My man was tired of it.
It had become a grind.
Something he loved had become a grind.
And it was all about him, all on him.
The guys, they were great.
But none of them carried the weight like Preacher.
I had to get him to a place where he could breathe, remember how much he loved this, get him into a zone where he could just pick up his guitar and play because he wanted to.
Not because he had to.
But I had to wait to get him to that place.
Because the pressure was still on.
I tipped my head to press my lips on the underside of his jaw and whispered, “We’ll do that. Maybe after the tour.”
“I want you going with me.”
I lifted my head up and looked down at him.
“What?” I asked.
“I want you on the tour with us.”
He always wanted me on tour with him.
He always wanted me with him.
But this sounded different.
And although that concerned me, I had other concerns that took precedence.
“Preacher, I don’t have a job.”
“I do.”
“I know you do, but I don’t.”
“I can take care of you, cher.”
I knew he could, since he’d been doing that since I graduated college (mostly).
“It’s not about that.”
“Baby—”
“Preacher, I want be with you. I want to live my life with you. You make a boatload of money and I never will. I get that and that’s not the problem.” I dipped my face closer to his. “But you know me, honey. I have to do something and not just be Preacher McCade’s girlfriend.”
“You aren’t just my girlfriend, Lyla, you know that, I know that. Even all those assholes know that.”
I had to admit, this was true.
“They wouldn’t be askin’ Tom to approach you about pushing their shampoo or whatever the fuck if you were just my girlfriend,” he went on.
Yes, what he said was true.
I was probably the only woman in the world who had zero desire to be a model.
But I was a definitely a woman who had zero desire to be a model.
Though, with the number of offers Tommy was constantly turning down, this didn’t seem to be getting through to people.
“You can get a job after the tour,” he declared.
Was he high?
Wait, he was.
But still.
“The tour lasts a year,” I reminded him.
He put both hands to the sides of my head and said, “Baby, you need a second. You need to chill. You need to take a breath. You need to figure it out. You’re bouncin’ from one thing to the other because you think you’re lettin’ your mom down. Audie. And it burns in you, thinkin’ you’re disappointing them. Now, I didn’t know your mom, but I knew Audie, so I don’t think I’m wrong in sayin’ the only thing they’d want is what you want. They’d want you to do something you dug and something that makes you happy. You can’t figure out what that is, latchin’ onto whatever comes at you and tryin’ to force it to work then takin’ another hit when it doesn’t.”
His hands at my head gave a little squeeze.
“Take a second,” he urged. “Figure it out.”
He was the one who needed a second.
To have a moment to breathe.
Still…
If I was on the tour, I could look after my man.
And I could hang with the guys.
“You know, that isn’t a bad idea,” I muttered, and he smiled.
“I’m not just a dumb rock star.”
I pressed my lips to his, pulled away and said firmly, “No, you’re not.”
I was losing his cock, so he lifted me up, adjusted my panties and then helped me into my seat beside him.
He righted his trousers, did the whirring thing with the screen between us and our driver and called, “You can take us to the place, Rudy.”
“Gotcha, Preach.”
The whirring came back, the screen went up, and when it was up, I curled into Preacher’s side, tucking my head into his shoulder and neck, and wrapped my arm around his stomach.
He did what he always did.
He reciprocated the gesture, curling an arm around my waist and holding me close.
“So, you goin’ on tour with me?” he asked.
“Yeah,” I told his chest.
I felt the warmth of goodness invade the limo and knew I’d made the right decision because I’d made Preacher happy.
One tour.
It’d be fun.
And he was right.
Take a breath, be with my man, look out for him, have this, for him.
For me.
I’d figure my stuff out after.
I had my whole life to figure it out.
This tour would only happen now.
Or, that was, when it started in two months.
“Give me another bump, honey,” I muttered.
“You just had one,” he said.
I felt his chin coming down, so I tilted my head back to look at him.
“Yeah, and you also just made me come and when you do that, all I wanna do is curl up and take a nap. You’re way too good with your fingers, sweetheart, and I have to get through this night. I need another bump.”
He gave it to me, took one himself since it was out, and not long later, Rudy delivered us to the venue.
Before the door opened, Preacher mumbled, “I hate this shit.”
“But you’re so pretty.”
Someone opened the door just as Preacher burst out laughing.
He kept doing it as he got out and continued doing it as he helped me out.
The flashbulbs were popping from the moment the door opened.
They were blinding from the moment Preacher appeared.
But I’d learned by then how to keep my head up as we walked through the onslaught.
Though that night, the smile I usually pinned to my face was genuine.
