Taryn: Okay...care to expand on that?
Me: Can’t fuckin’ leave hotel so looks like the party is at my place.
Taryn: Everything else okay?
Me: Yeah, perfect. You?
Taryn: Tired…and confused
I’ll bet you are, I think, and then because the switch that operates my filter seems to have been turned off, I text those exact words.
I can understand why she’s tired, but I don’t get the confusion. If there was a decision to be made, which there clearly is not, country boy would win any day of the week and twice on Sunday. Time to let her get back to him.
Me: Aight, well gotta get to it. Check ya later.
Before I even get the phone in my pocket, “Young Lady” by Kid Cudi starts playing. “Holla,” I say, answering her call.
“I’m gonna holler at you if you don’t tell me what your problem is.” Now I’m the one who’s confused because, despite the fact that I’m frustrated as hell, hearing her feisty little voice just caused my dick to go hard as granite.
“Nice to talk to you too, Taryn,” I say, trying to quickly think of an explanation for my texting tantrum.
“Cut the shit. What’s wrong?” she asks, sounding pretty irritated herself.
“Somebody’s got a potty mouth tonight,” I say, trying to lighten the mood while simultaneously dodging the question.
“You know I’m only like two states away right now. If you don’t tell me what’s crawled up your ass, you’re going to hear more of my mouth when I redirect our tour bus in your direction,” she says, now sounding monumentally pissed.
Damn, the thought of her actually doing that just turned me on more. Then I remember where I am, and the fact that I can barely leave this suite, filled beyond fire-safety standards with ridiculously horny drunks, and I rush to cool her jets. Knowing her, she just might do it.
“Sorry, Peaches. Just tired and pissed, that’s all. They’ve got me cooped up here and I’m getting a little stir-crazy,” I explain. As soon as the words leave my mouth, I could kick myself. There isn’t a chance in hell that’s not going to generate a follow-up question. And I definitely don’t want her to worry her pretty little head about the threats I’ve received. Not that she would necessarily. Or maybe she would. Fuck if I know. And how the hell did I end up apologizing and trying to make her feel better, when I was the one pissed off in the first place? I have no idea how it happened, but this girl has definitely gotten into my head and messed with it somehow.
“Why can’t you leave the hotel?” she asks, interrupting my convoluted thoughts and effectively removing any doubt that she’ll let this go.
“Apparently, not everyone in Detroit is a fan. Cal just thought it would be better if we stayed under the radar while we’re here,” I explain, not lying but not being forthcoming either.
“You mean safer, right?” she asks quietly.
“Yeah, hon,” I say with a sigh, “it’ll be safer. The good news is that we leave first thing tomorrow and then we’re headed to…well shit, I don’t know where we go from here,” I say and she laughs. Now there’s a sweet-ass sound I like to hear.
“I’m pretty sure you’re headed to New York City next,” she says. I’m man enough to admit that her knowing my itinerary better than I do just gave me one of those warm, fuzzy feelings girls are always babbling about.
“So you’re keepin’ tabs on me, huh?” I joke. “If that’s the case, any idea when I’m going to make it south of the Mason-Dixon line?”
“Well, listen to you, sounding all scholarly and shit,” she says and I laugh my ass off. I never know what is going to fly out of this girl’s mouth, but it sure is fun finding out.
“How about you?” I ask.
“I’m not even sure I’m going to make it out of the South. But I love New York, and my last trip there was entirely too short. You should definitely take advantage of your time there though,” she states adamantly.
“Oh yeah? What do you think I should be doing in the ‘city that never sleeps’?” I ask suggestively.
“I don’t really know what I meant,” she says, sounding thoughtful, “since I never get to do anything when I’m there. If I had a day to spend, I guess I’d just walk around Central Park all day, sit around by a lake if there is one, and read a book or have a picnic. Something stupid like that.”
Here I thought she was implying I should go get my party on, and there she goes surprising me again. “That’s not stupid at all, Taryn,” I assure her. “It sounds normal, and God knows we need some normal in our lives.”
