After the Dance: My Life With Marvin Gaye (19 page)

I
f Marvin had common sense, he would not have pushed me
into the arms of another man.

If I had common sense, I would have resisted all such moves on Marvin’s part.

Common sense told us that we were in desperate need of righteous counsel. We were in desperate need of psychotherapy—both as individuals and as a couple. We had to immediately get off marijuana and cocaine. If there was any chance of renewing our relationship and salvaging our marriage, we had to seek help. We were smart people with progressive ideas. Surely we understood that if we could openly and candidly address the issues tearing us apart, we’d have a fighting chance. We’d be able to see that we were surrounded by people who wanted to ruin our relationship—those who were envious, those hell-bent on stirring up the chaos in our lives. We’d be able to extricate ourselves from those negative forces.

And yet we did nothing.

We did not reflect inwardly. We did not employ outside counsel. In our multidimensional disease of dysfunction, we got worse.

We were still on the island of Maui.

Marvin lit a joint, inhaled deeply, and passed it to me. I took a hit, reached for his hand, and told him that I loved him.

When he didn’t respond, I said, “Let’s just go to the market. Our neighbor will take care of the kids. Let’s just spend the afternoon alone.”

“The market sounds good,” said Marvin.

The market was crowded with locals and tourists buying baskets and beads, surfboards and painted seashells. Shapely women were parading around in bikinis. Several recognized Marvin and made a fuss. He graciously signed autographs and posed for pictures. Strolling along, he noticed a tall young black man who was strikingly handsome.

“Your type, dear?” he asked me.

“Please don’t start, Marvin.”

“Don’t tell me you don’t get off on those rippling muscles. He must be an athlete. And he’s about your age. A perfect fit, I’d say. Let’s introduce ourselves.”

The guy’s name was Steven, and of course he was thrilled to meet Marvin Gaye. He was, in fact, a college football player.

“My wife couldn’t wait to meet you,” said Marvin, embarrassing me. “Will you join us for a glass of wine?”

Steven turned out to be a charmer. Like Marvin, he had an easy banter and a kicked-back style. He answered Marvin’s questions about his feats on the football field, and Marvin answered his questions about the life of a superstar. All the while, Steven was throwing furtive glances in my direction. Marvin caught one of those glances.

“We’re going out tonight,” said Marvin. “Why don’t you join us? Meet us at our place and we’ll have dinner first.”

Later, when we were alone, I asked Marvin, “Why did you invite him? What’s the point?”

“He’s a cool brother. I like him. You like him. Don’t lie and say you don’t.”

I didn’t say anything. To do so would have only added fuel to the fire.

That evening Steven showed up and had dinner with Marvin, me, and the kids. The conversation was easy. Everyone was pleasant. Once again, there were quick glances from Steven in my direction.

“Tonight’s my night for taking care of the kids,” said Marvin. “So why don’t you two go dancing at the beach club? Have a good time while I play Mr. Mom.”

“No, no, man,” said Steven.

“It’s cool,” Marvin reassured him. “Jan’s been dying to go dancing.”

“Well, if you insist.”

I protested, but neither man would be moved. I knew I was being set up. Part of me wanted to defy Marvin by refusing to play this game. But another part of me was gratified and even excited. For weeks Marvin had been distancing himself from me in bed. Then along came a man—a drop-dead gorgeous man—who desired me.

When we arrived at the club, Steven’s desire was apparent. He couldn’t stop praising my beauty. I wanted to resist his advances—and I did—but I also knew that he knew that my husband had not only arranged this meeting but relished it.

We had a drink.

The DJ spun Marvin’s “Got to Give It Up.”

Steven smiled.

“Don’t we need to do what the song says?”

“I’m singing on the song,” I couldn’t help but say.

“All the more reason to give it up. At least on the dance floor.”

We moved to the dance floor. Our dancing was restrained. If there were sexual suggestions in our moves, those suggestions were subtle.

After Marvin’s song was played, we returned to our table and ordered another drink.

“Your husband is really great,” said Steven.

“Here’s your chance to tell him that in person,” I said. “He’s walking through the door right now.”

Steven abruptly turned around. Marvin was walking directly to our table.

“I thought you were taking care of the kids,” I said.

