Half Percheron, half Heinz 57, Peggy Sue was four years old in 1991. The only reason anyone put up with her was that she was very talented. She can jump the moon but you’ve got to keep squeezing or you’ll take the jump and she won’t.
Gordon Reistrup worked with me then and with Peggy Sue, too. I’ve been fortunate in my assistants over the years, most of them leaving me for greener pastures. Rebecca Brown is now a published author. Claudia Garthwaite bought her own small publishing company, then sold it later at a nice profit. Gordon worked for me for five years, leaving to devote himself full-time to a magazine he started the last year he worked for me.
But Gordon was a twofer. He could bang away on the computer, edit and ride extremely well. To him fell the unenviable task of civilizing Peggy.
To him also fell the unenviable but often funny task of coping with Judy Nelson.
Over the years I’d see Martina about once a year. Both of us were on the road a great deal, rarely in the same town at the same time. If we were, I’d make an effort to see her and Judy Nelson, her partner.
The first time I met Judy, in 1984, I was taken aback. How often do you meet a woman whose hair can be ruined by a ceiling fan? Loud, flashy and extremely controlling, she seemed to be everything Martina ever wanted in a woman. She’d organize the day, pack the suitcases, intrude into every aspect of Martina’s life and look good doing it. Martina was blissfully happy in the beginning. I sure as shooting wasn’t going to say a word.
I’d seen the lovers before me and enough of the lovers after me to shut up. I’d do the same for any friend. When the fairy dust is in their eyes, why spoil it for someone?
As Dad used to say, “Marry in haste. Repent in leisure.” Life will teach us soon enough.
Ambitious with no appreciable talent, Judy’s talent was her Maid of Cotton looks. She tried to make room for love but vanity got there first.
Martina didn’t seem to notice because she was freed from the nattering daily chores that drive us all crazy. She could play tennis—and play, period. In exchange she heaped mountains of jewelry on Judy, shared houses in Texas and Colorado and bought hers and hers Porsches.
A few snags created drama. Judy’s ex-husband. Dr. Ed Nelson, for one. He didn’t want their two sons living in a lesbian household. Judy’s parents, Frances and Sargent Hill, took care of the boys, who were then in grade school. As the years passed, Ed softened somewhat. A new wife certainly brightened his picture. Then, too, the boys were doing fine. Not once did they try on dresses or whatever it is straight people fear will happen to children in gay homes. (The statistics bear out that nothing happens. Kids are kids. Anyone who thinks they can truly control their children has a screw loose.)
All this cost money. Martina’s money.
But once a routine was established she was happy.
Martina is a woman who has to be in love, and therein lies the problem. “Look before you leap” is not part of her operating procedure.
But who among us hasn’t made that mistake once or twice? Good judgment comes from experience and experience comes from bad judgment.
As the years rolled on, Judy’s iron grip tightened. Not only did she love Martina, she actively loved her every second. There was no escape from the magnitude of her devotion, nor from the constant stream of orders and demands.
That Martina happily submitted to this obsessive and controlling relationship is a measure of how desperately she didn’t want to be responsible. Let Judy do it.
And Judy did.
The two women made a video that defined the disposition of material goods in the event of one partner’s death. Simply put, it was a visual will. Not so simply put, it was a testimony to the seriousness of their commitment. This proved extremely troublesome later.
Judy knew Martina’s history well enough to be worried. She kept on good terms with Martina’s exes, even agreeing to enter promotional or business relationships with a few. They never could get their hands out of Martina’s pockets. Judy, rightly so, made sure they took only so much.
That Martina would allow this kind of hanging on unnerved me. She started traveling with a retinue of coaches, cooks, gofers and God knows who else. They may have made her feel important and they may have provided some services sometimes, but the scale of the operation was really unnecessary. It all looked like money down the drain to this farmer.
Added to that was the compulsive spending of Judy and Martina, too, although I think Martina could have had some sense knocked into her on that issue if anyone had cared to staunch the hemorrhage of funds. She usually blames the other person for the spending sprees.
To be fair, poverty has marked me. I’m far from a miser and I can make foolish purchases, too. But their spending bordered on the neurotic. Of course, one of the few times a woman has naked power is when she purchases.
Judy needs to be the center of attention as much as Martina does but Martina had a great gift. She deserved the attention so long as she kept it in perspective.
I sometimes wish that Martina could have knocked around more. She lived in a state of protracted adolescence without the hard knocks of adolescence. She’d played tennis throughout her young years, her career controlled by the Communist state of Czechoslovakia. She missed that leveling experience of American high school and she missed the concept of citizenship in a democratic country. It wasn’t that Martina hadn’t had an eventful life, but up to the point of the split with Judy it was a life shielded from emotional development. It’s nearly impossible for athletes to grow emotionally at the same pace as their generation.
For the seven and a half years that they were together, 1984 to 1991, Martina wouldn’t contribute to any gay causes nor work for them. She hadn’t the time. Occasionally I’d ask for help for the Lambda Legal Defense Fund or for someone fighting to keep her kids. I even asked her to give to the Gay Games, which I thought for certain would be up her alley. She never would, saying it would jeopardize Judy’s custody of her sons. Well, paper bags of cash are often given to political candidates’ campaign people. I suggested she could do the same to help people in desperate trouble. Few outcast groups are as despised or as vulnerable as gay people. Other people will band together to protect themselves. Gay people often avoid it for fear of being associated with other gays.
I don’t think she would have been exposed. I don’t think the boys would have been jeopardized.
Martina would argue with me. “Why should I be the sacrificial lamb?”
