Rise From Rock City: A Lesbian Rock Star Romance (Revolving Record Book 1)

by Nicolette Dane

  “I appreciate that,” said Nikki. “But it doesn’t change how I feel. You’re off partying with the dudes from Air Patrol — from Air Patrol, Layla — and I’m back here at home at a salon, coloring old ladies’ hair. You know what I mean? There’s this disconnect forming.”

  “I don’t mean it,” I said again. But I felt what she was saying. It made a lot of sense to me.

  “I’m happy for you,” said Nikki with resignation. “I really am. But I already feel the change. And I don’t feel like I’m part of it.”

  I nodded slowly and looked down into my coffee cup. The more the clouds parted, the more clouds the sky revealed.

  “Not really,” said James, sitting in the driver’s seat of his old Subaru, one hand on the wheel, eyes on the freeway as we cut through the night down 75 toward Detroit. I was in the passenger seat, staring out of my window, still meditating on all the crazy shit that had been going through my mind.

  “Nobody?” I asked. “Nobody has come to your house looking for you?”

  “I guess I’m not as enticing as you are,” he said with a laugh. “Kinda hurts my feelings, actually.”

  “I can’t believe with everything that’s happened to us,” I said. “We’re both still living at home.”

  “Old habits die hard,” said James.

  “I’m thinking about moving to New York,” I said suddenly. I saw James’ eyes widen as he processed my words.

  “All right,” he said slowly. “Well, that could cause some issues.”

  “I mean, not for good,” I said. “But just for a break.”

  “We’ve got to work on some new songs,” he said. “We’ve got to show up around the city here and show people we’re still hometown heroes. Layla, if you go to New York… that’s going to be really tough on us.”

  “That’s why I need to talk it out,” I said. “But I just need some kind of break and being back home isn’t doing it for me.”

  “We’re going out to the Mystic to see a show,” said James comfortingly. “This is your scene. You love this kind of thing. This is a break. You don’t have a job, we haven’t even practiced in two weeks. Dude, we’re living it up!”

  “It doesn’t feel like I’m living it up,” I said.

  “God, Layla,” said James, tilting his head back for a moment against his headrest. “Just enjoy it. I am! I’m having a blast. I’m living my damn dream and I don’t want to wake up. Do you know how lucky we are?”

  “I know.”

  “So stop being a downer about it,” he said. “You’ve got it made and you should be living accordingly.”

  “All right,” I said. “I’m going to take that into consideration.”

  “There you go,” he said, grinning over at me and squeezing my shoulder. I gave him a tender smile. “I know you’ve got your anxiety problems and your worries,” James continued. “But I promise, just keep working on them, just keep fighting, just keep doing you… they’re on their way out. Nothing to fear, nothing to worry about. We’re getting fucking famous.”

  “Okay James,” I said, my smile growing. “I’m trying to do good.”

  “You’re doing great, dude,” he said. “Forget all this shit at home and let’s show them all how hard we rock.”

  I nodded in affirmation as I looked ahead down the road. James had a way with talking me down off the ledge.

  We walked together into the Mystic and it wasn’t long until all eyes were on us. Some people hooted as we walked by, some just got out of the way and stared. Of course, they had all seen us around before. The Detroit music scene wasn’t that big. But now that Cast Party had taken off, we were legitimate celebrities, especially so around the city. James was basking in it, I could tell, but it just made me feel strange.

  After getting our beers from the bar, James and I made our way up toward the stage and settled in at a hightop table in the corner near a speaker. It was loud all around us, people chatting in their little groups before the band started, a mix of rock bands playing through the PA to keep the enthusiasm up. I pulled out my pack of Chamberlains, stuck one in my mouth, and lit it up, while I caught James surveying the crowd for his main vice: young, hip, pretty girls.

  “I’m trying to see if that chick Amy is around tonight,” he said without looking at me.

  “Of course you are,” I said, exhaling a cloud of smoke to mingle with the rest of the smoke that hovered in the room.

