Anybody wanna buy a pair of diamond-studded, white-gold wedding bands?
Throughout Hollywood Elsewhere’s 13-year history I’ve riffed about everything in my life except the personal. I’ve always left that stuff alone. Okay, there was an allusion or two to an earth-shaking seven-month affair that happened in 2013, and a riff about a two-and-a-half-year affair with a married People journalist that happened between January ’98 and October 2000. But otherwise I’ve kept a lid on it.
But as I’ve recently written about a whirlwind romance with the SRO — domestic serenity, trips, hiking journeys, a strong partnership, wedding bands, a marriage ceremony planned for last Friday on La Piedra State Beach — it would be flat-out dishonest and inconsistent to lie about the current reality. I won’t perpetuate a fiction in order to save myself from looking like a fool. And man, do I ever feel like one.
Love affairs aren’t easy. Sometimes they can dwindle or detonate at the drop of a hat. When you’re caught up in strong emotions, which are always tied to deep-seated longings about what you’ve always wanted and what might be if fortune smiles…well, anything can happen.
What happened is that the SRO and I decided to get married two or three weeks ago. I explained it all in a 4.24 piece called “High Dive,” but the idea was a basic trade-off — I, having fallen, would provide and protect and do what I could in terms of easing her transition into U.S. society (marriage, green card, immigration) and I in turn would get a feeling of hope and order and vibrancy that would counterbalance the reality of the calendar, and what felt to me like a profound partnership with someone who’s smart, loyal, disciplined and very practical. I know a top-grade partner when I meet one. The SRO is as good as my ex-wife Maggie in many respects. Solid values, sensible, focused, a good heart.
Four days ago we went downtown to buy our wedding rings. We were two days from tying the knot on the beach. Marriage wasn’t necessary for me, but I was okay with it. And it didn’t scare me in the least. It felt right. Plus I figured I had done so much for her that if we ever divorced she wouldn’t dream of asking for spousal support. I’d been too generous for that. Plus she’s a seasoned, well-referenced sales executive in the prime of her life (only 42) who would most likely find her professional footing after obtaining her green card, certainly within a year or two, and that she might even match my income within two or three years.
Had I thought about some kind of pre-nup? Yes, but I kept putting it off because I sensed trouble. Earlier this week I was telling myself, “C’mon, you have to face up to this.” So I devised a dumb plan. Clueless as this sounds, I was thinking we could tap out a few terms and conditions a few hours before the wedding, and then get it notarized, sign it and be done. If Rock Hudson can marry Doris Day as she’s about to give birth in Lover Come Back (“Man, that’s what I call cutting it close“), why couldn’t we do the same with a pre-nup?
Yes, I live in my own realm. Most of the time it intersects with reality and things are fine, but sometimes it doesn’t.