Star Man: A Novel

By Spady Brannan

First-year intern Dr. James Braiden receives an education in timeless truths from Karel “Star Man” Starn, a mysteriously ageless patient at a long-term mental health facility shrouded in rumors, secrets, and bureaucratic cover-ups. At first, Braiden is so distracted by suspicious patient files and reports of paranormal events, he nearly misses the golden opportunity to learn from a master. As the maverick doctor works doggedly to unravel troublesome discrepancies in Starn’s case file, a series of rarefied conversations between Braiden and Starn take place behind closed doors. Roles are reversed as patient guides doctor through a mind-bending journey.

Starn builds his case for a new way of living in the world methodically, doling out successive layers of gemlike insight at each meeting. When the Star Man speaks, saying things like “What we call evil in the worldly experience is not an entity unto itself. It only has as much power as we ourselves ascribe to it. There is only one real, true power, and that is the power of Love,” Braiden is intrigued but resistant. When he is able to integrate the wisdom offered by Starn, Braiden finds healing for his broken heart, new beginnings with another love, and a better way to practice medicine. By the end of the novel, Starn has transferred over to his hand-selected protégé the most brilliant aspects of our zeitgeist.

Stories that touch the quiet place inside us transcend time and inspire us to think about our individual purpose within a universe greater than ourselves. Herman Hesse's Siddhartha and Paulo Coelho's The Alchemist are such stories. In a similar way, Star Man: A Novel aims to show readers that a mindset free of fear unleashes unlimited possibilities, and that love always finds the way home.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Jul 13, 2021
• ISBN: 9781664178328

Spady Brannan

Considered an A-list musician's musician, Spady Brannan has played in studios for decades, has toured the world in many of our most revered concert halls, and has penned hits for international recording stars, including Roy Orbison, Trisha Yearwood, Anetha Faltskog (ABBA), Don Williams, Engelbert Humperdinck and Highway 101. In 1985, the American Society of Composers, Authors and Publishers (ASCAP) awarded Spady the #1 Country Record Award for "Real Love," performed by Dolly Parton & Kenny Rogers. In 1986, he won the same award for "Think About Love," performed by Dolly Parton.Although Spady is an accomplished guitarist and phenomenal bass player, what he does best of all is tell stories. For the first fifty years of his career Spady connected with people through his lyrics and songs. Now turning his attention to prose, Spady has written a novel that will touch our hearts and give us something to ponder as we navigate our own quest for meaning and purpose.Spady lives in Nashville with his beloved canine companion of fifteen years, Sable.

Book preview

Prologue

God, I’m gonna miss this place. From the first time I looked out the windows, I’ve loved the bird’s eye view of the neighborhood. The way the afternoon sunlight streamed in, painting honey-colored hues on everything in the apartment. This was where my professional career got started, wow. Gabby and I had gotten her all packed up on Friday and now, in her Jeep with a little U-Haul trailer in tow, she was headed for Bowling Green, where she’d finally be able to spend a few days with her dad. I’m gonna try to get outta here myself on Tuesday. I’ve got a few things to wrap up Monday, but then I’m gone. I’ve got to find us somewhere to live in Nashville. I doubt I’ll ever find a place as cool as this one, but, no matter, we’ll be together, and that’s the important thing. Dr. Ray worked his magic and helped Gabby land a job in the Vanderbilt Children’s Hospital. She’s over-the-top excited about that one. She’ll be one hour away from Bowling Green, which means that she’ll be able to visit her dad anytime she likes.

Looking back, my short time here in Elgin sure has been a wild ride. Bordering on the fantastical, with new surprises around every corner, chock-full of epic highs and mind-boggling lows, it was life changing. But the time had come to say goodbye to Elgin and start a new adventure. In Nashville. With Gabby. What the hell, things change, there’s nobody to blame for what happened. Karel would have said, Endless possibilities await. That’s Karel. That’s the Star Man for ya. Looks like this is my chance to test his theory. The good news is that Gabby and I will both be working at Vandy.

It was over six years ago when I first arrived at Vanderbilt to complete my graduate studies; that’s when I fell in love Nashville. It was the first time I had lived outside the state of Florida. The first time I had experienced seasonal changes. The vista of colors saturating autumn with reds and golds. The electric shade of new growth green on budding trees that were coming back to life after having slept under the gray skies of winter. Flowers of every description painting pastel landscapes in spring. I’ll be looking forward to riding the Natchez Trace Highway again with my dear friend and former professor at Vandy, Dr. Ray. My chief sounding board for the ups and downs surrounding my adventure in Elgin. Yeah, Nashville has its pluses. But there’s no denying that I will sorely miss spending time with Karel.