“I found a babysitter and thought I’d check in on you guys,” said Marvin, who seemed disappointed that he hadn’t caught me and Steven in some passionate embrace.

“They just played your song,” said Steven.

“Which one?” asked Marvin.

“The one where you say you’re too shy to dance,” said Steven.

“Was my wife too shy to dance?” asked Marvin.

“It would have been impolite not to ask her.”

“And she accepted, right?”

“She did, and she’s a good dancer,” Steven lied.

“Good in all ways. But now I’m afraid that I must take her home. It’s way past her bedtime.”

“I hope we all get to see each other again,” said Steven.

“We will,” said Marvin.

Riding back to the condo, I lashed out at Marvin. “You humiliated me!”

“Why?”

“You acted like a father spying on his daughter’s first date.”

“So that’s how you see me?”

“I see you torturing yourself.”

“And aren’t I justified? Weren’t you dreaming of falling on your knees and giving him head? Weren’t you dreaming of having that hunk on top of you?”

“Your dream,” I said. “Not mine.”

“I know my baby. I know what she craves. I know she’s insatiable. Admit it.”

“I admit nothing except that I’m tired of these goddamn games, Marvin. Stop it!”

“You like the games. You love the games. You love fantasizing.”

“You sound like you’re writing lyrics to a song. That’s not real life. Real life has to do with me and you and the kids.”

“That’s just the point, Jan. You don’t understand me as an artist. You’re killing my spirit.”

“And what are you doing to
my
spirit?”

“I’m afraid of your sexual spirit. It’s so powerful it will consume us both. It’s clear that I can no longer satisfy you. You need a Steven. He can fuck you right. I can’t. At least that’s the message you give me.”

“And what message do you give me?” I asked. “That my body is repulsive. That I’m past my prime.”

“Well . . .” Marvin started to say.

“Well
what
?” I shot back.

“Aren’t you?”

When it came to verbal jousting, I had learned to give as good as I got. But in becoming a more aggressive combatant, I had also learned that there were consequences.

As a result of our nasty spat in which I’d accused Marvin of supreme manipulation, he decided to punish me. He left me and the kids behind in Maui as he and his sister, brother, and mom traveled on for his performances in Japan.

I relished the time alone with Nona and Frankie but felt a growing resentment that the man I loved so deeply had so much power over me. The more strained our romantic relationship, the more twisted our sexual liaisons.

Given the presence of inhibition-loosening drugs, there was physical pleasure in such encounters. The aftermath, though, brought me deep humiliation. Why hadn’t I found the wherewithal to resist Marvin’s maneuvers?

Because I loved him and wanted to please him.

Because I was afraid he would leave me.

Because I was intimidated by his power.

But as I continued to give in, anger built inside me. I lacked the
self-confidence to challenge him, yet I had enough self-knowledge to realize that I was disrespecting myself. I felt trapped, frustrated, and confused.

The confusion compounded when Marvin returned from Japan bearing gifts. He’d bought me a gorgeous kimono. He spoke to me lovingly.

“I missed you, dear,” he said. “I was wrong not to take you and the kids along. I was terribly lonely. Can you forgive me?”

“I can, I do.”

“And will you confess that you got together with Steven? Will you be honest and tell me that it was the hottest night of your life?”

“Don’t start, Marvin, please. I didn’t see him.”

“I don’t believe that he didn’t call you.”

“He called but I never called back.”

“And I’m supposed to believe you?”

“Yes. I was with the kids every minute of every day. And I loved it.”

Marvin felt my sincerity and stopped the questions.

“Well, let’s gather up our babies and go to the beach,” he said. “Let’s just be a family.”

Marvin’s mood was back on the mellow tip. It was a perfect day for a long walk along the shore. The sky was cloudless and the ocean calm. The world was blazing blue. The kids scurried into and out of the water. The animosity between Marvin and me had disappeared. He took my hand.

“Let’s just let love lead us on,” he said. “The scripture says a perfect love casts out all fear. Today I’m not feeling afraid—not one bit.”

I put my lips to his cheek and whispered in his ear, “I want this moment to last forever.”

A few minutes later,
walking calmly along the beach, we saw a man approaching us. From a distance it seemed like I knew him. Yes, I was almost certain I did. But it couldn’t be. It shouldn’t be. The
coincidence was almost too much. He was probably just a look-alike. It was just my imagination. Or was it?

