Part 5 (2/2)

Though only a few months had elapsed since our video for ”You Better Run,” we were all too aware that MTV's power and influence had grown exponentially. In that time, making videos had gone from a quirky, optional experiment to an essential part of a record release. Once the label knew what they wanted your first single to be, you had to plan and shoot the video that would accompany it. MTV was a force to be reckoned with and it could not be ignored.

We decided to do ”Fire and Ice” and ”Promises in the Dark” as performance videos. We rented a soundstage in North Hollywood and invited the members of the fan club, radio contest winners, and family and friends. With that crowd of people, we filmed a miniconcert. For the t.i.tle cut, we did a concept video that was a story about a rich girl who was a prisoner in her own life. (Sound familiar?) With our faces all over MTV and two hit records on the charts, we once again embarked on a tour, only this time, with me and Spyder broken up, things were much more complicated. Chrysalis's prediction came true: we made the tour a nightmare for the rest of the band. We argued, fought, and acted nothing like our old selves. It was like we were two different people. Even today Myron refers to that tour in support of Precious Time Precious Time as the ”h.e.l.l Is for Us” tour, ”Us” being pretty much everyone who wasn't Spyder or me. As everyone came to learn, it is not that much fun touring with a warring couple. We fought constantly, and the band and crew were ready to commit a felony just to get us to stop. If it wasn't about the latest Chrysalis offense or insult, it was about an amorous fan thinking it was open season now that we had broken up. as the ”h.e.l.l Is for Us” tour, ”Us” being pretty much everyone who wasn't Spyder or me. As everyone came to learn, it is not that much fun touring with a warring couple. We fought constantly, and the band and crew were ready to commit a felony just to get us to stop. If it wasn't about the latest Chrysalis offense or insult, it was about an amorous fan thinking it was open season now that we had broken up.

As it became common knowledge that we'd split up, people's lecherous qualities came out. When Spyder and I had been dating, the girls in the audience who were crazy for him had always kept a respectful distance. Now they were exposing their b.r.e.a.s.t.s during our show. At one concert in particular, some obviously drunk girl in the front row opened her blouse during our first set and proceeded to bleat, ”Neil, Neil,” for the entire show. Occasionally she'd put her hands onstage, and when we got to the show's closer, ”Heartbreaker,” I stepped on them and stood there until the song was over just to shut her up.

Spyder didn't have it much easier. I was constantly being approached by men in one way or another, and it took ma.s.sive amounts of restraint on his part not to react. There were many nights onstage that Zel had to hold Spyder back from using his guitar as a baseball bat on some overzealous male fan. Guys came out of the woodwork with no rhyme or reason, thinking that I was fair game because I was single. Even my attorney, Owen Epstein, hit on me, which was just creepy.

Everything was torture. That tour was the only time I ever trashed a hotel room. Spyder and I were arguing, and I was screaming at him about one thing or another. We were both raging mad, and I went into the bathroom and slammed the toilet seat down, breaking it in two. I was horrified! It stopped the argument cold. It was such an out-of-character moment, but in an instant we both could see just how bad things had gotten. I'd like to think that all that tension made us rock harder, but we all could have done with a little less rock and a little more peace.

What made it harder was that I loved the road. Live performance was the reason I started singing and will always be my first love. I was never one of those musicians who dreaded the rigors of tours. People would ask me all the time if touring was difficult, and I'd tell them, ”Life is hard, the road is easy.” Under most circ.u.mstances that's true. Being on tour allows you to step away from everything in life and just focus on performing. On tour I'd sleep until noon, have room service, wear black leather, put on lots of makeup, perform, hear people cheer for me, get on the bus, travel to the next city, and do it all again. I'd show up to packed arenas and sing my heart out for people screaming my name. I'd see the enthusiasm in the faces of the fans in the swirling ma.s.s of the crowd, and I'd work as hard as I could to give them everything I had each night. There was no reality involved and that was the whole point. For twelve weeks, you could step away from your problems and return to the life that began it all.

