Unplugged (A Portrait of a Rock Star) (4 page)

“Do you have many clients?” 

“Currently, I have about ten.  Sometimes I have more, sometimes less.  I’m also a group fitness instructor; I teach Spinning classes and Kickboxing and stuff.  It’s okay.  It pays the bills and keeps me in shape.  I used to have a more professional job, but it wasn’t really me.”

“Ah.  Interesting.”  Being with Mara was interesting.  I really enjoyed her company.  Our walk ended way too quickly; before I knew it, we were back at my Corvette.  Once again, my chivalry kicked in and I opened the door for Mara to get in and closed the door after her.  I circled around to get in to my side of the car, excited to be sitting so close to her again. 

After I got in, Mara ran her hand across the dash, “I like the white interior, very sophisticated, Tagg.  Your car is amazing.”

“Thank you.  I bought if for myself after our first album went Platinum.”  I suddenly felt nostalgic for my performing days.

“You have good taste in cars; very classy.”

“Thanks, Mara.”  Just like my car, Mara was the epitome of class.  She was refined and polished, yet unpretentious.  I wanted to get to know her better.  No, I needed to get to know her better.

Mara wasn’t coming to train me until tomorrow.  I didn’t know what to do with myself for a whole day without her.  It was only yesterday that we took our stroll along the boardwalk, but I was itching to see her again.  My self-induced suffering had seemed to take a back seat in my mind when I was with Mara.  She was easygoing and easy to be with, and she made it easy for me to forget that I had been a recluse for the past seven years.

I decided to forgo my accustomed dismal routine of sulking in my recliner all day to go get a new cell phone and a haircut.  Now that I felt a bit more cheerful, I couldn’t stand my appearance.  My long hair was unruly and my beard was just offensive.  Mom had already had coffee made by the time I got out of the shower, and she was in the process of making a vegetable omelet when I entered the kitchen.  It was apparent by the smile on her face that she was pleased to see me up and showered so early.  I kissed her on the cheek and got a mug out of the cupboard for my coffee.  “Mom, I’m sorry about the other day. You really don’t have to stay and be my personal chef.  I can fend for myself, I am a grown man.”

“Well, you haven’t been acting like one.”

“I deserved that.  I’m sorry.”  I poured my coffee and refilled my mom’s cup.  I took out two plates and I split the omelet she made into two.  “Sit down and eat breakfast with me today.”  We sat.  “Mom, I’ll really make an effort this time to move on from what happened.  I guess I did let it go on too long.”

Mom looked surprise.  “What brought this on all of a sudden?”

“I think I just decided that my sulking wasn’t changing the past.  I’m still crippling with guilt, but I want to try.”  I shrugged and then took a bite of my eggs.  Mom did the same; as if she thought not commenting would be the best response.  She was correct.   After we were done eating, I cleared the table before Mom had a chance.  “Mom, really, go home.  If I need you, I’ll call.”

“Are you sure?”  Mom was a bit skeptical of my sudden transformation.

“I promise.  But, you don’t have to stay away, I just mean, you don’t have to live here with me.  Maybe its time, I come visit you.  I don’t think I’ve been to your house in a couple of years.”

“More than that, baby.”

“Yeah, it has been a long time.  I promise, though, Mom, I’m okay.  I’m not great, but I’m okay.  And, by the way, you don’t have to pay for my personal trainer, I’m sure I can handle that.”

“Will you stick with her, though?   I think you need somebody to whip that pudge you call a body back into performing shape.”

I put my hand up in defiance.  “Whoa, I didn’t say I’d perform again.  I just thought I’d re-enter the world as a normal human being.  Baby steps.”  And I did something I hadn’t in a long time.  I laughed.  Mom and I cleared our breakfast dishes from the table and left my house together.  In the driveway, I gave her a big hug.  She’d deserved it.  She’d comforted me during my darkest days.  After our long hug, Mom took off in her Silver Mercedes SL Convertible and I pulled out in my ‘Vette.

I drove through the town of Sparta, looking for a place to get my hair cut.  There were all sorts of high-end beauty salons along the way, but I wasn’t looking for anything so indulgent.  I was a guy after all.  Although, in days gone by, I’d only had the best stylists toil with my hair.  Today, though, I was just looking for a plain, old-fashioned haircut, and, of course, a shave.  Not too far away was a local barber on Sparta Avenue, so I parked my ‘Vette and went in.  The barber was a pleasant-looking, old, white-haired man who looked like he had just stepped out of the Norman Rockwell Barber Shop painting. In fact, the whole place looked like a Norman Rockwell.  White, distressed wainscoting dressed the lower walls, while old-fashioned, barber tools covered the wallpaper on the top half of the walls.  I also immediately noticed the tin-roof ceiling.  It was like I had time-traveled back to the 1950s.  There was one old-time style barber chair, occupied by the customer who was having his hair clipped by the Rockwell Barber.  I sat in one of the three antique wooden chairs that resided in the waiting area and waited for my turn.  It was a very pleasing atmosphere and I thought, for all of the times I had actually ventured outside my home in the last few years, that maybe the 50s were making a comeback.  I hardly thought so, though, because I would have seen hint of it on at least some of the television shows that I watched all day and night.

