by Anne Carol
“Amazing. Now can you please take me to the loo?” I asked, with all the delicacy I could muster. My question had all the guys laughing, but I didn’t care at that point.
After I had the chance to use the ladies’ room—and let the deep blush fade from my cheeks—I thanked my husband profusely for arranging this meeting, and for the promise of another concert. All the grief and frustration from last night was forgotten. Thank you, God.
Being married to a rock star had its many challenges and drawbacks, but the benefits were numerous, this being one of them. I couldn’t wait to call Susie and tell her who I just met. She was obsessed with Duran Duran and would have fainted had she been in my shoes. It was a day I’d never forget.
London
May 1984
It’s so nice to be back in my own bed, even if I can’t sleep! I know I should at least try, but there’s too much on my mind, and the baby is putting pressure on my back. Somehow I need to find a position so I can get my rest. David’s not sleeping well either. He’s so nervous about becoming a father, and he watches me like a hawk. I worry about him. He’s running on empty, performing four to five times a week, doing public appearances, writing new songs, and taking care of me. It’s too much. I’m afraid he’s going to collapse.
Still, I thank God for him every day. His commitment to me is unwavering. We had a great time at the Duran Duran concert—we watched the whole concert from backstage! Unfortunately, we only greeted the band members in passing, but I have no right to complain after meeting them at the radio station. I’m still in awe that happened.
“What are you doing, cutie?” David crawled next to me in bed. He smelled of peppermint toothpaste and musky cologne. Plus a hint of tobacco.
I sniffed his shoulder. “Smoking again, Somers?”
He ran a hand through his hair and grimaced. “Guilty as charged. Are you going to punish me?” he teased.
My fist tightened unnaturally around my pen. “I should,” I grumbled. “I thought you were trying to quit.”
“I am.”
“Give me a break. You’re lighting up more than I’m visiting the loo, which is a lot these days. I don’t like it.”
He sighed, tracing his finger down my arm, making me shiver. “I’ll try harder. I promise.” His gaze, showing off his liquid brown eyes, softened my irritation. Carefully pulling the journal from my lap, he murmured, “Will you kiss me?”
I shook my head. “You have too much charm for your own good.” Flinging the pen on the bed, I cupped his face and kissed him deeply.
“Mmm…” he groaned.
Sudden pain ripped through me, and I let go. “Ouch!” I gripped my back and lay on my side.
David hovered over me. “Where does it hurt?”
“My back. Can you rub it, please?”
“Of course.” He gently ran his hand down my spine and then massaged my lower back. Instant relief.
“Thank you, honey. I’m sorry if I ruined a moment there.” His body language told me he’d wanted more than kisses.
“Beth, you didn’t ruin anything.”
“I just feel bad that I can’t…you know.”
He wrapped his arms around me and tugged me closer. “Sweet girl, if all you can give me right now are a few stolen kisses or a lovely smile, it’ll be enough.”
I let myself sink into his arms, smiling and feeling like the most beautiful woman in the world.
“I look fat.” I stared at my reflection in the mirror.
“Rubbish. You look pregnant. Very pregnant,” Jenny stated with wide eyes.
“Oh, just admit it. I look like I’m about to give birth, even though I have four weeks to go. Nothing looks good on me anymore.” For a second, I contemplated going to my baby shower wearing a bathrobe. It wouldn’t look much worse than the tent I was currently wearing, and at least I’d be comfortable.
The baby chose that moment to kick, as though reminding me of what mattered. You’re right, baby. I’m just glad you’re big and healthy.
Jenny came up behind me and fluffed up the waves in my shoulder-length hair. “Beth, you’re gorgeous. David sure thinks so with the way he looks at you.” She smiled at me in the mirror. “Now come on, we have to get over to the church. Everyone’ll be waiting.”