“Frankie!” Marvin exclaimed. “Frankie Beverly! Hey man, fancy meeting you here!”

The two men stopped and chatted for a minute. When Marvin learned that Frankie was going to be in Hawaii for another week, he said, “That’s great, man, ’cause tomorrow night I’m going to have to jump to another island to do a show. While I’m gone, please keep an eye on Jan for me. I know she’ll like that.”

“No problem,” said Frankie.

T
he first night that Marvin flew off and left me alone, the
phone started ringing.

“What are you doing?” asked Frankie.

“I’m bored,” I said.

“Well, let’s just get together and hang out.”

“If we get together,” I said, “we could wind up doing more than talking.”

“That’s my hope.”

“Stop it,” I said.

I couldn’t help but laugh. I couldn’t help but feel the pressure, couldn’t help but fantasize about the pleasure, couldn’t help but enjoy the attention.

I closed my eyes. My imagination was on fire.

“I hear you thinking,” said Frankie. “You’re thinking what I’m thinking. See you tonight.”

Our kids were with island friends. It didn’t take long to pick out a provocative outfit—a white maxi dress. When Frankie showed up,
he was wearing a black leather vest, no shirt, drawstring pants, and flip-flops.

We went to a quiet bar where we sat at a dark, secluded corner table and sipped wine.

A little later we were in his car, where we shared a joint. At his place we snorted more than a few lines. He approached me. I did not resist.

We both thought back to when Marvin had broken up our near connection the first time we’d been alone in a room together. Frankie worried that history might repeat itself.

“It won’t,” I said. “I drove him to the airport. I watched him get on the plane.”

“There are return flights.”

“He has a show.”

“He’s been known to cancel shows.”

“Not this time.”

Another joint and Frankie’s fears went up in smoke. He changed the tone of the conversation and admitted, “I’ve been dreaming of this.”

“Me too,” I confessed.

The lovemaking was intense.

For the first time in months, a man was whispering how deeply and completely I satisfied him.

But satisfaction was soon overwhelmed by guilt. And despite the thrill that came with the forbidden, I carried the great weight of betrayal.

The next day, I thought about both the thrill and the betrayal.

Part of the thrill came from my recognition that I had battled back in the war waged by Marvin. He had assaulted me with insults and called me undesirable. Now I could assault Marvin with the fact that another man had found me desirable.

Yet when Marvin returned, I was unable to attack him with the truth.

“Did he fuck you?” Marvin asked.

“No,” I lied.

Marvin detected the lie and pressed the case.

“Why can’t you say it?” he asked. “Why can’t you admit what you did? Why don’t you just say how much you loved it?”

Days passed before I could say the words. By then we were back in Los Angeles. Marvin and I were alone in the home in Hidden Hills, which was on the verge of foreclosure because of his refusal to face his financial reality. He had also refused to accept my story that Frankie and I hadn’t slept together.

“No, we didn’t do it!” I kept crying and denying.

“But you wanted to do it,” Marvin insisted.

“No. Nothing happened.”

“I don’t believe you.”

“Ask Frankie.”

Marvin did just that, and Frankie denied it as well.

But the fighting went on. The battle zone was toxic. It was not only awash with literal toxins like highly potent pot and coke, it was where Marvin felt most powerful. It was where he operated. In the battle zone, he was a master manipulator.

Once drawn into the battle zone, I was forced to rely on my greatest weapon, one I had used to snare Marvin initially: my sexuality. And the more Marvin undermined my belief in my desirability, the greater my need to reestablish that belief.

“Maybe Frankie Beverly wants you,” Marvin told me, “but no one else does. Not really. Not the way you’re looking these days.”

The uglier his remarks, the more my determination to disprove them. That meant seeking the approval of other men.

I felt Marvin slipping away. I felt myself slipping away.

When Marvin called Frankie Beverly, he insisted that I listen in. In the brief conversation, Marvin assumed a calm tone. He never raised his voice.

“I don’t blame you,” said Marvin. “I know she’s been after you
for years. You’re a man and men do what they do. I’m not interested in hurting you, Frankie, but you are no longer my friend. I never want to hear your name or see your face again.”

Frankie denied anything had happened, but Marvin didn’t believe him and hung up.