That is, unless your problems happened to be on the bus beside you looking incredibly hot and emotionally distant, while reminding you that you never should have broken up in the first place. The fact that we'd had no downtime and no break from each other only exacerbated things.

There were funny moments on that tour, though. One night, we were playing a huge indoor venue when we had something of a Three Stooges moment with Myron. His drum setup that year included a cage and a large gong on a stand. Myron was a little guy, wiry and compact, probably 124 pounds soaking wet. We were playing the encore, and ”Promises in the Dark” had a lot of breaks and rhythmic stops. The ending of the song had us playing a crescendo and Myron was supposed to blast the gong just before the last note.

Myron was a brilliant drummer and an amazing showman-well known for his acrobatics on stage. He'd routinely climb all over his drum set like a deranged red-haired monkey. As the end of the song drew near, he positioned himself on the gong stand in antic.i.p.ation of delivering the final downbeat. The gong was much much bigger than he was, and it certainly weighed more. He swung the mallet as hard as he could and hit the gong, and when it swung backwards, he turned to face the audience, raising the mallet triumphantly in the air. bigger than he was, and it certainly weighed more. He swung the mallet as hard as he could and hit the gong, and when it swung backwards, he turned to face the audience, raising the mallet triumphantly in the air.

While he was facing the audience, the gong swung back, knocking him off the drum riser and onto the stage. He was out cold. We too were facing the audience with our backs to him, so we didn't even know anything had happened until we heard scuffling. Zel, Spyder, and I turned around to see Myron lying on the ground, unconscious, with his drum tech and a.s.sorted crew members waving towels and throwing water on him. Like a bada.s.s, he woke up and immediately staggered to the drums to play the final beat and end the song. In spite of what had happened, the whole scene was pretty comical, not worrisome at all. Not to mention it displayed exactly the kind of dedication we'd come to expect from Myron.

But that laughter and camaraderie came sparingly. By and large, the only time that we put the fighting with each other on hold was when we were dealing with the label. We would make this band work even if that meant that we couldn't be together. Even if we fought on the road, we'd do the right thing when it came to dealing with the label: put personal problems aside for the good of the whole. We argued our case together, stood up to them when we felt they were being unfair. Spyder and I are both Capricorns, confident, driven, and goal-oriented. When we are working toward something we can get tunnel vision. And we are very loyal people. Chrysalis made us dig our heels in. When we did have to meet with any label executives, we didn't walk in with Pollyanna att.i.tudes, thinking everything was going to be sweetness and light. We knew better and we went into warrior mode, together.

Still, we were all too aware that the status quo was not sustainable. Neither one of us said anything about it but we both knew that something had to change. We just didn't know what.

AT THE END OF 1981 and early 1982, following the tour for 1981 and early 1982, following the tour for Precious Time, Precious Time, we were finally able to take a few months off. For the first time since we started making music, we were on break. It turned out to be the best thing we could have done. Spyder produced the first solo alb.u.m of British rock singer John Waite, who had made a name for himself with the Babys. For all the fights that we'd gotten into with Terry Ellis about Spyder's contribution and credit, Terry was incredibly pleased with Spyder's output and he recommended that Spyder produce John's solo debut for Chrysalis, called we were finally able to take a few months off. For the first time since we started making music, we were on break. It turned out to be the best thing we could have done. Spyder produced the first solo alb.u.m of British rock singer John Waite, who had made a name for himself with the Babys. For all the fights that we'd gotten into with Terry Ellis about Spyder's contribution and credit, Terry was incredibly pleased with Spyder's output and he recommended that Spyder produce John's solo debut for Chrysalis, called Ignition, Ignition, which had the hit single ”Change.” Spyder had also started working on some songs with Billy Steinberg, whom we'd collaborated with on which had the hit single ”Change.” Spyder had also started working on some songs with Billy Steinberg, whom we'd collaborated with on Crimes of Pa.s.sion Crimes of Pa.s.sion and and Precious Time. Precious Time. Our friend and drummer, Myron, was featured on Our friend and drummer, Myron, was featured on Cat Dance, Cat Dance, an alb.u.m from Outlaw's guitarist Freddie Salem. an alb.u.m from Outlaw's guitarist Freddie Salem.