My due date was less than a month away, so nursery set-up was in full swing. Margaret’s church friends offered to throw me a baby shower to help us stock up on needed items. Even though I felt like I took up half the reception hall, it was a lovely afternoon. The ladies made tea sandwiches and biscuits (as they called cookies). They were excited to fuss over me and watch me open gifts. Everyone “oohed and ahhed” over the cute baby clothes and handmade blankets. I was flattered some of these ladies took the time and effort to make them. I also got some practical items, like bibs, burp cloths, bath toys, and diapers. Lots of diapers. With all the baby things at my feet, the reality was setting in that a little one would soon be joining us. It was bittersweet because I couldn’t help thinking about the baby we never got to bring home. But God was softening that heartache by blessing us with a new life.
Margaret saved one gift for last: an embroidered sampler picturing a teddy bear and the quote, “Children are a gift from heaven.”
Tears pricked my eyes. “Oh, I love it.”
“I’ve left space so I can add his or her name and the birthdate. Then you can frame it and hang it in the nursery.”
“Thank you so much.” I got up from my seat and hugged her.
By the end of the week, most of my shower items had found their homes. Brooke announced I was in “nesting mode” after watching me fold baby clothes and stack diapers. She and Don had welcomed a boy, Joshua Frederik, two months earlier, and were still adjusting to life with two little ones.
She yawned. “Beth, you should really take it easy. It’ll be a long night.” Josh was asleep in his baby seat, and she rocked him with her foot. Meanwhile, Emma played quietly with her blocks nearby.
“I guess we both should. You’re going, right?” Vinyl Fog had a gig that night, and Brooke had been hit and miss on if she was going to attend since having the new baby. She said it was hard with Emma wanting to run around while she needed to nurse Josh.
“Yeah, Don’s mom is watching Emma.”
“Good.” Now it was my turn to yawn. “I’m wiped out.” I put down the stack of onesies. “I’m going to put my feet up.”
“Go ahead. Emma’s happy for now, so when she gets antsy, I can let myself out.”
“Okay. See you later, Brooke.”
She waved, and I headed toward my bedroom and slept until it was time to get ready to go.
Dressing for concert gigs was getting trickier, with my expanding waistline. No more cute, sexy tops and slim fitting jeans. Now I wore either a dress or one of David’s T-shirts. Tonight I chose a black Vinyl Fog shirt and my maternity jeans. Heels were not happening, so black Converse took their place, though I couldn’t tie the laces. David had taken over that job a few weeks ago when he’d seen me attempting to reach my feet. He’d laughed and rushed over. “I got it, angel. I don’t want you toppling over.”
“Very funny,” I’d said, though he was right to be concerned. My balance was now completely off, so I wasn’t too proud to take his help.
On the drive over to the concert hall in the limo, David kept his hand on my tummy, kissing it every so often. “You getting tired of running around to these gigs?” He trailed a finger down my face.
“No. Why? Do I look tired?”
“A bit.”
“Well, I’m carrying a few extra pounds, so I’m moving slower. But I still want to be with you.” I stroked his fingers with my thumb.
He smiled. “And I want you with me, as long you don’t overdo it.” He gripped my chin and spoke firmly, “Please tell me if you’re not up to going out, you understand?”
“Trying to get rid of me?”
“Never. You know I want my number one fan with me.”
I pointed
to my stomach. “Number two is in here. She seems to enjoy your music.”
“She?”
I shrugged. “I’ve been feeling more and more like this is a girl. But who knows?” I turned to him. “Would you be okay with a girl?”
He brightened. “A little girl would be wonderful. A boy would be fine, too. I just want him or her to be healthy. And to love punk rock.” He gave me his goofy grin.
“You always have to throw that in, don’t you? This kid might end up being a Barry Manilow fan.”
“Please, don’t say that.” He bent down and spoke to my stomach. “Your mother was just kidding, baby. Don’t listen to her.”
I started giggling and couldn’t stop. David’s opinions about music never failed to entertain me, even when he wasn’t trying to be funny. “Oh no,” I said, feeling that now familiar urge. “This part of pregnancy is getting old.”
He put on a straight face. “I’ll try not to make you laugh.” But then he smirked.
More laughter came, and I was getting uncomfortable. “Stop.” I playfully punched his arm. “I didn’t bring a change of clothes, you know.”
“Aww.” He took me in his arms and kissed my forehead. “Sorry, sweet girl. We’re almost there. You’ll make it.”
