The first thing Municipal did was fly us out to New York City to begin recording our debut album. And because of our wide-eyed excitement and eagerness to succeed, recording went relatively smoothly. Arnie and Micah were around a lot, giving us pointers, trying to move us in certain directions. Luckily, James was our advocate and kept us on the path we wanted to walk. And, strangely enough, I found myself growing a little more vocal in the process as well. I was feeling good.
As the season began changing, the snow melting and spring beginning to green up the city, Daisy invited me to her office to chat about the band and about the upcoming tour that was being planned for us. When I got her call, I felt just like I did when any woman who was way out of my league talked to me in a pleasant manner. Or, like, whenever one of the popular girls in school spoke sweetly to me because she wanted something. It flattered me, but it also made me feel skeptically cautious.
“Layla!” Daisy exclaimed as I stepped into her office. It was a very classy office, modern in decor, with floor to ceiling windows looking out over midtown Manhattan. As soon as I walked in, I felt like a bit of a slob. I was in ripped black jeans, a black hoodie, my black boots. I had my blue hair in pigtails. But Daisy’s face showed no judgment.
Daisy approached me quickly and hugged me. My heart beat furiously as I hugged her back. She was so pretty, so put together. She wore a matching grey wool blazer and skirt, and a shimmering very light tan silky blouse.
“Hi,” I said, feeling slightly embarrassed.
“Come in,” she said, guiding me into her office. “Sit down. Can I get you anything?”
“I’m fine.” I sauntered up to the deep chair in front of her large wooden desk and sat.
“Terrific,” said Daisy, meandering back behind her desk and sitting as well. “It’s great to see you, Layla. How are you enjoying New York?”
“It’s awesome here,” I said. “I’ve been hanging out in the East Village. Going to clubs. It’s gritty. I love it,”
“It’s changing down there a little,” said Daisy with a wink.
“Is it?”
“Oh yeah,” she said. “In the 80s and 90s, it was a real scene down there. It’s softening up a bit. But there’s still a lot of heart in the East Village.”
“Are you from here?” I asked.
“I am,” she said. “Well, I’m from Millbrook. It’s north of the city. But I came to New York often in the 90s. Mostly to see Broadway shows,” Daisy said, laughing at herself.
“I’m from north of Detroit,” I said. “Royal Oak.”
“So we’ve got that in common,” Daisy said with a smile.
“I guess so.”
“Well, anyway, I’m so glad you’re here,” she said. “We have a lot to talk about. Your first tour, this is going to be huge.”
“Yeah, we’re opening for Air Patrol,” I said. “That’s insane to me.”
“Pretty big deal,” said Daisy, grinning wide. She had wonderfully perfect teeth. I should hate this woman but she was driving me nuts.
“Hey Daisy,” I said, looking away from her for a moment.
“Yeah?”
“How old are you?” I said, then feeling bashful for asking the question. “I mean, I’m just asking because you seem pretty young, like my age, yet you also seem pretty successful.” Daisy laughed, but it was a very accepting laugh. It wasn’t meant to make me feel alienated.
“I’m 27,” she said. “And thanks for the compliments!”
“So just a few years older than me,” I said.
“Right,” she said.
“Okay.”
“So I want to help craft your image for the tour,” she continued on. “I love what you’ve got going on already — don’t get me wrong — but I think we should kick it up a notch. Like maybe a Shirley Manson kind of thing.”
“I like Shirley Manson,” I said.
“She’s phenomenal,” said Daisy. “And her look is great. So my idea is that we keep your punky edge, but we style it up a bit. Make it more severe, in a way, yet more polished. Does that make sense?”
“Kinda.”
“Okay,” said Daisy, looking off, trying to figure out another way to put it. “So, you like to wear black dresses on stage… right?”
“Right,” I confirmed.
“We’ll keep that aspect of your look, but we turn it up,” she said. “Think black prom dress. Like you were going to goth prom! Frilly black lace, black gloves all the way to your elbows,” said Daisy, demonstrating on her arm how far up the gloves would go. “Overdone makeup. Black eyes, dark red lips. Can you see it?”
