Too Much of Anything

"Too much of anything is wonderful" Mae West

And after that, I don't hear from him. I check my answering machine when I come home from work, hoping to see the message light flashing. Nothing. No calls from his tour manager and no calls from him.

Well, he did warn me, didn't he? They're in the last two weeks of rehearsals before they go on tour so of course, they're busy, right? I tell myself this every night when there's no message from him. Some nights lying to myself doesn't work and I cry myself to sleep.

I have to keep up appearances at work and act like things are fine. What I want to do is stay home and wallow in my misery, but I have to go to work and be bright and cheerful for the customers. Work is providing a panacea, fortunately, and we're busy enough that I don't have time to sulk.

I hate his wife because she can have him and I can't. At night he goes home to her, sleeps in the same bed, and makes love to her while I come home to a bed that feels as empty as my heart. I don't know what she looks like, but I don't want to. If she's beautiful I'll start comparing myself to her and come up lacking.

I realize I can't be sure he won't take his pleasures where he finds them. If he's cheating on his wife with me I'm sure he's doing the same thing to me. I turn my "mom button" off because I don't want to think about this.

"Stop moping," Gina tells me one night, "You're going around with this sad face—don't. He's either going to keep his promise or he won't. So far he's been really sweet to you so he must like you. Just think, he's cheating on his wife with you and doesn't seem inclined to stop. Listen to Mama Gina, you have to learn to cultivate patience if you're going to be with him. If he's making you this unhappy, let go of him. I don't think he'd like the way you're acting these days, so snap out of it."

"Okay, okay," I say, "But how would you feel..." I don't finish because she makes it plain that she's going to ignore me. I understand, I do, but I've put myself in an awkward situation that brings out my insecurities. She's right, I've either got to learn to live with this or let go.

On the drive home I tell myself I'm going to be a big girl. If he calls he calls and if he doesn't, well, why would I want someone who doesn't want me? That makes no sense, right? It's not like he's the only cute guy in the world, but he happens to be the cute guy I fell in love with.

I get home and the message light is blinking. Oh god, the message light is blinking. I take a deep breath and push the "play" button, hoping that it's him, or at least his tour manager.

"Where the hell are you?" says a familiar voice and I can feel myself grin from ear to ear, "I had to sneak away and pretend that I had to take a leak so I could call you. Tom, our tour manager, is making reservations for you to fly to Dallas the weekend after Labor Day. Get three days off, can you do that? You'll fly down on Saturday and return on Monday. And if you can't get the damn days off, call in sick!"

There's a pause and I wonder if the message has ended. Then I hear him say, "I miss you. I wish we could have gotten together before I left but I've been too fucking busy. I love you kid, I'll see you in September."

The machine beeped, indicating the message had ended. I save it and play it two more times.

He loves me, he's never said that before, but he said, "I love you," it's there on the tape. I wonder if it's something he said casually, or did he say it because he's been drinking? I don't know. All I do know is that I've wanted to hear those words and couldn't be the one who said it first.

"I love you." I've waited so long to hear that, wondering if it would ever happen. I wonder if he does love me, or if he just said it out of guilt.

I should call Gina, but I want to hold onto this and treasure it. I feel like I've been given something precious and rare. I'll tell her tomorrow before work and watch her reaction.

"Yes! Yes!" Gina is almost jumping up and down, "What did I tell you? Now we have to figure out what you'll wear."

"I won't be seeing him until September, remember? I've got plenty of time to go shopping."

"You don't need to go shopping, I'll be your closet. I already know what you'll take. If you need something warm, my burgundy dress will be perfect—you look better in it than I do anyway. Then my pink and light blue dresses will go perfectly with your gold sandals. Oh, and jeans and tops along with your new jean jacket. You'll be a knockout."

"Hey, I've got clothes too!"

"But you're taking mine," she looked at me with narrowed eyes, "You wouldn't deprive me of enjoying this vicariously, would you?"

"No," I sighed, "It's time to plug in, let's go. Come over after work and I'll let you hear his message." I hadn't told her that he told me he loved me.

"Okay, but tomorrow you come over after work and we get your clothes picked out. When he sees you he won't want to wait to take them off." She picked up a lock of my dark brown hair, "Maybe we should color your hair red, you'd make a great redhead."

"Not until I ask him what he thinks. How do I know if he even likes redheads?"

I'm sitting in the VIP lounge at LAX sipping on a scotch for my nerves. I'm not going to have more than two—one for here and one for when I board the plane, I'm not going to show up drunk. I'm getting out of here as soon as I finish my drink, I don't belong here, this is for the "beautiful people."

Mr. Tour Manager Tom was a very nice guy. After giving me the dates to ask for off, he told me he'd messenger the tickets to me, and would I please make sure I was home that morning so they'd be sure to reach me. Rick had also asked that he arrange for transportation to the airport.

