Loved By Millions

When Richie came to town, beauty parlors filled up and the fashion shops had big sales. It was a boom, all savings shook loose. He came down the road, incognito, on his brown mule. He wore a large drooping gray mustache and a big sombrero. A man in a beat-up truck stopped him.

“Hey,” he hollered. “You like to ride mules, so do I.” He smiled and showed his broken teeth. He jumped out of the truck. “Hey, Richie, it’s you. I know it’s you,” he said.

“Shoot! How did you know it was me, Pedro?” He took off his mustache and sombrero. His face was like a little boy’s, his eyes a hint of sadness. He had a smooth, melancholy, even lonely, sultry voice. He sang dulce songs of moon bright nights and dusky ember, black heart, laments.

“Your boots,” Pedro cried, “white alligator. You don’t think your old, best friend, would remember? I was with you when we bought them. Why did you come? What is here for you? You are famous. You are a prince. Here, there is nothing but dirt and dust. What do you need, Richie, the good stuff? I will get it for you. The pills, too, if you want.”

“This is my home, Pedro,” Richie said. “I am done with the fame, the so- called celebrity. What has it done for me? Nothing! Fame? Why me?”

“Ah, but Richie, the love,” Pedro said. “They say you loved hundreds, maybe a thousand.”

“What is love? I didn’t love one,” Richie said. “Get the pills, too.”

“But you were loved by millions, Richie,” Pedro said. “Millions, all over the world.”

“Show me what love is,” Richie said. “You show me. I want to know. I only loved one, when we were very young.”

“Yes, Richie, that is a hurt we have to bear alone,” Pedro said. “Why are you so skinny now? Come by the plaza. I will buy you an ice cream at our favorite shop. Remember?”

There were many people at the plaza but nobody recognized him, yet. “Here is an ice cream sandwich for you and a cone for me,” Pedro said. He broke the sandwich in half and gave it to Richie.

“Why did you do that, Pedro? Why did you break it?” Richie said. “Are you making fun of me? I can’t have it like that. Why did you break it?”

“I forgot,” Pedro said. “I only wanted to see . . . it’s okay, I’ll get you another, then we’ll go to the bar and I’ll get your stuff.”

There was a group of men and some horses out in front of the bar. “Look, Richie is here,” Pedro hollered. “You are home, Richie. These are your friends and brothers.”

“Yes, it is him,” one of the men said. “And look, even the horse is happy to see him.”

“One, two, three,” Richie said. “And I wish I had one just like it. One, two, three, one two, three.”

The men busted out laughing, patting Richie on the back, shaking him by the shoulders and hugging him. “You still do that counting, Richie?” Pedro asked. “I thought you were fixed. Let’s get a beer and get your stuff.”

Word went out that Richie was there and the whole town got dressed up in their finest party clothes. They came to the plaza to see him, they begged him to sing. Pedro had taken some pills and was drinking. During the concert he passed out. After an hour of singing there was an intermission. Richie snuck out, in disguise, on his mule, unseen.

When he didn’t show up the next day a search party was organized to find him. Pedro knew where to go first. He headed out to the old, ruined, adobe house, where Richie was born and had later abandoned. They found him on the floor of the shower room, dead.

An autopsy was performed and it was determined that he, possibly intentionally, had overdosed. They also said he had an enlarged heart that was broken. They said something caused his heart to weaken and then to swell. Pedro said it may have been a desperate attempt to love again. He was only twenty-seven years old. His headstone reads:

RICHIE

SWEET SERENADER

LOVED BY MILLIONS