There used to be a great reading series in Austin called “5 Things.” Each month, they’d invite five writers to create something related to a theme. On Valentine’s Day a few years ago, they invited me. Their theme was Elizabeth Taylor’s husbands, and I got Senator John Warner. I used some factual information I found from research on their marriage, combined with my imagination. Enjoy.

I am John William Warner Jr., and I have the distinction of being Elizabeth Taylor’s sixth husband and seventh marriage. Lucky number seven. Hardly.

Chances are, I’m the husband you don’t know that much about. I’m not an alcoholic actor, a speed freak singer, or a construction worker she met in rehab. If I had to compare, I’d say I’m the most … distinguished of her husbands. Some of them were accomplished in their fields, of course, and others were most certainly famous, but I’m in a class of my own.

I am a U.S. Senator.

I was no stranger to important women. My first wife was Catherine Mellon, of the Pittsburgh Mellons. Carnegie-Mellon University and all that. I don’t usually name drop but I mention her only so you see that I’m no slouch in lady department. My divorce settlement was generous, it’s true, and I live quite well on Atoka Farms, a small estate of just over 2,000 acres in Middleburg, Virginia.

I was considered quite the catch. I dated many women after my divorce, including Barbara Walters. I’m no braggart. I tell you all this because some have suspected my motives in marrying Elizabeth. But I had my own money, and I never had to sit home alone.

I was forty-nine when I met her.  I was the chairman of the Bicentennial Commission commemorating the two hundredth anniversary of the United States. The reception also honored Queen Elizabeth II of England.

A little consolation prize for losing a country.

My Elizabeth was recently divorced from Richard Burton for the second time. Henry Kissinger was a friend and a fan and he’d heard how unhappy she was. He invited Elizabeth to D.C. and she needed a date to the gala.

When she first came into the British Embassy, I was standing with my back to her. I was wearing evening dress and white tie.  I turned around, smiled, and said, “Hello, I’m your date for tonight.”

She said, “Wow.”

Now think about that. Elizabeth Taylor, the most beautiful woman in the world, famous beyond all of Brangelina’s dreams, said, “wow” when she first saw me.

It was magic. We danced all night. We watched the sun rise over champagne. I invited her to my estate in Virginia. She fell in love with my life more than with me, I think. It was the farm, the horses, the fresh air. She was supposed to stay the night. She ended up staying a few days.

She was tired. If you know anything about Elizabeth, you know she was like a dog. Each one of her years was the equivalent of seven years in a normal person’s life. So many movies and ups and downs and drugs and marriages and divorces and surgeries. So I was happy to give her sanctuary. A little peace and quiet for her to catch her breath. And I liked her. She was funny and down to earth and cursed like a sailor.

She left to film a movie, and I assumed that would be that. She’d fall into a fling with an actor or someone she met at a disco or who the hell knew when it came to Elizabeth. She did not like to be alone. But instead, she called. She called me every night.

I went into it knowing what I could get out of it. I’m a politician. I always have ulterior motives. But I was honest with her. I had aspirations. I served in World War II and Korea. I had been Richard Nixon’s Secretary of the Navy, and I still wanted to serve my country. Maybe she couldn’t have Burton, but if she was looking for a cause, she could have me.

A consolation prize, perhaps. But she said she was game.

What kind of a ring do you get a woman who owns a famous pearl that once belonged to Spanish and British royalty? Or a diamond, over 69 carats, that Burton had given her.  Well, I did my best. I bought her a ring made of rubies, diamonds, and sapphires. I figured I should cover as many bases as possible.

We married in December 1976, and then she hit the campaign trail with me. She was a natural, of course. She shook hands and kissed babies with the best of them. And she was a movie star. She knew how to make people love her.

She started getting heavier. Lots of folks on the road do. It’s all that eating on the run. When we were campaigning, it was 12, sometimes 15-hour days. We were at some kind of political buffet, and I told her, “Pooters”—I used to call her Pooters—“you’d better have some chicken. Who knows when we’ll get a chance to eat again?”

She grabbed a piece, took a huge bite, and the woman nearly choked to death on a bone! We had to rush her to the hospital to have it surgically removed. John Belushi had a field day with that one on SN&L, let me tell you.

She almost died, but she did it. Elizabeth sold that diamond Burton gave her for more than $3 million dollars to pave my way to the United States Senate. I guess not all diamonds are forever.

Talk about another lousy consolation prize. She sold that doorknob of a diamond and all she got was a lousy Senator.

And that’s when our love story starts to end, with my victory.

I was a Senator. I had to get up in the morning and go to work. I didn’t have time to babysit a movie star. She was used to being on the front page of papers, having Popes denounce her, having the public hate her or love her, being the center of attention. But now she was just … home. Alone.

She blamed me, but the truth was, she was 49 years old. Hollywood isn’t kind to women who have the gall to actually age. And she wasn’t only getting older. She stayed in bed all day, watching soap operas and talking on the phone with her friends.

She’d order cases of chili from Clyde’s, one of her favorite restaurants, and she kept them in a refrigerator in her bedroom so she wouldn’t have to go all the way to the kitchen for more. I think she got up to about 200 pounds, and she was a petite woman.  Say what you will, but it’s hard to be romantic with a woman who’s got a bowl of chili in bed.

It wasn’t just the weight. I knew she had a pharmacy in her bedroom, but I didn’t know how much she was taking. Years later a doctor said she was on “dosages incompatible with life.” Nowadays stars go to rehab and it’s a PR campaign, but back then, I didn’t get it. I lost patience. I thought she should just pull herself together.

We separated in December 1981, five years after we got married.

And what was the first thing she did? She called Burton of course. Maybe I could have helped her more, but I don’t think we ever really had a chance. Menage a trois marriages get a little crowded.

To be fair to Elizabeth, I loved her, but not enough. I don’t like to think of myself a consolation prize, but I suppose that’s what I was to her. The heart wants what it wants, isn’t that what people say?

If there’s one thing I learned from my marriage to Elizabeth, it’s this: Don’t follow Richard Burton, on stage or in love. He casts a long shadow.