Fast Lane

by Ashley, Kristen

  And then blink when Preacher and Jesse came into view.

  “…shower here and change then go up. Will you take some clothes to Cynthia?” Jesse was saying.

  Preacher was looking at me.

  But he answered, “Yeah.”

  “Hey, Lyla,” Jesse greeted.

  “Hey, Jesse,” I greeted back, staring at Preacher.

  “Glad you’re still here,” Jesse said.

  Then the door to the bathroom closed.

  And Preacher reached.

  I let out a small cry when he caught my ankle, dragged me down the bed, let my ankle go and caught my hips, which meant I let out another small cry and let go of the pillow when he pulled me up and put me on my feet in front of him.

  I scrunched my nose again.

  “You smell like OJ,” I told him.

  Which must be, along with what looked like bits of scrambled eggs, what was staining his shirt.

  He grinned at me then he caught my head in both hands.

  His head came down.

  And he kissed me.

  I rounded his wrists with my fingers just as his tongue touched my lips.

  I opened my mouth and let it inside.

  He tasted like…

  Like…

  Preacher.

  My stomach melted and my knees grew weak.

  Okay.

  Right.

  That was what I was doing.

  Lyla:

  [Off tape]

  Your first kiss with Preacher McCade was an OJ kiss?

  I never much liked orange juice.

  [Smiles slowly]

  Until then.

  I carried Cynthia’s clothes upstairs so Preacher wouldn’t get juice, coffee, eggs or maple syrup on them.

  I did it also carrying my trench and purse because I didn’t want breakfast all over them either.

  But I did this juggling all of that so I could hold his hand.

  So, it was clear with whatever happened he was going to have to share me that morning.

  Though, seeing as he was holding my hand, even with him doused in breakfast detritus, I didn’t mind.

  When he let us in the big suite, he pulled me in, and I got my second taste of the rocker lifestyle.

  The place was a mess.

  There wasn’t an inch of it that wasn’t in disarray.

  Bottles. Glasses. Champagne tubs. Fast food detritus. Bongs. Overfull ashtrays. White powder dusting little mirrors. Half eaten food on plates. Discarded room service domes and trays.

  Fortunately, the only thing (outside whatever happened downstairs at breakfast) that seemed truly upset was a lamp turned over and the base was cracked.

  Oh.

  And then there was Cynthia pouring the drummer (Dave?) coffee wearing nothing but her skivvies.

  Her eyes came to us—that was to say, to Preacher, when we walked in.

  And I didn’t like the way she looked at him.

  Definitely Jesse was too good for her, and I barely knew Jesse.

  Preacher blocked her from view by shifting in front of me, and I lifted my eyes to his.

  “Gonna take a shower. Order what you want. And can you order me a big stack of pancakes, double bacon, smoky links, extra butter and syrup and another pot of coffee?”

  Apparently that big body needed lots of fuel.

  I nodded.

  He kissed me again.

  With tongues.

  And an audience!

  I had totally forgotten the audience, was holding onto his shoulder with my free hand and clutching Cynthia’s clothes to my stomach with my other arm when he broke it.

  “Are you not…” my voice was breathy, and it got breathier when Preacher heard it and smiled lazily, “evicted after whatever shenanigans got you drenched in orange juice downstairs?”

  “Nope,” he answered, touched my nose with his finger then turned and strolled away.

  Cynthia watched him go, her body not moving, her head doing an owl impression in order not to lose track of him.

  “Yo! Welcome back,” Dave (I thought his name was) said to me.

  I smiled at him.

  “Hey,” I replied then looked to Cynthia. “Jesse’s taking a shower downstairs. But he asked us to bring you some clothes.”

  She tore her eyes from the bedroom area where Preacher had disappeared to look at me.

  Then she put the coffee carafe down on a table by Dave’s chair, reached out an arm my way but didn’t otherwise move.

  I was by the bar which was close to the door.

  She was all the way across the room.

  I suppose if I was in my underwear, I wouldn’t want to walk across a room to get my clothes from the woman who thoughtfully brought them up for me.

  But that wasn’t why she didn’t make that first move to get her clothes.

  I walked to her, and she took her stuff with a dismissive up and down glance of me, a little superior smirk (and truly, she did have a beautiful body—if I had that body, I might serve coffee in my underwear too (or I might not)), before she turned and walked toward the bedroom.

  “You’re welcome,” I said to her back.

  “Thanks,” she muttered.

  She then closed the double doors behind her.

  Closed the double doors.

  And Preacher was in there!

  “Never fear, he’s not into skank,” Dave said as I heard the door behind me, the one to the suite, open.

  I ignored the door opening and looked down at Dave.

  “Well, not, you know, now,” he went on, his eyes dancing.

  “Right,” I replied.

  “Hey, Lyla,” a voice called, and I turned to it.

  Two men I had met some time ago had entered.

  One, the one who spoke, I had only met once.

  And the other one I had spent a goodly amount of awkward time with last night.

  Okay.

  Shoot.

  I didn’t remember the first one’s name.