Last night while packing, I found my leather journal, a gift from Dr. Ray. It was in the top drawer of the nightstand, like a Gideon Bible in a roadside motel. A bit retro, old fashioned, even, complete with lace-up leather binding. I had forgotten it was there—I was never big on keeping a daily journal—and seeing it now made me laugh.

Was my discovery prophetic? Who knows? Time will tell. After my wild ride in Elgin, it seems rather ironic. I guess what makes it so special is what he had written on the inside cover: For James starting his medical journey: Everybody deserves a life story. Make yours an open book and you have nothing to hide.

Well, in light of all that’s happened, here goes.

1

The First Cut Is The Deepest

But when it comes to being loved she’s first. -Cat Stevens

Originally, I’m from South Florida, but that’s not significant to this story other than it’s a place to start. Born James Constantine Braiden on Wednesday, September the fourth, in West Palm Beach. A rather curious youth filled with too many questions, my parents started me in school early, and I graduated high school at seventeen. Academia came easily to me. A fast learner with a large appetite for more was my take; my parents would have used the word ‘precocious.’ After graduation, I blew off summer vacation and enrolled right away in summer classes at the University of Florida, where I had been awarded an academic scholarship. I earned my BA in three years. It was just before the start of that third year that I got my first taste of falling deeply, recklessly, passionately, head-over-heels in love. Her name was Carmen Sadano. My Italian Venus.

I had gone to the local bike shop to pick up my Pegoretti, an early birthday present to myself. My mechanic friend, Mike, who was part owner and did repairs at the shop, had made it possible. The jet-black frame, a special order, sat there gathering dust for six months because the guy never came back to claim it. Finally, Mike decided he had hung onto it long enough and gave me first chance at buying it. It was a beauty—felt like I stole it. It was black and chrome, sleek and sturdy, an utterly stunning machine. I fitted it with Dura-Ace hardware and Continental 220 thread count tires. So, I was standing in the shop lost in admiration of my birthday splurge when a voice coming from behind me snapped me back to reality.

Is that the Pegoretti? Did you buy it?

I turned my head and was struck speechless by what I saw. Two upturned, inquisitive, caramel-colored eyes met my gaze. They were set above a petite, aquiline nose that was nestled between high, softly rounded cheekbones bathed in gorgeous olive-tinted skin. Brown hair, silky and straight, was tied high in the back in a ponytail. Her bib highlighted her fantastic shape and exquisite frame.

What’s up, Carm? said Mike.

Turning my stunned gaze to Mike, I gave him the ‘you know this girl?’ look.

My bad, he said. I thought you two knew each other. Carmen, this is James. James, Carmen.

She stuck out her hand. I extended my hand as if in a trance.

Nice to meet ya, James, she said, sporting a playfully mischievous smile.

Yeah...Oh, I mean uh nice to meet you too.

Aren’t you the shy one?

Tongue-tied, my head could only bob up and down, even as I tried desperately to smile back at her. I kept thinking she must have thought I was brain dead.

Hey Mike, my tires come in yet? she asked.

Don’t know; I’ll go out back and check. You good, James?

I gave Mike a nod.

Thanks, Mike.

He headed out back.

So tell me, James . . . you got a last name?

We spent the rest of that afternoon sitting outside the coffee shop across the street talking bikes and life. I could have sat there forever, just inhaling the sound of her voice, that passionate, hypnotic songbird of a voice, holding me so willingly captive. Rarely apart after that, we took long, magical bike rides together. Soon, we arrived at the place where we sometimes didn’t even need to speak. Words were no longer necessary.

She was a psych major like myself. We took classes together that year and spent our evenings drinking red wine, eating Thai takeout, philosophically dissecting our classes and discussing how we would be the ones to change the world.

We’re gonna do this, you and me, Carmen predicted. Working together, we’re gonna make a real difference in people’s lives.

I gave her a teasing, cross-eyed smile.

I’m serious, dammit, you need to pay attention to what I’m saying!

I am listening.

No, you’re not. You’re sitting there giving me a patronizing look.

I am listening, girlfriend, it’s just my eyeballs are crossing from all the wine.

She broke into laughter. You know, Jimmy boy, sometimes you really are just a bit of a wimp. You’re gonna have to learn how to keep up.

It was Carmen, my passionate muse, who inspired what became the idealistic viewpoint that drove me. If soulmates do exist, then Carmen Sadano is definitely high on that list. Sometimes, if I close my eyes and get real still, I can smell the fragrance that was Carmen. We all have a unique scent that’s like an olfactory fingerprint, and hers was intoxicating.