I tried to relax by studying my husband’s gorgeous fingers, bumpy with callouses and scars. Bringing his hands up to kiss them, I uttered a silent prayer over his performance. Hearing him play guitar would never get old, and I felt so blessed I was able to accompany him on his tours and gigs. The baby would be joining us on the second leg of his American tour, and I knew that would be a whole new adventure for us.
Once at the venue, I hung out in the tuning room with David. My skin prickled as I watched him take care of his guitars. The sight of him painstakingly tuning each instrument sent a flutter through my belly. He’s so handsome, and later, once he starts playing on stage…oh boy.
As if he knew what I was thinking, he smiled at me with a glint in his eyes. “You good, doll?” He hung the guitar on the rack.
“Yeah, just enjoying the pre-show.” I grinned. “That was the Telecaster, right?” I asked, pointing to the solid black, curvy electric guitar.
“Indeed.” He raised his eyebrows. “You’re learning your guitars. Now, can you identify them by sound?”
I bit my bottom lip and shook my head. “Not sure. I’m working on it.”
“Can’t wait to teach the baby.” He picked up the next guitar, a Gibson something-or-other.
“I think the baby will come out knowing the differences.” I pointed out. “I’ve been listening to you tune for months. Right, baby?” I patted my belly.
He watched me for a moment and then began plucking the strings. I hushed so he could concentrate on getting the right sound. Leaning back in the chair, a dull ache rolled over my mid-section. The pain was similar to a menstrual cramp, and I instinctively rubbed my stomach. When the pain grew sharper, I winced, shifting in the metal chair. My eyes began watering, so I shut them to stave off tears. God, what’s happening?
“What’s the matter?” David’s voice was tender, yet strained. I heard the hum of a guitar as he hooked it on the rack. The rustling of his leather pants made me open my moist eyes. He knelt in front of me, hands on my knees and eyebrows pinched together.
God, what do I tell him? I don’t even know what I felt. “This baby of yours is kicking the life out of me,” I lied, wiping away my tears. “Wow, that was a whopper.”
He cupped my stomach and spoke to our unborn child. “We’re going to have a chat when you come out of there. Your mum is in pain, little one. Ease up.”
The ache subsided, thank goodness, and I laughed, tousling his hair. “That worked.”
“Goodness, maybe he’ll be a football player, rather than a musician!”
“You never know…”
David stood up, gesturing for me to take his hands. I grasped them and let him pull me up. He brushed his lips against mine in a tender kiss. Tapping my nose with the back of his finger, he studied me. “You let me know if you’re feeling more than kicks, got it? You had tears in your eyes. I’m concerned.”
“Don’t be. I’m fine.” I waved my hand, shooing him away. “Now finish tuning your axes.”
Brooke and I sat side stage during the show, and though I hadn’t felt any more cramps, I wondered if I should ask her what those were and if I should be worried. I’d read up on every detail of pregnancy, but experiencing symptoms was different from reading about them. After this song, I told myself, since Brooke seemed carried away with the tune, which had a heavy bass rhythm.
But then the cramping started again, giving me no choice. “Ah!” A stab of pain made me double over.
“Beth? Are you cramping?” Brooke asked as she repositioned Josh to her shoulder.
“Yes, and it’s bad.”
Just then my eyes connected with David’s, and he did a double-take when he saw me clutching my mid-section. Not wanting him to be distracted, I drew in a deep breath and willed the pain away. I couldn’t stop the pain, though, or the frequent glances from David.
Another pinch and I grabbed my back. “Ouch!”
“Oh dear, let’s take a walk,” Brooke said with a wavering voice.
With her free hand, she helped me to my feet. The pain subsided, but I made a mental note to track how often the cramps hit. My due date was three weeks away, but I was well aware that babies didn’t always stick to the plan. This, however, was not the ideal time for labor to begin. David was probably going crazy right now, after seeing Brooke lead me away from our seats.