“Now are you satisfied?” Marvin asked me. “You’ve ruined a perfectly good friendship.”

“Nothing happened,” I said, keeping up the lie.

I argued the same argument I had been expounding for months—that it was Marvin, not me, who was obsessed with ruination.

Marvin was also obsessed with Teddy Pendergrass, who was being called the next Marvin Gaye. When Teddy left Harold Melvin and the Blue Notes in 1977, his solo career took off like a rocket. Reporters couldn’t resist comparing him to Marvin. While Teddy’s star was rising, Marvin’s was fading. After “Got to Give It Up,” Marvin fell off the charts.

In 1978, while Teddy was red-hot with super-sexy hits like “Only You” and “Close the Door,” Marvin released
Here, My Dear
, the divorce narrative that flopped both commercially and critically. Reviewers called it “self-indulgent” and “irrelevant.” The highly personal nature of the material was too obscure for all but the most devoted Marvin Gaye fans. Marvin also complained that Berry Gordy would never promote a record that demeaned his sister, even if she did stand to make money from it.

“Here, My Dear
has no singles,” Marvin told me. “I did that on purpose. I didn’t want people to read a short story, but rather a whole novel. Most people don’t have the patience. So they’re switching allegiance. They’re all over Teddy. They’re calling him the new sex symbol and calling me last year’s news.”

“Your fans are loyal,” I tried to reassure him.

“No more loyal than you. It won’t be long before you fuck up. Teddy thinks that I’m weak, and that means he’ll be coming after you.”

Marvin’s obsession with Teddy
manifested in a song he called “Ego Tripping Out.”

The result was a proto-rap record with Marvin reciting, rather than singing, a story about a man who had the baddest cool, the biggest house, the flashiest car, the most sexual prowess. The boasting continued until, halfway through the song, Marvin broke off a melody set to unexpectedly meditative lyrics. He sang about how egomania led to pain, how self-centeredness was rooted in fear, and how “the toot and the smoke”—cocaine and marijuana—wouldn’t “fulfill the need.” The goal was to transform the fear into energy and find a way back to God.

I realized that, although the song had been written to ridicule Teddy, it had become self-reflective. The song was really about Marvin and his struggle with his own ego.

When it was released as a single, there was little airplay, thus doing further damage to Marvin’s sense of self-worth. I saw how “Ego Tripping Out” only served to deflate Marvin’s already wounded ego.

But Marvin didn’t stop there. He was motivated to do an entire album that would compete with Teddy and reestablish himself as the sultan of sex. Marvin tried to write a suite of love songs with the intention of outselling
Let’s Get It On
. The tunes had titles like “I Offer You Nothing but Love” and “A Lover’s Plea.” He planned to call the album
Love Man
.

“The lyrics might be superficial,” Marvin told me, “but no more superficial than Teddy’s. Besides, the grooves are more seductive than his. The album’s going to bring me back and knock Teddy off his throne.”

Marvin’s efforts were in vain. I saw how he could work only periodically. Blocked by self-doubt, he fell into a deep depression. His antidepressants were the drugs, pot and cocaine, which only compounded his emotional instability. Meanwhile, his life remained in ruins.

He was lost.

I was lost.

For a few hours he might be loving. For a few hours romance might be renewed. For a few hours he might attend to the children. For a few hours I might hold on to the hope that our family could be preserved. We’d fly back to Hawaii for a week, leaving the children with my mother.

“The peaceful spirit of the islands will renew our spirits,” Marvin would say.

But peace didn’t last. Even in that serene setting, Marvin sank back into despair. On a day when he had been drinking mushroom tea and eating mushrooms from the ground and topping it all off with cocaine, he went on a bad trip. He brought up my betrayal and became enraged. His fury turned to madness. This time the madness reached a new and dangerous level. His eyes turned red with hatred. I was filled with fear.

At one point he took a kitchen knife and put it to my throat. I was petrified, paralyzed. I thought it was all over.

“I’ve loved you too much,” he said. “This love is killing me. I beg you to provoke me. Provoke me right now so I can take us both out of our misery.”

I was too terrified to say a word, too frightened to move.

Fortunately, his rage subsided and he put the knife away.

But by then I knew what I had to do.

I had to protect myself and my babies.

As soon as we arrived back in Los Angeles, I took the children and fled.