Memories are funny, though. In my personal view, they come in many styles and categories. They range all the way from the ‘Oh yeah I remember that’ which can show up daily, to those that forever change us in profound ways. We all have those epiphanies, those life changing moments. They can arrive chained in agony, forcing us to relive unfathomable depths of painful loss. They can also show up suspended in utter bliss, floating on the remembrance of ecstatic feelings and discoveries. And then some memories involve both the good times as well as the bad.

My mind is filled with many amazing memories of Carmen, but they all lead back to the finality of the last one. Whenever I relive that decisive moment in time, I find myself struggling to breathe. The infinite emptiness seems to consume my heart. Five days from Commencement, Carmen was riding her bike to graduation rehearsal when she was struck by a hit and run driver. And the way that I heard about it only deepens the wound.

James!

Hey, Pete. What’s going on?

You gotta turn on the TV, channel five, right now.

I’m already runnin’ late for rehearsal man.

Bro! You really need to turn it on now.

There, in the upper left corner of my flat screen, I saw Carmen’s student ID. A reporter live at the scene was standing at the intersection of NW 8th Avenue and SW 13th Street. In the background were the unrelenting flashings of squad car lights.

It happened about forty-five minutes ago, Bill, I heard the reporter say. A student at the University was fatally struck down by a hit and run driver.

I felt as if I was being hurled into a giant vacuum of shock, and it sucked all the life out of my body.

I had made reservations for us to go to dinner after rehearsal that night. I knew that I didn’t want to live without her and planned to pop the question. The only reason I hadn’t been with her when she was killed was that I had gone to Reid’s Jewelers to pick up the ring.

Her family buried her in Jacksonville. I didn’t have the strength to attend the burial services. How would I be able to look at her—my love, my dream, my future—lying in a casket? How could I watch her being lowered into the ground, into that cold, never-ending, eternal silence?

But that was the lie, my lame rationale for not attending. The only other funeral I had ever attended was that of my paternal grandfather. I distinctly remember my father holding my hand in his and walking me up to the casket, insisting that I look inside. I remember shaking my head no, I did not want to get any closer, much less look at the shell of what was once my smiling and laughing grandfather, the man who had taught me how to whittle. To nine-year-old me, the whole concept of death was frightening. No. I just wanted to remember him the way he was. Wanted to cradle in my mind the memories of our time together. I preferred to hang onto the sound of his laugh and imagine the smile that had always made me feel special. That was the real reason behind my not attending Carmen’s funeral.

Instead, I bought a bottle of her favorite Syrah and drove to the Devil’s Millhopper sinkhole. About halfway there, I pulled up a music mix on my cell phone that Carmen had made for me. She had titled it Carmen’s Mix for Jimmy-boy. When the first song blasted through the car speakers, I got so emotional I almost wrecked the car. After our very first bike trip to Cedar Key, Carmen had declared it our song. It was the old-school Cheryl Crow cover of First Cut is the Deepest.

That was the first time I was finally able to let go and cry since her death. There I was, bawling uncontrollably, nose running off my face while I sang along at the top of my lungs.

When it comes to being loved she’s first

That’s how I know

First cut is the deepest…

When the song ended, I hit pause, pulled over, and rolled down the windows, trying desperately to re-center myself but I was lost in the irony. The song had taken on a whole new meaning. My first cut.

My second good cry came shortly afterward. It happened the minute I pulled into the parking lot by the visitor’s center. Suddenly, in my mind’s eye, I could see us riding our bikes to the Millhopper. I saw us locking them to the bike rack and heading down the half-mile nature trail for our picnic. Midway, Carmen was taking my hand. Putting a finger from her other hand to her lips and leading me off the trail to what became a small clearing. Carmen pulling a blanket from her backpack and spreading it at our feet. Carmen, smiling, gently pushing me to the ground. Making love not twenty yards off the trail. The sound of her muted moans, her scent, her skin on mine, saturated me to my core. Clutching my arm in hers tightly all the way back to the bikes, she giggled every time anyone passed us, as if we had just pulled the wool over the entire world’s eyes.

I took a deep breath. I wiped my eyes with the back of my hands. I got out of the car and headed down that same path. I crawled onto the fallen limb of a dead oak tree that was protruding over the center of the sinkhole and climbed about halfway across.

So, what am I supposed to do now, I asked. What about all our plans? You were the brains here; I’m just the worker bee lost without my queen.

