Davy's On The Road Again Ch. 16

On the trip home, I realized just how jaded we'd become. I mean, how else can you describe opening the coldbox, pulling out an orangeade and getting a blowjob in the backseat? Or am I just exaggerating? Nah!

We spent several weeks based out of Emma's place in East Hampton. It's a beautiful home on Further Lane with an historic pedigree insofar as it was once owned by the writer, Ring Lardner. Jack had an inside line before it was placed on the market and they bought it just before the market boomed. Sitting on the wide front porch facing the ocean and working on my Sunday Times puzzle was just shy of sublime. Having Andy and Angie running around simply made it better.

Amy wanted to dine at Nick & Toni's and at Della Famina's (which we did and we sat next to Steven and Cate Spielberg), I took her to my favorite places: Turtle Crossing, Turnpike BBQ and Michael's. One afternoon, we stopped into The Blue Parrot but since Rene Zellwegger, Jon Bon Jovi and Ron Perelman bought it, it just wasn't the same as the old days when Lee owned the joint and Bruce tended bar and all the local bubs hung out at the 'Cowboy Table' to shoot the shit. In fact, to be honest, The "New" Blue Parrot depressed the hell out of me. I will always dislike Ralph Lauren for fucking up my town by buying it up and filling it with his stores and he ruined the Blue Parrot, too. Even his daughter's ditzy chocolate shop blows. Before she moved into it, it was the local candy store where you could take your kids to pick out penny candies before taking them to the movies. Now, it's four fucking designer chocolates for ten bucks! What pretentious bullshit!

Being back in East Hampton was pleasure redux. I took Amy on a tour as she had never been out here before. We drove up Stephen Hand's Path and when I drove under the small railroad bridge, I was reminded of Virgil The Frog-Boy. During the 1980's, spray-painted graffiti appeared on the side of this bridge that read "Virgil is still the frog-boy." Thereafter, the same message appeared in other places. No one knew what this meant nor who Virgil was nor why he was a frog-boy, whatever that meant, but it brought a smile. It seemed to be on everyone's lips for several years and it created a sort of commonality among the locals. Driving under the bridge made me wonder about Virgil and I told Amy the story.

We drove up toward Hard's Creek and I took her by my old house and as there was no one home, I parked by the garage and took in the property. Standing on the dock and looking out on Three Mile Harbor brought back all sorts of memories, good and bad (mostly about losing the house in my divorce). Living here was often like living in a National Geographic special. The swans in the creek seemed to recognize me and that brought me back to the moment. As I was pulling out of the driveway, the owner returned. I introduced myself as having been a former owner of the property and had stopped by for the nostalgia. He was quite angry and became livid, threatening to call the police. I couldn't seem to calm him down so I backed out and drove away. It seemed so sad to me that my wonderful home was now possessed by an inhospitable lunatic. In the back of my mind, I made a plan to buy the property from him and to return the house to its proper energy level.

I drove Amy over to Settler's Landing and from there up to Sammy's Beach. I recounted my happy times during the summer that John and Judy Belushi rented nearby. In fact, I recounted many happy times to Amy - kayaking in the harbor, Tony Duke's fireworks shows, teaching my kids to swim... Up on Sammy's Beach, I was sorry that Santo was not there with us to revel on his favorite stretch of sand. Amy was breathless as we stood on a dune and I pointed out the sights from west to east: Hedges Banks where P. Diddy and Donna Karen live, Shelter Island, Greenport, Orient Point, the Plum Gut, Plum Island, the Connecticut shoreline, Block Island Sound, Gardiner's Island with it's little seventeenth century windmill, Fireplace, Maidstone Park, the entrance to the harbor, Tony Duke's former estate and back around to Sammy's Beach. There were sails in full sheet out in the water and in the distance, the Mystic Whaler's twin masts looked like a pirate ship. I conveyed the history of the place as we stood under the warm sun and Amy understood why I loved it so much.

Driving toward Northwest Harbor, we passed Gail and Gina's house (See a href="http://www.literotica.com/stories/showstory.php?id=357210">Gail and Gina And Me) and I told her how these two wonderful women helped rescue me after my divorce. Then back down Cedar and into the village. On other days, I took her to Sag Harbor, I took her into the Grace Estate Woods for a hike as deer rambled around us, I took her past the fancy homes of the rich and famous, the movie stars and the artists, too. One day, we attended a party at Julian Schnabel's home on the Montauk Bluffs. On another day, we had dinner at his Stanford White home, Tick Hall with my old friend, Dick Cavett. The view of the ocean from up on the cliffs was as beautiful as one can imagine. We stood alone holding hands watching the surfers below and the endless ocean beyond.

