After our ten-minute set, I was hooked. You couldn’t tell me Darla and I weren’t going to be stars. I also believed we’d be friends forever. But Darla chose Chap’s side, and I had to learn to let shit go. My lifelong friendship, the group I loved, and the fans we cultivated through an affection for folksy country music. I didn’t think I’d be starting over at twenty-nine, but you know the saying when your plans fail, change the plan, not the goal.
Making my way to the side stage, I stood next to Darla. She looked beautiful in a long, sheer, fringed cover-up and bedazzled jeans. I wore ripped up sparkly jean shorts to show off my legs and a halter top. We were color coordinated but not matchy matchy. If you followed the group, you know we had our distinct styles. Darla was more refined. While I was the chick who kicked off her boots and danced around the stage barefoot.
“Can’t believe this is our last show,” Darla said.
“Neither can I.” Staring straight ahead, I refused to look at her for fear I’d burst into tears. Yes, ending us was my decision, but I was still sad about it.
“I thought we’d be old and gray, with our tits sagging still cranking out hits.”
“So did I. And I would’ve loved that for us.”
Darla turned to face me and reached for my hand, giving it a soft squeeze. “I’m sorry Fancy, I really am.”
“I know you are. And I still consider you my sister. I just need time and space.”
“Moniece said you’re going back to Hume after this.”
“I am.”
“So, you and Edison huh?”
My face cracked into a deep smile. “Yep, me and Edison.”
Across the jumbo screens a montage of Darla and I through the years played. Whoops and hollers echoed through the crowd. The video highlighted the progression of our career with home video clips and of shows and backyard concerts. A picture ofDarla and I at the age of four hugging each other tight was the last image. No doubt this was Chap’s doing. This video hadn’t played at our other shows; it was most likely his last ditch effort to change my mind about the group.
The three-minute retrospective of our lives left me misty eyed. We could’ve had it all, but a fucking man got in the way. If Darla had ditched Chap, I could’ve moved past it, eventually. I’m not saying it would’ve been easy but for Darla it would’ve been worth it. At the end of the day, I was devastated. Darla managed to do what no man ever could, break my fucking heart.
When we walked to the center stage, the crowd was pumped and from the first beat of the drums, it was like a whirlwind. Darla and I were in a zone feeding off the crowd and one another. One thing Whiskey Wild was good at was raising hell. I would miss this. I’d miss us. The news about our split had been kept top secret, with the label planning to release a statement at the conclusion of the tour.
Listening to Darla sing her verse, I was still in awe of her effortless voice. Good musical chemistry like ours was hard to find. Darla and I just fit. So, the fact she was willing to jeopardize that for a man who would end up as a footnote in her life was tough to accept. The lights were bright, the crowd was loud, and the harmonies were flowing. Hopefully lightning would strike twice, and I’d be able to gain this level of fame as a solo artist. But if this was it, then it was a hella of a way to say farewell.
During our last song, we danced with the crowd, performing a two-step across center stage while both hitting licks on the guitar. She and I bounced and gyrated like we were having the time of our lives. And maybe we were. I was always happiest when I was on a stage. The band ceased to play so Darla and I could finish the chorus together a cappella.
We’re the good time girls, wild and free,
Sun-kissed smiles and Tennessee breeze.
Dancing on the bar like we own this town,
Two-step spinning till the sun goes down.
We ain’t looking for forever, just a midnight whirl,
Oh, we’re the good time girls.
When the last note fell silent, the crowd continued to roar. And as always, their love and appreciation was like a power bank filling my happiness meter. Darla and I took several bows while throwing kisses and waving at the crowd.
“You ain’t gotta go home. But you do need to get the hell up outta here,” I teased the crowd.
“Thanks for partying with us,” Darla called out.
“We’re Whiskey Wild and it’s been a pleasure,” I said, tossing my arm around Darla and walking off the stage.
The crowd cheered for an encore, not wanting it to end. There really was no other feeling like it, creating art and connecting with people who got it and saw you. I was grateful for the journey, even if the final destination was unfamiliar territory. Whiskey Wild was built from the ground up, and I could do it again. If that meant I had to start from scratch, I was willing to hit the fair and festival circuit to continue sharing my music with others.
Darla pointed to the stage with lights still flashing and our band riffing just in case we decided to play one last song. “Are you really willing to walk away from all this?”
It was a question I’d wrestled with for most of the tour. Being an adult was hard, especially when so much was riding on you getting it right. I didn’t want to let anyone down, but I needed to stand on business.
