It just somehow ran away from me. New opportunities presented themselves, and I was urged to take them by those around me. I couldn’t help that my image, my ethos, was something that popular culture was hungry for. But I also couldn’t deny it. Put yourself in that position. You think you’re a good person with the right ideas, you’re doing things your way, and people love you for it. A million little girls want to be like you, and you think… yeah, I could inspire all these people to look at themselves and the world in a different way. The power is alluring.
But then it gets away from you. It becomes a machine. Maybe you get greedy, or you believe your own hype. Everybody around you tells you you’re doing the right thing, because they all have a stake in your success. They tell you to leave the past behind you, to take on new challenges, to spread your message as far and wide as you possibly can. This isn’t an opportunity that many people get, they say. You wouldn’t be a good steward of this pedestal you’ve been placed on top of if you were to just throw it all away.
Of that hundred million dollar contract I signed, Trish gets 15%. That’s the kind of cut your manager receives. I made Trish fifteen million dollars. The record labels wouldn’t pay someone the kind of money they gave me if they weren’t doubling or tripling it. We all make money on the tour, the venues make tons, the advertisers, factories that press the CD or print the t-shirts, everybody has some stake, no matter how large or how small, in the continued success of a pop star.
And deep down, I still felt like this naive, lost little girl, just trying to keep up with it all. It’s too much pressure for someone like me who has always struggled with anxiety. I’m just this dancing, singing puppet. Before, back when I was nobody, I often found myself scoffing at celebrities who had epic meltdowns, calling them crazy, or just blowing them off because they had it all. But calling them crazy, that’s just being dismissive. It doesn’t take into account what actually happens to these people we so look up to. It’s a confusing life.
I didn’t know if any part of my life was safe from the confusion. I even questioned my relationship with Daisy. She had been there for me for a long time, it was true. But I remembered back to the beginning, fighting with my anxiety, trying to figure out if Daisy was actually interested in me or interested in my potential. She had always pushed me to go bigger. And while that could just be the hallmark of a supportive partner, it could also imply other, more selfish motives. Daisy most certainly benefited professionally and financially from my success. That was undeniable.
I was getting suspicious of everything and everyone.
In an effort to do damage control on the speculating articles coming out about me and my health, as well as my little run in with the paparazzo outside of my car, and the fact that I had avoided most publicity since the Grammys, Trish set me up for an appearance on Leno. I was having a tough time, that much is obvious, but I knew that it was something I had to do to help save my image. I put on my clown face and did what I had to do.
After my band and I performed, Leno invited me to sit panel and chat with him about everything. This was coordinated between my management and the show, and it scared the hell out of me. I didn’t want to say something stupid, something regrettable. I just wanted to keep it light, but they had all agreed on some tougher questions to hopefully get the media off my back.
“So Layla,” said Leno, leaning over his desk toward me, an amiable smile on his face. “You gotta tell me… what happened? You know everybody’s worried about you.”
“It was just… exhaustion,” I said, putting on a smile but still feeling quite defeated. “I’d been working so hard, with the album, the tour. I really hadn’t been taking care of myself, which in retrospect is something I definitely regret.”
“That’s understandable,” he said, nodding back and forth. “Lotta demands on people in your position. I used to tour all the time when I did stand up,” said Leno. “I know how the road can be.”
“Don’t let anybody tell you Grammy winners don’t work hard,” I said. He laughed.
“You think?” he said, still laughing. Then he went serious. “Now, you also struggle with anxiety… is that right?”
“Yes,” I admitted. “It makes all of this even more difficult at times.”
“How does that work itself out?” said Leno. “Does it cripple you or inspire you to push through it?”
“I guess a little of both,” I said. “Before concerts, I always used to have this crippling anxiety until I actually got on stage. Then it was easier to push through it and enjoy the moment. You get better at handling it the more experience you get.”
“You have any tricks you use?”
