by Karina Halle
“No, no, she’s back at the hotel. She said she wanted to stay in and read her book.”
“Yeah, well, don’t forget there are lots of young people that can play guitar and sing, but there aren’t many who have the most successful record company in America supporting them. I support you, Brad. You know this. But…if something happens to Lael, I will drop you and make sure no else picks you up. From now on she rides in her own bus and she doesn’t do press. Don’t fuck around.”
Ronald hangs up.
Lael turns to me and asks, “Who was that?”
I dive for cover because she is carelessly pointing the firearm directly at me.
“Whoa, easy there,” everyone says at once. Roar takes the gun away before she can do any damage.
“No one,” I tell her, not wanting to upset her in case that gun gets back into her hands.
Over the next few hours we hang out in the sunshine taking turns shooting televisions and beer cans, ripping around on Roar’s homemade dune buggy, and just lying around being lazy. There is a large trough full of beer that everyone helps themselves to, everyone except me. Even at this stage of my life my own friends treat me like an alien when I’m not drinking.
Sometimes I feel like I don’t drink now for the same reason I drank my face off in my teens and early twenties—rebellion. Whether it’s a business meeting, a family function, or just watching a movie, if you don’t have a drink in your hand people judge you. But I can’t be feeling like a dirty dishcloth when I’m performing for a sold-out arena. I don’t mind when the gang gets wasted—well, until I do. Today, anyway, at Roar’s sunny little compound, I don’t mind that my mates are letting loose. They work hard and they deserve it.
Lael is having a ball. I can barely see her face behind her large sunglasses, but she’s clearly happy.
And always near.
She’s only had a few drinks but when she talks to me her voice is at a slightly higher pitch and she’s playing with her hair.
“Do you think I should cut my hair off?” she asks me, twirling a strand around her finger.
“No way,” I answer.
“Why not?”
She’s fishing for a compliment, I know it. “Well, you’re young and hot so I’m sure—no, I know, you could get away with it if you really wanted to, but your hair is a part of your look. It’s your signature.”
Lael smiles at that, appeased. “Do you want to take a stroll?”
“Sure, I’ve been lazing around long enough,” I say with a sigh.
We get up and head toward a trail opening as I yell back to the fellas, “We’re heading back into the wilderness, don’t shoot us if you can help it.”
Roar has a rather large piece of land, and walking down this trail reveals its diversity. This little nature walk is doing me well. No buzzing amplifiers, no buses, no invasive fans. I can only hear our footsteps and the occasional bird.
And, of course, Lael. I’ve already discovered that she has the gift of gab and apparently when she has a few drinks in her, this is amplified. She’s clutching my arm as we slowly make our way down the trail, the sandy path lined with sagebrush, the sky above a clear blue, while she chats away with little to no direction.
I enjoy spending time with Lael. She’s just so easy to be with. She’ll even take the liberty of answering her very own questions that she asks me. I walk, listen, smile.
And hold her hand.
She was holding my arm, but that seemed more of a way for her to keep her balance. This is different. I’m suddenly overwhelmed with a foreign feeling.
Lael has stopped talking and breathes in slowly while taking in her natural surroundings. If the handholding bothers her, she doesn’t show it.
“So what is the deal with you and Lindsay?” she asks.
I shouldn’t be surprised she’s asking about that since we’ve talked about everything else, but I’m wondering if I detect a hint of jealousy in her voice.
“Lindsay? She’s a friend,” I answer.
“She’s very pretty,” she notes.
“Your father and his team like to make it look like we have a relationship for the press,” I tell her. “That’s all there is.”
“I guess I knew that, I just thought maybe there was something there. Though I can imagine it would be tricky having a girlfriend with your lifestyle.”
“I guess so,” I say with a shrug. It’s something I try not to think about.
“So, who was the last one?”
“The last what?”
“Girlfriend, silly. You’re Brad Snyder. I’m sure you’ve had a few.”
