Chapter 56 - Avon Street

 

I HAD RE-CONNECTED with Beau Segal and Chuck Fiore, who had heard some of my demos and had agreed to produce a couple of tracks in Electra Records studio in the Valley. Electra had the right of first refusal, meaning that they had the first option to sign me as an artist on their label. It was now January 27, 1979 (I remember because it is my brother, Robbie’s birthday) and we all decided to take a break in recording. Chuck had heard of this fantastic BBQ place not too far from the studio and he was going to meet his girlfriend there. We sat at a long red and white checkered table in the back with Chuck, Beau, Jimmy Eingher and Josh Leo (who played lead guitar on the tracks). She walked in and sat down next to her boyfriend, Chuck, and across from me. I tried my best but couldn't take my eyes off of her and I would catch her sneaking looks at me. She was beautiful—looked a lot like Kate Jackson from the show Charlie’s Angels. I knew it was wrong to be interested in her since she was Chuck’s lady, but I couldn't help it— we knew it was bigger than both of us. We became friends and I would go over to her house on Avon Drive in Burbank, or she would visit me on Gould in Laurel Canyon. At this point our relationship was purely platonic, but Chuck felt uncomfortable and so did I. I knew things were changing with me and this lovely brunette and soon I would have to make a choice between career and love. I chose love. Her name was, and still is, Marly Wexler—my only Jewish girlfriend, ever. The deal with Electra fell through after that as I knew it would. Chuck and Marly broke up and I’m sure he blamed me for that break-up. If I had to do it all over again I would probably do the same thing. “Love is all there is and cannot be denied,” as Bob Dylan said on his Nashville Skyline record, and it certainly wasn't denied. Thanks, Bob.

We loved to smoke pot on her white flowered couch with the navy-blue background and watch Kung Fu with David Carradine in the role of Kwai Chang Caine. We were fine—as long as we never left the apartment. Marly, a quite opinionated, mostly on the subject of health of body, and mind, department, was a runner. She wore those yellow Nike shoes and had long, chestnut hair down past her waist. I had a lot of fun with that hair—I wasn't sure about the shoes. Running was okay with me, but I found it hard to keep up with her. It was good for my competitive spirit to try and, eventually I did keep up. I wasn't long before I started getting those pains in the knees, runner’s knee, I think it’s called. That was it for me with running. She still went on her afternoon runs with her old black dog with the white muzzle she called Marou. I was very romantically in love with her, I thought, but that jealousy was too hard to bear. Hey, I was a little jealous of her when she got a job at Bizarre Bazaar on Ventura Blvd. selling exotic jerkins and robes from the Middle East and India. She had met a game show personality by the name of Geoff Edwards there and had made plans with him to go to San Francisco with him on a day trip. I was not living with Marly yet, but I felt that we were getting to be close to a relationship—a monogamous one. I guess my feelings were a bit premature.

There was a signing party at Capitol Records for The Knack, and I took her there with me—a big mistake. She thought all the people there were insincere posers and took every one of them apart with criticism. I was only trying to promote my career and be seen at what I thought was an important function. We left after an hour and went back to her apartment on Avon, most likely to watch another episode of Kung Fu.

Marly was getting involved with an organization called Lifespring and had gone through the initial seminar training program. I followed suit, like with the running; I didn't want to be left behind. Lifespring was another off shoot of the EST movement. They would probably be insulted to be put in this category, but I can’t help but say it was very similar to EST without the harshness— a little dash of love thrown in for good measure.  There was a young woman sitting across the room from me by the name of Toolie (a nickname for O’Toole) with ash blonde hair and soft lovely features—I couldn't take my eyes off of her. It was better than sitting there listening to a bunch of new age holy rollers speak about whatever it was they were speaking about. She was furious with me over this. Hey, I was only looking, which I felt was a man’s God given right. I wasn’t making any plans to go to bed with her or anything, only indulging an innocent fantasy. Marly said I should forget about her and go ask Toolie out on a date and marry her—she said I was destined to be with a blonde, not a dark-haired woman like herself. I laughed, even though she ended up being right. I did end up marrying a strawberry-blonde Scottish woman ten years after (not the band)—I’ll get to that a bit later.

Marly, after completing the initial training, was slated to become a trainer in Lifespring. It is required for a trainee to attend an advanced course which would last over a period of one month, five days a week. She was going for it all the way, and I went along for the ride. Knowing that I really wasn't too interested in becoming a trainer myself, I only wanted to share the experience and be able to spend more time with her. This was a mistake. One of the requirements of the training was to go out and talk to people about the benefits of Lifespring and get them signed up—the more the merrier. I had a resistance to this. I felt that if, in conversation, someone would ask me if there was any organization that would help a person to get in touch with their inner feelings and such, I would be more than happy to introduce them to Lifespring, but to try and sell a complete stranger on the seminar was way beyond my comfort zone. I didn't sign anybody…nada. At the next trainer meeting, they more than intimated they were not happy with my performance, all this was acted out in the room with over fifty other Lifespringers, I was voted out for the sole reason of not making people aware of, or what I thought was, proselytizing the benefits of their organization. Marly was furious at this personal attack on me, her boyfriend, and with resolve, strode up to the podium where she read the group of people the riot act. It was one of the best things I ever saw her do. She actually quit Lifespring after that. It was back to a joint on the couch and Kung Fu at last.