“Tricks?” I repeated. “Well, I don’t know…”
“Like imagining the audience in their underwear,” said Leno with a laugh. The audience laughed with him. I smiled.
“I guess my trick is to try to forget the past, and ignore the future,” I said. “That gives me a little more power in the present.”
“Yeah?” he said. “That’s neat. Yeah, I can see how that would work. Well, Layla,” Leno continued. “We’re just happy to see that you’re okay and that everything’s going great for you. Truly, we’re big fans here at the show — I’m a big fan of yours — and we wish you all the best.”
“Thanks,” I said. “I really appreciate that.”
“Don’t go anywhere, folks,” he said, looking toward the camera. “A little more with Layla Bean, after the break.”
After the show had finished filming, I was standing backstage when Leno came up to me with a smile on his face.
“Layla,” he said. “That was great. Really happy to have you on.”
“It’s no problem,” I said. “I was happy to do it.”
“Don’t hate me for this,” he continued. “One of our producers, he’s got a daughter that’s a real big fan and she wanted to meet you.”
“Oh,” I said with mild surprise. “Yeah, that would be okay.”
“It’s okay?” he said. “Terrific. Hey Annie,” Leno called out. From behind a wall came a teenage girl, with straight blonde hair, naturally pretty, dressed in a skirt and a white button-down shirt. She had an embarrassed smile on her face as she approached us.
“Hello,” she said meekly.
“Layla, this is Annie,” said Leno. “Annie, this is Layla Bean.”
“It’s good to meet you,” I said, offering Annie a smile and sticking out my hand.
“It’s good to meet you, too,” she said, shaking my hand.
“Thanks again, Layla,” said Leno with a smile. “We’ll be in touch with your management.” With that, he left Annie and I there alone backstage.
“Did I do okay out there?” I asked, giving Annie a small shrug.
“You did,” she said. “I really love your voice.”
“Thank you,” I said. “That’s kind of you.”
“I’m a singer, too,” she said. I felt my stomach sink a little when she said this. I knew how this went. Leno’s producer thought maybe, if Annie were to meet me, I could do something to help her, push her on her way, feel for her so that I might pull some strings or whatever. But I was having enough problems lately of my own.
“That’s great,” I said. “It’s a hard, but rewarding line of work.”
“I really love the first Cast Party record,” said Annie. “Your voice on Holy Cow, it always really inspires me.” I melted a little bit.
“That’s so sweet,” I said. “That was my first hit. I love that song.”
“I love it,” she said. “I sing it all the time.”
“You’re probably here for a little advice,” I said, smiling at Annie. “Or is that presumptuous?”
“No,” she said. “I’d love advice from you.”
“Well,” I went on. “Just… stay true to yourself. I know that’s super corny,” I said. “But it’s so easy to get swept up in what other people want from you, because you’re trying to impress them or please them or whatever. But
only you know what’s best for you. Just try to hold on to that, yeah?”
“Yeah,” said Annie with a smile. “I will.”
“Well, I need to get going,” I said. “Keep singing, and do your best.”
“Thank you, Layla,” said Annie, looking down. I could tell she was feeling some embarrassment.
“Great meeting you, Annie,” I said. I smiled at her.
“You too,” she said, nodding softly. Annie gave me one more smile, before turning from me and walking away. She was a sweet girl. Our exchange reminded me how good I had it. Sure, there were a lot of sharks out there circling me in the waters. But there were some bright spots. Talking to fans like her, it could be very rewarding. I had to hold on to that.
I felt this weird pressure inside my head. Everything was vibrating for a moment and I got tunnel vision. My body got really cold. I had to close my eyes, trying to focus, making some attempt to stave off the sudden dull headache that was approaching. Everything felt tight, and I cramped up. Then, with what seemed like an overwhelming sucking sound, it was gone. I opened my eyes.
“Layla?” asked Daisy. “Did you hear what I said?”
“Huh?”
“Providence Pictures wants to use one of your songs in the title sequence of an upcoming action film,” she said with a wide smile. “Isn’t that amazing?”
