I said, “I mean right now.”
She smiled and said, “Right now.”
“Let’s go.”
Blissfully, we ate breakfast, trying to figure out the quickest way to get married. We couldn’t do it in L.A. because L.A. required blood tests, and blood tests meant waiting days for the results. Fuck that.
We found out that Vegas had no blood test requirement, so Vegas was the place. We jumped into the Mustang and raced over to Antiquarius, an estate jewelry store in Beverly Hills, where we each picked an antique ring. Then we drove straight to LAX and bought two tickets on PSA, whose airplanes had a smile on the nose. By late afternoon, we were in Vegas.
After hailing the first cab we saw, I asked the driver to drop us at the best marriage chapel. He laughed, saying if we only knew how many times he’d been given this exact same request.
Remember—Lisa was one of the biggest stars in the country, her show a staple in tens of millions of American homes. We were lucky the paparazzi, not nearly as aggressive back then as now, hadn’t shown up.
The cabbie dropped us off at the Chapel of Love, a neon storefront. The owner, who was not dressed as Elvis, gave us a playlist to choose from. We picked the Beatles’ “In My Life.” The ceremony was quick and cheesy, but who cares? It was beautiful. We were married! We’d done it! And we’d done it without attracting the world’s attention. Or so we thought.
A few days later, we learned that the Chapel of Love owner had sold the news to the National Enquirer, along with a copy of our marriage certificate.
But on that magical night, we were carefree. We were in newlywed heaven. We made out in the backseat of the cab. We made out in the last row of the PSA flight back to L.A. As far as our spontaneous neon Vegas wedding went, we made out beautifully.
Now we had to tell our parents.
* * *
We called Lisa’s mom, Arlene, whom I loved. Although she was shocked, she gave us her blessing. But what was the best way to tell my mother? I knew it wouldn’t be that easy. We invited her to Chianti, a quiet Italian restaurant on Melrose that we thought she’d like.
We arrived first and discussed how we would break the news. We thought it would be really cute if we inserted the marriage certificate in the menu, a couple of pages in, so that when my mother was deciding what to eat, she’d find the big surprise, and then we’d all celebrate.
Mom arrived impeccably dressed, as usual. She gave me a hug and kissed Lisa on the cheek. We made easy small talk. The conversation flowed. Then it was time to order.
Mom opened the menu.
She browsed.
She turned one page.
Then another.
Her eyes narrowed.
She studied the piece of paper. Was it a list of tonight’s specials?
She picked it up to study it closely.
Then came a gasp. A gasp that I will never forget. It was a gasp from the depths of her very being.
And without a word, she got up and left the restaurant.
Lisa and I just looked at each other.
I knew what I had done. I had fucked up. In my excitement in rushing to marry the girl of my dreams, I hadn’t given any thought to how Mom would react. I had excluded her not only from the ceremony, but from the decision itself. I’d never consulted her. I was her only child, and my marriage was a big deal to her. I had acted impetuously, not properly, and with no consideration for Mom I’d run off to Vegas, cutting her out of one of the monumental moments of my life. I might as well have slapped her in the face.
Lisa and I quickly got up from the table and ran outside to find her. When we got out onto the street, Mom was already driving off in her car. We ran down the block, jumped into our car, and followed her. I needed to explain, to undo the damage. At the very least, I needed to apologize.
But before I could catch her, I heard a siren, looked in the rearview window, and saw the blinking red-and-blue lights. Shit. The cops. We pulled over. Maybe it was because I was a Black man driving a super-slick Mustang, but whatever the reason, the officer gave me a hard time.
At the moment he became super-aggressive, who should show up but Roxie Roker. She’d seen me pulled over and, as the Black mother of a Black son, she’d been alarmed. She addressed the officer in her regal, no-nonsense way. She wanted to know why I’d been pulled over.
Speeding.
Fine, said Mom. Give him a citation and release him immediately. The cop wrote the ticket and left. Without looking at either Lisa or me, Mom left as well.
* * *
Lisa and I were up almost all night. I felt like shit. I’d alienated the mother I so dearly loved. Being young and foolish is fine. Getting married on a whim is fine. But did I have to do it in a way that hurt my mother?
The only recourse was to drive over to Cloverdale the very next day. By then, Mom had calmed down and was willing to hear us out. We apologized. We knew she felt disrespected, and we explained that had not been our intention. It wasn’t an easy conversation, but it was civil. It would take a while for the wound to heal. Finally, though, Mom acknowledged the love between me and Lisa. In due time, she and my wife grew close.
Dad was another deal entirely. When Lisa and I called him with the news, his reaction was to laugh and say it would never last.
Wow.
Still, nothing could bring us down. The two of us had to be the happiest people on planet Earth.
* * *
Back to work and the decision that had been hanging over my head: Was I going to commit full time to our band and accept the deal offered by Capitol Records? It should have been a no-brainer—except that my brain kept saying no. My brain kept hearing songs inspired by my love for Lisa and this new spirit she’d brought to my life. These songs had nothing to do with this band, no matter how great the band had become.
Raf told me that their deal was contingent on my being the lead singer. “Bro, it’s your voice on the demos. What are we supposed to do now?”
All I could say was that I was sorry, but I was out.
At this point, I was getting a reputation. It was nuts. There I was, working my ass off for months—rehearsing, showcasing, outfitting—only to blow it off at the very moment it really mattered. What was my problem?
The guys were furious. And I understood why. We’d put in so much time together. Yet meeting Lisa had rearranged everything about me. She had become my muse. She had me writing in ways I’d never written before.
I quit the band. Fortunately, soon after, they found another singer, Robi Rosa, later known as Draco. He’d left Menudo, the superstar boy band with Ricky Martin, where Robi sang lead on their biggest hit, “Hold Me.”
The new lineup eventually made an album for Capitol and toured with Fishbone and Faith No More. They called themselves Maggie’s Dream, also the title of their first and only album. Ironically, the name came from a book about aspirational African Americans, Maggie’s American Dream, written by Dr. James Comer, a friend of Mom’s from Howard University, who had visited us years earlier at Cloverdale.
* * *
Lisa was excited about my decision to go solo. We talked about the artistic process.
Things that are authentic and organic take the time they take.
New life has a rhythm of its own.
“LISA BONET IS PREGNANT, BUT DENISE HUXTABLE IS NOT”