Chapter Thirteen
janae
“Are we really staying here for the week?” Charles’s eyes popped like an excited kid’s.
“Wow.” I looked out the window over his shoulder. He and my glam squad were riding with me while Landon rode with the rest of the guys in the other SUV to our lodgings for the next six days. “Del did us right with this house.”
Charles narrowed his eyes at me. “It’s not just any house.”
I glanced back at the large, white, old structure, which appeared to have been designed by Spanish and French architects. “Okay, it’s a historic mansion. Did someone famous live in it?”
He grabbed my shoulders. “This is where MTV’s The Real World filmed the second time the show went to New Orleans. The first time was the Belfort, but this one is larger.”
Jeri, my stylist, snickered from the back seat. “How old are you?”
“We’re all millennials in this car.” He huffed.
“Um… I’m Gen Z,” Jeri corrected him.
I admired the home. “It doesn’t matter who was here before. This house is fire. I love that the streetcar is right there.” The clanging and screeching noise of one passing by punctuated my sentiment. “One of my favorite plays is A Streetcar Named Desire , which took place in this very city, and I’ve been dying to ride one. We are so catching it after we rehearse.”
Charles chuckled. “How old are you?”
I punched his shoulder as we climbed out of the SUV after the other group had already approached the front door. Cedrick had the code to enter. Landon hung back, grabbing his case as the rest of us burst into the home like siblings fighting to be the first through the door. The cameras captured our playfulness as we ran through the elegant mansion and around the small pool in the backyard. The Hollow Bones’ contract now allowed filming if it was related to music and their daily lives whenever I was with them, which would be often. We all would have some control over what could be released, since Del was the executive producer, and The Hollow Bones wouldn’t proceed otherwise.
We’d decided to stay together in New Orleans, since we hadn’t rehearsed the show yet. We planned to settle, unpack, and rehearse for the next four days. Our show was Friday night, and then on Saturday, we would load up on the tour bus and make the six-hour trek to Atlanta for a Sunday night show.
The men graciously allowed me the primary bedroom so I could have privacy. The band took the other five bedrooms, while the film crew, road crew, and my glam squad stayed at a quaint hotel within walking distance of the mansion. I laughed as the guys fought over every bedroom but the one farthest from all the others on the lower level. It appeared to be a given that it was for Landon.
Throughout our laughter and fun as a group, he walked around checking out each room. He smiled whenever we locked eyes, but he remained on the periphery as if looking at me through a window. His quiet didn’t disrupt the loud, fun vibe in the air. Landon simply remained himself. Self-contained and observant. Seemingly content to watch our excitement.
After everyone had settled their belongings in their respective rooms and the ladies and camera crew had retired to their nearby hotel, The Hollow Bones and I congregated in the living area. I sat on the wooden coffee table in the middle of the room and held my phone up. “I’m going to order groceries because I’m going to cook for you tomorrow after rehearsal. I need to know if you have any dietary restrictions.”
Santiago raised his hand. “Excuse me?”
Brian pushed his hand down. “Why your hand up?”
“Because Janae looks like the type I have to ask permission to speak… She’s bossy.”
I shook my head as the guys laughed in agreement. “That’s because y’all loud as hell. My voice too light for you to hear me unless I yell.” When Santiago raised his hand again with an impish smile, I rolled my eyes. “What?”
“You cook?” He sounded skeptical.
“Yes, I love to cook. It’s how I relax. Trust, you want me chill on this tour.” I opened up an empty note on my cell. “Tell me what you like to eat.”
Charles added, “We have food. Del made sure the pantry and refrigerator were stocked.”
I waved my hand. “Snacks and alcohol. You need real food.”
Landon leaned against the wall by the entrance of the living area. “This is New Orleans, with some of the best food in the world. We can go out or order in. Why do you want to bother with all that, especially after rehearsing? You’re going to be exhausted.”
Cedrick scoffed. “No offense, but I don’t eat everybody’s cooking.”
I crossed my arms. “Fine, when I prepare my gooey baked mac and cheese, fried catfish, hush puppies, and green bean casserole with a pound cake for dessert, don’t ask for a crumb.”
Brian raised his hand. “I never said I didn’t want to eat your food.”
“Then you and I will eat while the rest go find a restaurant,” I told him. ”Would you like me to make sweet tea or lemonade to go with your dinner?”
“Can you make both?” He steepled his hands together.
“Yes.” I had to choke back my laughter at the gaped mouths of the other men as I looked down at my phone. “I’ll make enough for me, Brian, the ladies, and my crew.”
“Now wait… wait,” Charles said. “I never said I didn’t want to eat your food. That was Ced, Landon, and Santi. Add me to your list. You’re from Houston and live in Los Angeles. I’m not doubting your culinary skills.”
Landon’s hazel eyes sparkled green in this light. “And I was just trying to look out for you. If you want to toil at a stove and cook us up some good food, who am I to stop you?”
