Chapter 3: Oh, the Things We’ll See!

Thursday, July 26, 1984

As Angie and I had done before with Mom and Dad, we opted for a hop-on, hop-off bus tour of Hollywood. And, as before, I’m not sure that we saw that much that was truly noteworthy from the bus, but we did a bunch of window-shopping on Rodeo Drive, and saw a few stars’ homes (allegedly; they could’ve belonged to anyone, from what little we could see of them).

It was good fun, if not all that memorable. It felt to all four of us like something we really had to do. Now we’d done it, and we might never do anything like it again.

There was a little undercurrent that bubbled to the top: one day we might be here with our movie star friend, and her house might be one the tourists wanted to get a glimpse of. There were no guarantees, but it could happen.

Hopefully, it would.

After we’d gotten all of the fun we could from the bus tour, I drove the RV down to Santa Ana and got it (and ourselves) settled in for the night. Since we had some time, we called Cammie from the RV place’s payphone and chatted for just a bit. She was doing well. The female therapist she’d met with — Dr. Carly Brewer — had turned out to be the best, and she’d set up another visit a week from now, with future visits every other week.

It would likely be a long, and slow, process, but Cammie seemed dedicated to putting in the effort.

The house was almost complete in terms of the major work. The attic was finished, as was the kitchen and second floor. The master bedroom and basement still needed work, and Cammie (and Mel, who was spending about half her time in College Station) were currently living in one of the second-floor bedrooms while they redid the master closet.

I had the feeling Cammie was hiding some sort of surprise. I wasn’t going to try to puzzle it out. Let her have her fun. She amply deserved it!

She was impatient for us to get back. It’d still be a bit over a week, but we’d be back in time for Fish Camp, which was the deadline.

The girls listened to my side of the call for all of that, then took turns passing the phone around, saying hi and catching up a bit.

Once we were done, we cooked dinner in the RV, hung out for a bit, and then went to bed early.

As we’d observed in Florida, the best Disney days start early.

We’d brought our ears with us and planned to wear them into the park. Why not? Where else would they be better (except perhaps right after doing so well at Nationals)?

Friday, July 27, 1984

I was, again, the unofficial tour guide for our Disney outing. Angie justified it on the strength of my having the best sense of direction and having been here only two and a half years ago, but the real answer was, of course, the many Disney trips I’d made in later years. We just couldn’t explain that to Phil and Kimberly. The girls all knew, though.

As we had in Florida (and as I usually did), we made a beeline for Fantasyland — stopping to get ‘My First Time’ buttons for Phil, Kimberly, and Jessica — and rode all of the rides there before moving on. That put us one step ahead of the bulk of the crowd, and we stayed that way until lunchtime, when we slowed down and ate at the Blue Bayou.

None of the Livelys had even known there was a restaurant like the Blue Bayou at Disneyland, and greatly enjoyed it. I mentioned in passing that the ‘33’ a few doors down was Club 33, the long-rumored private club for the wealthy and powerful.

I’m not sure they believed me, but they should have. Who knows? Perhaps one day we might wind up being invited to join the private party. It definitely could happen!

Three different cast members told Jessica she looked ‘just like a princess.’ I think that was code for ‘We’d hire you in a second to play a princess’ — which I’m sure they would! The look Jess gave me said she’d heard what I’d heard: ‘American Princess’. Neither of us could know if that movie would exist in this universe, but — if it did — I was certain Jess would be a marvel in it.

Phil and Kimberly, of course, preened a bit, too. She was their princess, after all, and as much as they’d always known how exceptionally beautiful she was, I doubted it got old hearing it from others.

Our afternoon was more leisurely. We drove the Autopia cars, rode the (still, and forever, lousy) submarines, took the Jungle Cruise, and in general had a great time. We also settled in early for each of the parades, grabbing some dinner at the restaurant near Tomorrowland.

The Main Street Electrical Parade was (as it nearly always is, for me) the highlight of the evening, even better than the fireworks. Paige and Jess, though, preferred the fireworks, while Jas at least claimed she couldn’t decide, and Angie backed her up on that.

We left when they kicked us out (almost literally — we’d taken another ride on Peter Pan just before closing time, and the lights came on mid-ride, which is quite an experience). The crowd trudging out seemed to be just like we were — tired, perhaps exhausted, but still having a great time.

We parted in the parking lot with hugs (and a handshake) and promises to get back together as soon as we could. I wasn’t sure when that might be. It wouldn’t be until Christmas, most likely. Jess was committed to heading home (unless, as a very outside chance, she was filming something), and we would be in Houston for Christmas, too.

With this phase of the trip over, the girls and I took stock of our remaining time. We had to be back by August 9th, and realistically that would be pushing things. There was some real benefit to getting back on the 5th or 6th in terms of having more time to get the house set up, relax with (and reassure) parents, and so forth.