“Yeah,” I said absently.
“It’s huge, Layla,” said Daisy matter-of-factly. “That’s a lot of money. Big publicity. They’ve been talking about getting you involved with the promotion of the movie, maybe something pre-release or with the trailer.”
“That’s great,” I said, offering her a weak smile. “Let’s do it.”
“Are you all right?” she asked suspiciously, looking at me from across the kitchen counter. I sat on a stool with my hands around a warm mug of tea.
“Yeah,” I said. “I just… you know…”
“You’ve been feeling better,” Daisy said with soft eyes. “I mean, right? You seemed good on Leno, in front of all those people. You were pretty on point.”
“I just…” I said again, feeling the weird dullness come back. “Do you love me, Daisy?”
“Layla,” she said in seriousness. “Yes, of course. What would make you feel otherwise? We’ve talked about this before.”
“I know,” I said, nodding, my eyes looking down into my tea. “I think I need to go away for a while.”
“What do you mean?”
“I’m not sure,” I said. “But I’m starting to feel… really weird,” I admitted to her. “I’m losing my sense of trust in a lot of things.”
“Your sense of trust?” she repeated. “Like, do you not trust me?”
“I don’t know.”
“Why wouldn’t you trust me?” Daisy said. I could tell she was feeling slightly attacked and I felt like shit because of it. But there wasn’t much turning back at this point.
“I feel like, when I look around me,” I began. “Everything I used to know and love has been systematically removed from my life. I don’t feel in control any longer. Maybe I never felt like I was in control. I don’t know. But everybody in my life, it just feels like they’ve pushed me toward this position that… doesn’t make sense to me.”
“Even me?” she asked. “Me?”
“The label benefits from my fame,” I said. “Including you.”
“Layla,” said Daisy firmly. She was really getting defensive now. I could see that she was fighting back tears. “That is just painful to hear. I have done so much for you — for us — and I can’t believe you would feel this way about me, of all people. Yes, some of the executives at Municipal just have dollar signs in their eyes. But me, Layla? Me?”
“I can’t help that I feel like this,” I said pleadingly. “I don’t want to feel like this.”
“We can get you help,” said Daisy. “Maybe try some new medication. Try some therapy.”
“I don’t think you understand,” I said. “I feel like I’m living in somebody else’s body. When I open my eyes every morning, I have no idea how I got here.”
“You’re just under a lot of stress,” she said. “You have a lot of people pushing and pulling you, I get that.”
“You don’t know what it’s like,” I said. “You don’t know how it feels. To you, it’s just my problems, problems that can be ‘fixed’ with medication. But is medication going to keep me from being hounded by the paparazzi, stop them from saying awful things to me to try to provoke me? Is it going to stop the constant requests coming from all sides to make me do things… whatever it is… promote this, go on that show, put on a smile always and let the world think everything’s okay?”
“Layla, I—“
“And now everybody thinks I’m crazy,” I said. “Maybe I am. But I’d rather just be crazy in private, rather than faint on stage, have to explain myself to the press, go on a talk show to reassure everyone that I’m fine… when I’m most certainly not fine. And no one seems to care about that.”
“I care,” said Daisy. “I definitely care.”
“Just a minute ago you were adding a new thing for me to do,” I protested. “This Providence Pictures thing. It’s just one more thing, one more responsibility, one more sale.”
“Look Layla,” she said. “You do have a lot of responsibilities. You have responsibilities to many people. Because of you, your music, your image, a lot of people have jobs. You’re an economy. I know that’s hard to swallow, but that’s where you are. If you stop, that may or may not solve your problems. But it will cause problems for tons of people. Do you understand?”
“I understand,” I said. “And this isn’t what I wanted. This isn’t anywhere near what I wanted. I wanted to play in a band and be happy. That was my dream. Not this.”
