If there’s anyone to thank for this particular blog series, it’s David Addison.
I *met* David in 1985, when “Moonlighting” first debuted. It was a genius show brought to us by Glenn Gordon Caron, which basically launched Bruce Willis’s career. It was witty, exciting, sexy and romantic – it was one of those shows that had a little something for everybody and the first few seasons had some of the finest writing ever seen on network TV. It was a series fueled by sexual chemistry, and every week we all tuned in to see “Will they or won’t they?”
They finally did, and some will tell you that was where the show jumped the proverbial shark.
Re-watching it, especially knowing what I know on the show business side of things, I don’t think it was the sex so much. (In fact, where David and Maddie finally get together remains one of the hottest things I’ve ever seen on TV.)
Basically Cybil Shephard, who played Maddie Hayes, got pregnant, which one could argue accelerated the timeline for the two characters consummating their relationship and led to a bunch of unfortunate storylines to write a pregnancy into plot.
It was like a giant game of hot potato, except we all got burned.
But for nearly three glorious seasons, I had an ongoing love affair with the wise-cracking David Addison, a well-meaning guy’s guy who could have had me by the pilot. I never understood Maddie’s reluctance to jump him at the first opportunity. I was a goner from the first smirk. He was sexy, he was funny – God, was he funny. When he slicked back his hair, donned those Wayfarers and started to sing for absolutely no reason at all, I was reduced to a teen puddle. He made life fun.
Maddie, on the other hand, often came across as a giant stick-in-the-mud. She didn’t care for any of the things that made me love the guy. In “My Fair David,” she even attempted an unfortunate makeover, to make him more responsible and serious. A “grownup.” Part of that? He couldn’t sing. Even just one "do-wap" and he'd have to fire a couple of their underworked employees. But David... without singing? You might as well tell the sun not to shine. And, of course, she had to bust his balls (gleefully) about it.
It was enough to make Agnes Dipesto, their eccentric but mild-mannered receptionist, turn against her beloved boss. “You de-Daved him,” she accused, telling Maddie that she really didn't think she liked her anymore.
Hell, it was one of the reasons I never really liked her ever. I mean... how could she not love him, every single do-wap and all?
Like Dipesto, I loved David exactly the way he was. Just when he would pop off with some sexist comment that made you want to smack him, he’d say or do something so sweet it would make you swoon. In “In God We Strongly Suspect,” we find out that it’s David, not Maddie, who believes in the Big Guy Upstairs.
He’s horrified to find out she doesn’t believe in God, so much so he puts in a good word for her himself.
It’s not every day you’ll find a guy like David, who both wants to get into your pants and pray for your eternal soul. And that SMIRK. My God. I still haven't developed a defense against it. (Mostly because I haven't wanted to.)
From the start, the writing on this show was absolute brilliance. They broke all sorts of rules, including breaking the fourth wall at every opportunity. That, I think, was what REALLY hooked me in. It was like David was looking at and talking to ME, some overweight, acne-ridden fifteen-year-old smack-dab in the middle of nowhere.
God, he was perfect. Then and now, David Addison might just be my Absolute Guy. He wasn't perfect, which is a key theme in the guys I seem to pick. Perfect men intimidate me. There's no competing with that. Flawed guys? Gimme, gimme, gimme. A fixer-upper? I got all the tools. Let me pop the hood and tinker around a bit. And I wouldn't De-Dave him like Maddie did. The Daviest parts about him were always my favorites.
David Addison has inspired every smirking smartass I have created, but I think if we're going to find his DEEPEST influence, it's Caz Bixby. In Masked in the Music, my hero Rudy meets Caz for the first time, but the echo of David Addison was *everywhere.*
“That was brutal.”
I shot to my feet and spun around, peering into the darkness just beyond the light’s edge. I saw the bright tip of a burning cigarette, though when the smell hit me, I knew it wasn’t an ordinary cigarette. The man stepped from the shadows, coming more into view. He sported a tux like nobody’s business, tall and beautiful, roughly around thirty, with sun-bleached sandy hair that flopped over one of his incredible amber eyes. He offered the joint.
I didn’t refuse it. When other people walked through the doors, he motioned for me to join him in the shadows, where we could partake in private.