The door bursts open, just as I’m about to tell her we should try and meet up to do something “normal” together. Dre and half of the female dancers from the tour tumble in the room, as does an ear-splitting decibel level of Jay-Z. “There ya are, Ace!” Dre yells, slurring heavily. “Get yo sorry black ass outta here and let’s show these girls how to dance.”
“T?” I ask, signaling to Dre to hold up, while quickly heading to the empty, massive walk-in closet. Once I’ve closed the door with the party on the other side, I say, “Sorry about that. Maybe we can we talk later?”
“Uh, sure, no problem,” she says. “I’ve gotta get some sleep anyway.”
“Well, I hate to run, but I’ve got to teach my cousin some manners,” I joke, trying to recapture the light-hearted banter we had going on earlier.
“Sounds as if you should go easy on him,” she replies.
“You’re right, the shit-faced son of a bitch probably won’t remember it tomorrow anyway,” I say, aggravated that Dre interrupted a perfectly good conversation that’s now coming to an awkward end.
“Hey, his mom would be your aunt,” she says astutely. “That’s kind of harsh, don’t you think?”
“Hon, you haven’t met my aunt, and to tell you the truth, neither have I. She took off when Dre was a baby. Left ‘em both high and dry, and that’s about the same time my uncle started drinking anything wet. Particularly of the alcohol variety.”
Shut the hell up, Trace. She does not need to know anything about my fucked-up past, and here I am spouting off like I’m the one who’s been drinking. Before I say anything else stupid or the closet door is broken down by a stampede of drunken dancers, I decide I’d better tell Taryn goodnight. “Well little lady, I’d better go hit the hay,” I say, over-exaggerating a southern drawl.
She begins laughing hysterically, and even though I didn’t think my accent was that bad, I love listening to her. When she still hasn’t stopped laughing after a couple more minutes, I begin to suspect that I’ve missed something. “What’d I say?”
She continues chuckling and I hear the sound of a fist pounding against something. Now I know I missed something. Finally, she catches her breath and answers, “If you don’t know, I’m not going to tell you.”
“Aw, that’s not right to leave me hanging,” I say, triggering another round of giggles. If this wasn’t Taryn, and her laughter wasn’t music to my ears, I would seriously be annoyed right now.
“Okay, okay, I’m sorry,” she says, clearly trying to contain herself. “You’re right, you’ve got to go.” Oh, hell no. Not only am I curious what has her in stitches, but there’s nothing else I’d rather do at this moment than talk to her. That’s not true—I can think of a few things other than talking that I’d rather do with her.
“Wait, hold up,” I say, muting the phone. I fling open the closet door to find Dre and not one, not two, but three women…on my fucking bed. Fortunately, everyone still has their clothes on, but in the case of the dancers, there wasn’t much to begin with.
“Out!” I yell. “Get the fuck out, Dre! You know I don’t want anyone in my bed except me!”
He better be glad I’m talking to Taryn or I would waylay his drunk ass. I hear a chorus of groans and wait while they make their way out of my room. I make myself comfortable in a plush armchair before unmuting the phone.
“Sorry about that, it’s just you and me now.”
&nbs
p; “What about Dre?” she asks.
“He’ll make it without me,” I say, thinking there will never be a truer statement. “Now please tell me what I said that was so damn funny before I keep my sexy southern accent to myself from now on.”
She laughs before hesitantly saying, “Well…um…I’m guessing you meant that you were going to sleep, but ‘hit the hay’ has a few other meanings, one of which means that you’re...a…well, not you, but that…”
Listening to her get all flustered is fun, but I’m dying to know what she’s going to say and I’m about five seconds from looking it up on my iPad. “Spit it out, Taryn,” I encourage.
“Okay, fine,” she says, sounding as if she’s steeling herself to say the words. So fuckin’ cute.
“It can also mean when someone is taking care of themselves. You know, jacking off?” she asks, and I laugh for what feels like the hundredth time tonight.