Uncontrollable tears rolled down my face and the salty taste rested heavy on my lips, making my words slobber together, barely understandable, but still I barreled on.

I don’t even know if I can do this now without you. It’s just not fair; it’s not right. This is not how things were supposed to go. Why? Why us?

I washed down the silence with tears and red wine. Reaching into my pocket, I pulled out the velvet jewelers case. I opened it. I pulled out the ring. Her ring.

I picked it out myself. I know the stone is not the biggest, but I was hoping you might like it. You always said ‘simplicity of design’ was best.

After finishing the bottle, I pulled the ring from its velvet cocoon and cast it into the Millhopper.

Graduation came and went. I was still struggling with the plan Carmen had made for our future. We had applied to Vanderbilt University to start our graduate studies. It was a most unusual occurrence that Carmen and I were both accepted when only nine out of over three hundred applicants were approved for scholarships. I needed to earn my masters and doctorate degrees plus get in two years of internship before I could obtain full licensure and open my own private practice. Carmen’s plan, one that was supposed to have us studying side-by-side, had indeed made the possibility of graduate school an obtainable outcome.

Burying myself in graduate school while forsaking any type of social life was how I got through. Getting close to another human being was the farthest thing from my mind. Pain is a relentless motivator. I completed my master’s degree in two years and then took the summer semester off. Learning the craft of bartending was how I spent that summer of inebriation. My quirky gift for gab made it easy to make friends, great tip money, and even snare a couple of meaningless one-night hook-up liaisons. Everybody loves their bartender.

The following fall, I started working on my doctorate and became, once more, a man on a mission. The manic, impassioned, fiery idealism that Carmen had kindled in me took on a new sense of drive. There were no other options, no other choices but to see it through to the end. I owed her at least that much. I would find the mettle inside myself to make it happen. Maybe I was doing it for all the wrong reasons, but finish it I did, and in only four years.

I know it might sound braggadocios on my part to claim to have accomplished so much in such a short amount of time, but I didn’t do it alone. Dr. Reyansh Gupta, my primary advisor for the entirety of my graduate studies who also became my bike-riding partner, was my secret weapon. I arrived in Nashville still licking my wounds and dragging around the un-fillable hole Carmen’s death had created. I was emotionally distant, drained, and withdrawn. It was Dr. Ray who saved me from total isolation. What started as long bike rides on the Natchez Trace Highway led to him taking me under his wing and, eventually, incorporating me into his family. His patience and constant encouragement worked wonders to heal the wounds from my devastating loss.

With open hearts and minds Dr. Ray’s beautiful wife Aanya, son Raji, and little daughter Diya welcomed me into their family dynamic. I had grown up an only child; that may have accounted for my initial reluctance to allow myself to let down my guard but, over time, the Gupta home became my oasis, my safe harbor, my respite from worldly madness. In fact, the only hard part about leaving Nashville would be saying goodbye to that nurturing, supportive environment the Guptas had so warmly brought me into. Even so, for the sake of my career in clinical psychology, I had to move on.

Elgin Mental Health Center was to be my next destination. I chose Elgin because it housed Forensic Patients. In my studies I had focused on the field of Clinical Science, and I thought that working with forensic patients would surely help to prepare me for just about anything I might encounter in private practice.

So, it is to be Elgin, you say, Dr. Ray had said. We hoped you would do your internship here at Vanderbilt and remain in Nashville. Nevertheless, in the event that Elgin doesn’t work out for you, I will leave my offer to do your internship here on the table. I will miss you my dear friend, but you know how to reach me should you ever have the need, even if just to say hello, and I hope you will choose to do that often so we can stay in touch.

That’s a given, Dr. Ray, and I’m hoping you’ll let me come by the house to say goodbye to Aanya, Raji and Diya. I couldn’t leave town without doin’ that. You guys have been family to me since I got here.

Why, of course you will have to come by. I will talk to Aanya about setting up a goodbye dinner for you, as I do not think you will be able to find a garlic naan that compares with Aanya’s in Elgin, replied Dr. Ray, laughing.

I smiled. Don’t even know where to start to thank you for all you’ve done.

It is not necessary, James; you are my dear friend, a part of my family.

Well, for what it’s worth, the feeling’s mutual.

It is settled then, I will talk with Aanya, and we will set up a . . . how do you say, a grand send-off dinner to launch Dr. James Braden’s next adventure.

He gave me a big hug.

I’m sure you have quite a list of things to do, best you get at it.

I couldn’t speak so I simply smiled back at him.

That following Friday I went to the Guptas for my farewell dinner. Walking into the kitchen dining area