Out of sheer curiosity, I followed. I gave him back the joint and he inhaled deeply. “God, I hate these things. Fucking boring as hell. That’s why I bring my own party favors,” he grinned before he exhaled a cloud of fragrant smoke.
“Then why do you come?” I asked as I took another hit of my own.
He shrugged. “It’s a good cause. Besides, wearing a tux, dancing with all the pretty girls and drinking from a full bar all night isn’t a bad way to make a living.”
I peered at him even closer in the low light. Why did he look so familiar?
He answered my unspoken question with an outstretched hand. “Caz Bixby. In case you’re wondering where you’ve seen me before.”
My eyes opened wide. His reputation had definitely preceded him. He was the one who had demolished an entire presidential campaign when he came out as the potential first lady’s boy toy for hire. He was probably the best known male escort on the planet, hence why he’d be working a party like this one.
I took his hand, which he held for just a beat longer than necessary. “And you are…?” he asked with one cocked eyebrow.
“Rudy Renfro,” I supplied. His smirk deepened.
“Please tell me you have a job worthy of such a celebrity name,” he teased.
“I play guitar in a band,” I dismissed easily.
“A rocker,” he surmised as he glanced me over. “Not what I would have guessed. Good for you.”
I shrugged. “I don’t know what I am anymore.”
He chuckled again as he took one last hit, before he snubbed it out on the stone wall. “You’re not in love with that pretty girl, you know that much.”
“Yeah,” I muttered as I glanced back at the patio.
He clapped his hand on my shoulder. “Hey. Don’t beat yourself up. You can’t help it you’re gay.”
My eyes shot to his. Even in the shadows of the darkened gardens, I could see how they pierced through my armor to see right to the very heart of me. It was one thing for my sister to see it. She’d known me her entire life. It was another for Tony to see it, because he could see physically how I reacted to him. But a stranger I just met? I stammered as I tried to find my footing. “I’m not… I just… what?”
He pulled me into the crook of his arm. “Don’t panic, Rudy Renfro. Your secret is safe with me. And before you drive yourself crazy with the question, no. I don’t think everyone can tell. But it’s my job to see what people lack so that I can give it to them. And dude, your frustration is full-tilt.”
My gaze narrowed. “Is this where you give me your card and tell me to call you for a little alone time?”
With the flick of his wrist, he offered his card.
“Sorry,” I said as I pushed away. “I don’t think I can afford your rates.”
He chuckled as he followed me through the darkened garden. “You are probably right about that, young Rudy. I’ve never been in one but I’ve heard bar bands don’t pay for shit.”
I made a face he couldn’t see. He could read an awful lot for such a short acquaintance. “So I guess you’re just wasting your time.”
I could feel his shrug. “Maybe it’s the mood of the evening, but I’m feeling kind of charitable.”
I spun around to face him. “I’m not interested, okay?”
His grin deepened. “Is it the whole virgin thing, or are you just that tied up in knots over the guy who won’t return the favor?” I gaped at him. He stepped forward.
“So it is what’s behind Door #2. Again, your secret is safe with me.” He put his card into my breast pocket. “But if you ever need a friend, especially one who has many friends in the music biz, call me. No strings. No hourly rate.”
I cocked an eyebrow. “You mean you’d fuck me for free?”
He chuckled as he stepped forward, till we were practically nose to nose. “I don’t give away freebies to men,” he assured as he bent closer, his mouth above mine. “But you remind me of someone I used to know. And I guess I kind of like you, baby.”
With that he kissed me. It wasn’t sexual—just a peck. It floored me all the same as he patted the pocket where his card now hid and left me alone in the darkness.
If either David OR Caz were real men, I'd be in big trouble. I'm not Maddie, not by a long shot. I'd have jumped them practically from the time they said hello.
And because they're imperfect, not bound by conservative, traditional rules, they'd let me. But because they're good guys, deep at the core, I know I'd be safe.
And maybe that's the biggest appeal of all. Guys like this aren't out to protect us from ourselves. They can barely protect us from THEM. And it's what we all want anyway so... what's the problem? Let's give in to those temptations and have a little fun... cuz what else is living for if you're not singing, laughing... or feeling good?
Thank you, David Addison... for DECADES of feeling good.
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