  “She’s a babe,” James said. “She reminds me of Olive Oyl.”

  “That’s hilarious that Olive Oyl is your barometer of babe,” I said, laughing at him.

  “I’m a simple man,” he said with a grin. “What can I say?”

  “Hey there,” said a voice off to the side of us. James and I looked together and we saw two guys hanging in the periphery. They both had these nervous half-smiles on their faces, expectant but also probably worried about interrupting us.

  “Hey,” said James. “What’s up?”

  “I’m Eric,” said the guy, extending his hand to James. They shook. “This is my bandmate Tom.” Eric then smiled at me and shook my hand.

  “Nice to meet you,” said James. “What can we do for you?”

  “We just wanted to stop by and let you know we’re huge fans,” said Tom. “We love Audition.”

  “It’s on permanent rotation in my car,” said Eric.

  “Thanks,” said James.

  “You’ve got the best voice in the city,” Tom said to me. “It’s awesome.”

  “Thank you,” I said, leaning closer to James and working through my cigarette.

  “So we brought you our demo CD,” said Eric, reaching to his back pocket and pulling out a jewel case. He handed it over to James who looked down at it.

  “What kind of music is this?” James asked.

  “Oh, it’s garage rock,” said Eric. “Like you guys.”

  “Final Piece?” said James, turning the case over to look at the back.

  “That’s us,” said Tom.

  “Well, thanks guys,” said James, setting the CD down on the table in front of us. “We’ll give it a listen on the ride home tonight.”

  “That’s awesome,” said Eric. “We appreciate it. It was really great meeting the both of you. Hope you guys play another show around here soon.”

  “Yeah, uh, we’ll see you around,” said James, being polite but also trying to get rid of them.

  “Thanks again,” said Tom. The two of them gave us a final smile and then wandered off, talking to themselves.

  “Turds,” said James into my ear. I laughed.

  “C’mon.”

  “What? You think they’re not turds?” he said.

  “Well, they’re definitely turds,” I said. “But whatever. That used to be you.”

  “I know,” he said with an incorrigible smile. “But I got mine.”

  “This is the kind of thing I was talking about earlier,” I said. “People coming to my parents’ house. They all just want something. Either they want to talk to me, because they’re some weird stalker, or maybe they’re trying to hand off their demo. It just makes my wall go up, you know? Makes me skeptical of all this.”

  “They could be good,” said James, holding up the CD once again and looking at it.

  “Probably not,” I said.

  “Probably not,” he agreed.

  “But the point is,” I said. “I don’t like this part of it. I like getting our music out there, I like performing… I like the money… but I don’t like the attention off stage. I don’t like those dudes coming up to us to hand us their music.”

  “I feel you,” said James. “But I think that’s part of it, Layla. That’s just what happens. And besides, this is only the beginning for us. I’m sure there are stages of all this. You know?”

  “Like what?”

  “I’m sure we’ll evolve somehow,” he said, taking a swig of beer. “I don’t know what I mean exactly. But it’s not like you ever see Dave Grant out at shows like this. Imagine if he
walked through the door right now.”

  “The entire place would shit itself,” I said.

  “And maybe he does it on occasion,” James said. “But I imagine he’s sick of being handed demo CDs and having people come up to have some superficial exchange with him. You just evolve out of it. I don’t know.”

  “I’ll keep evolution in mind,” I said sarcastically.

  “The point I’m trying to make,” he said. “Is that we should just enjoy wherever we’re at. Because, most likely, it’s all gonna change faster than we can fathom.”

  “It’s already feeling like that,” I said. “This already feels too fast.”

  “I’m just letting it wash over me,” said James. “Bathing in it. It’s refreshing! Ah!” he dramatically sighed.

  “I’ll try to see things from your perspective,” I said. “But I’m not going to bathe in the same bath water as you.”

  “We can bathe together,” he grinned, elbowing me in the side. I laughed and smacked him.

