Page 11 of Feuds and Interludes
“Right. That bloke Remi? He was a glorified groupie and you were glad to see him gone.”
I grunted. Why did he have to be right? “I was in love with Daron.”
“Daron was an overgrown Boy Scout and he wanted you to quit music.”
That’s what I got for dating someone my parents wanted me to date.
Daron Mirigian was an investment banker my stepfather knew through his Armenian relatives. I’d fallen hard for him, so much so that I’d missed the signs. I asked him to take the next step with me, whatever he thought that should be, whether it was moving in or getting married and then cohabitating. He’d agreed it was time... Time that I quit the band. That was the end of our relationship. I pulled everything in tighter to myself and became the control freak I was today.
“I was attempting to smooth things over with Mom, you know that.” I’d lived with Pops since getting my GED. My father had left when I was in middle school, tired of Mom’s controlling ways. I tried to please her, but when Pops bought me my first guitar at age thirteen, I was hooked.
Mom was furious that I wanted to pursue music after I’d seen how it wrecked Pops’s life. Not only had his addiction played a part in the demise of California, but it also led to friction in his relationships, and it kept him from having a close relationship with my mom, not to mention the financial strain it caused his family. I saw it differently. Pops’s struggles with alcohol put me firmly in the sober camp, and I learned from his trials and tribulations, but Mom didn’t believe that would be enough to keep me out of trouble. I proved her wrong, though the part of me that craved her approval kept me bitter. For years, I’d try to connect, try to show her how successful I was, then she’d belittleme, I’d get pissed, I’d go get another tattoo, another piercing, she’d bitch…
Now? We spoke when necessary, but we’d never been close.
How pathetic to let my mommy issues interfere with my life?
I’d have been a mess if it hadn’t been for Pops. Bruce Duncan was the most important person in my life, and in the back of my mind, I knew my issues with him dating Vera Jean had more to do with my fear of abandonment than worrying about him. Yeah, I’d done the therapy thing. I considered myself a pretty self-actualized dude. Most of the time. Didn’t mean my shit didn’t crop up occasionally.
I pulled up in front of the building in Los Feliz where Pops had been going to AA for years. I did my time in Al-Anon, at his suggestion, and was glad he had the support of the program.
“You’ll call me when you’re done at The Dresden?”
Pops chuckled. “Don’t wait up. I can grab a Lyft, or maybe a ride with a lovely lady.”
The thought of my 70-year-old grandfather going home with someone?
I should have been more worried about my own lack of plans for the evening. I waved goodbye to him, drove over to Sunset to pick up my Gibson from my buddy Ty at the repair shop in Guitar Center, perused the comics at Meltdown, and then scrolled through my phone to see if there was a movie playing nearby. I could have called one of the guys in my band, but we didn’t socialize when we were off tour. We had a working relationship, that was it. Sure, we cared about each other. You couldn’tnotwhen you’d been together for ten years, but I needed to leave work at work. I thought about going by my mom’s…
“You’re a fucking case, Butler.” I pulled away from the curb and drove over to The Dresden. At least I’d be close if he needed a ride. If I saw him leave, well, then I’d know he was okay.
Maybe I should have looked for an Al-Anon meeting with my codependent ass hanging out.
Instead, I pulled up YouTube and, like the disaster I was, I rewatched the performance from the induction ceremony.
Fucking Boone Collins.
Six
Boone
“I don’t get it. Why him? Why now? If you’re lonely?—”
“Boone, don’t be absurd. I have all I need. I have lived a very full and fulfilling life. Bruce is part of that life, and I’d like to see him.”
I rolled my eyes like a child. “What’s so special about this guy?”
Gran made me sit down on the bench at the end of her bed. She sat at her vanity, looking like the glamorous starlet she still was.
“I was nineteen when I met John and Bruce at a party in Laurel Canyon. They’d just hit it big with California and they were in Los Angeles recording their second album. Photos were taken and my publicist scolded me for being seen with such ruffians. An Oscar-winning actress shouldn’t put herself in such a position, he said. But I loved hanging out with them. They had parties at the home they’d rented most nights, and I loved to go. No one there treated me like I was a snob, I could smoke grass and no one cared.”
“You rebel, you,” I said, loving it when she told stories. I’d heard about her party days before, but they had always led to “and then John asked me to marry him.”
“Did you know they both loved you?”
She sighed. “I’m sorry you had to find out like this, but yes. I was seeing both of them. I liked the attention. They were so different. John and I eventually started meeting during the day, going to museums and galleries. The press loved us, and my publicist thought it might help my career if the news of our romance kept selling papers. But I was also spending time with Bruce. He was such a romantic,” she said with a dreamy smile. “We’d go for long walks in Griffith Park or we’d just find a grassy patch somewhere and stare at the sky. And get high.” She giggled! My gran! “He’d make up poems on the spot. He’d make daisy chains and weave them into my hair. He was a bit of a leftover flower child.
“But then he told me he loved me… I panicked. John hadn’t said it, but he talked about our future more and more. At night, at their house, I never spent time alone with either of them. Bruce started drinking more heavily, John would make snide remarks. I didn’t like the growing animosity between them. I actually stayed away from them for a while. I was filming in France for about six weeks. John called when he could. Bruce sent me letters every day. The man was such a poet.
