better friends - eddie roundtree x oc

Los Angeles, 1976

We were about seventy-five percent off the way through the album, and so far, nothing too horrible has occurred between Billy and Daisy. I decided not to write songs for this record because I didn't want to be an extra headache for anyone. If someone asked for my input I'd give it, but I'd never instigate. I just wanted to play my bass and keep the peace. When they weren't acting like children, Billy and Daisy were great. It was obvious that they were great for each other. Until they weren't, but that part hasn't come yet. But for months, it was like an endless cycle. We'd be in the studio recording the arrangements, and Billy and Daisy would be off god knows where doing god knows what. Every morning, they'd come in the studio with something new for us. I mean, great fucking songs. Then they'd leave and do their thing. And every night, they'd come back in giggling like two little schoolgirls. The way they were... I don't know. We all had our doubts and suspicions, but none of us were concerned yet. I mean, whatever they were doing, it was working.

Every day was great, though. I mean, band wise. I was still in a really low place, personally. But I tried to ignore it the way everyone else ignored their problems back then: drugs. I was doing a line every morning to wake myself up, taking whatever pills I could get my hands on. It felt like the best time of my life, but it was the worst. I would occasionally starve myself, living off of bennies and absinthe. I mean, I should have died. It's an absolute miracle I didn't. But the worst part—even though, at the time, I thought it was the best—was that not a goddamn person realized there was anything wrong with me. I mean, I get it, I do. We were all busy and had our own lives, we couldn't be noticing every little thing the others were doing, but... I don't know, I feel like I'd notice if my best friend was dying right in front of me.

I think it was one of the nights we were recording "Kill You To Try" that Daisy had one of her first directional moments in the process. With us, that is. She stopped Warren and I during practice to give us notes. "It's not right. It doesn't sound good. It needs to sound... It sounds too nice. It needs to sound swampy." she told us plainly, as if that was a normal adjective to use in this circumstance. "Swampy?" I asked, rubbing my face and reaching down for my glass of brandy. "Do you know what I mean? It needs to sound swampier!" she yelled to Billy. He was going to explain it to us like a normal person. "Uh... Ride the toms instead of the high-hat. Mal, longer notes." he instructed. "All right." I shrugged, lighting a cigarette. We played it again with their notes and Daisy seemed pleased. "Great. Was that so hard?" she asked, running back into the booth with Billy, Teddy, and Tobias. "I guess he speaks Daisy now." I hummed.

Although we were all confident in the record, I don't think anyone was as confident as Teddy. I mean, before we even finished recording the album, he called in a favor at Rolling Stone Magazine. And the whole time we were off being rock stars, Camila was at home, raising a child almost alone.

One night, during a Billy-Daisy-Teddy meeting, I stepped outside for a drink and a smoke. I pulled a bottle of cognac out of my purse and popped it open, lighting up my cigarette and hopping on some random ledge facing the canyon. I had been avoiding my biggest problem for over a month now, so it didn't surprise me when he followed me outside to try and talk things through. "Mal, can we talk? I feel like we haven't talked in forever." he pleaded. "That's 'cause we haven't, Eddie." I replied, taking another swig from the bottle. "You're looking an awful lot like Daisy." he mentioned, making me flinch. I knew I had a problem, but at the time that seemed like a stretch. "Well, I feel great." I grumbled, already wanting to pick up my bottle and walk away. I feel like he could sense this, because he put his hand out and said, "Wait, Mal. I'm sorry. I just... I wanted to talk to you. About the things we did. See if we could work through it?" I still refused to look at him. One glimpse and I'd be a goner.

"The things you did. I didn't do anything." I corrected him. He was going to argue, so I kept going to shut him up. "I never slept with Warren." I admitted, staring at the horizon as the sun went down. "You didn't?" he asked, getting closer. "Nope. Just wanted you to think I did." I was barely paying attention to the conversation. I couldn't help but feel so upset, so worthless, so depressed. "Well, it worked." he scoffed, then his expression softened. "If you didn't have sex, what did you do?" I hit the back of my head against the brick wall. "We did a couple lines and talked about the meaning of life until six in the morning. I think at one point we wrote an entire album about the life of a jellyfish." My voice was so slow and quiet; uninterested. I felt no good things. I was numb to positivity. "I'm sorry, Mal. I feel like shit, like a complete ass." I nodded and looked down at my stomach, a singular tear fell from my right eye. "Well, that was my goal, wasn't it? You can see reaching it has made me tremendously happy." My voice was cracking and I felt like death. I did not want to be doing this right now.