Page 105 of I Dreamt That You Loved Me

Three YearsLater - July 2000

Cleo was back in New York. I was ready now. For her. For us. For everything.

“Dude, are you sure this is a good idea?” Devin asked when we met for lunch in the East Village.

“She wants a divorce. I want a second chance.”

“She doesn’t want a divorce,” Sean scoffed, although he didn’t sound so confident.

He was in a precarious position, straddling the line between trying to protect me while also protecting Cleo. It was the one thing everyone at this table had in common.

Their loyalty was to both of us and since no one wanted to choose sides, they never told me a damn thing about Cleo’s life except to say that she was doing great.

The implication had always been clear. She was doing much better without me. But I needed to see that for myself, so I’d circled today’s date on the calendar in anticipation of heropening night at which point, I was planning to show up and talk to her face-to-face.

This wasn’t the kind of thing we could do over the phone.

But she’d beaten me to the punch and served me with divorce papers.

“Why don’t we just focus on your career for now?” Sean said, his brow furrowed as he read the menu. “Who picked this place? They don’t even serve burgers.”

“It’s vegetarian,” I said. “Try the Dragon Bowl. Brown rice, kale. It’s comfort food.”

We were at Angelica Kitchen. Cool place. It had a hippie soul. Whenever I came in, they gave me a table in the back away from prying eyes.

“I don’t even know what the fuck kale is,” Sean grumbled. “But I can already tell it’s not my definition of comfort food.”

While Sean was obsessing over the menu, Eddie and Devin were trying to talk me out of going tonight.

“She doesn’t even wantusthere,” Eddie said. “So I don’t think she’ll be too thrilled to see you rock up.”

“She gets nervous when friends and family show up,” Devin explained.

To my knowledge, they hadn’t even stayed in contact with Cleo, but everyone was still so hell-bent on keeping us apart. Fuck that. This had been going on for too long.

Enough was enough.

“I’m her husband. The rules don’t apply to me.”

They all exchanged a look, but I ignored it. This was between me and Cleo, and had nothing to do with any of them.

“Listen…” Eddie said when our food arrived. “And I’m saying this as a friend. You’re like a brother to me. But I care about both of you, and you were a fucking mess for a long time. You were walking around with mud on your boots and that weird fuckinggetup, and now that we’re going down this road,what the fuckwas that thing on your head?”

“He was in his Bob Dylan Woodstock era. Keeping the mystery alive,” Sean said. “How are those basement tapes coming along?”

“Looked like a turban,” Devin said helpfully.

It was a fringed scarf I bought in the desert. I used to wrap it around my head. Like a turban, I guess. I wore sunglasses all the time too. Like an asshole. Even when I went into a restaurant or a deli or a bar, I kept my sunglasses on.

I didn’t want anyone to recognize me but, ironically, wearing sunglasses in a dark room only drew more attention.

That was a weird time. It was still weird. I was on a hiatus, but my albums had all gone multi-platinum. Blew up the charts, Sean told me. He was still managing a career that had been put on hold, but apparently it was going better now that I wasn’t on the scene.

I didn’t pay much attention to any of that. Whenever I got a royalty check, I deposited it and never looked at my balance.

I was rich but what did that matter to me? Money couldn’t buy any of the important things in life.

“I’m ready to reclaim my life,” I said. “I’m ready to be the man Cleo deserves.”