“What can I do you for?”  The pleasant barber joked after seeing his previous client off.  “I don’t suppose seeing you here before, have I?”

I gave a silent chuckle at the man’s speech.  “No, I’ve never been here before.  I haven’t been to see anyone about my hair in a while, as you can see.”  My hand made a circle around my face area, to exaggerate the fact.

It was the barber’s turn to chuckle.  “I suppose not.  Why don’t you take a seat over here and I’ll lower your ears.”  Mr. Barber chuckled again.  “My name’s Sam.  What’s yours?”

“Tagg.”

“Now that’s an odd name.  Is it a nickname?”

“You can say that.  It’s short for Taggart, my mother’s maiden name.”

“Different.  I like it.  So what do you do, Taggart?”

“Right now I’m between jobs.”  That wasn’t a lie.  Not really. 

“Do you live around here, Taggart?”

“I live in Lake Mohawk.”

“Oooh, fancy.”  Sam continued with his pleasantries while he cut my hair and shaved my face.  I asked him to keep my hair on the long side.  I still preferred that look as opposed to a conservative one.  Sam abided and cut my hair just below the neck, keeping the layers long and the bangs just below my eyebrows.  It was shorter than what I had been used to, but when I caught my reflection in the mirror, it was a look I was comfortable with.  My face was an altogether other matter.  I hadn’t seen it in years.  I may have kept up trimming my beard, but I hadn’t been clean shaven or at least only scruffy in an extremely long time.  I wasn’t expecting to look almost my age.  My eyeglasses hid the small lines that jutted from my eyes, but now without the beard, I couldn’t hide the lines that had formed around my jaw.  It only stood to reason, I guess, that even though time stood still within the walls of my house, I would start showing signs of my thirty-eight years.  I thanked Sam for his conventional service and warm conversation and headed out to find myself a new pair of sneakers.  I was suddenly in the mood to start jogging. 

Down the road, as luck would have it, I found a store called Sneakers to Boots.  I pulled into the lot and parked.  There were so many sneakers on the shelves; I didn’t know where to begin my search for a new pair.  I should have brought Mara with me.  That thought made me forget for a moment where I was.  I just wanted to think about Mara, but the salesperson interrupted my thought with a question I hadn’t heard in a very long time.  “Excuse me, but are you Tagg Holland?”

The question took me by surprise.  Usually, when I did leave the confines of my house, like to go food shopping, no one would recognize me.  Except for the incredibly painful memory of Crystal’s death and the reason behind it, I had forgotten that I was ‘Tagg Holland, the rock star.’  I was pretty much Tagg, the loser.  So, when this thirty-something woman asked if I was Tagg Holland, rock-star, implied, I was caught off guard.  My hand went to my chin, realizing then, that my beard could no longer provide the mask that I had hid behind.  Not in the habit of lying about my identity, I responded truthfully.  “Um, yes I am.  I’m looking to buy some sneakers.”  I figured by jumping into why I was there in the store in the first place, I would ward off any unnecessary questions as to where I have been lately.  It worked.  She asked me what I was looking for and I told her.  I wanted a pair of shoes for running and a pair for working out.  She measured my size ten foot, got me two sneakers that fit the description of what I needed and sent me on my way.  Painless. 

Now for the not so painless part, actually, putting on my sneakers and attempting to break out into a jog.  Not an easy endeavor for a five-foot, ten inch, two-hundred pound man.  But I did it.  I walked for five minutes, like Mara instructed and then stretched my warmed muscles.  After that, I jogged until I was breathing way too heavily, walked until my heart rate slowed a bit, then jogged again, repeating the pattern about five times.  It was challenging, but more than that, it was invigorating.  It felt good to move my body that way.  I was inspired to continue on a healthy track.  Let’s just hope my mood would last.  I hoped it could last.  I’ve only been merely happy for about a day and a half.  But that was a day and a half longer than I had been in way too long.