"Davy, this place is paradise. I understand the bond you have. Why don't we buy a place out here. We can be near Emma and Jack...and one day soon, Angie can babysit."

"I like the way you think, love. I can't tell you how many new songs are rolling around my brain since we got here. This environment has always been in the key of me."

Our time on the East End was blissful. We spent our days barbecuing, or driving around or just playing with the kids. Several times, Emma and Amy went shopping in all the ritzy stores between East Hampton and Southampton. When there was a tour city we had to get to, we flew by private jet from East Hampton Airport and each time we did that, we had to pass the Animal Rescue Fund where Santo and I rescued each other. It's always made me smile.

On one long weekday stretch between cities, Emma and Jack left us alone. Making love under the warm moonlit night as the waves crashed just beyond the dune was about as romantic as it can possibly get. I had this revelation one night after an extended bout of making out, smooching and gourmet lovemaking. Amy was stretched out on the bed, naked and napping. I'd also passed out for a while and when I awoke, my head was at her feet. I opened my eyes to see her puffy vagina smiling happily at me. I gazed at her beauty and thought about the little egg incubating within. Suddenly, I was overwhelmed with a mixture of love, protectiveness and then jealousy. Yes, jealousy. I was jealous that there was only so far I could go to understand and feel what she must be feeling. The pregnancy was hers and hers alone; I was more spectator than participant. I was feeling "womb envy" and, while it might seem disturbing, it was, to me, exhilarating and even a little liberating. I made a promise to myself that I would try to share as much of the experience as could be possible. Naturally, I would participate in all the Lamaze classes and preparations as I had done with my other children but this time, I would try to get as close as Amy would allow and could feel comfortable with. This baby could never physically spring from me but perhaps I could capture some of that emotionally fulfilling joy. I moved up to the head of the bed, covered us up, wrapped my arms around her and fell blissfully back to sleep.

During another off week, we brought Stevie, Sally, Mark and Deb out with us. One day, after a fabulous luncheon at Danny's amazing Norman Jaffe designed home on the ocean in Sagaponack, we went back to Emma's and we all ended up naked and fucking in the pool. What a way to live. Am I right?

Jimmy's benefit show in Montauk was fun and a lot of money was raised for the Wounded Warrior's but I had more fun on the Friday night before the show. A bunch of us decided to show up at The Stephen Talkhouse for an impromptu jam. The small crowd of one hundred (that's all the place holds) were thrilled when Jimmy Buffett, Billy Joel, Mick Jones, Garland Jeffreys, Paul Simon and I hit the stage. I'd alerted some of my old musician friends to be there with us and it tickled me to have Klyph Black, Gene Casey, Nancy Atlas and Jimmy and Mama Lee Lawlor up there with us. How we all fit on that little stage was a trip but we jammed like it was all new to us and we put on a great show. Thank God Drew stepped in to handle the sound. For our final number, "Johnny B. Goode", I got Peter, Phil and Nick on stage and, to me, it was like old times. I'm sure that the pictures that ended up all over the web attested to that.

Washington

Of all the shows, this one was the most prestigious. In the days before the show, most of us spent time walking the halls of Congress and badgering any elected official we could pigeonhole into doing more for the homeless and hungry. Fortunately, the press did a fine job of helping us state our case as well as publicizing our effort. I like to think that we were making a difference.

On the day before the show, many of us spent several hours touring the White House with the First Lady as our guide. I sheepishly admitted that it was second time there, the first having been at the request of President Nixon (I should admit that during that visit, I burned a roach in the bathroom!). The day culminated with a very relaxed informal dinner and an acoustic jam session. I must unfortunately report that the President cannot sing a lick.

Since this show was to be televised around the world, all the big names were there to perform. And while it made for good TV, for me, it was a long day. I spent large parts of it in my trailer behind the stage watching the video feed as they came in from different parts of the country. I enjoyed the thrill of the event and appreciated the President's kind words, but even as I stood in front of the mass of people on the Mall, I felt removed. Graham felt this too. It took Mark to remind us that this was the moment we had wrought and that we should revel in the moment. He was right, of course and his words, plus a healthy dollop of superb Willie Nelson herb, helped a lot.