“Not really,” I tell her, wanting to be completely honest. “I mean, I’ve had women in my life but never anything that serious. I’m constantly on the road, and you’re right, it would be hard having a real, meaningful relationship with this life.”
She stares at me for a moment, and I can feel her eyes searching me underneath her sunglasses. “Okay, who is she?” she asks wryly.
“What do you mean?” I say as I catch Lael from a little stumble over a rock.
“The bitch that broke your heart,” she says.
I laugh and try to think of who that might be. The simple truth is I haven’t let anyone get close to me. I’m surrounded by fans who are trying to get as close as possible, but I know better than to get caught up with one of them. I’ve had a few relationships with women that are in show business, but deep down they’re all narcissistic socialites that inherently use people. I’ve learned the hard way to stay away from them.
But even though I laughed when Lael asked the question, I can’t help but give it some thought. I keep thinking of my fans as one person, as if my relationship with them as one collective unit is a healthy meaningful relationship. Clearly that doesn’t count. In my line of work, you have to protect yourself and that’s what I’ve been doing my entire career. Before life with Ramsey Records I was basically a kid trying to survive. I don’t think I’ll ever stop doing that.
It’s sobering walking along this trail with Lael, no press, no fans, only nature and the truth. I want to be open with her and answer her question, but I can’t think of a defining moment, so I turn it around and ask her.
“How about you? Who broke your heart?”
She sighs, kicking a rock. “I dated the same guy through private school. We split up afterward but there were no tears when we said goodbye. He was a nice guy and all, but that’s where it ended. You know how it goes.”
We stop walking along the dusty trail and stand facing each other. There’s a patch of brush beside us where birds sing and chirp, and we look at each other in a quiet standoff, our expressions natural, our breathing slow.
Lael glances at me over her glasses, looking inherently innocent.
“Who knows,” she says softly. “Maybe you’re the one who will break my heart.”
Silence hangs in the air as I search for the words.
“Relax,” she says, smirking. “I’m messing with you. Can you believe this place?” she asks and turns away from me to look at this little desert oasis we stumbled upon. Lael walks off the trail to explore the area, letting her open hand graze over the top of the grass.
“When do you stop?” she asks, glancing at a bird flying past.
“What do you mean?” I ask as I follow her meandering route.
“You’re always on. You always seem to be Brad Snyder the rock star. When are you just Brad Snyder?” Lael pauses at an overlook that looks down over some rocky crevices.
I breathe in slowly and consider her question. “I don’t know. If I seem that way it’s because a lot of people are listening and I have to be careful.”
“Yeah, and I’m the only one listening to you right now. There are no photographers, no microphones, and you’re just a guy lucky enough to be here with me.” Lael puts her hand on her hip in a display of sass. “Have you stopped now?”
“Yes,” I tell her, though it’s a tricky thing to figure out.
“H
mmm,” she muses. “I don’t know if you have. Lie down.”
“Lie down?” I question.
“Do it!” she says, poking me in the ribs. “I want to try something. See if you can just be.”
I put my arms up in submission. “Okay,” I tell her, looking around until I see some flattened grass. We both get down until we’re on our backs and we stare at the midday blue sky.
“I know it’s hard to stop and just be in the moment, but we must. We’re here and then we’re gone,” Lael says softly as she starts running her hand over my hair. I close my eyes.
“That’s pretty deep for a nineteen-year-old,” I tell her.
“Twenty-one,” she corrects me.
I keep my eyes closed and ask her the same question. “What makes you stop? You know, being on. What makes you stop and be you, be in the moment?”
“I don’t know. I love my dog,” she says. “Maybe when I’m petting my dog I stop.”
“Is that what you’re doing right now?” I ask, referring to her running her hand through my hair.
She laughs and answers, “No, but I have to admit I’m very much in the moment right now.”
“Me too.”
