“He’ll probably turn up when you least want to see him,” Pattie tried to comfort Iris when she mentioned it to her, “and he’ll want money from you, from the sound of what you’ve said about him.”
Iris smiled. “That sounds about right. What’s upsetting is that he could be dead and I wouldn’t even know it.”
“How old is he?” Pattie asked her.
“Fifty-four, but he’s led a hard life, and he drinks a lot.”
“You’ve led a hard life too,” Pattie reminded her, “thanks to him. He’s probably fine, just pissed off somewhere that you won’t let him rip you off anymore.” Iris knew it was true. She also realized that she might never hear from him again.
By the second year of Iris’s contract with Glen Hendrix, he promoted her to a featured act. It was a major step up, and she and Pattie celebrated that they were still on the same tour together. She got a raise to go with it. What Iris really wanted was an album. The scout who had found her for Glen Hendrix had hinted that that might be a possibility one day, but there was nothing about it in her contract. Her name was known in the smaller cities they went to, but an album would multiply ticket sales exponentially. And a hit album, or hit song, would catapult her to a whole other level, but there was no one to produce one for her.
Three years into her contract, Iris and Pattie and several of the bands Hendrix had under contract were sent to tour England, Ireland, and Scotland for six weeks. They had a great time, but it didn’t change anything about how well she was known. The fans loved Iris in England, but back in the United States, having toured the U.K. didn’t change anything. None of it stopped Glen Hendrix from showing up to insult them whenever he felt like it. He rained insults down on them to the point of abuse. Iris still wasn’t used to it. Even more shocking to her was the fact that she hadn’t heard from her father for three years. He had totally disappeared and she was beginning to be convinced that he was dead. Surely he would have surfaced by now if he weren’t. She went to his favorite bars when she was in Las Vegas between tours, and one bartender said he hadn’t seen him in about a year, the others said they hadn’t seen him in years.
“Maybe he went back to Texas,” Pattie suggested. Iris wondered if that might be the case.
Iris was twenty-six years old by then, and had had a near-serious romance with a guitarist in another band. They had met on tour, but he was under contract to another manager and they saw each other so seldom that it eventually fizzled out.
“You don’t get to have much of a personal life living like this,” she commented. Pattie dated a guy in Biloxi when she went home, but he saw other women. She said he couldn’t be faithful to a woman who was only there a few weeks a year. “The only way you can have a relationship is if you sleep with one of the guys in your own band.” They both laughed when she said it. There was great warmth and friendship with the four musicians they toured with, but one was married, another had two children with a woman he wasn’t married to, one was gay, married to a male dancer in Las Vegas, and the fourth one was a sweet guy but nothing about him attracted either Iris or Pattie. It was easier just being friends with them, and not complicating things with romance. “Most of the women who tour the way we do either have one-night stands all over the country, or live like nuns.” Iris didn’t really care, as long as she had her music and could sing, and she still hadn’t met anyone who had swept her off her feet anyway. Their life constantly on the road just wasn’t conducive to it. It was a life of friendships and camaraderie, but not long-term relationships or romance. They each toured for a reason, usually financial, like Pattie, to support her mother and son. None of them enjoyed touring all the time, but they thought of it as temporary and a means to an end. Stardom shone like a bright star in the distance. It was hard to give up those dreams, so they all clung to them and kept going.
One of the things that irked Pattie was that Hendrix wouldn’t pay for their stage costumes, whatever they wore to perform in. They had to pay for their own. It didn’t present a problem for Iris, who always went onstage in the simplest dark clothes, black jeans and a blouse, or a plain black dress she had paid next to nothing for. She wanted her own looks to disappear so the music stood out. All one saw onstage was her face, and all one heard was her voice. The images she conjured up with the lyrics hung in space like dreams. She didn’t need fancy clothes to do that, and didn’t want them.
The costumes Pattie wore were more expensive, and distinctive: skintight leather pants, revealing tops that showed off her figure. Sequins, sparkles, see-through gauzy tops, and she had to be able to dance in them too. They weren’t cheap, and she tried to get the touring company to pay for them every year, and the message came back that management had refused. It wasn’t in her contract. And knowing Glen Hendrix and how tight he was, it never would be. The boys in the band wore T-shirts and jeans, mostly black like Iris. It was a look that worked well for her, and for them too.
They celebrated Iris’s twenty-seventh birthday in Idaho, after performing at a small local theater. Glen stunned them by showing up, not to wish Iris a happy birthday, but simply because he had been staying with friends in Sun Valley, and it was a relatively short drive to where they were performing. He thought he’d check up on them. His timing was unfortunate. Pattie and her group, Iris, and another band were looking forward to celebrating Iris’s birthday after the performance. They were in a festive mood, and Iris was introducing three new songs that night at a relatively small venue where she could sense the reaction of the audience, and share with them that the material was new, which might make them feel special.
She had inspired Pattie to introduce a new song and arrangement too. It was going to be an exciting performance. They didn’t even know Glen was there until he walked backstage right after the show, looking like a storm cloud. They were shocked to see him. The audience’s reception that night had been warm and generous, and they gave Iris a standing ovation after her three new songs. She had really hit the high notes on the last one. The audience had applauded frantically after she did. Her voice had soared.
Pattie’s new routine had been great. It had been an exciting evening.
They all looked stunned when Glen strode onto the stage after the performance like a dark angel come to spread fear in their midst.
“What are you looking so happy about?” he said, and they fell instantly silent. “That was one of the worst performances I’ve ever seen. Good thing you’re in the middle of nowhere. In a bigger venue, in a city, they’d run you out of town on a rail, and the reviews would kill you.”
“The crowd loved it,” Iris said bravely. Pattie had gone to her dressing room to get Iris’s cake. One of the boys had picked it up in town.
“Where’s Pattie?” he said, ignoring Iris’s comment. He didn’t know it was her birthday, or care. “Hiding in shame?” It was a nasty thing to say.
“It was one of our best performances,” Iris persisted, unwilling to be put down by him again. She knew his game, and it was vicious. They worked hard for him, and he never had a kind word to say. All he did was demean them, in order to discourage them, keep them on a short leash, and make them believe that they had no other options than what he offered them, none of which was true. There were some very talented young people among his roster of performers, although he never admitted it to them.