Backstage, we passed by Pete’s fiancé, Daphne, who was paying no attention to the concert, but instead, was knee deep in a conversation with the lead singer of the opening band. She batted her fake eyelashes and rested her hand on his shoulder. “Oh, boy,” I muttered. I nudged Brooke and discretely pointed out Daphne’s behavior, but stilled when I heard loud shrieks coming from the audience—and not the typical excited fan shrieks.
“What was that?” Brooke asked, eyes wide as saucers.
We hurried over to the side stage and gasped at the mayhem. Band members and crew were on the floor in front of the stage, while security guards held back the crowds.
“Call an ambulance!” someone shouted.
In the jumble of people on the floor, I spotted Martin, Don, Trevor, and Pete, but no David. When Don met my confused gaze, he shouted, “Beth! Come quickly!”
My heart thundered as one of the crewmen helped me down the side stairs, through the gathering of men, and over to my husband, who was lying on the floor in a heap.
“DAVID!” I carefully knelt down beside him. He was conscious, but barely, and the way he’d landed on the floor made me wonder how much pain he was in. “David, I’m here.” I stroked his face.
“Beth.” His eyes flashed wide open and then closed as his face twisted. “The baby…” he started, but couldn’t get the words out.
Sobs came up from my throat, and my body began shaking. Someone took me by the shoulders. “Breathe, Beth.” It was Brooke. “The medics are here. You’ll need to move aside.”
I knew I needed to let the medics in, but I froze in place. My husband was seriously hurt, and I found myself gasping for breath.
Brooke held me. “Beth, you need to relax.”
A jab hit my stomach, and I doubled over. “Oh!”
“Beth!” she cried.
Suddenly I was on the ground, surrounded by strangers, while someone put a clear mask over my face. “Breathe, honey,” a male voice urged.
“I c-can’t,” I mumbled, just before darkness took over.
“Can I see her now?” I asked for about the hundredth time to whoever was listening. My side ached like the dickens, and my head pounded, but what hurt worse was being kept away from Beth. “I need to see her,” I groaned. What a complete wally, tripping and falling off that stage.
Don was sitting beside the hospital bed, absent Brooke. “Relax, David, Brook
e’s with her. You took a hard fall, and I’m not sure the nurse wants you moving quite yet.”
“You sure she and the baby are in no danger?”
“I promise. Now don’t get rattled.”
A knot formed in my stomach. “She must have been so scared, seeing me like that.” My throat tightened.
“She’s fine, David.” He put his hand out. “Yes, she had quite a fright, but they gave her oxygen, and now she’s resting.”
I faintly recalled the image of Beth passed out with a mask over her face. That was the last I saw of her before I was hauled away on a stretcher. “I need to hold her.”
Don looked me over and grimaced. “Let me get the nurse. Just don’t move. You’re in no condition to walk, mate.”
“No worries there.” The bandage around my ribs kept me from moving freely, not to mention my wrapped sprained ankle and the knot on my head. I was a piece of work.
While I waited for Don to fetch a nurse, I uttered a silent prayer for Beth and the baby. Relief fell over me when a short, dark-haired nurse came in, took my vitals, and deemed me well enough to visit my wife. She helped me into a wheelchair and carted me out of the room, with Don following.
“Where is everyone?” I asked, taking in the silent corridor.
“Everyone but Morris, Brooke, and I headed home. Didn’t fancy attracting a crowd of hangers-on.”
I shoved a hand through my hair, groaning when I touched the bump on my head. “Can’t believe I ruined a concert.”
“It’ll give us some press. That never hurts.”
“Good point. As long as they don’t blame drugs or alcohol for my tumble. It was sheer clumsiness.”
“Don’t worry about that. People will say what they say. We know the truth. And I understand, as a father, how distracted you are right now.”
Yes, quite distracted. “Can this chair move any faster?” I implored the nurse.
“Not too much, Mr. Somers,” she said, accelerating a touch.
We descended two floors and traveled down another hallway until we finally arrived at a room with the door ajar. Beth lay on the bed, and Brooke was in a chair beside her, cradling her son. A belt was strapped around Beth’s midsection, and a machine beeped steadily, likely the baby’s heart rate. I blew out a heavy breath. Baby’s doing well.