The next morning, Mara was right on time, ringing my doorbell at ten o’clock in the morning.  I had been up since eight; I had eaten a bowl of Special K with some Fiber One in it, a hard-boiled egg and a cup of coffee. I was dressed in my gray sweats, a t-shirt, and my new sneaks – the ones I bought for working out.  I answered the door to see Mara with a smirk on her face, holding her duffle bag and a newspaper.  I let her in.  The first thing out of her mouth was “I like the shave and the haircut, how was your run?”

“Thanks and how did you know I went out for a run?”  Mara held out the newspaper.  It was today’s Daily Record.  A picture of me jogging graced the very front page.  The headline read Tagg Holland Comes Out of Hiding.  I took the paper from Mara and brought it to the living room couch so I could sit down while I read it.  Mara followed and sat next to me.  There was no story, just a caption under the picture.  The missing Holland singer appears out of nowhere, right here in Sussex County, seen recently, running through the Town of Sparta.  Welcome back, Tagg Holland, we’ve missed you.  I tossed the paper onto the coffee table and sat back against the couch. 

“Does this upset you?” Mara’s tone implied that it shouldn’t.

“Yes” was all I said.  Mara didn’t reply, so I continued.  “I’m not ready for the public; I’m barely ready for a normal life.”

“I wasn’t aware you really ever had a normal life.”  Mara’s eyes sparkled as she smiled at me.

I couldn’t be in a bad mood around Mara.  “No, I never did have an ordinary life, but I’m still not ready for the public.  Maybe I shouldn’t have shaved my beard.”

Mara put her hand on my knee.  “No, Tagg, you look good.”

I saw that sparkle again in her eyes as she was looking at me.  Her eyes looked like two big Hershey Kisses.  That’s when it hit me.  “Mara Giordano.”  I couldn’t believe it.

She looked at me like I was crazy.  “Yes?”  Her yes was dragged out - Yeeeees?

“Mara. You were the girl who won that contest during our first headliner.  You were the fourteen year-old.”

Mara blushed and looked down at her lap.  “Yeah, I was the fourteen year-old.”  She looked back up at me.  “What made you remember?”

“Your eyes, they just reminded me of Hershey Kisses and back when I first met you eighteen years ago, I remembered thinking that then, as well.”  This made me smile.  “You left an impression on me then, Mara.”

“Well, you left one on me also.  I was your biggest fan back then.  I was part of your fan club and everything.”  She blushed again.

“So, you liked me?”  I was coy.

“Didn’t all the girls?” She hit right back.

“I guess so.” I wanted to drop the subject and Mara picked up on that.

“So, Tagg, let’s get started.  Get your water and we’ll go upstairs.” 

We headed up to the loft to begin my workout.  Mara had me start on the treadmill for ten minutes to warm up.  She said today we would start the weight-training.  Even in my most energetic days, I had never weight-trained; my exercise included running around on-stage.  I was hoping I wouldn’t embarrass myself too much today.

“Okay Tagg, you’re done on the treadmill, I’m going to start you off over here on the bench.”  Mara was talking about a bench that had a bar that stuck out perpendicular from it, with another bar that sat across that bar.  I walked over to it and sat down.  “This is the bench press.  It’ll help to make your chest muscles strong.”

“No, really?” I was sarcastic.  I at least knew what a bench press was.

Mara smirked. “Tagg, don’t get smart.  I don’t know what you know and what you don’t.  You said you never lifted weights before. So…”

I interrupted. “Mara, I’m just kidding.”  She was so cute when she was frustrated.  “Show me what to do.”

“Lay on the bench, place your hands on the bar right here.”  Mara had her hands on the bar where I was to hold.  I was looking up at her, while she was looking down at me.  She was beautiful.  I had to swallow a lump in my throat, before I took the bar.  “Now take the bar off the rest and bring it down to right above your chest.”  I did.  “Now, slowly lift it up straight.” I did. “And bring it back down.”  I did. “Your first bench press.  Now nine more.” 

What?! 

But, I did it nine more times like she’d said.  It felt good. “Good job, Tagg.  Take a sixty second break.”

“Sixty seconds? Then what?”

“Another set.”

“Holy cow, are you trying to kill me?”  It didn’t feel that good.

“It wasn’t too heavy, was it?  You were steady when you lifted; I thought it was just right.”  Mara looked concerned that I might be hurting, maybe?

“No, it was okay.  I was just teasing again.  You’re easy to tease.”  She was easy to tease, easy to look at too.

“Well, stop teasing and start concentrating.  You need to focus when you’re training.  No fooling around.” But, then she smiled.  “Well, you can fool around, just don’t do it while you’re holding the weight.  I don’t want you to get hurt.”