All Tomorrow's Parties (18 page)

Before he met Laine he had spent some of his free time down at the port of Chioggia on the south side of the Venetian lagoon, watching the fishermen. He had seen how they spent hours patiently waiting, at peace with their surroundings. No rush, no urgency for a catch, just letting life takes its course. When finally their patience paid off he watched the great care they took over the fish they’d caught. Each fish handled delicately, respectfully – not discarded and thrown down without a care. This philosophy was in their blood, something since the beginning, known not learned.

We Americans could learn a lot, he had thought.

His return to the states had been frenetic. He’d had to arrange for his girls to continue living with his mum in Wisconsin. His ex-wife Kimberley was in no fit state to look after them and was still in denial at actually being divorced. Not only had she been running up bills left right and centre (for which he was still by law obliged to pay) but she had also refused to leave the army home they had shared – to the point where she had had to be escorted off the property. No, she was definitely not going to look after the girls, that he was sure of.

Guilt was unfortunately a trait which John possessed in abundance. He felt guilty that his marriage had failed, he felt guilty that he could not be the dad he wanted to be for his beautiful daughters, he felt guilty that his mum was now shouldering his parental responsibilities and now he felt guilty for all the pain he knew he was causing Laine.

Day after day her letters arrived, each one full of hope and bursting with an abundance of love. He treasured these letters, they were his window into the life he hoped one day to have. He knew he could not reply. What right did he have to play any more with her emotions? Love her enough to let her go, yes he did, and this is the mantra he would cling to. He wanted her to have everything, everything he could not give her right now. He was a wreck and he knew it, so now would be a disaster. Rarely do two people fit so well, he thought, but the tide of negativity stacked against them was vast. No, they needed clear decks if they were to have any chance, and right now his were on overload.

The night he had met Laine had been his first night off the base in over three months. Pete had convinced him that he needed to “lighten up”, and in view of everything that had been going on he had agreed. Meeting Laine had been like unearthing a desire that until that moment he did not know he possessed. She had invaded him body and soul. He had surrendered willingly and she had nourished his soul.

He had tried, oh how he had tried to tell her his life was complicated, but she would just smile, and at that moment he would find himself lost in her, not caring about anyone or anything. He loved her, of that he was sure. She had arrived on a breeze, bringing with her the gentle wind of change.

John was the eldest of three boys; he had grown up in a traditional American family: his father a Baptist minister whilst his mother had stayed at home looking after the children. His upbringing had been strict Baptist, with his parents’ beliefs embedded in the fabric of his childhood. As he grew he realised his parents had had a loveless marriage and were held together by a sense of duty. He vowed this would not happen to him. Yet here he was desperately fighting the guilt, the guilt of his divorce, the guilt of not being a great father, the guilt of letting everyone down including God. Even his father with his “married for life” beliefs had had to admit that divorce had been the best option; Kimberley could test the patience of a saint. This however could not take away John’s sense of failure. With these emotions playing, he had run headlong into Laine.

He had found his soul mate, he had ridden the wave of all-encompassing love, but he knew he had to let her go. How could he match her needs, her wants? He had enough baggage to fill the QE2; she on the other hand only had a small piece of carry-on!

He wanted her, in fact he needed her, but now was not the right time. He needed to get back on his feet, recover from the storm that had been Hurricane Kimberley. For his own sense of worth he needed to show Laine he could support her, look after her, care for her in the way she needed. He loved her enough to let her go.

She had half expected him to turn up at the church, “If anyone here knows of any lawful impediment ....”, but the day had been faultless from beginning to end. Every day she had written to him, detailing her thoughts, laying open her emotional turmoil. And every day silence had greeted her. Two weeks before her wedding, Laine wrote her final letter. If she were to make this marriage anything but a sham she needed to believe in it. She would have to close the chapter of John, as painful and cutting as it would be. She had to live the life being created for her, not the one she dreamt of.

Dear John,

This will be my final letter to you. It has taken me a while to realise that despite my hopes and dreams of us being together it will now never be. I just wish I could speak to you, to try to understand what I have done to make you hurt me so much, I loved you that is all, in fact I still love you but I can no longer live with this misery. I am to be married to a man whom I will grow to love, of this I am sure, I know he loves me and right now that is enough.

I do not know what else to say except a day will not pass where I shall not think of you.

Take care my beloved

Laine

It had felt like a lead weight as she had taken it to the post office. She knew by posting it she was turning the page in her book of life. With regret she allowed the letter to drop into the box. The dull thud as it landed confirmed the reality - it was over.

Laine Marshall and Tony Black were married on August 6th 1983 at St Peter’s Church, Notting Hill Gate. Over 150 people attended the service, with over 200 guests dancing the night away at the evening reception held at Kew Gardens.

The great and the good, the bad and the ugly, the glitterati and the shitterati had attended. Some were genuinely happy for the newly-weds, whilst others had gone out of sheer jealousy. Tony had upset a lot of women and also some men with his lack of commitment. In fact some just attended to see if he really would go through with it, some came to pass comment as to the food/wine/dress/flowers and some came because they genuinely cared.

Laine had worn an understated cream layered silk A line dress with a small train – she made a conscious decision to go against the trend of meringue style dresses made popular by Princess Diana. “I wonder if Diana felt like this as she got ready for her marriage?” thought Laine.