While Spyder continued to work, I was ready to relax. After three records and three tours in two and half years, I was just fine being a domestic G.o.ddess for a while. I stayed home and remodeled the house I'd bought after Spyder and I broke up. I went back east to visit family and friends and, of course, Spyder. Spyder spent December in New York working on Ignition, Ignition, while I stayed in California. We were miserable apart, so for my birthday on January 10, I went to New York to see him. We had dinner and talked but didn't get back together. When I flew back to Los Angeles we were still in exactly the same position, with both of us thinking, while I stayed in California. We were miserable apart, so for my birthday on January 10, I went to New York to see him. We had dinner and talked but didn't get back together. When I flew back to Los Angeles we were still in exactly the same position, with both of us thinking, Enough is enough Enough is enough.

We were tired of being confused. I remember telling one journalist that it had come down to the career or our relations.h.i.+p, that to save the band we had to make a choice. If we kept on trying to be a couple, the band could have been doomed. We had spent the last year fighting and struggling with our relations.h.i.+p. We both thought that we simply had had to go back to being friends instead of former lovers, and the only way to do that was to move on with our lives. to go back to being friends instead of former lovers, and the only way to do that was to move on with our lives.

About the same time, we both decided to see if we could have a relations.h.i.+p with someone else. It wasn't something that we discussed with each other-we just did it. I went on one date, as did Spyder. I had a nice enough time on my date and Spyder enjoyed his. But throughout the night, I couldn't escape just how wrong it felt. I didn't want to be having dinner with someone else, I wanted to be having dinner with Spyder. As it turned out, he'd experienced the same thing. He called me the next day, and when I told him I'd been out with someone else, his frustration bubbled over.

”What are you doing?” Spyder asked.

”What do you care? And what have you been doing?” I answered accusingly.

”Nothing that matters. I care about you,” he said.

”Really? You could've fooled me.” I didn't want to hear this. I'd finally made up my mind that I was going to forget him, try to start over.

”I'm sorry,” he said quietly. ”I love you. I want you to come home.”

I couldn't believe what I was hearing. It had been an entire year of pretending we didn't care about each other, an entire year of fighting every day, an entire year of hoping he'd change his mind and come back to me. It seemed too sudden, too perfect to be true. But that didn't stop me from jumping on the first available flight to New York.

The whole flight, I kept telling myself how crazy this was. My rational levelheadedness had once again abandoned me, thanks to Spyder. It didn't make any sense. After all, how could we heal the year of pain and hurt that we'd caused each other with a phone call and a visit? The yelling and the screaming, the hurt feelings and nights spent sulking alone in our hotel rooms? I wanted to believe it was true, that we really could do it, that we were strong enough and important enough to each other spiritually and creatively to make that happen. But I didn't know for sure-that is, until I saw him at the gate, holding a bouquet of flowers. That was when I threw caution to the wind.

At first, we just held each other, spending the day like awkward teenagers reunited after a prolonged stay at summer camp, talking and laughing-just enjoying each other for the first time in months. Ironically, it happened to be Valentine's Day, a holiday that both of us abhor, yet there was no doubt it would be a Valentine's Day to remember: after many hours of conversation, we decided to get married.

We didn't waste much time. The next day we went shopping for rings. Once our minds were made up we threw ourselves completely into it and never looked back. Just like that, the last year, all the tension, all the fighting, had been erased. Myron and his wife, Monica, were the first people we told.

”Good,” Myron said. ”No, wait, this isn't just good, this is great. We're so happy for you.” Listening to his voice, I knew that his enthusiasm was real. He knew that this was not the latest saga in the drama between Spyder and me. This was the end, and he could hear it in my voice. He and Monica were our best friends. They knew Spyder and I belonged together, and many times over the last year, they'd been forced to sit idly by as we'd struggled. It had been painful for them to watch us go through all that-not to mention stressful to see the ways that we'd jeopardized the band. For everyone, it was a huge relief that we'd finally come to our senses.