As that very sacrificial lamb, I was not moved by this line of reasoning. But a friend is a friend and you take your friends as you find them. I wasn’t going to change her. Sure, I was disappointed that she couldn’t identify with people who were struggling but money and fame came so early, maybe she will never be able to do that. I don’t know.
I couldn’t even get those two to give money to PEN International when Vaclav Havel was imprisoned. Writers the world over worked tirelessly to get that remarkable man out of jail.
Maybe Judy didn’t want the money to go for anything but new shoes, vacations, a snakeskin interior for the Porsche or to pacify a few exes and hangers-on loyal to Judy. Again, I don’t know. And I hasten to add that I wasn’t suggesting they fork over a hundred thousand dollars. Ten thousand would have been quite nice, but I would have been proud if they’d even written a check for a thousand.
Each time I saw Martina I saw less of her. More and more, Judy dominated. It wasn’t that I didn’t like Judy—I was neutral about her. It was just that I loved Martina. If Judy made her happy, then I’d accept the way things were going.
Also, Martina gets furious if you criticize her on any count whatsoever. She can dish it out but she can’t take it. Why fight when I saw her so infrequently?
God knows I can still fight with Fannie if either of us has a mind to—but Fannie is independent and strong.
Then, too, it’s difficult for most people to accept criticism from a former lover. Martina never bothered to criticize me to my face so I didn’t have to cope with the immediate experience.
When the bloom was off the Judy rose, Martina followed her pattern: She tossed her over for another woman. Part of the bonding process is that the new lover can then bear the slings and arrows directed at Martina from the traded-in model.
This time Martina ducked more than slings and arrows or smashed-up windows in the BMW. That stuff was nothing. Even the sly bids for money from the exes were nothing to this.
Judy sued.
Worse, she had the damned video.
Judy wanted seven million dollars for her services. This sum was half of what Martina earned while they were together, including real estate purchases and other investments. Whether Judy’s lawyers actually pinpointed this sum in the pretrial hearing, I don’t know. Judy declared she had helped earn the fabulous sums and she wanted half. She’d kept track of Martina’s earnings by reading the various financial statements. This is not to suggest her computations were correct. There’s no way to check that.
As this unraveled in the beginning of 1991, both began calling me. Gordon Reistrup would pick up the call, march into my office and say “Victim number one” or “Victim number two.”
God, he was funny.
Judy sobbed and carried on high.
Martina, glad to be rid of her, shed not a tear. But she waxed furious on the subject of the lawsuit. Also, her latest love was religious-minded and quite nervous about being gay, and Martina wondered if I knew any books that could help.
“A little late for that now,” I wanted to say, but I didn’t. I suggested a few books and perhaps a chat with the young woman’s pastor. You’d be surprised at how understanding many pastors are. After all, we’re all God’s children, and as far as I know, no pastor has the right to judge his flock.
I sympathized with Martina. Judy wanted half of all she’d earned while they’d been together. Her argument was that of any wife of any successful man. The argument had worked with Dr. Ed Nelson. But Martina wasn’t Ed Nelson.
The reality is there are no culturally agreed-upon guidelines for same-sex relationships. Heterosexual relationships have canon law and state law. Personally, I oppose the state’s being in anyone’s bedroom. I’ve heard all the arguments about tax breaks and so on for straight couples but I believe the state’s abiding interest in marriage has a dark side, that it was originally meant to stop miscegenation (the old word for mixing the races). If you had to show up at court for a license, they had you.
If you make a life with another human being, if you verbally promise to love, honor and protect, with or without the blessing of your pastor, it seems to me some fiscal responsibility is in order.
Martina and Judy indulged in not one but two marriage ceremonies. If the word marriage offends you, use holy union.
If Martina had made a reasonable offer (at that time any offer was unreasonable to her), Judy would have accepted. By opposing Judy, by declaring her a gold digger, Martina gave Judy exactly what Judy has always craved for herself: publicity.
Judy knew her woman and she played her like a harp.
Martina picked the wrong time to fight back. She has no political sense, but then, does Bill Clinton have a great serve?
Judy’s suit made sense to most women in America, straight or gay, who have been dismissed by their partner.
Meanwhile, the newspapers and the TV shows churned out copy. Judy appeared at each interview impeccably dressed, spending hours on her turnout and wearing some of that expensive jewelry Martina had showered upon her.
Martina grew more and more truculent. Her new love grew more and more anxious. She didn’t want to be dragged through the wringer. She thought she’d lose her job and she did. I don’t think she was called on the carpet and fired for being a lesbian. People are too clever for that.
Martina would pay her way, sure. But her new love had before her very eyes the example of another woman whose way had been paid.
Anguish in Aspen was setting in.
In May of 1991 Judy decided I was the one person who could settle this dispute. She also decided that I understood her suffering. Of course, I suffered when Martina left me, telling me at the age of thirty-six that I was too old. But I learned a great deal from that experience. Nor did I want money for my pains. What I wanted was wisdom and what I gained was heightened compassion for people. We are such foolish creatures, but we’re all we’ve got.
Martina’s lawyers slapped Judy in the face with various low offers. I think the highest was $225,000. No way would Judy walk away for such a small amount—big to you and me, maybe, but peanuts to her. She’d lived high on the hog and she wanted the chitlins.
So far as I was able, I kept counseling both, trying to lower the hostility level on one end and the flood of tears on the other.
I thought I could get them through this. I did, finally, help settle the mess by getting them to sit down and talk, but not before a high price was paid—by me.