Fast Lane - Kristen Ashley Page 0,12
to cut a demo. Studio time cost a fortune.
He was getting us more money and sometimes managed to get us takes of the door. That was part that Tommy was a man it was hard to say no to and part that we were getting a following.
Seriously.
Sometimes, we’d play “Give Then Take” and people would sing it with us, not that first record pressed, not a joke.
Tommy found the cheapest seats he could get, and I’ll always owe it to the boys that they let us have the money so we could fly home for Dad’s funeral.
Preach was the rock, you know? Not just for me. For Mom. Penny. My baby sister, Lana.
He did dishes, man.
[Leans forward, shaking head then hangs it]
[Mumbling] He did everything.
[Long silence]
[Coughs, lifts head, but does not sit back]
He slept on the floor by my bed in my old bedroom. Mom hadn’t moved anything out. We didn’t have a guest room. He didn’t sleep on the couch. He slept on a sleeping bag on the floor by my bed the whole week we were there.
One of those nights, that was when he told me.
Told me how he knew his version of giving then taking and how fuckin’ serious-ass ugly that shit was.
Told me about his parents.
About why he was not in Louisiana but in Indiana and, “We’ll tour one day, brother. But we will not go down there. We will never go down there.”
New Orleans is a party town and it’s a fantastic place. I’ve been there more than once.
But we never played there.
Not once.
He didn’t tell me that to lay a heavy vibe on me.
He told me that so I could rejoice even after my loss.
Preacher had what he had.
My dad cowed to my mom, hated doing it, didn’t hide it, didn’t stop doing it, ended up hating her for it.
But in the end, she stood by his side and she took him to his treatments, and she held his hand when he slipped away and she wept at his funeral holding my hand and Lana’s hand, while me and Preach held onto Penny.
And my dad loved me.
It was fucked up, but it was family.
What Preach had was just fucked up.
So, I got what he was saying.
I felt what he was saying.
Dad was gone and that sucked.
But I’d had a dad like him.
So, I was lucky.
We went back to the band and it felt like I was seven hundred years older.
And that much wiser too.
That was when I noticed it.
We were all ambitious.
We all wanted to play stadiums.
But none of us were as ambitious as Tommy.
And Preacher.
I didn’t think much on it, but after the funeral I did. I figured it out, because we had no money to make posters. We had no money to put ads in the papers of places where we’d play.
I don’t know if he had some payout from the marines or if he’d been socking money away before he saw us play or what. I never asked.
Tommy told you what Tommy thought you should know. We all learned that early, learned not to question it, learned to trust it.
Trust him.
But Tom Mancosa didn’t just manage the band.
He invested in it.
Me and one of the guys would be head to foot in the bed above the cab, sleepin’ off a gig, and the booze, weed and pussy after, and the other in the cab or off in some chick’s bed.
And Preacher and Tommy would be at the table in that camper, heads bent over it, Tom going over his strategy, Preacher okaying it.
Tom Mancosa faced making us the biggest rock band in history like he’d face going to war, ready and equipped to fight battle after battle until you won the whole fuckin’ thing.
You know he’s almost as famous as we are.
So, just sayin’.
He was a great fuckin’ general.
[Off tape]
Isn’t this around the time the band took on Josh Hardy?
Yup.
And the famous Larry Bird speech?
[Laughs for a long time]
Yup.
Josh was keys.
He came to us.
We did a tryout.
He was good.
Really good.
Tommy hated him on sight and Preacher stared at him like he was a bug he was about to crush, so I don’t know why both of them voted him in, but they did.
Looking back, I think it was because Preach’s music was transcending, you know? This is why we’d later take on DuShawn and his horn and piano and talent. Preacher needed more for us to play in a way it was worthy of the songs he was writing.
We were never