March 7, 1997
ZANE
The band was back together. Three quarters of them, anyway.
The truth was The Vows weren’t The Vows anymore.
Not without the boy who’d dreamed up the entire thing in a canvas tent in Zane’s backyard all those years ago.
But it felt good to play again, and to sing.
They picked up a studio musician, Otis Greer, who they’d worked with in the past. He would take Mike’s place at the concert, and they’d had three practice sessions with him.
Otis was a solid bass player. He was versatile and quiet, and he’d lost a few friends along the way, so he knew what the guys were going through.
Well, what he thought they were going through.
The documentary crew from Behind the Music had come to their first session, hoping to get some footage of the guys struggling to go on without Mike. They had gotten what they came for.
Today was a day that Zane had been dreading.
In preparation for the concert, the guys were all meeting at the Dwyers’ to choose photos for the slide show.
Kitty had kept nearly every photo ever taken of the band—discarded shots from professional photographers, along with pictures taken in their early years on Polaroids and Kodak Instamatics.
She had an entire closet dedicated to the band, safely tucked away in a guest room that never got used.
So she and Rusty hauled the boxes out and set them up on the kitchen table (the dining room was still a model train paradise), and Zane drove over with a box of doughnuts to help get them through it.
Kitty opened the door and ushered Zane into the house. “Hey, you. Glad you could make it.”
“Thanks for doing this.”
“Of course,” she said, leading him to the kitchen.
The sight of dozens of boxes labeled with the years on them hit Zane hard. It was their entire history. And they could never go back to the way things were. His expression must have shown what he was thinking, because Kitty wrapped an arm around his shoulder.
“This is going to be tough,” Zane said in a low voice.
“Yes, it will,” she answered. “But it’ll be good for you. You can’t outrun grief so you might as well welcome it in for a while.”
Zane’s nose tingled. “Yeah, I suppose that’s a lesson we should learn from Mike.”
Rusty brought him a coffee. “It’s still going to suck balls to do this.”
The security system buzzed, and Kitty let go of Zane. “That’ll be the other guys.”
As soon as she left, Zane took the mug from Rusty. “Got any Bailey’s to go in this?”
“It’s already in there.”
The next few hours were the most vulnerable Zane had allowed for himself in his entire life. The men laughed and cried and talked about how they couldn’t believe how young they once were and ‘do you remember that day? It was the best.’
Zane opened a box marked 1975 - 1980, and the first picture he pulled out was of the four of them on Steven’s wedding day, all of them in matching blue tuxedos with ruffled shirts. He chuckled and held it up for the other guys to see. Everyone other than Steven laughed at their outfits.
“We look very dapper,” Rusty said.
“Remember how hungover we were?” Zane asked.
Steven narrowed his eyes. “Remember how you brought a date even though your wife was there?”
MAY 1976
LOS ANGELES, CALIFORNIA
ZANE
There’s a template for life built into each society that determines one’s path before they’re born.
The guardrails that provide both the comforts and constrictions that most people accept without a second thought.
College or vocational school. Get a job.
Fall in and out of love a few times. Marry the right girl.
Buy a house. Have a couple of kids. Get a dog.
Save up to take the wife to Acapulco for your anniversary so you can actually get laid again like you used to when you were in your twenties.
Bury the dog. Finally send the kids off to college and have the house to yourself again, but by this time, you’re too tired and creaky to care much about getting laid.
Retire. Move to Florida. Take up golf. Wonder why you ever enjoyed sex in the first place.
Replace golf with fishing. Replace fishing with sitting on a bench and throwing breadcrumbs for the ducks. Die.
But there’s no template for the outliers—the ones who get famous or rich (or rich and famous).
There are only fantasies and cautionary tales.
So, when a guy finds himself in this fortunate position, he has to wing it as best he can.
There’s no school to attend to inform you of the pitfalls that come with too much power and too much freedom.
No mentors or books to offer lessons in ego management.
Because of this, most men screw it up at some point or another.
Over the first almost ten years of the band’s existence, the members of The Vows were no exception.
Today would be another opportunity to fail.
All four men stood side-by-side in the dappled sunlight of the private garden of the Hotel Bel-Air wearing matching baby blue tuxedos and bow ties.
They were sporting long hair, unkempt beards, and big bushy sideburns that Steven’s mother said weren’t suitable for a formal occasion (but at least their tattoos were hidden for the day, which was something, she supposed).
Steven was pale and nervous, tugging on his collar and mopping his brow as they waited for his bride-to-be, Miriam, to appear.
It was a perfect May afternoon for a wedding, complete with a light breeze that smelled of spring flowers.
But the four men, along with Steven’s brother, Ken (a bus driver whose short hair and sideburns were appropriate for any occasion), had partied too hard the night before, and now their eyes squinted as much from their hangovers as they did from the brilliance of the blue sky above.
One hundred-twenty guests (a strange mix of family members of the happy couple and celebrities) sat in white folding chairs on the grass, dressed in their finest clothing.
But Zane didn’t bother to look at anyone but Sienna, who was in the third row next to a very pregnant Kitty.
He and Sienna had been together for five months, and he fell for her again every single time he glanced in her direction, which was several hundred times a day.
This would prove to be somewhat problematic today, since technically, he was still married, and his wife, Angela, (whom he already was calling his ex) was one of the bridesmaids, having grown close to the bride during her courtship with Steven.
Sienna wasn’t gazing back at Zane, though.
She was chewing on her perfect pouty bottom lip while glancing over her shoulder in anticipation of the bridal party’s arrival.
She looked upset and unsure of herself, which gave Zane an urgent, uncomfortable feeling, like swimmer’s itch, except of his soul instead of his skin.
He was desperate to fix it for her—a reassuring smile or maybe his bedroom eyes accompanied by a little wink—but there was no way he could do that now because the wedding march started and the first of the four bridesmaids was making her way up the aisle.
The chubby one whose name he could never remember.
She gripped the bouquet of yellow roses and baby’s breath with tight fists while glaring directly at him. This didn’t bode well for Zane since she was the nice one.
“Told you not to bring her,” Mike murmured, barely moving his lips.
“It’ll be fine. Angela won’t care,” Zane answered.
“Jesus, this is going to go so bad, isn’t it?” Steven muttered, maintaining a tight smile. “You couldn’t have just…?”
Steven stopped mid-sentence, but Zane knew what he meant.
His decision to bring Sienna might jeopardize his wedding.
Maybe even set the wrong tone for his marriage.
But he wouldn’t say it. He’d leave it alone because Steven understood drummers are replaceable.
Not that Zane had ever threatened to fire him.
But the power dynamic had shifted in his favor through no fault of his own.
Although recently, he found himself taking advantage of it a little more.
Over the last few years, it had become apparent which one of them was the sun and who merely orbited around him.
Zane was not only the band’s frontman and main songwriter (which meant he had the most cash) but was also by far the most recognizable of the group—suffering screaming fans and paparazzi everywhere he went.
Well, not suffering so much as enjoying it immensely.
The seeds of trouble had been scattered in fertile ground four years earlier when they won their first Grammy.
It was also the year The Vows surpassed Credence Clearwater Revival as the biggest band in the world.
(Wolfman Jack had balked, saying that it was only because CCR broke up, but Zane knew the truth.
They were destined for the top. And they would stay there a good long time.) They were riding high as they took the stage that night.
Zane hogged the microphone for their entire allotted time thanking his parents for their faith in him and his beautiful wife, Angela, for her undying devotion and support.
None of this would be possible without you, baby.