Preacher was right.
I fell down on the job.
I know that.
I feel that.
That shit lives in me.
And I’m not gonna let it happen again.
Problem is, Preacher is MIA.
It’s coming clear Lyla is lost to us.
Those trials were ugly, sister. What we heard. What we saw. The media. Understanding on a visceral level what Preacher’s life was like. Hearing that shit come from his own goddamned mouth. Our brother, sitting on a witness stand, relating, in detail, the hell he lived through with those monsters. What he pulled himself out of to get where he got.
And for the rest of the guys, this is all news.
Tim’s dad was an alcoholic and his mom was checked out another way.
Dave’s parents spent their lives livin’ in a cloud of pot smoke.
They all know what happened to me with my friend knockin’ up my sister and losing Dad.
They think Preach’s shit is on the same level of all that.
No one, but me and Lyla are prepared for how sinister and evil this is.
I get word from Lyla that it’s irrevocably over between her and Preacher, I do not dig deep into that because she sounds like she is not lying, and I don’t mean in terms of being firm.
I mean she sounds like her world is ending.
So, it’s over, on all fronts.
It just is.
But it’s my band to look after while Preacher is gone.
And I’m not gonna fuckin’ call it.
Way he acted toward Preacher, the way Leeanne played him, Tim has decided it’s time for deep reflection.
[Laughs]
So, he takes off surfin’. All over everywhere.
Hawaii. Bali. Thailand. Australia. Brazil.
[Lifts hand and presses it out]
Now, don’t judge, and if you weren’t going to, I’ll warn whoever you tell these tales to not to do it.
My mom judged.
She was all “That boy never had any sense. He should get to church. He should talk to God.”
She said that once and I replied, “He is, Mom.”
She got what I was saying and never mentioned it again.
As you know, this was when Shawn went off and did his own thing.
[Starts laughing slowly but this becomes stronger and stronger before he controls it]
Takes us five albums to win our first award.
Shawn wins three on his first solo effort.
[Bursts straight into laughter]
Can we talk about that, even briefly? The awards the Roadmasters won for The Cycle and “Musk”?
What do you wanna know?
Mancosa accepted all of them on your behalf.
Yeah.
Why?
[Leans forward]
My call and no one argued with it.
It was because we’re a band.
It was because we’d made a family.
If Preacher wasn’t with us and Lyla wasn’t in a gown, sitting in the audience, we weren’t pitching up.
We didn’t realize it, but it was all or nothing from the very beginning, rolling out of my parents’ driveway with the Star Wars theme playing.
Barfights and bloody noses and not mentioning we skipped breakfast and lunch when we were sharin’ two small orders of fries between the four of us with our quarter pounders with cheese we ate for dinner.
We’re all in with the bad.
We didn’t get to have the good unless we were the same.
This, however, proved further fodder for breakup rumors.
You know, I didn’t then, and I don’t now.
You didn’t…what?
Give a fuck.
Dave goes off and forms the Second Coming.
[Again, starts laughing but does it shaking his head]
The Second Coming.
He’s getting all this flak from the Christian right and all anyone can talk about when this offshoot he’s doin’ gets press is how the title signals the end of the Roadmasters.
He calls me and bitches about this and I’m all “Dave, you named your band the Second Coming.”
“All our songs are about sex, dude,” he replies. “The good kind where you get her off twice.”
[Begins laughing uncontrollably, through it speaking]
“I don’t know why folks aren’t getting it,” he goes on.
“You do know people refer to the return of the son of God, the one and only Jesus Christ as the second coming,” I tell him.
“Yeah. But the dude doesn’t own the name,” he replies.
[Dissolves into laughter]
You know, he showed them though.
I loved that. Loved watching it.
Same thing happened with Ringo Starr.
Beatles broke up and everyone thought, “Oh, poor Ringo. What’s he gonna do now?”
Well, I don’t know. Be the first of that group to produce hits and go on to have a kickass career?
[Lifts fist in the air and opens fingers like he’s dropping something]
Boom.
Same thing with Dave Grohl.
I mean, Cobain is the band, what’s this kid gonna fuckin’ do?
I’ll tell you what.
Foo Fighters and Grohl being the Where’s Waldo of rock. I mean, the guy is everywhere. He even plays the fuckin’ CMAs, for fuck’s sake.
[Chuckles]
That guy is the fuckin’ bomb.
The Second Coming was a badass band. Dirty and raunchy and fun.
I love their shit.
Still listen to it all the time.
And she won’t say it straight out, but Natalie likes them more than the Roadmasters.
You haven’t touched on Leeanne Brewster’s return to the world of the Roadmasters.