“It sounds like a lot,” I said. “We’re just the opening band. Is it worth it to go that far for this tour?”
“Layla,” said Daisy, leveling with me. “Do you know how many people are going to see you on this tour?”
“Yeah,” I said. “Well, no. I guess I hadn’t given it too much thought. I’ve just been internalizing that we were the openers.”
“You’re going to be playing 20,000 seat stadiums,” she said. “In every major city across the country.”
“So… a lot of people?”
“Hundreds of thousands of people are going to see you, Layla,” she said. “Sure, you’re the opening band. You’re the opening band… this tour.”
“This is… woo!” I said with stressful exasperation, suddenly feeling a new sense of pressure about the whole thing.
“It’s okay,” said Daisy, putting up her hands. “You’re going to do great. I’m going to help you cultivate your look and sell your band to America.”
“It’s a bit scary,” I admitted. “This is all happening pretty fast.”
“If you want to hit on trends, you’ve got to move fast,” she said with a matter-of-fact grin.
“Okay,” I said. “I trust you. I’ll do what you say, if you think it’ll help Cast Party and our chances of making it.”
“And we’ll change things around at various shows,” said Daisy. “Don’t think you’re just going to have this one costume. In fact, you’re going to have a lot of costumes. There will be tons of pictures of you taken and we want to make sure we have a lot of looks for people to talk about.”
“Can I level with you?” I said, feeling my eyes go pleading.
“Yeah, totally,” said Daisy. “Anything.”
“I’m kinda just this… punk rock girl from Detroit,” I said. “You know? This hoodie I’m wearing, it’s got holes in it.” As I said this, I lifted my hand up and showed that my thumb was poking through a makeshift hole in the sleeve cuff. “Shirley Manson is… well, she’s Shirley Manson. She’s a star. She’s this… other type of being or something.”
“You think Shirley Manson, at one point, wasn’t just some punk girl from Edinburgh?” said Daisy, hands pressed to her desk, giving me a serious look.
“No,” I said with irony. “She was always Shirley Manson.” This gave Daisy a tickle.
“You’re funny,” she said. “C’mon Layla. A star isn’t born overnight.”
“I know,” I said. “You’re right.”
“Ooh!” said Daisy with wide eyes. “I just had another idea. Punky gothic Catholic school girl!”
“That’s cool,” I said with a small smile. “I like that.”
“Right?” she said, very much pleased with herself. “I went to Catholic school, I don’t know why it took me so long to have that idea.”
“So what do we do?” I said. “Do we go shopping for this stuff, or…?”
“Oh no,” said Daisy, laughing at my naiveté. “Like we’re in the montage of some romantic comedy? No,” she said. “Not at all. I have a designer who I’ll talk this all over with, she’ll put together the specifics. You’ll have a wardrobe coordinator with you on tour to handle the costume rotation, the cleaning, all that.”
“So I guess it’s like a play,” I said. “Like theatre.”
“Exactly,” she said. “It’ll be just like that.”
“Is that the extent of
our… relationship?” I asked timidly. I was uncertain how my future would play out, but I was certain that I wanted to see more of Daisy in it.
“I’ll also be working with the press for you and the band,” she said. “We’re going to have interviews to coordinate, television performances. That sort of thing. I’ll be involved with all of that.”
“Sort of like a manager?”
“Well, no,” she said. “We’ve hired you a tour manager. I’m just sort of your public liaison. I’m involved in the outward appearance of you and Cast Party.” With that, Daisy waved her hands up in the air, drawing out a circle.
“So we’re going to work a lot together?”
“Indeed,” she said, again with her wide smile, displaying her bright teeth.
“So… I shouldn’t hide things from you, right?” I said. “I mean, if you’re responsible for our image and how the world views us, I’ve got to tell you things so you can, like… get in front of it?”