Putting it all together, we decided to spend the weekend in San Diego. Las Vegas would be Monday, with Flagstaff on Tuesday. We planned to cross northern Arizona to the Petrified Forest, spend a night roughly there, then stop in Albuquerque, El Paso, Junction, and then finally reach Houston late on Sunday the 5th.

By no means was this an efficient route, but we would see a lot of the country, including places all of us wanted to see. The short stop in Las Vegas was primarily because we were all underage (both for gambling and drinking) and just didn’t want to make a prolonged stop. For us, Vegas would be a much more attractive destination in years to come, when we could gamble, drink legally, and as the shows changed to be more the sort we wanted to see.

On the other hand, no one wanted to completely skip Vegas. For me, the attraction was somewhat sentimental. I’d been in Las Vegas for the National Computer Convention in early July of 1984 in my first life. It’d just been a fun trip, but one an aspiring computer nerd found worth it. Seeing the town again in the same year would be nostalgic, but not the sort of nostalgia likely to mess with me.

Parts of Northern Arizona? My ex-wife and I had taken a family trip there with the kids, and there were feelings to be considered. Still, it felt like the better course to meet those feelings head-on.

After all, we’d taken family trips to Universal, Disneyland, Disney World, and other places, too, and I’d survived that. Every time I crossed paths with my former self, I felt a bit better about the odds of not having a meltdown anywhere in particular.

For everyone else, this would be new ground and therefore entirely welcome.

Once we had the dates figured out, I gave Jane a call. We scheduled a get-together the morning of August 7th. We were planning to be in Houston that day, and we wanted to catch up. Neither Angie nor I had anything big, but it would be good to just talk.

Tomorrow’s goal was a few of San Diego’s museums, with the Zoo on Sunday. Given that, we went to bed early. The museums wouldn’t be too taxing, but rest was a good thing.

Not so early we didn’t enjoy the bed before sleeping, though!

Monday, July 30, 1984

San Diego had been a lot of fun. We toured the Art Museum, the Aerospace Museum, and the Model Railroad Museum (yes, all in one day!) and had a great time at each. It was a bit of a rush, but each of the museums appealed to us differently and we wanted the variety.

For the zoo, we slowed down and really enjoyed the place. We’d considered the Wild Animal Park (later to be known as the Safari Park), but decided to skip it this time. The zoo, though, was well worth the trip, even though it felt horribly dated to me. I kept explaining to the girls how much zoos would change over the next few decades. San Diego was a relative trailblazer, but there were still far more animals here in old, drab concrete boxes than would be in similar conditions in a decade or two.

The drive to Las Vegas was largely consumed with discussions about what we’d seen and what we still wanted to see. Everyone wanted to figure out a way to get to the Northeast as soon as reasonably possible (knowing that anytime before the summer of 1985 was unlikely) and then see many other parts of the United States. As much of a luxury as this summer had been, in some ways it had simply pointed out just how much there was to see, and how much we’d missed along the way.

We might not have quite the same luxury of time for a while to come, but all of us agreed vacations had to be a priority. Being successful was a goal, and there would likely be times when our fledgling enterprises would need our every moment, but too much of that was a failure to live life the way it should be lived. Even with two chances, life is too short to waste it being a workaholic.

We arrived in Las Vegas in the late afternoon. Vegas was quite RV-friendly, as one might expect, and we had no problem getting settled and going out for one of the famous buffets, which were (especially in 1984) ridiculously cheap, if not always the best quality.

We did try to find one of the better ones, though.

After eating, we drove up and down the Strip, enjoying the bright lights and debating which hotels might be fun to stay at. We got out at Caesar’s Palace and walked through it, and Circus Circus, simply to do so, buying a few cheap souvenirs along the way.

Three years from now I could legally bet on sports here. Would I? Who knew? I knew a few things that might well matter (the Bulls’ three-peat, for instance). Some of the things I ‘knew’ might be wrong, though.

And, by 1987, would we need more infusions of gambling money? Maybe yes, maybe no. It was far too early to tell.

One thing I was fairly certain of: college football might be a sucker bet, at least for games I’d been at. Cal and Andy alone were significant wild cards. How many other things were different (whether or not we were ‘to blame’ for them)?

Pro football might be a similar sucker bet before too many years passed, but who could tell?

For now, I’d keep watching the sports section and debating when to place bets. I hadn’t sworn off betting if there was a really big score in the making, but I certainly wanted to limit it. The last thing I needed was the IRS, or the police, breathing down my neck — not to mention some mobster making me an offer I couldn’t refuse!

Las Vegas was the sort of city to inspire such thoughts. Even betting legally here might be a risk. How many times would one need to place a large ‘lucky’ bet before the Powers That Be noticed and asked questions? Would that simply be paranoia, or would ‘they’ be out to get me?