Well, I mean, it’s common knowledge.
She told Tim she’s on the Pill, Tim can be a dope, he goes in unprotected, we’re in the thick of shit with everything hitting with Preach’s parents, she shows and tells Timmy she’s pregnant.
He says, “We’ll get a DNA test after the kid is born. It’s mine, I’ll reimburse you for your medical expenses and we’ll make a plan to swing support and custody.”
She says, “I’d prefer to raise my child with two parents together.”
He goes surfing.
[Barks with laughter]
Brody’s great, sister.
[His expression takes on a meaningful look]
The image of his dad.
You’d think, Tim blond, Leeanne dark, he’d get her coloring, but he didn’t.
Blond-haired, blue-eyed surfer boy.
[Grins fondly]
Love that kid.
And then there’s you.
[Nods]
I got into producing.
Sold a few songs.
And I waited for Preacher to come back to us.
Lyla:
The room has become a menagerie as her daughter has returned with the dogs then left in the Mini. Thus, in addition to the two cats, there’s the mutt and the Burmese mountain dog lying on the floor by where she’s sitting, and a tiny, black-eyed, white-furred Maltese that is vying with the tiger cat for ownership of Lyla’s lap.
Lyla controls the situation by allowing them to claim either thigh and returns to the conversation.
He reached out to me after.
After the trials.
Preacher sent a note, thanking me for attending them.
I played it smart that time and asked DuShawn where he was.
I could tell Shawn was torn, but he told me.
Shawn had bought Loretta and Oscar a condo in an exclusive development on the beach in Florida.
Somewhere quiet and calm they could get away from grandbabies and family drama to enjoy their retirement if they wanted to.
Preacher was there.
Shawn set it up.
The meeting.
And I drove there.
He did not meet me in the
condo.
He met me on the beach.
Don’t think that’s romantic.
As I’m sure you’re guessing from what happened after, it wasn’t.
We met there because, if I was in the condo, it might be difficult to get rid of me.
On the beach, he could walk away.
He had changed.
He was always so much of everything.
So tall and big and handsome and magnetic.
But I had no idea how much his past was draining from him.
When I saw him on that beach, he was tan and leaner, fit.
I knew the minute I saw him that he wasn’t drinking or using.
His eyes were clear and bright.
I mean, it was an absolute impossibility, but he was even more beautiful than he’d always been.
It says very little about me that I was disappointed in this.
I thought, without me, he’d waste away to nothing.
I knew immediately that it was not good that he was thriving.
I was not doing the same.
For once in my life, I didn’t find it hard to lose weight, which he was bound to notice.
But at that moment, I hoped the intense care I took that morning on everything from my hair and makeup to my outfit and chewing a breath mint before I got out of that car were hiding everything else I was feeling.
I will tell you his appearance was not because he got what he’d always wanted regarding his brother and his parents.
He got what he wanted but he was not at peace with it.
He was not at peace at all.
How I knew that, I cannot explain, outside the fact that I just knew Preacher, inside and out.
But also, when that kind of thing happens, peace is a forever impossibility.
He had told me he wanted this, way back when.
He’d told me that night.
It was one of the things he told me in that dark room in that motel in Indiana the first time we met after he’d pulled his feet out of Amber’s dad’s pool and walked to me and asked if I was okay.
When I told him I was, and he said, all gentle, with that crazy-cool Cajun accent, “Now, cher, don’t lie to me.”
And then Jen’s all in to drive us to his motel to have some alone time because she wanted him, but she was glad he wanted me and since no one had ever had me, and he was an excellent candidate for that first, she was all in to help.
Though, at the time, I had no clue he wanted me.
I had no clue why I even went.
Except this was Preacher.
And I told him how my dad was always on my case about my weight, and how we’d just come back from a visitation with him and the whole time he’d been up in my face about it.
And I don’t know what it was, how it just flooded out, why it just flooded out for Preacher.
Telling him about how shitty that made me feel and how I looked in the mirror and saw one thing, but my dad saw another, and I didn’t know which to believe.
Preacher would make sure I knew which one to believe.
Which one was real.
He’d do it that night.
And he’d keep doing it for as long as we were together.
Then he started talking about his mom and dad and brother and we were lying on separate beds, talking to the dark ceiling, but he started talking about that and I didn’t think he was into me.
I thought I’d misjudged him and the guys. Rock studs out for one thing.
But I was wrong, and he was just a nice guy who noticed I was in a bad way and did something about it.
I mean, of course, I thought he was beautiful. Because he was.
I also thought he was totally out of my league and I figured the person who knew that the most was Preacher.