Amy also made the day easier. Right after the President spoke, he was whisked away. Amy pulled me aside and said she had to speak to me immediately. She pulled me into our trailer and locked the door.

"Is something wrong? Is there something I should know?"

"Yes, there is. You have to know that I am very proud of you and that I need your hard cock in me right now!"

You know the saying, "If this van's a-rocking, don't come a knocking," right? Well, let me just say that as we left the van, we were greeted by a large ovation from our peers. Ronstadt called me "The Man Of The Year." (After the tour ended, she presented me with a mock-up Time Magazine cover.)

New York Again

These show's were excellent. Perhaps it is the pressure of playing in The Big Apple but here, the performance's shown. Springsteen was amazing and his duet with Dylan was even better than at the L.A. shows. I really enjoyed their duet on Pete Seeger's "Eyes On The Prize."

"Paul and Silas bound in jail

Had no money to go their bail

Keep your eyes on the prize

Hold on

Paul and Silas thought they was lost

Dungeon shook and the chains come off

Keep your eyes on the prize

Hold on

Freedom's name is mighty sweet

And soon we're gonna meet

Keep your eyes on the prize

Hold on

I got my hand on the gospel plow

Won't take nothing for my journey now

Keep your eyes on the prize

Hold on..."

There's a story I have to tell about the New York shows. I knew a secret that I could not share. I'd received a call a few days earlier from Eric Clapton's manager asking if it would all right if Eric made a surprise appearance insofar as he wanted to show his support for our tour. Would it be alright? I damn near shit. How could it not be alright? The deal was that Eric would come down to the sound check at the Garden and would find a place to step in but I was not allowed to leak it to anyone.

So, here we are at the sound check and because it was just about the end of the tour, everyone was pretty loose with band members intermingling on songs. After several hours of different band setups, a bunch of us started to jam. On the stage around me was Donald Fagen and Walter Becker, Sonny Landreth, John Mayer, Billy Gibbons, Levon Helm, Keltner, Cooder, Billy Joel, horns, singers, oh, God, it was a full house of magic. I left to take a leak and as I was returning, Eric walked in. Eyes were rolling backstage and I put my finger to my lips. I walked on stage and picked up my Tele. I joked to the players that we should just riff on an oldie and I started to play the riff of "Sunshine Of Your Love." Right away, Fagen started to lay down a very funky jazz groove and the song began to develop. Sunny and Walter got into a very hot riff when the sound of Clapton's guitar came dancing in. Sunny picked up on it immediately and began to chuckle. As Eric walked onto the stage, everything amped up. It was like a guitar army had just invaded with each feeding artist off each other and rolling toward the front lines. Nash and Leon Russell led the singers into funked up vocal part. I mean, this was fucking it, this was the final word, I mean, fuggetaboudit.

When we'd finally beat the song into submission, everyone onstage was screaming. Everyone was begging Eric to let us do it again during the show but, while thrilled at what had just one down, he seemed to brush us off. It was when Bruce Springsteen, Paul McCartney and Bob Dylan made the case to him that he agreed to come on during the encore and join a superstar band performance of the song. From that point, we referred to it as "The Wandering Dingleberrys" number.

Naturally, that night, it destroyed the crowd and made for one of most exciting events anyone can remember. As the curtain lifted, I announced that we wanted to try something a little different. I announced each star as they took their place on the stage. We set it up like a big "Wall of Sound" - all the bassists here, all the keyboards here, singers here, a line of percussion in the back. Fagen started to lay down a very funky yet unrecognizable riff. Springsteen took the mic and told a story about driving through Asbury Park when he was a kid and hearing a song on the radio, a song that changed his life. Steve Van Zandt picked up Fagen's riff and danced over it. Gibbons, Neil Young and I began to "chucka-chucka" as Sunny and Ry began to slither and slide. Soon the band/orchestra behind Leon and Billy morphed into the familiar strains and began to pick up speed. Springsteen narrated as he led each section in. Suddenly, he screamed, "Guitars!" and he began the classic riff. One by one, each guitarist stepped forward and riffed off it culminating in Eric walking onstage and bingo, that was it, a pure show-biz explosion. I will never again hear an audience sound like a million firecrackers ever again. Later on, Eric would say that it was the most fun he'd ever had playing "that old war horse."