  Was it Tim, or Jim?

  “Glad to have you back,” the younger, blond one who was in the band said to me as he offered his hand.

  I took it, his hand closed warm around mine, he grinned at me then let go and looked to Dave.

  “Thank fuck, coffee,” he said. “Mine’s bein’ mopped up downstairs.”

  He took hold of the carafe as I turned my eyes to the other one who had come to stand beside me.

  I knew his name was Tom.

  And he’d had a recent shower.

  “Hi,” I said quietly.

  “Hey,” he said shortly.

  Hmm.

  Before I could say anything else or ask if anyone wanted something from room service, Dave asked Tim (Jim?), “Shit sorted?”

  “Label’s takin’ care of it,” Tim (?) muttered. “Though the hotel is also not happy that Jesse’s escorting women in their underwear through the halls even if it was two o’clock in the morning.”

  On this, the bedroom doors opened.

  And I arrested.

  Totally.

  Because a wet Preacher was stalking out wearing nothing but a towel.

  And…

  And…

  God almighty.

  His body.

  His slick with wet body with that chest and those shoulders and arms and that chest hair.

  Was all of that even real?

  I was asking myself this question as it occurred to me, he was also dragging a now totally nude Cynthia with him.

  He jerked her to a halt, prowled back to the bedroom, snatched her clothes from where she’d obviously dropped them on the bed, and came back out.

  He tossed them on the floor at her feet.

  He then looked to me and the fury in his face ebbed a bit when he said gently, “Be right out, baby.”

  And off he went, back into the bedroom, slamming the door behind him.

  I heard the lock go.

  It was then, something came over me.

  Well, not something.

&nb
sp; I lived my life. I’d learned how to stand up for myself.

  Or, I’d watched my mom do it.

  So, I knew what that something was.

  I’d just never had to call on it.

  And although I could feel the pulse of the room was unpleasant, and all of this was aimed at Cynthia, whose face was now as red as her underwear and who now seemed in a great hurry to clothe herself, thus it was highly likely one of three men in the room intended to get there before me.

  But I got there first.

  “When Jesse gets up here, you’re going to be very cool with him, find some gentle way to share you need to get back to Indianapolis as soon as possible, and that your life there is such, you’re uncertain you can carry on a long-distance relationship,” I ordered. “In the sense you’re ending the long-distance relationship you have with Jesse but doing it as cool as you can manage. Is that understood?”

  She stared at me.

  “Cynthia, is that understood?” I pushed.

  She nodded.

  “Maybe it’s better, once you get dressed, you meet him down there so you can share all of that in private, yes?” I suggested.

  She nodded again.

  “Dress quickly,” I urged.

  She did that.

  She was still pulling down her ripped-up rocker tee when I said, “Go.”

  She skedaddled.

  Once the door clicked, I drew in breath, walked to an unused chair to dump my stuff and then asked the room at large, “Does anyone know where the room service menu is? I think Preacher’s hungry.”

  There was a moment of silence.

  Then Tim (Jim?) and Dave (?) burst out laughing.

  I felt a hand warm on the small of my back, there and gone, and I looked right.

  To Tom.

  “I handle room service for the boys, darlin’,” he said. “But I’ll find you the menu and you order whatever you want.”

  My grin I could feel was wobbly.

  The smile he returned was not.

  Jesse:

  So, Cynthia dumped me, and I knew when she did, she wasn’t the one because I wasn’t all that broken up about it.

  I called up to the big suite, got Tom, told him Cynthia needed to get back to Indy and he asked my room service order and told me to tell her to wait for him in the lobby. He’d take care of her.

  It was a record, I think, that it took Dave a whole week to spill that it was Lyla who sent her packing.

  [Grins]

  From the beginning, I tell you, that woman was the shit.

  The beauty of this is, no one knows it, until now.

  No one who was there would blab about it.

  So, it was all Preacher’s and Lyla’s, and yeah. The band’s.

  And it kinda sucks to be telling you but I also kinda dig it.

  Because it was righteous, and you’re here because they’re legend. They didn’t go quietly into the rock night. Everyone knows about them.

  So, people should know this.

  That first time they spent any real time together was pretty fucking funny.

  I wish we had phones with cameras back then because I would have videoed pretty much every minute.

  Tom did have a VHS camera and he did a lot of taping of our shows.

  So, we have some video of them.

  But it’s mostly them cuddling or being lovey.

  [Shakes head]

  But man, I gotta tell you, when Preach got a serious dose of Lyla, he had no idea what hit him.

  She knocked him right on his ass.

  Only person I ever saw do that and she did it repeatedly.

  And he loved every minute of it.

  It started because Lyla told Preach during their night together, the first one, that her mom wanted her to go to college and be a teacher.

  This being why she was then a student at Purdue, earning a teaching degree.

  And of course, she was now with Preacher, so when the guys invited her to tag along on the tour, she did not want to take the train back to Indy, have her grandfather drive her up to West Lafayette, and miss out being with Preacher.

  We were on our way to Cleveland.