  “You wish, you lascivious fuck,” I teased.

  “You know me well,” he said. We laughed again.

  Then I heard it. Over the PA, the song that had been playing ended and one of ours came on. James and I both looked up, hearing it at the same time, and then looked to one another.

  “They’re playing Heatsink?” James asked. “Really? Did they see us come in or something?”

  “Maybe it’s on the rotation now,” I said.

  “It’s a good song,” he said, shrugging.

  “But it’s weird.”

  “It’s weird,” he agreed.

  “I guess this is our life now,” I said, grinning at him. He shook his head but he was grinning with me. Throughout everything that was happening to me, all the changes I was going through, everything I was dealing with, I knew one thing would always remain constant. And that thing was James. We had too much history between us, such a thick layer of friendship. While I was sure that friendship would be tested as Cast Party ascended, it always felt like an impossible bond to break. For that I was grateful. I needed James, and I hope he needed me in the same way.

  “Thanks for doing this interview with me,” smiled Stephanie. She was a short woman, midwest plump, with a striking smile and jet black hair. The two of us had some friends in common and, through those connections, she got me to agree to sit down with her for an interview slated to be published in the MetroShout.

  “No problem,” I said, returning her smile, trying to get comfortable on the big leather couch I was in. Stephanie sat across from me, a coffee table between us. She had a tape recorder running on the table, and a pen and notebook in her hands.

  “I hope it wasn’t weird how we got in touch,” she said. “My friend Jennifer gets her hair done from your friend Nikki. I just saw an opportunity and, you know…”

  “It’s fine.”

  “I should have gone through your manager and the label,” Stephanie said, almost beginning to chastise herself.

  “No, it’s cool,” I said. “I’m here now. Let’s just do this.”

  “Sorry,” she said. “I’m just excited to talk to you. I’ve seen you around Detroit before and when Cast Party suddenly blew up, I was so thrilled.”

  “Thank you,” I said.

  “It’s huge for Detroit,” she said. “I think we’re just all so happy that you’re putting some eyes on us.”

  “We’re happy about it, too.”

  “Okay, I’ll stop gushing now,” said Stephanie, her grin feeling a bit silly to me. “So, to start… you’re from Royal Oak, right?”

  “Yeah,” I said.

  “I’m from Berkley!” she called back. “Small world.”

  “Oh yeah,” I said. “Real close.”

  “That’s awesome,” said Stephanie. “How do you feel being from Royal Oak specifically informs your music?”

  “Well,” I began, thinking about the question. “Do you see how Royal Oak is changing?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Just a few short years ago, it was a lot punkier,” I said. “It was a cool, counter-culture downtown area that people from all over southeast Michigan came to hang out and shop. Well, punk people, I mean.”

  “Right,” said Stephanie, leaning in and listening.

  “But it’s… changing,” I said. “They’re building condos. More corporate stores are moving in. Do you see that?”

  “Yeah, definitely,” she said. “I see it.”

  “I’m not trying to say anything positive or negative about it,” I said. “It’s just an observation. But I feel like something in that metaphor explains my lyrics. It’s about change, it’s about perception, and it’s about trying to reconcile all that with reality.”

  “Wow,” said Stephanie, nodding and scribbling into her notebook. “Do you think that Detroit is poised for a renaissance? Especially now with the country looking at us thanks to our music scene?”

  “I don’t know,” I said. “I think that’s beyond the scope of what someone like me can offer. Really, I’m just an entertainer and I’m trying to have fun doing what I love. I hope for the best with the city I love, but there are too many moving parts for me to say things are going to work out one way or another. I like to think I’m part of the solution, but I just don’t know.”

  “I’ve heard elsewhere that you often feel like an outsider,” Stephanie said. “Is that something you’ve always felt? Can you relate it to Detroit’s place in the country in any way?”

