Let Love Rule - Lenny Kravitz Page 0,59

would he? How could he? How dare he! Who is she? What does she look like? How old is she? How long has it been going on? What makes him think he can get away with it? That son of a bitch. That asshole. That cheater. All this time, trying to be a Hollywood big shot, only to live off his wife’s success, only to end up double-crossing the woman who means more to me than anyone.

I landed in Miami. A sudden storm meant the prop plane to Nassau was delayed. I tried to sleep in the airport waiting area. But sleep wouldn’t come. The thoughts wouldn’t stop. I stared out at the pouring rain. Lightning streaked the sky. Then the sky gave way to golden sun as the rain turned to a gentle shower. I thought of Grandma Bessie. When it was sunny and raining at the same time, she always used to say, “The devil is beating his wife.”

Angry thoughts returned. Two cups of coffee. Then I jumped on the little prop plane and flew over a strangely calm sea—still feeling unsettled, still feeling crazy.

Mom met me at the airport. We drove to the Britannia Beach Hotel on Paradise Island, where, in a little courtyard, we sat down. She looked at me. I looked at her. I was an emotional mess. With no sleep and after traveling across the country, I had to drop a bomb that would destroy my mother’s world.

The silence was deafening.

I laid out the story.

I said, “Dad is having an affair with a woman, and I believe he’s stealing your money and giving it to her.”

At that moment, I saw something I’d never seen before. I saw my mother’s face crack and her soul fall to the floor. I watched the life drain from her body. She became an empty shell. She didn’t move, didn’t cry, didn’t even respond. Her eyes were vacant. After a few minutes, she found her composure and began speaking.

She told me that my father had been cheating throughout their marriage. She told me how she’d have to go to his mistresses’ apartments when I was an infant and, with me in her arms, buzz the intercom to tell the woman, “Tell Sy that playtime’s over. Time to come home.”

She also told me how Grandpa Joe Kravitz had repeatedly cheated on Grandma Jean, and how Sy had hated his father for it. It was history repeating itself.

I asked Mom why she hadn’t left Dad. She shared that she was a committed wife. Her Bahamian upbringing was ironclad: divorce was not an option. She was determined, largely because of me, to keep this marriage together. Besides, Dad had promised to change. The promise wasn’t kept. There were a few more indiscretions, but they were short-lived. She had thought he’d finally mended his ways. This was the first time she’d shared this intimate information with me.

I asked her what she was going to do. She explained that, for now, it was best to do nothing—not say a word, not let Dad know that she knew. She’d return to L.A. and act like everything was normal. Meanwhile, she’d hire professionals to document his affair. When she confronted him, she would be armed with incontrovertible proof. And the only way to obtain that proof was to make sure he remained in the dark.

In a remarkably short period of time, Mom’s mood had changed. Ten minutes before, she had been crushed. Now she had a plan.

* * *

A few days later, Mom and I returned home. She went back to Cloverdale. To feel safe, she suggested that I stay in the house for another week. That’s how I got to see what I consider the greatest dramatic performance of her life.

She greeted Dad warmly. She acted as though nothing were wrong. She laughed at his jokes. She slept in their bed. She fixed his breakfast. And all the while, she showed no anger, resentment, or suspicion.

Meanwhile, she had hired a private detective. It didn’t take long. Three weeks later, she received a folder with incriminating pictures, bank statements, and receipts that included two round-trip tickets to Paris on the Concorde.

When it was time for the big confrontation, I listened from the living room, adjacent to the master bedroom wall. I heard screaming, hysteria. I heard Mom saying, “How could you go into our finances to keep a mistress?” She shoved a folder of photographs and papers in his face, proof that he had paid for