“Yeah, I get what you’re saying. And what else does it mean?” This should be good.
“Well, where I’m from, it also means to have sex with a country girl,” she says and then rushes on, “although I didn’t figure there were any of those hanging around your hotel room.”
“No, but I can think of one I wish was here,” I murmur. When she doesn’t respond immediately, I wonder if I’ve made her uncomfortable. But I don’t regret what I said because I do wish she was here right now.
We continue talking and finally hang up when we both decide that we’d better get some sleep before the sun rises, at which point there are places to go and people to see. I somehow managed to keep my increasingly sexually-oriented thoughts to myself. Despite our often flirty exchanges, I have no idea if Taryn would be interested in actually pursuing anything physical with me. I could tell I got her hot and bothered the few times we were together in LA, but attraction and action are worlds apart. And speaking of which, I need to keep reminding myself just how different ours really are.
***
For the past month I’ve been jetting from one city to another, tired but happy. When I’m not promoting and performing, I find myself checking my phone like a crackhead waiting on their dealer to call. I have no idea when I’ll see Taryn next, but to my surprise, I like this getting-to-know-each-other thing we’ve got going on.
While sitting in the green room, waiting on the Denver show to start, I laugh to myself when I recall the texts we exchanged yesterday. Between rehearsals and our concerts, she and I played a little game of “Two Truths and a Lie.”
Taryn: You know how to play, right?
Me: Yeah, babe, believe it or not, I did go to middle school ;)
Taryn: You first then, smartass.
Me: I play three instruments.
Taryn: A kazoo totally does NOT count.
Me: Who’s the smartass now? ;)
Taryn: You got me there. Truth?
Me: Yup, piano, drums, and harmonica, which totally does count
Taryn: Keep talkin…
Me: The image I portray is not who I really am.
Taryn: Truth, but I already knew that.
Me: I have ten brothers and sisters.
Taryn: Cop out. You’ve mentioned before that you’re an only child, just like me.
Our conversation was cut off by the untimely arrival of her mother, right when she was trying to justify her ability to play three instruments. I jokingly told her that acoustic, bass, and electric guitar only count as one.
I’m instantly pulled back to the present when Jay rushes in the room and begins passing out schedules for the next two weeks, which no doubt are as hectic as the last two.
“Hey, listen up ya’ll noisy motherfuckers,” he says, trying to get everyone’s attention. “You might wanna read this so you’ll know when to tell your families you’ll be home next weekend.”
I laugh out loud, saying, “Hey Dre, can you tell your dad we’ll be off in case he wants to have a little family reunion or somethin’?”
“Yeah, I’ll get right on that, Ace,” he says with a smirk.
Jay ignores us and starts yammering on about dates and times and who-the-hell-knows-what, but I tune him out when I look at the calendar and notice that by ‘home’ he meant we’re headed back to Los Angeles. “Why LA?” I interrupt.
“If you’d get those baby blues out of the clouds, you’d know that you’ve got a video to film, followed by a release party the label is hosting for you and farm girl.”
“Yee-haw!” shouts Xavier and I fight the urge to cut him a dirty look. “We gonna have us a hoedown.”
“Ah yeah,” chimes in Quinton, “I’m looking forward to gettin’ down with some hos.”
“Dude, you get down with hos every night. It ain’t like you gonna wait ‘til we get back to La-La Land,” says Marcus.
“You right about that,” Q says, “but there’s nothin’ like LA hos, right, X?”
“I know that’s right,” Xavier replies.
Jay shoots everyone scathing looks before saying, “If you all are done talking with your dicks, then we’ve gotta show to put on. So get out of here and do what you get paid entirely too many Benjamins to do.”
Lots of grumbling is heard as everyone starts to head out of the green room. I catch sight of Marcus messing around with his camera equipment and ask, “So what’s the deal with the video?”
“What do you mean?” he questions, not looking up from what he’s doing.
“I just wanted to know how you’re gonna film it, that’s all,” I say, trying to sound casual. Not casual enough, I think, as Marcus looks up at me curiously.
