Preacher didn’t call her that whole time.
That, I got right in his shit about.
And okay on that too, because he had a good excuse.
But it’d take a while for me to get why he looked agonized when he said it.
“She’s seventeen, brother. Senior year of high school, friends, gettin’ the grades, parties, graduation, she’s set on goin’ to college. She doesn’t need some twenty-three-year-old creep in a rock band two states away callin’ her ass and fuckin’ shit up for her. She’s gotta have her time. She has to live her moments. Not be here with me, when she’s not here with me, not livin’ her moments or mine because she’s two fuckin’ states away.”
I remember the look on his face. The way he shook his head.
First time in my life I saw Preacher McCade look lost.
“I’m givin’ her time,” he finished.
[Off tape]
He was working it out.
[Nods]
He was working it out.
Trying to get all the shit out so it’d be gone when he had her.
[Nods continually]
I get it now.
He was working it out.
Whacked as it is, he was doing all that shit for Lyla.
We cut the demo a few months after Lyla.
And I don’t know if Tom sold plasma, or maybe a kidney, wouldn’t put it past him for either, but he also had singles pressed and tapes made.
Sold them out of the back of the camper.
Extra cash.
Like, a lot of it.
And then, you know, wasn’t a gig we did where people weren’t singing right along with us.
And by then, we weren’t doing covers.
It was before cell phones.
Tommy got us booked at a club in Nashville we could not say no to. Big shit, this club. Scouts were there a lot. The real deal.
And when he did, he got us booked at a couple more down there.
We hadn’t hit Tennessee yet.
Illinois, Wisconsin, Michigan, Indiana, Ohio, Pennsylvania, sometimes Kentucky. Sometimes Missouri. That was our patch.
Tom wanted us wider.
A lot wider.
And he was all in to stretch that patch.
So, Preacher didn’t like it, but he couldn’t fight it, we were in Tennessee when Lyla turned eighteen.
That was when Preach called her.
No one picked up.
No answering machine.
He called again, someone answered, left a message.
She might have called back.
But if she did, we were gone, so she couldn’t reach him.
Tom told him to send her flowers.
I don’t know if he did or if he didn’t.
What happened, I reckon he didn’t.
But he should have.
[Off tape]
Isn’t Tennessee where the Roadmasters were born?
[Nods]
Yeah.
Tommy’s idea, no matter what Josh says. Ask Tim. Or Dave.
But I’m tellin you right here, it wasn’t Preacher’s idea.
He was not only not behind it, he tried to talk it down.
Truth be told, he wasn’t comfortable with it, his name out there, up front.
And I knew why.
Both reasons.
I could tell Tommy was geared up for it. I could tell he prepared. Had all his arguments ready.
And I knew before then he hated the name Zenith.
Said it was hair band name.
Said it was corny.
But, you know, we’d been on the road with that name for a while. Pressed records under that name with Zenith on the sleeve. Tapes.
Sent our demos to LA and New York with that name.
Preacher said it was lunacy to change it.
Tom said if we didn’t change it then, we’d never be able to change it.
He pulled out Joan Jett and the Blackhearts to get Timmy.
He pulled out Bruce Springsteen and the E Street Band, Tom Petty and the Heartbreakers and Bob Seger and the Silver Bullet Band to try to get Preach and me.
Dave didn’t care either way just as long as he got to play drums in whatever name the band was called.
Josh asked why Preacher.
“One, he’s got a kickass name. Two, he’s the lead singer. Three, he writes all the songs,” Tommy says.
“I write songs,” Josh says.
“He writes all the good songs,” Dave mumbles.
“Fuck you, Dave,” Josh says.
Now, seriously, again, all comes into focus doing this linear-like, yeah?
I do not know why we didn’t lose that guy earlier.
Jesus.
“It’s Jesse’s band,” Tim says. “And Jesse Simms and the Roadmasters sounds cool too.”
“Yeah, it does,” Preach says.
“Cooler than Preacher McCade and the Roadmasters?” Tom asks.
Really, can you argue that?
I mean, time has told, but seriously, even then, that sounded cooler than the Zeniths or Jesse Simms.
Even Preach is stymied with that one ’cause his parents are garbage, but they gave him a kickass, rock ’n roll name.
At this juncture, knowing it’s gonna go down, Josh asks, “Why the Roadmasters?”
I mean, as my daughters would say…
Duh.
We had fucking groupies.
Our name packed bars and clubs in seven, eight states.
All this we earned not with radio play, but on the road.
Fuck, the guy could argue about anything.
Preach didn’t find any pussy that night.
He was in our room when I was in it.
And I honest to God didn’t have anything on my mind but what a pain in the ass Josh was.
So, I was bitchin’ about that and Preacher was looking at me like I had a screw loose.
I think I said, “You’re Henley, I’m Frey and he’s fuckin’ Felder, man.”
He comes up to me and grabs me by both sides of my neck and he bends over, you know, to get eye to eye to me, and what came next, I’ll never forget it.
He says, “We’re not Henley and Frey. We’re not anything but Simms and McCade. We’re the band, brother.”
He squeezes me real hard and shakes me and repeats it.
“We’re the fuckin’ band.”
[Clears throat]
You know, I love Tim and I love Dave and I love DuShawn.
But Preach was right.
Flat-out right.
No one can really argue it.
And I’ll call it before he even jammed with us, when I was standing in that truck bed and he was standing beside it.
It didn’t matter what it was called, that’s what he was saying to me.
It was him and me.
We were the band.
Preacher called Lyla again the first gig we played in Washington DC.
DC was a big town, and after that, Tom had us booked at places in NYC.
I mean, it was happening.
Tom had a reputation.
We had a reputation.
Professional, packed house, rock that house.
We had girls that followed us gig to gig, if they could.
Some guys too.
Tom made a phone call and they’d heard of us, of him, and they found us a slot.
The buzz, man, damn.
Getting closer to it.
Closer and closer.
Fuck, it was sweet.
I know Preach wanted to share that with Lyla.
And now, Tom had some chick in Cleveland who would answer calls at night if she was home but didn’t mind taking messages off an answering machine and giving them to Tommy when he called in, which he did, every night.