CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
In the summer of 1982, Allison married Steve Fisher. Kate joined the Leonettis for the wedding. A few months later, Allie announced that she was pregnant.
A year later, Kate graduated from UCLA. She and Bobby married soon after. At Kate’s insistence, they had only a modest ceremony and reception and donated what a lavish wedding would have cost to several charities.
Kate and Bobby had considered getting their own place but ultimately decided that it made more sense to live in the Leonetti house. Both Vince and Patrice made it clear that their new family member was more than welcome to live with them. And though Maria still couldn’t speak, she smiled when Bobby and Kate gave her the news.
Patrice was beginning to take an interest in politics and learned a lot from her sister-in-law. They both ended up volunteering at the Los Angeles chapter of the National Coalition for the Homeless.
That fall, Patrice entered junior high school and immediately became an object of ridicule. Often, she came home in tears over the abuse she suffered. Apparently, it was uncool for an eleven-year-old to wear left-wing political buttons and to feel compassion for those homeless scumbags. And how dare Patrice refuse to smoke cigarettes?
But she never caved in. Patrice remained a non-smoker, she continued to wear her anti-Reagan pins to school, and she kept up her volunteer work at the National Coalition for the Homeless. In fact, Patrice spent even more hours helping out there now that she knew it pissed off her douche-bag peers.
In early 1984, Kate came home from the Coalition bursting with excitement. “Bobby! Oh my god, Bobby!”
“What’s up, babe?”
“How would you like to sing again?”
“Say what?”
“One of the women at the Coalition is, like, in charge of the entertainment committee for her tenth high school reunion; and she wants you to perform there!” Kate handed him the woman’s business card. “Go on, call her.”
Bobby did. When he hung up the phone, he said, “You’re right. She wants me to sing at her reunion.”
A squealing Kate hugged her husband.
But once the excitement had worn off, Bobby grasped the reality of his situation. In bed that night, he told Kate, “A decade ago, I played to crowds of thousands. Now, I’m playing a high school reunion.”
“But it’s a start, honey! Today, it’s the Burbank High Class of ’74; tomorrow, your first hit single in ten years.”
Bobby hired a back-up band and rehearsed several times a week. He had to listen to his wife’s old records to remember which of his songs had been hits. When he first played the decade-old vinyl, Bobby laughed out loud.
“I couldn’t sing to save my ass.”
“That’s not true, honey,” said Kate. “You were wonderful.”
Bobby wondered how his wife could be so brilliant about politics and so clueless about everything else. But his self-deprecation aside, Bobby very much looked forward to the show.
Finally, the big night came. At nine o’clock, the entertainment chair announced, “And now, folks, the man we voted our favorite singer: Bobby Dreamland!”
The men offered polite applause while the women cheered excitedly. Some even screamed as they had done at Bobby’s concerts ten to twelve years before. Dressed in a rented tuxedo, Bobby stood on a stage made of several tables pushed together.
“Hello, Burbank! It’s nice to be remembered.”
“I love you, Bobby,” a woman screamed.
“I love you, too, sweetheart. And here’s a song I hope you all remember.” Bobby launched into “Stepping in a Pile of Love.”
The women screamed with every song he did. The farther Bobby got into his set, the more the men headed outside. By the time he got to the show-closer, Bobby’s audience was exclusively female.
“You know, thanks to fans like you, I had a pair of number one hits way back when. One of them I did already. Now, here’s the other.”
When his band played the opening chords of “Bobby, Don’t Be A Hero,” the women went crazy. One even rushed the stage and kissed Bobby’s lips. The dazed singer signaled his band to stop playing until the commotion had receded.
Finally, Bobby got to sing his old hit. When he finished, Bobby placed the microphone in its stand and waved to the adoring crowd.
“Thank you, Burbank! Have a great reunion.”
The women kept applauding and screaming. They wanted Bobby back on stage. But he had already performed every song in the repertoire. It had never entered Bobby’s mind that the audience might want an encore.
He relaxed in the gym teacher’s office while Kate toweled his sweat-filled hair. “I don’t believe it. I’ve still got fans. Where have they been all these years?”
“Where have you been all these years, honey?” She kissed Bobby’s lips. “You were terrific out there. You’ve got to, like, keep this going.”
“But I already sang them every song I know.”
“That’s not what I meant, silly. I mean, after tonight.”
Bobby shrugged. “I suppose I will, if the work is there.”
There was a knock on the door.
“Let me guess,” said Bobby. “They want my autograph.”
Kate opened the door. Standing there was a twenty-eight-year-old woman with stunning green eyes and flaming red hair.
“Hi,” said Kate. “Can I help you?”
“I was wondering if I could talk to Bobby.”
“Did you want his autograph?”
“Actually, no. I have a business proposition.”
“Oh!” Kate stepped back, allowing the redhead access to the small office.
Bobby looked up from his chair. “Hi.”
“Hello. My name’s Joan Haverty.”
“Please to meet you.” Bobby offered his right hand, which the redhead shook. “What’s this about a business proposition?”
“I manage a nightclub in Century City - kind of a small place, but a nice one. Any chance you might want some gigs there?”
“Sure.”
“Great!” She handed him her business card. “I’m there at 5:00 every evening. Give me a call.”
As Joan left the office, Bobby stared at her card in amazement. “I don’t believe it.”
“Well, I do,” Kate exclaimed. “What did I tell you, honey? Tonight was the start of something big. Bobby Dreamland is coming back!”