Her hair had been fashioned by Sassoon’s top stylist who had gone for a medieval “damsel” look, whilst the flowers had been styled by the incredibly talented Jane Packer. Throughout, Laine had insisted on understated. Only two colours were to be present, red and white nothing else. She did not know a lot about flowers but she knew there were to be no Chrysanthemums as they smelt like pee. Tony had insisted that no expense be spared, in fact he insisted that he pay for it all. As it was, Laine’s mum could not really have helped out financially: her wages from the social club did not go very far.

If Tony had known of Laine’s preoccupation prior to their marriage, he did not show it. As the day drew near he became even more attentive and gracious: did he fear as the day grew closer that he may lose her? Possibly.

He had loved her almost from the first moment he had seen her at that promo evening. He knew she was young, but had felt at that moment that her soul had lived beyond her years. He had not been able to take his eyes off her and had spent weeks trying to figure out how to orchestrate a date with her. His chance had come when she had called to cancel Reggie’s lunch and he had not let the opportunity pass him by.

Tony had been around long enough to know that women were clever and very subtle when they wanted to lure you into their web. Yet although captivated by her, Tony knew Laine was completely unaware of his feelings. For so long he had avoided all those women with their “let’s start a relationship” eyes and their “please don’t just shag me, I want to see you again” conversations, yet he had played the game – the life of the single bachelor who had the best job in the world for attracting hot women. He had gained himself a reputation around the business of being a bit of a hard heart who was only looking for one thing. If he got pissed off with a “clinger”, as he called them, he would just avoid the label they worked for, bands and all.

All well-versed bosses kept their beauties away from him, knowing that if they failed to live up to his expectations their business would suffer.

Adam was a good friend of Tony’s, yet he had done his best to keep Laine well away from him. Fearing the worst on several occasions he had deliberately kept Laine away from functions he knew Tony would be attending. Whilst it was not always possible, he did his best to protect her.

Tony’s lunch in Holland Park with Laine had hit him straight between the eyes. He knew at that moment he wanted her more than anything and was prepared to do almost anything to make it happen. He had scared himself by the depth of his feelings. He was used to being in control, but with her he was completely out of control.

He had prepared himself for the long game; after all she had a boyfriend. He could wait: after all, he would be playing for keeps.

Things had been progressing rather well until Italy. What the fuck had happened in Italy and who had been following her and why? He had seen the photos and knew what they meant. Who had hated him so much that they wanted to truly cut him down? It was obviously someone who knew him. He had made no secret recently of how he had fallen for Laine, which was admittedly out of character for him. Over the years he had been a true arsehole to so many women but who, who would have the motivation to do this and why now and why Laine??

It was all a bit creepy; he’d have to sort it - but how? He’d kept the photos. Laine looked sublime: she was obviously not aware the photos had been taken. He had planned to tell her about them at the Hiroko but that evening had definitely not gone to plan. Maybe it was the guy from Italy, maybe he was looking for money, so why hadn’t he received any kind of blackmail note? Alarm bells were ringing quietly in the distance.

Tony had organised the honeymoon – two weeks in Bermuda. He wanted them to be as far away from Europe as possible.

It was all a honeymoon should be. Laine & Tony laughed much and drank often. They swam off boats they had hired and grilled fish (with some assistance of the head chef) on the beach. Long sunset walks made Laine feel melancholy. Tony knew there was still much unsaid but just held her hand as they walked in silence. He had asked once what she was looking so sad for. “Too much stuff in my head”, she’d replied, with a look of loss held within the fabric of her skin. He knew not to push it, and decided that he would wait for her to open up in her own time.

Two weeks had passed quickly. Back in London the music industry was running at double speed, running to try and catch up with itself. 1983 was turning Vestal into a hit factory with practically every band having some level of chart success. This meant a lot of promo parties, press conferences, late nights and not much else.

11

They had been married for just under a year now. Their life was finally starting to find its rhythm. Seen as the dream couple, it was not unusual for Laine accompanied by Tony to attend a launch party with Vestal; they would then head off from there to another function Tony had to attend - say a playback party for a Chrysalis or EMI band. They were driven, hardworking people who had a passion for music.

The weekends were filled with either gigs or catching up with friends. Ella had become a regular Saturday night feature at Chez Black, and whether listening to the latest Vestal offering or watching Bob’s Full House on TV they always enjoyed themselves, cheese and all. Tony was usually out on Saturday evenings. There was always some band or other wanting him to attend their gig. It had started to become a bit of a tradition for Ella and Laine to grab a couple of quick drinks at the Woo Woo Hut – a local Camden buzz bar - and then head back to Laine and Tony’s for more wine and a bit of a chat. The Woo Woo Hut was a five-minute walk from Delancey Street. Plenty of burgers and B52s with a spit-and-sawdust attitude. The wooden floor had soaked up a lifetime of alcoholic beverages, giving it a pot pourri scent of late nights and good times. The air hung heavy with smoke - Marlborough man had met Silk Cut girl and they had birthed a multitude of smokey children. Their little jaunt to the Woo Woo Hut had become so familiar to them that they had even named it their “Saturday Night Special”. After a couple of B52s and some rather salty peanuts they would head back to Delancey Street and over a few more glasses put the world to rights.

“Do you miss him Laine?” Ella looked up from the table as she spoke, aware that she was on unchartered ground. It was a subject that was always present but never spoken of.