I must hand it to McCartney. After we ended, there was no way we could walk off stage leaving the audience so insanely wound up. Paul called for "Let It Be" and made a short speech about 'doing the right thing." He started the song solo and let Billy Joel take the second verse. Everyone fell right into place. Leon Russell took a verse and morphed it into "Hey Jude" and that's how we ended the show, 'na-na-na-nah'-ing with the audience. Just the vision of all those stars singing that line and rocking from side to side was, for me, rock and roll heaven. As we made our way off, we could hear the crowds still singing on their way out. As I like to say, we are all fans.

Boston

This was a good way to end the tour, especially after the ultimate high of the New York shows. World Series fever was heating up and the Red Sox were in the thick of it battling the Yankees, of course, for first place. The city was manic with excitement and the entire tour line-up was offered the chance to sing the national anthem before the game. Fenway was insane that evening but when all the musicians were announced and we ran toward the mics set up around home plate, the noise level in that little bandbox exploded. As each artists name was announced, the roar increased. Naturally, local favorites like James Taylor, J. Geils, Tom Scholtz and Mark Wahlberg got the loudest cheers, the cheers were truly deafening when the Sox and the Yanks joined us on the field. The singing was so loud, I couldn't hear myself and that's a fact.

The show took place on the next night and the intensity was tremendous. Yankees and Sox players acted as hosts and I'm sure that helped pump up the crowd. It was good to see the players interact with each other reminding everyone that after all, Baseball is just a game. I think their handling of the crowd made all the performances better in that the quiet songs were listened to and well received and the louder songs enhanced the party atmosphere. Personally, I love to hear audiences singing along. On mellow tunes, it adds a texture to the sound. Amy says that it sounds like the songs are wrapped in velvet and I can certainly relate to that.

Perhaps because this was our final show on an immensely successful and long tour, the artists all crossed over into each other's sets. Simon, Garfunkel, Taylor and Nash were particularly excellent. Simon, Stills, McCartney and Harper was fun (especially the medley of "Bridge Over Troubled Water/Let It Be"). Buddy Guy, John Meyer, J. Geils, and Ry Cooder were especially hot. For me, the magical set was Amy Bieler Harper, Amy Ray and Amy Helm, as "The Amys", leading the audience in "Amazing Grace". Talk about chicken skin. This was a very fine way to end the tour. As we said our goodbyes, lots of hugs were squeezed and quite a few tears were shed. I know that for me, as well as for many other artists, this was the tour to end all tours.

We flew back to New York for a few days and spend the time with my girls. Angie and Amy seemed to develop a magical bond. While there, George called asking us to meet him at his home in Laglio on Lake Como and so, like on a lark, we made the trip over.

George and Sarah were the perfect hosts. Villa Oleandra is a beautiful place and the serenity was just what we needed. During one sunny day, George took around the Lake in his vintage Riva. Just the scent of the place had a calming affect. One night, we went to the Villa d'Este Cernobbio for an extravagant gastronomical feast. It's easy to put on a few pounds in Italy. On a shopping trip with Sarah, Amy bought me a beautifully inlaid madolino. One night, while sipping cognac on the terrace, George and I talked about everything under the sun: music, film, art, politics, you name it. He's a very smart man and I enjoy his company. On another night, he let me read a further draft of his script and while I enjoyed the drama of it, it made me a little queasy to read some of my words and anecdotes. Our trip ended too soon and we headed back to New York before heading on to Aspen. I would say that we were both well rested and it was a perfect way to finish our travels.

Home Again

Santo was overjoyed to see us. He jumped up high to kiss me and I caught him in my arms. I hugged him tight as he washed my face. He was so excited, he just ran around in circles, whimpering and letting out happy little yips. For the next few days, he was my shadow. At night, he jumped into our bed and slept (and farted) at our feet. Such a good dog. Such a buddy.

Big Chocolate sat off to the side of the driveway. There was a note attached to the front door that read, "Do Not Enter! At least not until I show you around! Elon". About a week after our return, Elon and Susan showed up and Elon was so excited to show us the renovations, we had to drag him inside the house first. But he could not be contained and soon, he was showing it off.