Clapton_ The Autobiography - Eric Clapton [132]
My mother’s passing was difficult, for everyone. A dreadful dilemma was created, as it wasn’t really clear among any of the family whether she was truly aware of her plight, that she might be dying. I went looking for a counselor in the hospital to see if this had been broached with her. When I was told that the subject had not been discussed, I said I thought it was important that we talk to her about it. I tried to instigate a discussion, with the counselor present, but Pat didn’t want to know. As much as we tried to introduce the reality of her situation to her, she clung on to the notion that she was going to get better. So we went along with it.
After I returned to my hotel, a call came to say that she’d had another attack and gone into a coma. We all went back to the hospital, and they told us that she’d signed papers saying that if things became bad, she did not wish to be resuscitated. We were all sitting there with her when she died, but it was very traumatic, because I don’t think she was fully aware of her predicament, and at the last minute she resisted. She didn’t want to let go. It was very painful, and it left me, and I think my sisters, too, angry and frustrated. I am still haunted by the sadness and loneliness of her last minutes. I really believe it’s important for people, at that stage of their departure, to know exactly what is going on, but what we have had to honor and accept was, whatever her reasons, that was the way she wanted it. I flew back to the West Coast and went into a sort of emotional blackout.
For a while I was mooching around in a state of shock until the necessity of organizing the Crossroads fund-raiser with Lili snapped me out of it. The idea was that I would donate a number of guitars—one hundred, to be precise—from my lifetime’s collection, to an auction at Christie’s, New York. First of all, however, forty of them would be previewed at a gala in Hollywood to be thrown by Giorgio Armani, who was a master party giver. The event took place at Quixote Studios in West Hollywood on the evening of June 12. The enormous space had been converted into a vast Moroccan tent. It was a fantastic party. Moroccan food was served, and the guest list of five hundred was sprinkled with movie stars. The evening included a concert given by Jimmie Vaughan and his band, with me jamming, as ever.
I had gone to the party with two dates, a couple of glamorous West Coast ladies whom I didn’t know very well, and was feeling very detached and numb, which is how I usually feel at big gatherings anyway. Suddenly a very beautiful girl, who was one of the staff showing people to their tables, came up to me with her friend and asked if she could have her picture taken with me. She said her name was Melia, and her friend was Satsuki. It was clearly against the rules, as staff had been instructed not to fraternize with the guests, but something about Melia got to me right away. I think it was her smile, so totally open and genuine, so I said I’d have my picture taken with them if I could take them both out to dinner the following night. They giggled and said yes, and we made a date. I left alone a little while later and looked back to try to see Melia in the crowd. I found her, our eyes locked, and I got that smile again. I can think of many times when this has happened in my life, but there was always some kind of device employed, seduction, aloof indifference, some act, some angle. This was different. It just felt honest, and great.
The following day, I dropped round the Emporio Armani store in LA, where Melia and Satsuki worked, and took them to lunch, and after that the three of us dated for about a month and had fun. We went to restaurants and openings together and were generally seen around town, and tongues soon began to wag, for good reason I suppose, since both these ladies were half my age. There was nothing sexual in it yet, however. We were just having the time of our lives. I didn’t care much what people thought then. It wasn’t supposed to be