“I believe you. It’s good to feel good,” Lael says, and nestles into me. We just lie there and say nothing for a while. My eyes are closed. Her scent is a mixture of whatever products she uses in her hair and fresh, dry air. I’m thinking of nothing, and I don’t have a worry in the world. I run my hand up and down her arm and fight back some familiar primal feelings, as this isn’t the time for that kind of intimacy. This is a sweet moment and I don’t want to ruin it.
I’m calm, I’m happy, I’m in the moment. Everything stops and I fall asleep.
Pssst.
Pssssst.
I open my eyes to see the light has changed. I must have really dozed off. Lael is in my arms sleeping. It would be a peaceful moment, but it’s Roar that woke me up. I look up at him and he motions for me to stay where I am.
“Don’t. Move,” he says in a concerned whisper.
Before I can question why, I hear the unmistakable sound of a rattlesnake.
I don’t move a muscle.
Then Lael wakes and begins to make a stretching motion.
Roar swoops in with a stick and pins the snake down. It’s dangerously close to us. I reach over and grab it near the head, making it impossible for its venomous fangs to make contact with my skin.
“Ahhh!” Lael screams and scrambles to her feet before scurrying away from the flailing snake in my hand.
Snap! Another snake strikes and misses Lael as she runs through the tall grass.
“This way, come on!” Roar shouts, running toward the trail as Lael follows.
“What do I do with this?” I ask, referring to the ravenous snake in my hand. I have no experience with reptiles and I’ve gotten myself into quite the situation here.
“Throw it!” Roar yells.
“Throw it?!” I would like to say I’m concerned for the snake’s safety, but the truth is I don’t see how it won’t try and bite me the moment I relax my grip. “I have never handled a snake before!” I yell back, frozen in fear.
“Well, how the hell did you end up with one in your hand? You looked like a fucking professional when you grabbed the thing!” Roar shouts back.
“I don’t know, man. I just reacted, and now I don’t know what to do!” To say that I’m panicking would be an understatement.
“Throw it!” Roar shouts again.
“I can’t!”
Roar mumbles something and heads back toward me.
“Look, just set it down, point it away from you, and let it go.”
“Okay.”
“Okay!”
I bend over, and to Roar’s credit he’s right beside me, speaking in a calming whisper. “Okay, you ready? Yeah? Now just let it go, man. Just let it go.”
Snap! Another snake strikes from within the brush, and as quick as a wink Roar once again pins it down with his stick.
“Ahh, grab it, grab it!” His high-pitched Norwegian accent has the sound of genuine fear.
“What?” I question.
“Last time you grabbed it!”
“Are you fucking kidding me?” I ask. “I just said I don’t know what I’m doing!”
“Oh my god, it’s coming for my leg. The stick isn’t working! Ahhhh!”
“Ahhh!” I join him and we yell cowardly together.
Without thinking, I grab the snake with my free hand.
“Thank you, thank you, Brad,” Roar says, breathing hard, his eyes wide with fear and relief.
“Well, fucking hell,” I say, trying to keep both snakes as far from my body as possible. “What the fuck do I do now?!”
“Let go of them. But let me get a head start,” he says, turning around and running back along the trail to his house.
“Oh fuck that! Coward!” I muster up some courage and run through the grass following him while both snakes slither and whip themselves back and forth, wrapping around my forearms.
I don’t stop when I see Lael, I keep on running with my arms high in the air and snakes in hand. I run along the trail all the way back to the house with Roar and Lael close behind me.
When I get there I see there are at least twenty people hanging out in the back area.
“I could use a little help here!” I shout to the small crowd, showing them the angry snakes.
“That’s Brad Snyder!” someone shouts.
“And he has rattlesnakes in his hands!” someone else yells.
Everyone oooohs and ahhhs as if I’m Alice Copper and this is my theatrical entrance. I try and quickly explain my situation without ruining my sudden mystique when a young bohemian girl steps out and gives me a dirty look.