  She wanted to go to Cleveland.

  The Chicago gig was a Saturday show, meaning it was Sunday when they started bickering about whether or not she was going to ditch a few classes and go to the Cleveland show before going to the Philly gig and maybe hanging on for Boston before she went back to school.

  Preacher said she was going back to Indy, that day. He was renting a car and driving her down himself, then driving up to Cleveland after he met her folks.

  Lyla said she’d square it with her grandparents, and her professors, and she was taking a week off to hang with the band.

  He said her mother wanted her to get that degree and she was damned well gonna get that degree.

  Lyla said she one hundred percent was going to get that degree, but she was also taking time off.

  He said her grandfather already did not want her with him.

  She said her grandfather was going to have to get with the program.

  He said he was not going to screw up her life.

  She said he was being arrogant, taking responsibility for screwing up her life when it was her who made the decisions about how she was going to spend her time, so if those decisions screwed up her life, that was on her.

  And anyway, taking a week off wouldn’t screw up her life, so he wasn’t only being arrogant and bossy, but dramatic.

  All this in that big suite over room service right in front of the band.

  Guess what?

  Lyla went to Cleveland.

  And Philly.

  And Boston.

  [Smiles big]

  That woman.

  Always the shit.

  Just sayin’.

  You know, if she wasn’t Lyla, I have no idea what would have gone down when that shit hit with Bobby.

  But, you know, I think, after the tour, we would have probably gone our separate ways and maybe they woulda bitched, but…whatever.

  But that shit hit with Bobby.

  And the last thing Preacher wanted when he finally had her was to lose her by scaring the shit out of her by murdering a rock star.

  So, Tom took care of it.

  Add five years to Tom’s tenure in the business, he would have destroyed Bobby Sheridan.

  With the power he had at the time, he and Preach had to settle for Tom taking Bobby down a few pegs.

  Then, in the end, Bobby being Bobby, he did the rest.

  Lyla:

  [Off tape]

  What was your take on Bobby Sheridan?

  In the time I had with the band on that leg of the tour, before going back to school, he had several occasions to see me. And when he did, I was with Preacher.

  So, what he did, I thought he wasn’t the brightest bulb in the box.

  But if I’m being honest, I’d already thought that.

  It wasn’t about me. It was about Preacher.

  He was jealous as hell of Preacher.

  Bobby had heard about the early days, them brawling.

  And obviously, he knew of The Breakfast Incident.

  So, he thought Preacher had a short fuse.

  And maybe he did.

  But Preacher was onstage, playing with the band.

  And I was offstage, watching him when Bobby made his pass.

  I mean, I was maybe twenty feet from Preacher.

  And he did it when Preacher glanced over at me.

  I was Preacher’s, and Preacher was Tommy’s, so Tommy was there in a flash, in between me and Bobby, backing him off.

  A security guard whisked me to their dressing room and stood guard.

  And that was that.

  I cannot say it felt nice having his hands on me when they were uninvited, and I’m not being unnecessarily mean when I tell you he had really bad breath.

  He did.

  But it felt like it was over before it even started.

 
Bobby thought Preacher would tear off his guitar and come after him.

  He thought Preacher would leave his fans and the band and fuck it all up by walking off stage during a set to get in Bobby’s face.

  The label would frown on that and the Roadmasters would be taken off the tour.

  No way Preacher was going to do that.

  Josh was one thing.

  Bobby Sheridan was another.

  They were going to handle him a different way.

  And they did.

  See?

  Not the brightest bulb in the box.

  Jesse:

  It was all about Lyla.

  Her friends drove up for the Cleveland show, and they brought a bunch of her clothes, and I think from the beginning Lyla had her groove. Her own vibe. Even when she was seventeen, her in her Nikes.

  And that vibe was to not to be like anyone else.

  [Laughs]

  She was rock ’n’ roll and didn’t even know it.

  So, she’s traipsing around in tight jeans with that round ass, and red pumps that made those long legs longer, and button-up blouses in slinky material that covered her everywhere but hung on her big tits. She’s got this little gold chain with this tiny angel hanging from it at her throat and I think that’s all the jewelry she wore because her grandfather wouldn’t let her pierce her ears.

  But it’s more.

  She’s into Preacher in a way that was not a groupie way.

  If he fucked her over, grabbed another chick’s ass or acted like a dick, she’d walk away and not look back.

  Walk away from Preacher, who had it all. Looks, talent, brains, attitude. He could get any girl he wanted.

  But he wouldn’t do that because he was into her too, he knew what he had in his hands and he wasn’t going to do shit to jeopardize that.

  They were just…tight.

  They were just…real.

  It was just…cool.

  And Bobby wanted that.

  And I’ll say it was even more.

  Lyla was Lyla.

  Bobby was the first, but he wasn’t the last.

  There are women who just have…

  [Pause]

  Something.

  Lyla had that.

  There are names I could give you, big names, and not just rock stars but movie directors and actors and photographers and guys like that, who met Lyla and wanted Lyla and made that clear.