"That's not necessary," I objected, "My friend Gina will drive me, I'm going to need moral support for this."

He laughed and told me if it was that important she could come along, and please be ready when the limo arrived to pick me up.

"I don't need a limo," I said weakly but I had a feeling that Rick had arranged all this. Maybe he thought I'd be excited at the prospect of riding in a limo and flying first class. Economy would have been fine, and Gina could have driven me just as easily. I have a feeling this is intended to make up for the time we're spending apart and I can hear Gina saying, "For crying out loud, don't be difficult. Just say thank you."

I finish my drink and leave to head to the main gate where the other passengers are waiting to board. I'm being looked at, which pleases me. Gina has done her best. She dressed me in her black and white polka dot dress and black wedge sandals. My long brown hair has been tamed into loose curls and she's worked a miracle with my makeup. I'm feeling pretty and I'm enjoying the thought of him seeing me like this.

First-class boards before the rest of the passengers and soon I am sitting in a comfortable seat next to the window. The stewardess tells us they'll begin serving drinks as soon as we are airborne and I can't wait to drink my second scotch—which I'd love to make a double but don't dare.

A bearded man in a blue-grey suit sits in the seat next to mine. He's got longish hair and he's big, like a football player who has let himself go since he's retired. He introduces himself to me in a syrupy southern accident and shakes my hand gently but firmly with his big bear paw.

At last, we are airborne and I get to order my scotch. He gets a double bourbon that with his size must barely affect him, then starts asking me questions about who I am and where I'm going.

He's friendly and I like him, I just make sure that I am careful what I tell him. When I say I'm going to meet up with my boyfriend in Dallas he looks at me and says I'll be a sight for sore eyes. It's a compliment, meant to be nice and I lower my head as I feel my cheeks warming.

Maybe he senses I'm nervous because he keeps a friendly banter going all through the flight for which I'm grateful. He's a music promoter in Nashville and though I'm not very knowledgeable about country music I do recognize a few of the names. I guess he's a sort of Bill Graham in the country music business.

He hands me a card, saying in his thick southern accent, "Now if that boyfriend of yours doesn't show, you just give me a ring and I'll see you're taken care of!" He's flirting and I smile as I tuck his card in my wallet."

"Oh, he's gone to too much trouble and expense to stand me up." I give him my brightest smile, "If I thought he'd do that I wouldn't be here right now."

At last, the plane begins its descent. I close my eyes, not because I'm afraid of flying, but because I'm scared. I haven't seen him in two months. I wonder if he's going to meet me when I debark or if he's sent someone for me.

How is he going to react to me? Will he feel the same or after not seeing me for so long will he look at me and change his mind? Maybe I shouldn't have done this, maybe this is a big mistake. This is something out of my experience though I bet he has done this before. No sense asking either, because I don't know him well enough to know if he'd tell me the truth.

If I were a Catholic I'd be saying the rosary. As it is I'm thinking, "Please god, let it be okay. Please, please let it be okay."

The big tires skid down onto the runway and the plane bounces gently. It begins to taxi slowly towards the terminal and I can hear people in the main cabin standing up and grabbing their carry-ons.

The big jet makes its way to the terminal and I can hear the sounds of it being hooked up to the entrance. I'm ready to cry but I don't want to show it.

At last, we're here and the first-class passengers begin to exit. The big man puts his hand on the middle of my back, a gesture which I'd normally find too familiar but it's comforting. I'm so scared my heart feels like it's about to jump out of my chest.

People are milling around, waiting for loved ones. "There," the man says to me and points. I see Rick smiling almost as big as I am now and we run to each other, rudely pushing people aside. He lifts me by the waist and I wrap my legs around him, barely able to contain myself. In front of all these people and with a reckless lack of caution we begin to kiss.

He puts me down, "Give your baggage check ticket to Ben there, and he'll go get your luggage."

It's the first time I realize he's brought people with him. I hand him my claim ticket and say, "I hope he won't feel embarrassed carrying a pink suitcase. Gina insisted that I take it."

He laughs and I notice for the first time how thin he's gotten, there is not enough meat on his bones. There are deep shadows under his eyes and he is looking unhealthy and it upsets me. What is it? Too much coke? Speed? Heroin? What is it with musicians that too much of anything is never enough?

I'm in his arms, for now, that's all I'm going to think about. I hope we can go back to the hotel and make love, but I'll be patient.

He sends his entourage on ahead and we have a limo to ourselves. Thank god he doesn't want to fuck me here but his fingers are wandering places they probably shouldn't. "Wait until I get you back to the hotel," he whispers in my ear and I can barely wait myself.