  “I’m a weirdo and an outcast, and I always have been,” I answered. “But it’s because I’ve always just been myself. Detroit, too, is an outcast. We’re a city gasping for breath. We just want to be healthy again. And a lot of the art coming from Detroit, the music, I think it’s a direct result of some of the desperation we feel, the struggle. Whether it be punk rock, hip hop, the electronic music scene, we’re all trying to say something similar.”

  “And what’s that?”

  “We need help,” I said. “But we’re prepared to go it alone if we have to.”

  “How do you think being a lesbian affects your feelings of being an outsider?” she asked. Then she stopped herself, leaned in, and whispered. “Is that okay to ask?”

  “It’s okay,” I said. “It was tough when I was young and in school. A lot of people gave me shit for it. But I also had a purple mohawk in 10th grade, I walked around with a grumpy face, I had a lot of anger and angst. I think being a lesbian, which is mostly something personal and internal, ultimately didn’t contribute to my outsider status as much as my outside did.”

  “What about now?”

  “Now, nobody seems to care about my sexuality and that’s fine,” I said. “Maybe people do and I’m just blind to it. Or just fortunate. I don’t know. But I try to not let it define me. It’s just who I am, who I was born, and I’m just trying to live my life like anybody else.”

  “Do you think, as you become more prominent in the public eye, that some people might dismiss you for being this angry punk rock lesbian chick?” asked Stephanie. “Do you think you’ll see some discrimination?”

  “Probably,” I said. “The country’s pretty divided. But honestly, I can’t let it stop me from doing my thing. If I do, if I give in to people who might try to bring me down, then they’ve already won. I just have to soldier on and focus on my work.”

  “I think that’s a powerful way to look at it.”

  “I’m guilty of trying to define people, too,” I admitted. “Recently I met a woman who…” I looked up, thinking about it, trying to find the right words. “She reminded me so much of normal that it actually surprised me to learn that she was a lesbian.”

  “Really?” said Stephanie with enthusiasm.

  “I can’t believe I’m saying this on recording,” I said, motioning to the tape recorder. “But whatever. What I learned from that experience, and the way it made me feel, is that we’re all outcasts in our own way. I can’t imagine what this woman went through, maybe try
ing to hide her sexuality, while I was fortunate enough to be able to wear it on my sleeve.”

  “Wow, Layla,” said Stephanie. “That’s a really empathetic take on it.”

  “Maybe it’s just me projecting,” I said, offering a demure smile and looking away.

  “When I listen to your lyrics,” said Stephanie. “They seem downright uplifting. But when I read them, they come across as far more heartbreaking. Can you talk to that?”

  “Like what song?”

  “Well, let’s just talk about your first single,” she said. “Holy Cow.”

  “Right,” I said. “Well, I sing that song with an enthusiastic… ‘yeah! Get out there and do something!’ type of attitude. But the lyrics come from a darker place. A place of pain, a place of feeling trapped. So the message is good — hopefully — but it’s a journey to get to the end.”

  “I’ve heard that you struggle with anxiety,” said Stephanie. “That you get pretty sick before you go on stage, that you deal with nervousness and such when not on stage. How do you push through that and do what you do?”

  “That’s a hard one,” I said. “Mostly because, somewhat magically, my anxiety drains away when I’m on stage singing. I get to be someone else. I get to be the Layla Bean I’ve created, or the Layla Bean people want to see. I don’t know. I just… get to wear a mask, you know?”

  “And that protects you?”

  “I suppose that’s it.”

  “Are you anxious now with me?”

  “Yes and no,” I said. “Something’s different, or changing. It’s becoming almost as if I’m always on stage. And that’s good and bad.”

  “Good because you don’t feel as anxious as you might normally…?”

  “And bad because my sense of self is getting muddied,” I said.

  “I have to say, Layla,” Stephanie said. “I was under the impression you’d be a lot more closed off than you’ve been so far in this interview.”

  “That’s what I’m talking about,” I countered. “I’m surprising even myself.”

  “What’s next for you and Cast Party?” she asked.