Chapter 45 – The Universe is Calling

“Hello, this is James Haymer from Universal Data Supply. Is this Debbie? How are you Debbie? Good.  I was just calling to let you know e have the balance of your order ready for shipment for your IBM Selectric II. You’re still using that machine aren’t you? You’re not? Well then, can you tell me what you have now? An HP Laserjet? You know we refill those baby’s. That’s right. You just keep those empties. That’s right; don’t throw ‘em out they’re as good as gold. You have? Great.  Just box em up and I’ll send a call tag. Should be there in a day, two at the latest.”

“Hi this is James Haymer calling from Universal Satellite. Is this Mr. Wells? We sent out flyers and I see you responded in showing an interest in our new and much more economical three foot dish? Right, a free demonstration. Would Tuesday morning or afternoon be better for you?”

“Good morning this is James Haymer from Universal Health and Life. Is this Mr. Wells? Did I ever sell satellite dishes? Well…it doesn’t work anymore? Have a nice day Mr. Wells.”

Good afternoon, this is James calling from THE UNIVERSE. Could you give me your name and the date of your birth? Misty Wells? August second? You are a Leo…the lion. Very strong sign. I see great things for you in the coming year.”

Then there was the 900 number I had. I gathered information from the country music Hot Sheet and recorded tips on what artist or producer was looking for what kind of song for two dollars a minute. I had read Guerilla Marketing. That was a money pit.

It was 1997 through 1998 and I had at least five different jobs besides writing and playing music. The craziest and most stressful was the phone psychic. I would log into the main phone system and then my telephone would ring. I got all kinds of strange people. Some looking for love, some money, some wanted to know if they would make it in showbiz, some just wanted to talk. Hey, at 99 cents a minute I could think of cheaper ways to have a conversation, but now that I think of it, maybe not. If you went to a bar, you would spend at least ten bucks on a couple of drinks. A hooker? That would cost much more than that. One time this woman called who wanted to know when her husband was going to be release from prison. She had ten kids and they all lived in a double wide trailer in Arkansas. She was as poor as dirt and I felt like I was taking advantage of her. I told her to hang up the phone since at a buck a minute, she couldn’t afford it. That was my last call.

Jumping ahead to September 10, 2001 for a minute. I got another phone job raising money for the Red Cross—at least I thought it was the Red Cross. Who knew? Then the tragedy of 9-11 happened and money poured in to the real Red Cross. It was a blood bonanza—a moot point. That job lasted four hours.

I had another job working for a music industry magazine selling advertising space. The one sale I made was to a CD duplication company. It was the old barter system at its best. I traded a half page ad for 300 full printed CD’s of my record which is called See You Around. You can pick it up on iTunes. At night I would go out and play at places like The Bunganut Pig, The Commodore Hotel, Douglas Corner and some other venues that don’t exist anymore selling my CD’s at ten dollars a pop. I wasn’t getting rich, but my name was getting out there and I would meet other singer/songwriters. My favorite and closest place was Ernie’s Smokehouse in Leiper’s Fork. It was a great scene with some of the best BBQ this side of the Mississippi. Later on Ernie sold out to a local entrepreneur named Aubrey Preston and he made it into a private playground called Green’s Grocery. It was the beginning of the end of the music scene in Williamson County.

 I had put away enough money to buy a Studiomaster console from Chas for fifteen hundred bucks—the one that used to belong to his brother Richard who died in 1985. I also had his skis. I then bought an Otari 8 track tape machine. No, it’s not the kind you put in your car and stuck those big old plastic cartridges in—this was a reel to reel tape recorder. I played all the instruments and sang all the vocals. A one man band. By the middle of ’98 I had thirteen songs down. It was time to release my first solo record.

My mom was staying in the guest room six months out of the year while the other six months she stayed in L.A. with my sister, Susan. Her health was starting to go downhill rapidly and her mind was getting a bit befuddled. I was drinking a lot. In fact it was getting so bad—I would hide bottles of scotch in the bushes, behind my amplifier and in the trunk of my car. Not smart. I had been here before ad could see the writing on the wall.

On the Fourth of July in 1998, the ten year anniversary of the day I met Donna, I drove up to Chas’ house in my 1958 Austin Healey 100-6. Chas wasn’t home but there was this musician friend, Joey Fulco, working construction and painting the palatial mansion. I talked him into making a pitcher margaritas. We both got wasted in the summer sun. Diving home with one eye closed so I could focus on the road the sky opened up. I had forgotten to bring my removable hardtop and was getting soaked to the bone. I pulled over on a back road and waited under a carport of a house with no cars in the driveway. As the rain started to let up, I figures I should get going before the owners of the house came home. I turned the key. It sputtered but finally started. I knew something was wrong since it was running a little rough. After turning a sharp corner, the car stalled. Then the rain started again. It was coming down in buckets as I was under the hood trying to figure out what was wrong with the Healey. Then came the thunder and lightning. I had to get out of there. I got a running jump and was able to push start the car. It went a hundred yards before it stalled out again.

I waited for a car to pass by; maybe they would stop and help. I was drenched and tried to jump start her again. This time I made it all the way to Snowbird Hollow, a small street about five miles from home that Donna would take sometimes as a shortcut to Highway 31. Of course I didn’t have a cell phone. Not many people did in those days. I was so exhausted and completely sober by the time Donna pulled up in her Jeep with Jonathan and Daniel in the car.  I was so irate and frustrated being out in the elements for hours on the Fourth of July, I shouted at Donna to get the kids out of the Jeep. I got in behind the wheel and rammed the back of my Healey sending it down the narrow country road. I immediately regretted that stupid decision. I watched helplessly as the car reached a steep grade and began picking up speed. It would have been terrible if another car came from the other direction. Someone could have been killed. I prayed. God must have answered my prayer. As soon as I unclasped my hands, The Healey veered off to the left and crashed into a barbed wire fence. The front wheels were buried in a ravine. It was scratched up pretty bad on the left fender and hood.

I got back in the Jeep and buried my face in my hands; ashamed of myself for acting out like a madman. What was I thinking? That was the problem, I wasn’t thinking—I was reacting. The kids were scared to death and Donna was giving me the silent treatment as she drove home. Who could blame her? I called AAA and they pulled the Healey out with a winch and flat-bedded it home. I don’t think Donna spoke to me for a week and the kids? Well, I tried to explain my actions but there really was no excuse for my aberrant behavior. The universe was calling. It was a warning and I knew my drinking days were numbered. I hadn’t hit bottom yet. In five months I would.