“That’s exactly right, Layla,” said Daisy. “Perfect. You can tell me anything. If we need to spin anything, we can totally do it. That’s our job.” Then she leaned forward with a real serious look in her eyes. “You don’t have a drug problem, do you? You’re not on heroin, right?”
“No,” I said with a nervous laugh. “No. Nothing hard.”
“Good,” she said, looking relieved. “Heroin is so passé, anyhow. That’s so early 90s.”
“No, my thing is…” I said, taking a pause to think about how it would come out. “I’m a lesbian.”
“I know,” said Daisy like I was telling her the sky was blue. “I’ve read everything about you that I could get my hands on.”
“And that’s not a deal breaker?” I asked. “It’s not weird?”
“Being a lesbian is cool,” said Daisy. “Especially with a hip little punk waif like you. Don’t take that the wrong way.”
“I won’t.”
“See, we’ll make the female fans lust after you,” she went on. “They’ll want to be you, but also feel like in some other universe, they could be with you.”
“Yeah, okay.”
“And the guys,” said Daisy. “They’ll think it’s sexy. Like, trying to imagine you with another woman. And they’ll think, ‘hey, maybe they’d let me get involved!’”
I couldn’t help but laugh.
“Good, right?” she asked.
“Sex sells, I guess,”
“It sure does,” said Daisy. “And look, if it makes you feel any better…” she said, leaning in now and lowering her voice. “I’m a lesbian, too.”
“You are?” I said, feeling a crazy renewed sense of hope. I was bursting inside when I heard those words leave Daisy’s lips.
“Just don’t tell my grandmother,” she said, laughing at herself. “Catholics are weird.”
“You’re a lesbian?” I repeated. “But you look so…”
“Look?” said Daisy. “What does a lesbian look like?” I could tell she was a little bit offended, but she hid it well. She was still smiling.
“That’s stupid, I know,” I admitted. “I’m sorry.”
“Spend a little more time in New York,” said Daisy. “And I think some of your opinions might change.”
“I’m sorry,” I said again.
“It’s fine,” she said brightly, but it seemed like Daisy was stewing on something.
I suddenly felt defeated. From a soaring high, to the lowest of low. Manic. It was like I’d gone from being the one who people offended to being the offender myself. It made me sick.
“Is there anything more?” I asked meekly, feeling as though I should make my exit. The anxiety was returning and I wanted to cover my head with a pillow.
“You’re going to be seeing a lot of me,” Daisy said, as though she were warning me. “So get used to this smiling face.” She smiled.
“I’ll try not to get on your bad side, then.”
“I don’t have a bad side,” she said.
“I’ll keep that in mind,” I said.
Daisy stood up from her chair and walked around her desk. With that smile plastered on her face, she approached me where I sat.
“Layla, it was so great meeting with you,” she said. She was done with me. I pushed myself up out of the chair and stood next to her.
“Thanks for your help,” I said. Daisy stuck her hand out and I shook it. “I’m nervous, but I’m really looking forward to what comes next.”
“We should get a drink sometime,” said Daisy decisively. My ears perked up. “Maybe we can get to know each other a little better in a more relaxed environment. If I know you better, I think I’ll be of even greater service to you and to Cast Party.”
“Okay,” I said, nodding, absently looking off, feeling worried. Fishing my hand into one of the pockets in my hoodie, I wrapped my fingers around my pack of cigarettes.
“Terrific,” she said, beaming. “Sometime next week, maybe? We’ll be in touch. And I’ll have more information for you concerning wardrobe and all that. Does that work?”
“It works,” I said.
“Layla,” said Daisy, sighing happily. “So great to have you here at Municipal. This is going to change your life.”
“It already has,” I said with a weak smile.
Renee and I ambled slowly down St. Marks Place toward Tompkins Square Park in the East Village, each of us with a cigarette, sunglasses over our eyes, boots on the pavement. A guy with a foot tall green mohawk and a studded jean jacket, plastered in black band patches, walked by us in a flurry. He smelled like piss. We had just finished another recording session and came down to the East Village to visit some resale shop Renee had heard about. She had found a burgundy leather jacket that she had worn out of the store. I got nothing.
