American Outlaw - Jesse James [125]
Before I met Sandy, I’d romanticized the stable, calm married life: the idea of me finally growing up. But now I missed leaning up against the fence at the dragster races in Pomona, laughing, talking shit, cracking jokes with my no-good friends. Too many people knew me now. I couldn’t escape. Not even for an instant. Hell, I didn’t even have most of those old friends anymore. They all thought I’d pissed on them, gone Hollywood.
Mentally at a loss, desperate for something to make me feel like I had some sense of freedom, I ran through the list of things I could do to assert my independence over my life. Infidelity, unfortunately, was at the top of the list.
——
Sex is strange. For men, it’s on our minds every minute of the day. It’s what gets us out of bed in the morning; it’s the gold at the end of our rainbow. Sex is part of what makes us fall in love with a woman. It’s also part of what keeps us perpetually alone.
Ever since I had gained even a moderate amount of fame, I’d had women offering themselves to me—online, in person, and over the phone. I say that not to brag, but to tell you the truth about what fame does. I’m not special, by any means: the same thing happens to every man who makes his living in professional sports, music, television, movies, or politics. It’s part of what motivates men to strive to be famous in the first place. After all, when you take money out of the equation, what’s the point of being famous besides having your pick of attractive partners?
Throughout my life, I’d always had opportunities to hop on the train. But from the groupies at the concerts to the biker chicks who crowded our booth in Daytona, I’d mostly said thanks, but no thanks. It’s not because I was a great person; it’s just my nature to get emotionally caught up with the women I’m involved with. I’m into sex, but contrary to whatever biker stereotype got built up around me, sex is mostly a cerebral experience for me. If there’s no personal connection there, then it’s sort of pointless.
But with that said: I still did it. I screwed around behind Sandy’s back, and the whole world came to know about it.
I can’t go back, and I can’t save my marriage. What I can do is try to understand why I did it.
When Sandy and I first fell in love, I was so overjoyed to be with a woman who was obviously a superb person. And on the flip side of that same coin, I think part of what got her excited about being with me was my “bad boy” image. Opposites really do attract. During the initial period of our romance, we were carried along on the wave of the good we so clearly saw in each other: kindness, a willingness to give affection, our physical attraction, and a strong feeling of safeness we got from each other. But as we got to know each other better, I think we both came to realize that we really were a bit oddly matched. Sandy wasn’t rich, but she came from a stable, middle-class family—she’d grown up singing in a choir with her mom. I’d grown up with a dad who sent me a hooker in the middle of the day.
After Janine and I had split for good, a whole bunch of my friends had commented on how rash my decision to marry her had been. “Man, you thought you and Janine could make it work? You must have been high.” But weren’t Sandy and I almost an odder combination? I mean, I knew I could count on Sandy not to punch me in the face for snaking her parking space. But that didn’t mean we liked to do any of the same activities, or that the things that motivated me would do the same for her.
The more important factor, though, was the fact that I’d grown up in an environment where love hadn’t been shown to me on a regular basis. My dad had torn me down every time he could, and my mom had been pretty absent. Now I had a great woman who was telling me she loved me, but that didn’t mean I was in any shape to believe her. Sandy was an actress, after all. I think in the back of my mind, I always told myself she was pretending.
I never really trusted Sandy. It’s shameful