums. He had just begun first grade when he came rushing into our living room after school. He rushed past my outstretched arms and grabbed the remote.

"Hey! Where's my hug?" I protested. "How was school?"

"Fine," he said in a breathless tone. "I recorded Jimmy Fallon last night. Dad was on."

I felt a bit uneasy as he flipped through the recorded programs and fast-forwarded through the show. He stopped when he saw his father sitting in the chair next to Jimmy. I worried that Phil would say something inappropriate - as he would often do on those late-night shows - but he remained civil. He was even funny. I was relieved to see that he looked happy and healthy - better than I had seen him in a while. The program broke for commercials, and Junior fast-forwarded. He stopped at the image of Phil sitting on the stage in front of a drum set. He began pounding on the drums with a primal and angry rhythm. My heart pounded along with the beat. Then he began singing, and my heart turned ice-cold.