Let Love Rule - Lenny Kravitz Page 0,72
By late afternoon, we were in Vegas.
After hailing the first cab we saw, I asked the driver to drop us at the best marriage chapel. He laughed, saying if we only knew how many times he’d been given this exact same request.
Remember—Lisa was one of the biggest stars in the country, her show a staple in tens of millions of American homes. We were lucky the paparazzi, not nearly as aggressive back then as now, hadn’t shown up.
The cabbie dropped us off at the Chapel of Love, a neon storefront. The owner, who was not dressed as Elvis, gave us a playlist to choose from. We picked the Beatles’ “In My Life.” The ceremony was quick and cheesy, but who cares? It was beautiful. We were married! We’d done it! And we’d done it without attracting the world’s attention. Or so we thought.
A few days later, we learned that the Chapel of Love owner had sold the news to the National Enquirer, along with a copy of our marriage certificate.
But on that magical night, we were carefree. We were in newlywed heaven. We made out in the backseat of the cab. We made out in the last row of the PSA flight back to L.A. As far as our spontaneous neon Vegas wedding went, we made out beautifully.
Now we had to tell our parents.
* * *
We called Lisa’s mom, Arlene, whom I loved. Although she was shocked, she gave us her blessing. But what was the best way to tell my mother? I knew it wouldn’t be that easy. We invited her to Chianti, a quiet Italian restaurant on Melrose that we thought she’d like.
We arrived first and discussed how we would break the news. We thought it would be really cute if we inserted the marriage certificate in the menu, a couple of pages in, so that when my mother was deciding what to eat, she’d find the big surprise, and then we’d all celebrate.
Mom arrived impeccably dressed, as usual. She gave me a hug and kissed Lisa on the cheek. We made easy small talk. The conversation flowed. Then it was time to order.
Mom opened the menu.
She browsed.
She turned one page.
Then another.
Her eyes narrowed.
She studied the piece of paper. Was it a list of tonight’s specials?
She picked it up to study it closely.
Then came a gasp. A gasp that I will never forget. It was a gasp from the depths of her very being.
And without a word, she got up and left the restaurant.
Lisa and I just looked at each other.
I knew what I had done. I had fucked up. In my excitement in rushing to marry the girl of my dreams, I hadn’t given any thought to how Mom would react. I had excluded her not only from the ceremony, but from the decision itself. I’d never consulted her. I was her only child, and my marriage was a big deal to her. I had acted impetuously, not properly, and with no consideration for Mom I’d run off to Vegas, cutting her out of one of the monumental moments of my life. I might as well have slapped her in the face.
Lisa and I quickly got up from the table and ran outside to find her. When we got out onto the street, Mom was already driving off in her car. We ran down the block, jumped into our car, and followed her. I needed to explain, to undo the damage. At the very least, I needed to apologize.
But before I could catch her, I heard a siren, looked in the rearview window, and saw the blinking red-and-blue lights. Shit. The cops. We pulled over. Maybe it was because I was a Black man driving a super-slick Mustang, but whatever the reason, the officer gave me a hard time.
At the moment he became super-aggressive, who should show up but Roxie Roker. She’d seen me pulled over and, as the Black mother of a Black son, she’d been alarmed. She addressed the officer in her regal, no-nonsense way. She wanted to know why I’d been pulled over.
Speeding.
Fine, said Mom. Give him a citation and release him immediately. The cop wrote the ticket and left. Without looking at either Lisa or me, Mom left as well.
* * *
Lisa and I were up almost all night. I felt like shit. I’d alienated the mother I so dearly loved. Being young and foolish is fine. Getting married on a whim is fine. But did I have to do it in a