“Change?” I heard a filthy, grizzled older man with a white beard suddenly say as we approached the corner. He, too, smelled like piss. In fact, the entire street sort of reeked.
“Yeah,” I replied, reaching into my pocket and pulling out a crumpled, moist dollar bill. I handed it over to him.
“Thank you, ladies!” he barked. Renee looked spooked and walked faster. I had to pick up my pace to catch her.
“Let’s get a bench in the park,” said Renee.
“All right,” I agreed.
Tompkins Square Park was an odd mix of punks, homeless people, and hipsters who looked like they had some money. It was a spectrum of people and it was almost as though it were changing before my eyes. Or, rather, it looked like one era of the park was in its death throes and it was being reborn into something wholly different. I followed Renee as she scurried up to an open bench. We hopped onto it together, butts on the backrest, feet on the seat.
“So this is, like, the punk mecca, huh?” I said as I lit another cigarette.
“I guess,” said Renee.
“I bet it was crazy in the 80s,” I said.
“Yeah, it looks like they’re trying to clean it up or something,” she said. “Hey,” said Renee, interrupting herself and blowing out a cloud of smoke. “You never told me how the meeting with that chick went.”
“Oh God,” I bemoaned. “Yeah, it was fine.”
“It sounds a little different than fine,” Renee countered.
“I feel like I made an ass of myself, that’s all,” I said.
“What, like, about clothes and stuff?” she asked. “Like, you don’t want to wear what she’s telling you to wear?”
“No,” I said. “I think she gets me. That’s pretty exciting, really. Pretty interesting. I had no idea the kind of stuff that goes into costuming for bands.”
“For you,” said Renee. “I don’t think they give a shit about the rest of us.”
“I don’t know,” I said meekly.
“Okay,” Renee continued, pushing the cigarette to her lips and taking a long drag. “What’d you do?”
“I feel like I offended her,” I said. “I said something along the lines of I thought it was weird that she was a lesbian, too
, because of how she looks.” Renee exhaled smoke and let out a small laugh.
“Yeah, I can see how that could offend her,” she said. “That’s kind of messed up, Layla.”
“I was just nervous,” I said.
“Nervous?” said Renee with a smirk. “You?”
“Stop it,” I said, suddenly feeling bashful. I knocked my shoulder into Renee’s and we smiled at each other. She had a kind expression on her face.
“You’re gonna have to put on a brave face,” said Renee. “Shit’s about to change for us.”
“I know,” I said. “It’s not just all this band stuff that’s happening,” I admitted. “And it wasn’t the image thing that they’re doing with me.”
“What is it?”
“Mmm,” I whimpered, looking off from Renee. Then, after a moment, I looked back to her. “I’m just so attracted to Daisy.” Once the words left my lips, Renee buckled forward and laughed, slapping her knee in the process. I couldn’t help but smile, as this revelation gave her immense joy.
“Oh Layla,” she said, looking at me, wiping a tear from her eye. “Really? Her?”
“Yes,” I said. “Oh my God, Renee, it makes me feel so stupid.”
“She’s definitely not your type,” she said. “I’m willing to bet that chick was head cheerleader at her school.”
“I don’t know if they had cheerleaders at her school,” I said. “She went to Catholic school.”
“Oh wow,” Renee mused. “Yeah, so not your type. But then again…” she weighed in, thinking about it. “I bet an all girls Catholic school would have been your jam. Probably a lot of girls to pick from.” Renee winked at me.
“I’m trying to confide in you,” I said.
“I know, I know,” smiled Renee. “I’m sorry. You can continue.”
“I don’t know what else there is,” I said. “There’s just something about this girl. She’s so pretty, she’s so together. Whenever I’m around her, I feel a strange sense of calm. But that also makes me feel weird, because I’m not used to that feeling when I’m off stage.”
Rise From Rock City: A Lesbian Rock Star Romance (Revolving Record Book 1) Page 4