He didn’t touch me. He didn’t try anything.
He listened.
And now he was sharing.
God, sharing such…
[Closes eyes, opens them]
[Whispers] God.
So, I got out of the bed I was lying on and went and sat on the side of his and took up his hand and held it real tight.
And the minute I did, he whispers, all soft, “Fuck, never in my wildest imaginings, growin’ up, knowin’ I was nothin’, I’d amount to nothin’, that one day a beautiful, sweet girl like you would be holding my hand.”
A beautiful sweet girl.
[Pets her animals instinctively while her eyes wander to the window]
[Whispers] Preacher McCade calling me beautiful.
Yeah.
[Looks back]
He let me know which one to believe.
I didn’t realize until much later, when I’d had more time with him, when I knew him better, how hesitant he was when he was relating that story to me.
I was so into that dark room, that night, him and what was happening between us, I didn’t even notice it then.
How he changed from when he started telling his story to after I came over and took up his hand.
I can’t know for certain what precisely was going on in his mind. Whether he thought it would disgust me or scare me or I’d think less of him or I’d think he was like his parents.
[Shakes head]
I don’t know.
I never asked.
I just know it was a grave and brave risk for Preacher McCade to tell me what he told me.
And when I took it on.
I, [touches chest] me, this beautiful, sweet girl listens and doesn’t judge, doesn’t run away, she comes to hold his hand and then stretches out beside him and whispers from dark until dawn, tangled up in him, all our deepest secrets, all our hopes and dreams, all our fears and realities, all we can fit in, until she falls asleep.
That was it for him.
For him.
And for me.
He told me his plans then.
He told me he had to make it so someone would listen to him.
He told me he had to find justice for his brother.
He had to know he was at rest.
He told me they had to pay.
Pay for it all.
What they did to Baptiste. How they treated the Williamses.
They had to go down.
The sad part is, we got stuck into life and each other and I forgot about this.
Not completely, but for the most part…
[Swallows]
Yeah.
I drove to Florida and I walked up to that beach and I did both thinking we would have this out.
And we’d end it back together.
Because we were us.
There was no way but to end whatever in life, doing it together.
He said some ugly things that were very wrong.
But I got it.
Boy, did I.
But he didn’t share with me and I’d asked, I’d begged.
And we could not ever allow that to happen again.
Last, I’d apologized for striking him, but I needed to repeat that apology and assure him that I’d never done that before, and I never would do it again.
But when I walked up that beach and saw him with his jeans rolled up his calves and his tee tight on his pecs but billowing in the wind around his stomach and his hair longer and blowing around his head, his manner self-contained, I knew the conversation was not going to be that.
And I was right.
He didn’t look like he was hungry for the sight of me.
He didn’t look like he was missing me.
Both of these I was feeling in abundance.
He also didn’t give anything away.
He just said, “Thanks for comin’, Lyla.”
I wasn’t giving up, not that easy.
Not again.
So, I asked, “You wanna walk awhile?”
[Draws a labored breath into other nose, takes a moment]
“No,” he said. “I meant, it says a lot about you that you showed at those trials. It’s not surprising, but it says a lot about you, and you shou
ld know it meant something to me. So, thanks for comin’ to them, Lyla.”
“You already said that in your note,” I reminded him.
“I’m glad I got the chance to do it face to face,” he replied.
“We have more to talk about, Preacher,” I said.
He nodded and said, “Yeah. And I’m glad I get to do that face to face too. Because I loved it, Lyla. Every minute of it. You gotta know, I wouldn’t change a thing.”
Of course, I thought this was hopeful and I was about to touch him before he kept talking.
And he did it to say, “But I’m movin’ on, cher. It’s time. And I hope you do too. To good things. To happy. Thank you for the beauty you gave me. I won’t ever forget it.”
And then, he left me standing there in the sand, right above where the waves rolled up the beach.
And he walked away from me.
Then he disappeared.
For everybody.
Interviewer’s Impressions, Recorded After Event:
The dim of the bar is difficult to adjust to after the blinding sun from outside.
It takes a moment.
Only when that happens, the interior is noted.
It is rough. No frills.
And obviously, the business is struggling.
It’s three o’clock in the afternoon, but there is not a soul in the place except the barkeep.
The bartender beckons. His invitation is obliged.
A drink is ordered and served.
It’s half gone before a presence is sensed, which is surprising, as the door to the outside did not open.
At a glance to the side and up, I look into brown eyes that are in a rugged, exceptionally handsome face.
“Hey,” a deep voice with a characteristic lilt says, and a big hand is offered. “I’m Preacher McCade.”
Fast Lane Page 25