Just before this book went off to the printer, something happened that took a lot of people, especially the media people here in Tampa, by surprise: Linda and I reached an agreement and settled our divorce.
I wasn’t surprised. I knew it would happen. In my mind, in my heart, it had already happened. Like I said, all the craziness stopped consuming me many months ago. I moved past it. I was grateful for reaching a truce with Linda and grateful for Linda finding happiness long before any of this happened. Remember: “What you think about, you bring about” really works. And maybe this sudden outbreak of peace in the Hulk vs. Linda war will serve as a little bit of proof to those who doubt it.
I can’t reveal the terms of the divorce settlement. We both agreed to keep that between us. But I do want to share the story of how this resolution finally came to pass.
The thing is, as dirty and crazy as everybody thought our divorce proceedings were—and I swear, especially here in the Tampa area, people were ready to put us in the history books alongside Burt Reynolds and Loni Anderson, as if our split made Alec Baldwin’s and Kim Basinger’s divorce look like a squirt-gun fight—I can tell you now that we hadn’t even taken the gloves off. This thing was set to go to trial in October of 2009, and it was about to get really, really nasty.
I didn’t want it to get nasty. I didn’t want to slam Linda. But as she and her attorney and her publicist kept amping up the drama, and amping up the accusations in the press, I felt I had no choice but to unleash my lawyers and a team of investigators to fight for what’s right. That meant interviewing people all over Tampa and Clearwater about everything they knew about Linda and her young boyfriend, Charlie Hill, and the nonstop party I felt they had been living at my expense.
Finally, in July, we sat down for a big day of depositions with the man himself: Charlie. We started at 7:45 A.M., and for the first time ever, he and I were face-to-face, just across a table from one another, and I had a chance to stare him down. I knew I’d never hurt Charlie. As I’ve said all along, even the thought of getting into a violent confrontation makes me feel sick inside. But Charlie didn’t know that. And boy did he look nervous.
The depositions started like most, going through Charlie’s work history, just establishing who he is. Before we got into the heavy stuff, we took a break. I stood up, and was probably the last one to leave the room—just ’cause it takes me an extra minute to get my legs moving after I’ve been sitting for a while—and as I started walking down the hall, I had my head down. I was looking at my cell phone, not paying attention to where I was going, when all of a sudden I looked up and almost ran smack-dab into Charlie.
We were way down the end of a hallway, face-to-face, with no one else around—and I guess he felt trapped because, man, he was shaking!
For ages people had told me that Charlie was worried I was gonna kill him. I heard it from friends, from strangers, from Nick. And here I was towering over him in the corner of this hallway, and I thought he was gonna faint.
“Calm down,” I said. “I’m not gonna kill you. I don’t want to hurt you. You don’t have to be scared of me.”
All of a sudden Linda came power-walking toward us, and before she could say a word I said, softly, “Linda, I was just telling the kid that I would never hurt him.”
Right then and there, something shifted. Linda put her hand on my chest and started crying: “I thought you were gonna kill Charlie,” she said.
My response? “Linda, you know me. I would never do anything like that. Twenty years ago I might have threatened it, but I never would have done it. You know that. You know me.”
She nodded. She agreed. And for the first time since all this craziness started in 2007, I saw an opening. “Linda,” I said, “what are we doing? After all this fighting we’re in the same place we were eighteen months ago, only now there’s a lot less money. This is just ridiculous. We need to put a stop to this.”
For a moment, she paused. “Okay,” she said.
That’s how we started talking. And that’s how our lawyers started talking, in earnest, about reaching a settlement instead of dragging out this thing that Linda herself had once called a “war.” A couple of weeks later we put the paperwork in high gear, and I sat with my attorneys, David Houston and Ann Kerr, and Linda’s attorney, and hammered this thing out over the course of five fourteen-hour days.
When we walked into court on July 28 to present our settlement to the judge, Linda kissed me on the cheek. She chatted with Jennifer. And when the gavel came down, I gave Linda a big hug and said, “Have a good life.” After reading this book, I hope it’s clear to you that I meant it. Heck, I even told her to call me if she ever needs my help with something. You know what? It’s not that big a deal, brother. When you’re living like I’m living now, the bitterness all goes away.
Linda’s getting what she’s wanted for a very long time: She’s moving to California with enough money to be set for life. I’ll be moving back into the big house on Willadel, at least for the time being, and eventually we’ll sell our properties and start our new lives without any of that old baggage attached.
“The war is over,” Linda told a reporter that morning. As I write this, two days later, my cheeks still haven’t come down. They’re stuck in a permanent smile. I’m free.
The “life situations” aren’t over for us. Not by any means. The civil suit from the Graziano family is still moving forward. Finding a way to provide the right kind of care for John will still be a challenge, and my days spent talking to lawyers are sure to last for a long time. But when people ask if I’m worried? I think about everything I’ve been through, everything I’ve learned, and I smile because I know the answer: That lawsuit is already taken care of. It’s going to turn out however it’s going to turn out, and I’m grateful for whatever happens.
The good stuff in life, the intense stuff, the crazy stuff—all of it happens for a reason. And now, more than ever before, I see the big picture and keep it all in perspective, which means that the future can only get brighter from here.
To put it another way: The best is yet to come, brother. The best is yet to come.