“Ace, you never ask about anything I’m doing. All you do is argue with me when we’re shooting if you don’t like it. What gives, bro?”
The man’s got a point. Aw, fuck it. “Look, I just want to know what direction you’re heading with the video…I think the song’s got potential to go number one.”
“Man, all your songs end up at number one. But don’t get wrong, I’m happy you’re taking an interest for once. I usually get the feeling you don’t give a shit one way or the other,” he says perceptively. Damn, I feel bad because obviously he takes pride in what he does the same way I do with my music, and it sucks that I’ve been such an ass about it.
“Sorry, bro. I’ll try and do better,” I say sincerely. It’s how my Momma taught me to apologize a long time ago. She always told me to man up and say I’m sorry, only promising to do better if I was serious about it. And I am. “So how’s this gonna go down?”
“Well now, that’s for me to know and you to find out.” He gives me a wink before abruptly picking up his camera gear and walking out the door. That fucker. I had that coming though so I can’t be mad at him. But here I am, turning over a new leaf and shit, and he just picked up that big ‘ol leaf and slapped me across the face with it.
Before I’m able to chase him down and butter him up to get the intel I want, Jay calls out that I’m on in five. Time to do my thing.
Chapter 9
Taryn
Goodnight Peaches.
After reading Trace’s text, I clutch the phone and fall onto my bed in sheer bliss. What has he done to me? Every time we talk or text, I seem to be falling a little more, but I have to keep reminding myself that relationships in this industry don’t work out. Not to mention, we have nothing in common. Of course, if that were true, we wouldn’t still be talking. Shit—I hate this devil and angel thing that happens after every time we hang up.
I put on my pink flannel pants with my Texans t-shirt. Walking out to the lounge area of the bus, I curl up under a blanket and turn on the television. Thankfully, my mom flew out tonight so I don’t have any promotional obligations or run-throughs for radio interviews. Even after endless practices, she still insists on sitting next to me during every call-in to make sure I answer just the way we rehearsed. With her gone, it’s nice to have some peace and quiet for once.
I press ‘play’ on the Blu-ray to watch the latest romantic comedy, one that hasn’t even
been released in theaters yet. One of the benefits of being with Backlash is that I often score advance copies of movies, which is great and all, but if it means I don’t have them controlling everything else in my life, I’d willingly give up whatever perks they provide.
Just as the movie is about to start, I hear the driver’s deep New York-accented voice tell me that we’re stopping for gas. Minutes later, we pull to a stop and I hear the band pouring out of their bus, probably on their way to invade the convenience store. Based on the loud music and laughter, I think it’s safe to say that the party has already started. Heck, I’ll bet the alcohol started pouring the minute we pulled out of Louisville. Rolling my eyes, I resume my movie-watching but a loud knock interrupts me once again.
“Come in,” I call out and Ryder stumbles through the door, his hair falling over his glassy eyes.
“Hey, doll,” he slurs. I sigh, pushing ‘pause’ on my movie.
“How much have you had?” I ask, raising my eyebrows.
“Just a few. We’re celebrating our time off.” He tumbles down on the sofa and his shoulder nudges mine a bit. I can already smell the whiskey on his breath, not to mention the cigarettes. “You should come and join us. You never hang with us,” he whines, placing his hand on my legs.
I pull my legs a little closer to me. “I’m exhausted, Ryder. My body aches, my throat is raw, and the last thing I need is to be inside a bus filled with smoke. Plus, you guys might get a break, but I still have to work, remember?”
He quirks one caramel-colored eye my way before he says, “You need to have fun, Taryn. The evil witch has vanished back to silicone town to do…well, whatever it is she does when you’re not around. Come relax with us.” He rises unsteadily and grabs my hand.
Last year I would have jumped at the chance, but I really need this downtime. In addition to being completely worn out from the tour, my stomach has been tied in knots since I found out that I’ll be seeing Trace again—on a video set.
Collaboration (Backlash) Page 9