There was another party in Burbank at Ernie’s house. Ernie was a good friend of Rick Springfield before his monster smash album, the one with Jessie’s Girl on it. Before this party Rick would come over to the apartment on Avon to visit Marly even though by now I had moved in. I had a sneaking suspicion that they were having an affair, but I didn't pursue it any further. Maybe she was the girl in Jessie’s Girl, and I was Jessie? One day I needed a lift to Hollywood to hook up with Chas or Doug Fieger, and I asked Rick if he would give me a ride there. He had an old VW bug with a funky cassette player. On the way to Hollywood, he played me the basic tracks to his new album (the one with Jessie’s Girl) and asked me what I thought of it. I told him it was really good and commercial sounding and that it should do really well. I was right—it did. Anyway, back at the party, it was a nice little get together with some of the Lifespring folks and a few other musician and actor types—maybe fifty people in all. There was a big table set up with all sorts of delicacies and I had a plate of spaghetti marinara. I was standing up while eating my spaghetti and looking around the room at some of the beauties when, from out of nowhere, Marly had reached from under my paper plate of pasta and pushed it into my white, high collared shirt. I was mortified. The shirt, which was once white, was now red with marinara sauce. It was a food fight, like the kind you might see in a movie, but we were the only participants. I then took the remainder of my plate and smushed it into her hair. She threw a salad on my head. It was out of control now and I wasn't going to let her get away with that, so I upped the ante and retaliated at a higher (or lower) level. I did something that was horrible and still feel bad about. I took a sip of my Chivas Regal scotch and shot a thin stream of the whiskey at her and it found its way to her left eye—she was in dire pain. I took her into the bathroom and tried to wash out the alcohol, but she seemed incapacitated. After a few minutes, the pain in her eye had subsided and we left the party with our tails between our legs. I was reminded later that Rick had told Marly at the party to leave me and be with him. He also asked her if she was wearing underwear, hoping she wasn't. Marly thought that comment was extremely inappropriate, but she told me anyway. I guess that's why I wanted to leave. The more I think about it, the more I really believe that I was Jessie. I should contact him now and ask for a piece of the action.

Three times we tried to make it to Magic Mountain but never succeeded. The first time, her Volvo had overheated on the Interstate 5, and we had to call triple A. The second time, we had a fight in the car, probably over Toolie or some other jealousy and we turned around and went back home. I know I am getting a little ahead of myself in the story, but the third time was on July 16, 1980, her thirtieth birthday. I said, “Why don’t we try to make it out to Magic Mountain again?” She agreed and we drove out there in her navy-blue Volvo 144. I was staring at the clear multi-faceted crystal that hung from her rear-view mirror, not really thinking about anything in particular. We had stopped at a gas station not far from Avon to fill up when somehow another fight was in the works. I had enough. I was fuming and got out of the car, and I guess I slammed the passenger door a little bit too hard—the glass in the passenger window had shattered and pieces had fallen into the interior of the car. I told her to enjoy the rest of her birthday without me and I would walk back to the apartment and proceed to move out—back to Oakhurst again. I walked up the stairs to the second floor flat, and once inside a found a few paper grocery bags, since I had no luggage there, and packed my things. I called my mom to come pick me up in her Mercedes, which she did. 

An hour later she had arrived in Burbank, and I saw that my brother Robbie was in the back seat. By now it was about dinner time and Robbie said, “Hey Jimmy, let’s go down to that great Chinese restaurant on Fairfax you always went with Marly, the one across the street from Cantor’s Deli.” I said, “Sure, why not.” But I wasn’t really hungry—I had a sick feeling in my stomach. We parked the car on the street, and I followed behind Mom and Robbie into the restaurant. I heard a familiar voice. “Hello James.” It was Marly who had gone to “our” restaurant with her friend Debbie Bombe to celebrate what remained of her birthday. Interestingly enough, before Marly, I was always Jimmy, but she insisted on calling me James. So, if you knew me as Jimmy, you knew me before January 27, 1979, after that you most likely knew me as James. Anyway, after recognizing her voice at the table in the front, I went over to her and apologized for my outburst. I knew it was over between us but, after seeing her only hours after out last fight, I figured we were destined to be friends. It’s better off that way. Maybe it was fate that brought us together since the instant I looked into those familiar deep brown eyes—like looking into another version of my own eyes, I knew we were connected but our timing was wrong; we were not too great as lovers, and she never really considered me as marriage potential. God as my witness I asked her to marry me seven times and she refused me each one. She said I wasn't ready or some other thing of that nature, but it was the green-eyed monster of jealousy that has a chokehold on her, and she couldn't let the beast go.