Preacher walked with me tucked close to his side, as usual, ignored the screams of our names, as usual, and he proceeded with his eyes aimed straight ahead in order to tell them without words he couldn’t give two fucks and they were less than meaningless to him.
As usual.
Lyla:
Brad and Gwyneth weren’t there.
[Laughs]
And I don’t know how long after it that was, but I remember being in the kitchen, making bread because that was my jam then. I was making all sorts of bread and pretzels and bagels and all that kind of thing.
I wasn’t bad with the bread.
But my pretzels and bagels were terrible.
[Laughs again]
Preacher comes in, throws the magazine down and this poof of flour jumps up.
The magazine is rolled open to a page that’s taken up with one picture.
And he says, “That one, I don’t mind.”
Then he smiles at me and strolls out.
We’d made the top of the Young and Beautiful List that came out every year in Here It Is magazine.
It was a coveted spot for people who care about that sort of thing.
Preacher didn’t care about that sort of thing.
The picture they’d used of us was taken after he’d helped me out of the limo that night.
We were standing so close. I think my shoulder was in his chest. He still had a hold of my hand.
He was looking down at me, laughing.
I had my head tipped back and was looking up at him, smiling.
[Shakes head and gives a short laugh]
I have to admit, we did look good. Preacher always rocked a jacket and slacks. Then again, he rocked everything he wore.
But mostly, we looked really happy.
And totally in love.
[Off tape]
I’m sorry to have to get into this, but we’re here now and it’s urban myt
h that list had a curse. It would come about that nearly every couple that made the top of that list would split not long after. Starting with you and McCade. In fact, lore is that your breakup, being the huge surprise it was, was what put the curse on the list.
So, this is right before it all goes wrong.
[Stares directly]
Yes.
That was right before it all went wrong.
Jesse:
I don’t know.
[Shakes head]
It started great.
Having Lyla on tour with us.
Preach was in his element, man.
His band. His music. His fans. His woman.
He was the happiest I’d ever seen him.
I just don’t know.
I don’t know how it went so fucking wrong.
That’s a total lie.
I knew.
I knew exactly what went wrong.
All of it.
Lyla:
I try not to judge, but when people say they have no regrets, I call bullshit.
It’s impossible to live your life without regrets.
And I can sit right here and name my top three.
The first, in all that was happening with me, being so wound up in Preacher, I did not have a mind to Dave.
Second, the same with Tim.
And last, that I didn’t walk away sooner when I came to realize Preacher was lying to me.
When I went on tour with them, a full tour where it wasn’t like a vacation I was on where my man had to work, I honestly had no idea how the guys did it. I was just tagging along, they had to lay it all out there, giving it to their fans when they performed their shows, and that pace they kept…
Well…
[Pause]
It walloped me.
And we were young, but we weren’t stupid.
We knew.
No excuses, we knew.
Janis. Jimmi. Jim Morrison. John Bonham. Keith Moon.
Work hard. Play hard. Get stoned. Drink until you feel it and then drink some more, that needing to be more and more as your body gets used to it.
Hey, that’s rock ’n’ roll.
Right?
[Expression loses focus]
Wrong.
It wasn’t that we were young, and we felt immortal.
Especially me.
I’d learned I was not immortal.
Even in the beginning, the first time you put that pill on your tongue, you think, “Is this wise?”
But then you gulp it down because your man has a press conference the next morning, this being after you get on a plane, land, hit the venue, and he wants you there because he always wants you at his side, and you have to be bright. There are going to be photographers, so you have to look gorgeous. All of this not for you, but because you love him, and this means something to him, and you can’t let him down.
So, you have to sleep that night.
And wake up and be on the next day.
Then you close your mind to it. That little voice that’s there to make you think twice. You shut it down.
For me it wasn’t about thinking I could stop at any time.
I was thinking I had to keep going.
This thing you’re doing, this book…
[Dips head to phone that’s recording]
If I want people to get something out of it, anything, what I’d want them to get is that nothing for anybody is effortless.
That was a rep I got.
Everyone said, “That Lyla, the woman behind the Roadmasters, she was so cool. She just had it. She had that something. And it was so effortless.”
Well at first, I was just living my life, being with my man.
And from the very beginning, as you’ve heard, none of that was effortless.
Jealousy and even hate starts when you think that about someone. You think, “Look at them. Look what they’ve got. It came so easy.”
Only the wise know that nothing comes easy for anyone.
And if it does, it’s about to get hard.
You know, when I heard Prince died, my first thought was, “Oh God, no.”
And then I knew how it happened.
I’d never met the man.
But I knew precisely how it happened.
My mind was cluttered for a variety of reasons, most especially trying to figure out what was going on with Preacher.