“You’re hurting them.” She carefully takes them from me and walks far into the brush, disappearing. I don’t get her name but that girl is my fucking hero.
Lael sidles up to me with wide eyes. I glance at her, my chest rising and falling from being out of breath, the adrenaline pumping through my veins. Better that than snake venom.
“Okay, I am totally in the moment now,” I tell her.
She gives me a broad smile and a quick hug.
Roar comes in and hugs the two of us, then lets us go and says, “I have never seen that, my friend. I mean, first, I have never seen someone take a nap in the middle of Rattlesnake Valley. Seriously, guys. There are like hundreds of snakes out there. Second, I have never seen a guy run full-tilt waving snakes around like a wild man. You really are a rock star, Snyder.”
Chapter Nine
Brad
A few hours have passed and we’re sitting lazily next to a fire. The sun has almost disappeared behind Rattlesnake Valley. Twilight is my favorite time of day, so I relax and take it in. This eccentric group of people in this setting reminds me of a B movie. The budget film is in black and white, save for the fire that remains a vivid red. In fact, the color of the fire is so vibrant it causes arbitrary things to pop in contrast with the black and white setting. There is a group across from me playing music—a red guitar glows, a patterned shirt shines red. Behind the band, a young lady dances, and her red rimmed glasses glow as well.
Then dusk is gone, and it’s night, and with it comes the demons. This film is a horror flick, of course, with young non-conformist types dancing around a fire. What monster is going to come from the shadows to interrupt their uninhibited joy? Could it be a madman wielding a chain saw, or maybe some vampires or zombies?
“What on earth is going on in your head?” Lael’s voice brings me back to earth, sweet and soft as she touches my arm.
“Nothing,” I answer, giving my head a shake.
I no longer have to dream up a villain for this movie—I’m in the moment and a real-life villain has presented itself.
Cocaine has taken over. The band is no longer playing, the girl with the red glasses isn’t dancing, and the focus has shifted.
Things continue
to change around the fire. Everyone is talking to hear their own voice, rolling their jaws, twitching, and doing line after line. Usually there is an attempt to keep it hidden, but with this group of misfits it’s all hanging out. Someone spent a rather large amount of money on a rather large bag of coke, and it’s safe to say that person is Calvi, judging by the fact everyone seems to be his best friend all of a sudden. The intensity is growing and my patience is dwindling.
Lael and I sit in our chairs and fight off drug-induced conversations with random people that zero in on us. They all want us to do a line, they sincerely feel it’s in our best interest, and I have to swat them away like buzzards.
“Let’s get out of here,” I say to Lael.
“I don’t think you can call a taxi from here,” Lael says. She’s handling things slightly better than I am—her voice is playful and calm. Her ambivalence concerns me, especially now, and the thought of her on blast makes me cringe.
“Come on.” I get up and Lael follows. The crowd continues to grow—it’s a wonder where they’ve all come from considering we’re in such a remote location. I’ve also wondered the same thing about buzzards.
I lead Lael to Roar’s shed. The desert wind has worn the wood down and the building is at the end of its life. There are large double doors that open up to the driveway, and I swing them open to see what Roar has hidden away.
“What the hell is that?” Lael asks.
The thing in question is some kind of homemade dune buggy that’s taking up most of the realestate in the shed. It smells like rubber and gasoline, and looks like something a cartoon villain would drive. It’s much larger than the one the fellas were playing around with earlier.
“This will work,” I tell her.
“What do you mean, this will work?”
“This is our taxi. Hop in.”
I take the first step and climb in the driver’s side. There are two seatbelts and I quickly figure out how to strap myself into this death machine. Lael is close beside me trying to figure out her own. Obviously she hasn’t had much luck with them lately.
It’s not obvious how to start the engine, so I fumble for a while, but with some effort I’m able to wake the monster. It’s far louder than our loudest concert. When I give it gas I can feel it rumble in my chest. I’m actually concerned it might shake the old barn to the ground.