We felt defiant when we informed Chrysalis we were getting married. I was ready to tell them to f.u.c.k off if they started their negative talk again. This time, though, they realized that there was absolutely nothing they could say or do to change our minds, so all of a sudden they did an about-face and started offering to help foot the bill-ordering Dom Perignon and toasting us like they'd been behind us the whole time.

Neither of us wanted to get married in Los Angeles or New York. Spyder wanted a small ceremony in a remote place, and I'd already done that twelve-bridesmaid, two-hundred-and-fifty-guest wedding. We wanted this to be altogether different and decided to be married right away in Tahiti. However, as soon as I spoke with our travel agent, Diane Nardizzi, I knew we had a time problem. The Grammys were coming up on February 24 at the Shrine Auditorium in Los Angeles, and I was nominated for a second Grammy, this time for ”Fire and Ice.” Traveling to Tahiti, getting married, and having time even for a short honeymoon would be tight if we were going to be back in time for the ceremony. I explained that, primarily, we wanted the wedding to be private and in some beautiful spot-it didn't have to be Tahiti. We just had to be back in L.A. by the twenty-fourth.

Diane had a solution: ”There's a town on Maui, a little tiny place called Hana. You can't get much more private than that. It's way off the beaten path. My client Kris Kristofferson owns some property there, and according to him it is one of the most beautiful places on earth.”

Diane made the arrangements. I flew back to L.A., and Spyder followed me the next day. We'd only been to Hawaii once before, and that was to Oahu to play the Blaisdell Arena. Having no idea how small and remote Hana was, I just a.s.sumed I could buy a dress when I got there, but at the last minute, five P.M P.M. the night before we were leaving, it occurred to me to pick up something to wear, just in case. I went to Robinsons-May and bought a little white lace dress off the rack for $82. That's the OCD in me-just in case.

I had never been anywhere in Hawaii but Honolulu, so I didn't know what to expect as far as our travel accommodations were concerned. Not only did we have to charter a small plane to fly us there, but there were only a few hours that it was available. We flew from Honolulu to Kahului on Maui at night, and as we got closer, I could see the water lit by the moon and felt us getting lower and lower, to the point that I thought, Oh my G.o.d, we're gonna crash Oh my G.o.d, we're gonna crash. Then all of a sudden, just as it felt like the bottom of the plane was going to touch the tips of the trees, the pilot clicked a remote and this little runway lit up, a stunning strip of white light beaming out of the darkness of the jungle.

There was a warm breeze, and the trees smelled fresh from a rain. The moon came out from behind a cloud, and we could see that the airport was really just a little kiosk in the cane gra.s.s. Barreling toward us was a small, old-model red bus that kicked dust into the air as it wound its way down a little road. Clearly this was our transportation to the hotel. We were hooked.

The Hotel Hana-Maui, originally named the Ka'uiki Inn, was built in 1946 by a cattleman named Paul f.a.gan. It literally saved the town of Hana. When the last of the sugar plantations closed, the entire area suffered. That's when f.a.gan got the idea to build a small but luxurious hotel to try to attract tourists. When he got a baseball team to hold their practices in the area, it created jobs not just at the hotel, but throughout the village. The Hotel Hana-Maui was a luxurious 1950s-style hotel, not Beverly Hills luxury, but better. There was a definite Kon-Tiki Kon-Tiki Pacific Rim atmosphere, old Hawaii. Spyder and I stayed in the Manager's House, a small addition that was even more private than the hotel and had a private pool. Our room had this wild and colorful Hawaiian-print wallpaper, woven mats hanging on the wall, and beautiful fresh flowers and linens. Every detail felt like paradise. Pacific Rim atmosphere, old Hawaii. Spyder and I stayed in the Manager's House, a small addition that was even more private than the hotel and had a private pool. Our room had this wild and colorful Hawaiian-print wallpaper, woven mats hanging on the wall, and beautiful fresh flowers and linens. Every detail felt like paradise.