“You need to practice some gratitude,” said Daisy. She was getting more upset. There was anger in her demeanor. I didn’t blame her. I was saying some pretty hard things. “A lot of people have helped you because we love you. Your fans love you.”
“I think I need to go away,” I said once more. “I don’t know what I mean by that, but it just feels like something I have to do.”
“Are you leaving me?” said Daisy with a hint of fear.
“I don’t know,” I said. “I don’t have any answers right now.”
Daisy went quiet. Her eyes averted from me and bounced around the kitchen. I could tell she was feeling frazzled, confused, uncertain. I was feeling all those things, too. But I was tired of waking up everyday with a sinking feeling. I needed to find answers. I needed a break. I felt like I was one wrong thought away from totally snapping.
“I don’t want to lose you,” Daisy said finally. “Remember how things were all those years ago? Remember that first night in Denver?”
“I do,” I replied softly.
“It’s been almost a decade,” said Daisy. “And you’re still uncertain?”
This gave me pause. You think after spending that long with somebody, that it just becomes easy. But a long-term relationship like what Daisy and I had was work. In the beginning, it’s honeymoon romance. But as a relationship matures, as you become more acquainted with the intricacies of your partner, it can turn into something that makes you question your decision. Is this truly what’s right for me? When you feel uncertain about everything, you begin to question everything.
“I don’t know anything anymore,” I said. “I just need some time.” Standing up from the stool, I grabbed my pack of cigarettes from the kitchen counter and stepped back.
“Don’t leave me,” said Daisy. Her face looked tired now.
“I just need some time,” I said again. I was trying to be strong. I wasn’t a bitch, I wasn’t evil or mean. I just felt so incredibly bruised. I felt like my grip on sanity was tenuous, and I needed to get back to… something… I needed to find what I had left behind.
“Where are you going to go?” she asked.
I thought about Daisy’s question as I removed a smoke
from the pack and slipped it between my lips. I hated these things, cigarettes, I couldn’t believe I had started up again. But it was like I couldn’t stop myself. I just gave in.
“Home,” I said. “I think I need to go home.”
“Just tell me, baby,” said Trish. Her voice came out in a tinny tone from the speaker of my phone, sitting on my bathroom sink, while I squirted black dye into my hair and smoothed it around with my plastic-gloved hand. “I can help you. Just tell me where you’re going.”
“It’s okay,” I said. “Just cover for me. Tell them all I’m on vacation.”
“How long are you going to be gone?” she asked frantically. “Layla, you’ve got to tell your manager these things. There’s gonna be a lot of heat.”
“I don’t know,” I said. “A few weeks. Maybe a few months. You’re the one who said I should do this!”
“We’ve got things to cancel,” said Trish, ignoring that last part. “I mean, you’ve got responsibilities. What are people going to think?”
“Whatever they want to think,” I said. The bright red of my hair was starting to be covered up by the black, beginning with my roots, and working down from the top of my head. The dye smelled strong, sulfurous, tickling my nose with chemicals.
“They already think you’re going crazy, doll,” she said. “This is just going to make them think you’re a fucking psycho.”
“Maybe I am,” I said. “Trish, just do whatever it is I pay you to do and cover my ass.”
“Cover your ass,” she repeated, coming off as defeated. “Fine, yeah… sure, cover your ass.”
“I’ll stay in touch with you as I need to,” I said. “I just need some space.”
“You’re going to piss off a lot of people,” said Trish. “I’m just warning you.”
“I don’t care.”
“Fine,” she said, beginning to come to terms with my decision. “You do you, Layla Bean. You stand to lose a substantial amount of money.”
“I’m okay with that,” I said. With a chunk of my hair colored black, I used a bobby pin to secure it up higher on my head so that I could get underneath as well. I hadn’t dyed my hair myself in so long, I had forgotten how much work it was. I wasn’t doing a great job, but all I really needed to do was to get rid of most of the red.
Fall Of The Rock Girl: A Lesbian Romance (Revolving Record Book 2) Page 4