His words struck a chord in my chest. I wanted to cook, to show my appreciation and to keep my mind occupied. As long as I was busy, I could fight the darkness and my sleeplessness. Then I could hide my struggles from them. I worried that this level of closeness might show all of the chinks in my tough-girl armor and my ugliness when all I wanted them, especially Landon, to see was my beauty.
“Whatever you cook, I’m eating.” Santiago hopped up and strode out of the room. “Got to make a call real quick. Need to let me fam know I’m here.”
Cedrick scowled. “I’m a vegan and can’t eat anything you’re preparing anyway.”
Brian nudged his shoulder. “Dude, you ate a burger at the airport.”
“Which is why I can’t eat anything else that’s not vegan.”
Everyone’s arms went up in exasperation like we were characters in an old Spike Lee movie. Cedrick ducked his head to hide his teasing smile. Yeah. He and I would be good by the time we finished this tour. I was already having more fun with them than during the years I toured before everything fell apart.
April 15
After a good first run of the show in the large family room that was easily converted into practice space the following day, we rode to Frenchmen Street, a strip full of music and food. Frankie and Jeri, who’d also watched our rehearsal, joined us. Frenchmen Street, not as famous as Bourbon Street, had more of a musician’s vibe. Cameras recorded us walking and discussing music as we passed the historic French buildings that now housed bars, restaurants, and stores. We stopped at the Louisiana Music Factory, an eclectic record store, which drew us like a child drawn to a toy store.
We’d been moving as a group since we were in the house, and I hadn’t had a moment alone with Landon. The guys were spread throughout the store. Frankie and Jeri were at the souvenir shop next door.
I sidled up beside him and started flipping past albums without looking at the covers. Landon’s forehead puckered as he pored over the records and pulled out Jimi Hendrix’s Electric Ladyland album. “He was a legit icon. Doing things with a guitar no one had ever heard before. He was rock and roll. He was blues… R&B.”
Landon seemed so focused on the albums that I hadn’t realized he’d noticed me until he started speaking.
I nudged his side. “He was also popular.”
He looked at me. “Died at twenty-seven.”
“Your point?”
“He hated performing in front of large audiences, and at the time of his death, he was the highest-paid rock star during an era in which Jim Crow had barely ended. My point is maybe the pressure of being a star took its toll on him. To be great young is an honor, but it’s a hell of a lot of pressure.”
I exhaled sharply. “Landon, he choked on his own vomit after taking sleeping pills. It was accidental.”
He didn’t blink. “Where’s the line between coping and an accident?”
I hesitated, then shook my head. “Not everyone using something is trying to escape. Sometimes they’re just trying to get through the night.”
Landon’s fingers flexed around the album. His expression barely shifted, but something flickered in his eyes. Doubt, frustration, maybe something deeper.
“That’s what they all say, right up until it kills them.” His voice was even, but I didn’t miss the edge beneath it.
I folded my arms. “I can handle it. Can you? I’m not the only one who gets anxious.”
For a second, I thought he might argue. His lips parted, then closed again like he was reconsidering whatever was on the tip of his tongue. Instead, he just gave a slow nod, gripping the album like it was something steady, something certain. Then he turned and walked away.
I blew out a breath and pulled the baseball cap to hide my identity further down on my head. I moved next to him again as he perused the jazz albums and whispered, “Are you going to remind me every chance you get that you think I’m an addict?”
He fingered the Kind of Blue album. “Miles Davis, once a heroin and cocaine user, who beat it. Or at least he appeared to beat it.” He glanced at me as he added the album to the growing stack in his hand. “I don’t think you’re an addict. Just an observation that musicians and drugs go hand in hand. The pressures to create and perform even when we don’t want to is insane. The Hollow Bones don’t operate like that, and while you’re with us, we won’t put that type of pressure on you either.”
Cedrick yelled, “Hey… the manager wants us to take a pic over on that wall. Bands perform here, too.”
Landon mumbled, “And so it begins.”
He followed me to where the rest of the group stood on a small stage with the Louisiana Music Factory logo behind us. I stood in the middle, and we took several pics, drawing interested gazes from customers and people walking past. A small group gathered outside while we finished taking photos and purchasing our items.
Landon grabbed my shoulders from behind when we prepared to leave the store and bent, speaking softly in my ear. “Think I’ll hang back here, then return to the house. Go have fun. We’ll talk later.”
I closed my eyes involuntarily at the headiness of his nearness, and the air cooled around me when he moved away.
Frankie, who’d wandered back into the store alone, pulled me by my hand into the street before I could protest that I wanted to stay with Landon or at least be in his presence longer. I was scared that he and I were already losing the connection we’d established in Houston and over the phone during the last month. “The fellas want to go to the reggae club down the street.” She smiled, and her eyes were lit.
I arched a brow. “Uh… oh, do you have your eye on any of them?”
“Cedrick.” His name rolled off her tongue like she’d been waiting to tell me she liked him. “Is he married or has a woman?”
“I don’t think so. All he wants is a good time,” I warned as Jeri joined us and we headed to the club.