This as I came out of the bathroom after packing my stuff when I saw Preacher toss the pills in his mouth then take a glug of water.
But before they disappeared, I saw how many pills were in his hand.
He usually took two.
That was four.
When did he start taking four?
He didn’t look at me as he set the glass aside, took up the prescription bottle, threw it in his carryon bag that was on the bed—the bag he kept with him, the bag it was not okay to let out of his sight in case someone lost it—and turned his back to me to zip it shut.
I walked his way, set my makeup tote aside and moved in behind him, sliding my arms around to the front.
I rested my cheek on his back and asked, “You okay?”
“Yup,” he answered, and I heard the zip close.
“You sure?” I pressed.
“Yup,” he repeated and straightened in a way I knew he wanted me to let him go.
Yes.
I needed to figure out what was going on with Preacher.
I held on and told him, “You know, if something’s on your mind, you can always talk to me.”
“I know, and if somethin’ was on my mind, I’d talk to you about it. But seein’ as nothin’s on my mind, I just told you I was fine, I don’t know why you’re sayin’ that shit to me.”
All right, from that response, I knew even more than I already knew that I needed to do this.
Right now.
So, I waded in.
“It’s just that, last night…”
He turned in my arms so abruptly, I had to lean back, or he’d slam into my face.
Then he stared down his nose at me.
“What about last night?” he demanded curtly.
What about last night?
Well, what about it was that, last night, and the night before, and the night before that, you made love to me and you did it by rote. Like you were performing a duty, not having sex with the woman you love.
And then you rolled over, and because you were drunk, and whatever else you were on wore off, you passed out.
You didn’t hold me.
That was what about last night.
I stared up at him, having these thoughts, and I knew by the closed-down but still pissed-off look on his face that I could not tell him any of that.
I could not tell a man, or at least not this man, that for the last few nights, I’d had to work for my own orgasm.
And last night, for the first time ever, he didn’t bother giving me one.
But he knew that.
That was why he was staring at me, closed-down because he did that to me and pissed-off because I was bringing it up.
And now he was taking four pills instead of two to face the day and that tweaked me right the fuck out.
“Lyla,” he gritted.
I wasn’t speaking because I didn’t know what to do, what to say.
The tour had started great.
So great, I wondered why I hadn’t gone along before.
And Preacher had settled into it.
He still had the pressure; he still had that weight.
But now, he also had me.
It had felt good, realizing that I was to Preacher what he was to me.
That he could lean on me in his way, like I leaned on him in all the ways he supported me.
But something had changed very recently, it was abrupt, Preacher wasn’t talking to me about it and this was so out of character that…
No.
It wasn’t.
He’d gone cold on me before, though it came with the heat of
his anger, he’d told me precisely what was on his mind and it didn’t last long.
It was that time, in our first place in LA, and after it had happened, DuShawn warned me to keep him smoothed out.
Finding a way to tell Preacher McCade, who was already in a bad mood, that he hadn’t taken care of me when he lived to care of me in every way possible, including that way, was impossible.
But I had to find a way.
And do it keeping him calm.
“Lyla, you gonna stand there and stare at me for a year? ’Cause I don’t got that time, babe. We gotta hit band breakfast and then we gotta get our asses on a plane.”
I opened my mouth to say something when a knock came at the door.
Then Preacher did something…
Something…
God.
Something I didn’t know he had it in him to do.
He peeled himself out of my arms in a perfunctory way, like he was discarding a T-shirt, and walked out of the bedroom of the suite, through the living room to the door.
I stood there, feeling a chill invade my blood, and only moved when I heard Preacher say, “We’re gonna be down in a minute.”
And then I heard Tommy say, “Need your ear before we’re with the rest of the guys, Preach.”
And that chill got chillier because that was not Tommy or Preacher, to have a word outside the rest of the boys.
The band was the band. They talked. They argued. They hashed things out. And they did this together.
They did not talk behind each other’s backs.
Preacher, specifically, had an issue with this.
Even if you had a beef with him.
You were up front with Preacher, always.
“I’m not feelin’ good about this,” Preacher unsurprisingly replied, and at his voice, I moved to the doorway to the living room.
I stopped in it and leaned against the jamb, seeing it wasn’t only Tommy there, but also DuShawn.
“Hey, China,” Tommy greeted, and I noted how he noted that I did not come into the room and go to Preacher.
“Hey there,” I replied quietly then looked to Shawn. “Hey, darlin’.”
“Hey there, baby girl,” he muttered, also eyeing me where I was standing removed.
The looks on their faces matched the feel of the room, this not (totally) about my distance, and I tasted something weird in my mouth I’d never tasted before, and I really did not like the flavor.
Fast Lane Page 18