Cyndi Lauper: A Memoir by Cyndi Lauper Page B

dropped it. I was nauseated and in disbelief that it wasn’t just men—it was a guy and two women. I just could not understand why. While it was all happening, I saw somebody sitting on the bed looking at me and crying and I thought, “It’s either me, or an angel crying.” The girlfriend went into the bathroom, and I went in, too. I still wasn’t dressed. And I said to her, “Why? Why did you do this to me?” And she told me it was because she loved the guy and wanted to make him happy.
    I just got dressed and left. I was kind of stunned for a long time. I thought that when you’re in a band, you’re family. Because you’re the same. I always felt a kinship with musicians. I was always so glad to know that there were people in the world who felt just like I did before I found them. Like, “What the fuck am I here for? I’m a nothing. What can I do? I can’t do anything. I can’t keep a job.” I thought there was an honor among thieves.
    And then afterward, I realized that maybe it was because this guy had started the band, and then the power slipped away from him, and it had come to me. So this act was like a very animal instinct to dominate. I told him that I would tell the others what happened and he said, “Go ahead, tell them—they won’t believe it.” Sure enough, I told the other guys in the band and they didn’t believe me. And after that, if you can believe it, I still stayed with the band because I refused to let them break me.
    The only reason I never talked about this publicly before now was that I didn’t want to give that guy any power. But here’s what God did. In 1989, after my first two albums had come out, I was shopping for Christmas presents in New York. I had this wonderful car service—really great guys who would take me around shopping. It was snowing, and I was standing in front of Bloomingdale’s. This guy came over and said, “Cyn, how are you? Look at you: You really made it. I’m so proud of you.” It was him. I asked how he was, and he said he was working in a deli or something. I asked him, “How’s your girlfriend?” and he said, “Oh, that ended years ago.”
    At the end of our conversation, I didn’t say anything to him about the whole incident. I didn’t have to. You know when you get the grander picture? I just went back in my car and continued on. I thought, “You know what, pal? As you treat others, at one point in your life, whether it’s now or later, you’re going to get it back.”
    Everything in my life has been a lesson like that. Every freakin’ thing.

CHAPTER FOUR
    I DIDN’ T LEAVE THAT band, but they fired me, anyway. I don’t know why and I don’t care—I was not happy; I wasn’t listening to them anymore. But ultimately it was good, because I started another band called Flyer. At that time, a lot of bands had come to see me and I became friendly with other musicians, so with Flyer, we had a really good group. There was a guitar player named Jimmy, Richie on rhythm guitar, Eddie on bass (who still emails me), and Charlie on drums. We were going to be rockers. In my last band I was doing Janis Joplin covers, but in this one, our sound was more like Rod Stewart.
    I ended up falling in love with Richie. He was my first real love. He was funny and bright, had a BA in English, and could play a wicked lead. He had a lot of promise, but he was haunted. I’ve found that most musicians are haunted by something or some idea that they are always at odds with. He had nightmares about his late father, who passed away when he was maybe around twelve. In his dream, his dad, who was an alcoholic most of his life, would be sitting in his kitchen, laughing at him.
    Richie lived with his mom not too far away from me in Richmond Hill, Queens. She hadn’t had it easy with his dad and was a little bitterabout the turn of her life (who wouldn’t be, I guess). But she also was never too supportive of Richie’s choice to play in a band. He could have been a