It happened so quick, my fall from grace. Who could have predicted it? Who could have seen it coming? Not I. Perhaps you saw it coming, my dearest Dana, but at the time I was riding high, top of the pops, bigger than Harry Conick Jr and Lyle Lovett combined. I was King of... Fools.
Well, never mind my heartache. All I can do is sadly smile and say, the best laid schemes o’ mice an’ men gang aft a-gley.
What I want you to know, what I need you to know, is that at one time, I felt as if I had even more power and influence than the mighty Sinatra. Sure, Old Blue Eyes would share the occasional whore with JFK, but I was in George Jr's house... I don't know, really, but I'm positive it must have been at least 485 times. I was family, that's what I thought, but then came the day when they turned their backs on Good Old Jack.
They say that into every life some rain must fall, so please don't let me lapse into self-pity. Still, there was one cut that was deepest, and that came from you, lovely Dana, heart of my heart. But you're gone from me now, locked arm in arm with that scoundrel Tony Snow. I sat in my solitary cell yesterday and heard you - much as Peter did to Jesus - deny me three times.
"The billing records that are the basis for this report are widely regarded as fraudulent in how they misrepresent Abramoff's activities and level of access," I heard her say, her voice lilting as a nightingale, but steeped in the vicious bitterness of a callous crow.
"There is no reason why they should suddenly be viewed as credible." No reason? Love is reason enough, dear Dana. Archimedes said "Give me a lever long enough, and a fulcrum strong enough, and single-handed I can move the world." My love is that fulcrum, but now my lever has left me.
I would have given you all of my heart, but you've come around and torn it apart... do you hear me, Dana? I'm singing my heart out for you, but I know, I know... you think that I'm laughable. You said as much when you talked about how I had sent a bottle of wine to Karl at Signatures.
"Jack's a fool," you said, laughing your haughty little laugh. "Anyone who knows Rove knows that he doesn't drink alcohol." As if that were the true meaning of a gift. A gift is kiss with a price tag, not something to be consumed. And yet, I can't forget how you consumed my heart.
But you still hadn't done enough to hurt me, my cheri amor. No, you could not leave it be.
"It is shocking and deeply disturbing," you said, "that this admitted and proven liar ripped off his clients by over-billing and over-selling his supposed influence with any number of policymakers." And yes, I was both shocked and disturbed by the depth of your acrimony. When it comes to being lucky I'm cursed, and when it comes to loving me you're worse.
Sorry. I know you don't need my sad songs. Perhaps you'd prefer 'Caravan' with a drum solo.
©2006, Mark Hoback