Frankie snickered. “And the problem with that…?”
I shrugged. “Do you.”
Jeri slung her arm around my neck. “I love long hair on a man, and Brian is hilarious. Then I love Latino men, and Santiago is so pretty with that accent. But if Charles wants to holla, his tatts make up for his hair challenges.”
Laughing, as Jeri had made it clear she was down for any of the men, I shook my head. Since time immemorial, men and women could not be in the same space for too long without something jumping off. “Do you, too.”
“We already know that Landon is off-limits,” Frankie said with a hint of a smile. “Y’all were so cute at the airport. I’m rooting for you.”
I giggled, thinking of Landon’s initial reaction to seeing me. He seemed so happy. Smitten. “Rooting?”
“Relationships are hard, especially in your shoes, and you just upgraded him to the hot-as-fuck man every woman wants.”
I slowed my pace. “He’s not that man who cares about women’s attention.”
“Maybe he didn’t because he never had that type of attention before.” Frankie waved her hand. “At the end of the day, he’s still a man.”
I shrugged. “Well, we’re just friends anyway. The media made more of what happened than what it was. I was drunk, and Landon didn’t want Cash to take advantage of me.”
“So you and Landon aren’t a thing?” she asked incredulously.
“No,” I said, firmer than I believed. Then again, he’d been politely distant since we arrived at the house. During rehearsal, Landon had had his head down and been focused on his guitar almost the entire time. He didn’t watch me and smile as the other men did. Landon didn’t seem angry or annoyed. He seemed more interested in getting the music right than in my performance. Landon was… He was being a professional.
“Then he’s an option for one of us,” Jeri slyly said, and Frankie leaned closer.
“Hell no. He’s off-limits to every woman.” I tilted my head and threatened them, “I hope the three of us can become friends, but if you even look at him sideways…”
Frankie chuckled, her hands up. “We both know you’re feeling him. He isn’t checking for anyone but you, either. The rest of the band has checked me out at least twice, and he has barely looked at me. I hope we can become friends, too.”
The men of The Hollow Bones and the film crew beckoned us at the entrance of the club as the island beats of Café Negril captured my ears.
Standing in the middle of my glam squad, I hooked my arms through the women’s. “I don’t make friends easily, and I want to try.”
“Then let’s go!” Jeri yelled.
I pushed thoughts of Landon to the side and decided to have a little fun, since a small crowd followed us. Some patrons sitting outside eating and enjoying their meals gasped and took pictures as I graciously greeted them. When I walked inside, the leader of the live band stopped playing and announced, “Guess who just walked in… MILA.”
I smiled and waved as the restaurant cheered, feeling the acid burn my stomach at my old name. It was synonymous with strife and drama. I pushed out my breath slowly.
“Why don’t you come on stage with us? Grace us with a song.”
I shook my head and pointed to Cedrick and Santiago. “I rock with The Hollow Bones.”
The dreadlocked singer smiled wider when he noticed them. “The Hollow Bones, a musician’s dream.” He gestured toward the clapping audience. “These are future legends. Mark my words. Is it okay if she rocks out with us?”
Brian shouted, “She’s her own woman.”
The leader laughed. “I got something for her.” He covered the mic as he talked to his five-member band. Lights flashed around me in the dimly lit bar, and all eyes were on me as we waited to see what was up the singer’s sleeve.
He smiled at me, and the band started playing “Lonely Woman.” My nervousness faded as the restaurant came alive, with the patrons singing the first few lines. Pleased with the band’s arrangement, I allowed Brian to escort me to the stage by hand, much to the delight of the patrons, who were getting a glimpse of the star trying to make a comeback.
I grooved and sang to the small audience of maybe sixty. It reminded me of when I first started performing at seventeen at Houston’s local clubs and bars, hoping to be discovered. I moved sensually to the beat, dancing with abandon with the lead singer, letting the music soothe the lingering acid in my chest and releasing my inhibitions naturally. I floated above Café Negril without meds dulling my senses and without street drugs blurring my senses. Tonight, it was simply me, and I loved every second of it.
I’d never felt more like the me I’d been trying to find than I did as I sang for this group.
When I finished to a standing ovation, I bowed and blew kisses at the band and acknowledged The Hollow Bones again. My eyes found Landon, who stood at the very back of the café. His expression was hidden in the shadows of the restaurant, and his hands were in his pockets while everyone clapped and shouted their approval. Had I been too much, too flirty, too sexual with the singer? Men were my comfort zone. I knew how to talk to and entice them. How to get and maintain their attention. My ways had worked in the past. For a reserved man like Landon, I had no clue if my style appealed or turned him off.
As we rode back to the house, Landon sat next to me in the back row of the SUV, and his pinky finger curved to mine. That simple, reassuring act made breathing challenging, and I laid my head on his strong shoulder, needing his calmness to stop the racing thoughts, a constant part of me that I had yet to share with him.
Maybe that was why I wanted him so badly. I wanted as much of him as I could have before he decided, like everyone else in my life had, that I was too much.