The woman we talked to about wedding arrangements was named Mary Estrella. From the moment we introduced ourselves, we knew this had been the right decision. Our names meant nothing to her. Nothing Nothing. After dealing with fame for the last three years, we were only too ready to be anonymous. The best thing of all was that even if the people in Hana had had heard of you, they didn't care about it. All Mary Estrella really knew about us was that we were there to get married. She handed us a huge ring of keys and told us we'd need to look around to find the place where we wanted our ceremony. heard of you, they didn't care about it. All Mary Estrella really knew about us was that we were there to get married. She handed us a huge ring of keys and told us we'd need to look around to find the place where we wanted our ceremony.

”Why do we need keys?” I asked.

”'Cause you gotta go through the pastures, and we don't want to let the cattle out. Just lock the gates as you go around.”

Oh yeah. We were in the right place.

”We've got three churches,” she continued. ”But people like to get married on the land. You can just look around.”

So the next day we went looking. There are about seven hundred people in Hana, mostly local Hawaiians. For tourists visiting Maui, the road to Hana is a popular trip and people are welcomed to the town Hana-style. But because most people only stay for an hour or so and drive back the same day, it's still very quiet and peaceful there. Things are done in the old ways. There are no car washes, no dry cleaners, no movie theaters. The people grow their own vegetables and hang their clothes on a line outside. There are no streetlights. Cattle wander around in the streets, and if they are in your way, you just stop the car and let them take their time. People are never late because of traffic (if they are on a time schedule, which they rarely are); if someone is late, it's because of cattle standing in the road.

Just being around the town on that first day, we could tell that this was a truly special place. In the last three years, we'd been around the world, stayed in countless hotels, flown on planes, driven around on buses, but we'd never been to a place like this. It was a place without complications, without egos. A sacred place where we could finally catch our breath-even if only for a few days.

Spyder and I spent the next two days driving around in a little Jeep, looking for a place to get married. We looked everywhere, not because we couldn't find the perfect place, but because it was so beautiful we wanted to search out every pasture, unlock every gate. We saw several mountains-every cliff, waterfall, stream, pond, and hallowed spot. Finally we decided on a site by the Leho'ula cliffs.

Next, we needed to meet with Reverend Henry Kahula, the minister of the nondenominational Waina.n.a.lua Church. Spyder and I are both Catholic, but since I had gotten a divorce, we knew that no priest would marry us. Henry Kahula had two jobs. He was both a minister and a mechanic at the only gas station in Hana. Mary Estrella told us how to find him.

”You go on down to the Chevron station and look around. He'll be there.”

So we walked in and called his name. He rolled out on a dolly from underneath a truck. Henry Kahula was a big man with huge hands and a big smile. Still stretched out on the dolly, he told us he was only too happy to officiate, just needed a few details, like what time, if we had witnesses, and whether we wanted a Hawaiian ceremony. We explained that we'd already asked a couple of people who worked at the hotel, Louisa Pu and Les Mederios, to be matron of honor and best man, and that yes, we'd love to have a Hawaiian ceremony. The best part was, Reverend Kahula never got off the dolly during the entire conversation.

There were no stores in Hana to shop at for wedding-appropriate dresses, so I wore the white lace dress I'd brought with me. I married the love of my life wearing an $82 dress, and it couldn't have been more perfect. Spyder and I both had leis around our necks and po'o po'o garlands of flowers on our heads. We had flower petals from the local gardens strewn around on the cliff. It was a spectacular day for a wedding. The sun was s.h.i.+ning over Maui. The birds were flying and waves were cras.h.i.+ng against the cliff. It was February 20, 1982, and we both knew that we would forever be tied to that island paradise. garlands of flowers on our heads. We had flower petals from the local gardens strewn around on the cliff. It was a spectacular day for a wedding. The sun was s.h.i.+ning over Maui. The birds were flying and waves were cras.h.i.+ng against the cliff. It was February 20, 1982, and we both knew that we would forever be tied to that island paradise.

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