Page 24 of The Duet
“The thought had never even crossed my mind.”
“I’m sure Billie will have gotten the message.”
“I hope so,” Cleo says.
“You don’t have to worry about Billie. You really don’t.”
“But you do.” Cleo looks at me.
“She’s new. Well, new-ish, and it’s all trickier than anticipated, but it’s not an impossible situation. Deb, Sam, and I have known each other forever. We grieved for Joan together. We have so much history between us. It’s hard for Billie and it doesn’t help that her personality is, um, let’s just say she has no trouble standing up for herself, nor should she. But that’s another thing you don’t have to worry about, Cleo. I’ll deal with my band. It’s just that it’s not the same without Joan.” This reminds me again of what Deb said on the bus this morning—about Cleo and me. “It can’t be.”
“It’s a real shame I never got to meet her.” Cleo’s such a sweetheart. “You and her on stage… although not just on stage. The two of you being together, out and proud, meant so much to so many people at a time when it really mattered.”
“It wasn’t always easy. The previous century could be pretty vicious to queers, especially when you had a high profile.”
“It’s one of the reasons so many people are still shouting your name as though you’re the second coming. Because you paved the way for them. For me as well.”
“A queer audience is a loyal audience, that’s true.” For all that looking at Cleo is a lot like looking at a younger version of myself, our journeys could not be more different. All-female bands are a dime a dozen these days. When The Lady Kings started out, we might as well have been the only ones—especially the only ones who refused to be made into sex objects who also happened to play musical instruments.
“Nowadays, it’s almost odd when at least one member of a band isn’t queer,” Cleo says. “Look at Tim. I won’t say no one batted an eyelid when he transitioned, but it’s like it’s part of who we are that he did and it would never even occur to us that him identifying as a man would damage us as a band, on the contrary. Even a band called The Other Women.” Cleo smiles and puts her fork down. “Not too shabby for hotel food, by the way. Do they have a special chef for the people staying on the top floor?”
“Not that I know of, but there are many things I’m not aware of.” Cleo has no idea that what I’m actually referring to is how I might—or might not—feel about her.
“Such as?” She tilts her head. Or maybe she is aware of much more than I am. Maybe people her age notice different things than people my age, hence that drunken chat we had in Oakland.
“Something you brought up after having too many shots in a hotel bar somewhere in Northern California.”
“Oh, god, Lana. I told you I was sorry about that.”
“Deb and Sam—and Billie—seem to have noticed something as well. Something that happens when you and I sing together. Maybe what they see is whatever it is you feel. It’s harder for me to notice because after Joan… it’s like I have this wall around me. This thick layer of protection. I thought I carried it with me on stage as well, but the stage is a tricky place. Don’t you think? Aren’t you a different version of yourself on stage?” Way to deflect, Lana. Well done.
“Not that different. Heightened, for sure. Free of most inhibitions that bog down daily life. Actually, free is a good way to describe it. The closest to free as a bird, to flying, that a human being can ever get, because I always get a little beside myself—or outside myself.”
I nod, because I recognize every single thing she’s describing. Maybe we should write a song together sometime—but now is not the time to introduce that notion to my bandmates.
“It’s why I eventually resurrected The Lady Kings, even though I knew it would be difficult without Joan.” Some days, when I’m having a hard time, I tell myself I owe it to her to die on stage. To continue doing what I’ve been so lucky to have done for the biggest part of my life. Play rock music. Make something come alive in the people listening to us. Create the particular energy that can only be released when The Lady Kings play together.
“I, for one, am so glad that you did.” Cleo sits there grinning. “Fuck, Lana, you have no idea.”
“No idea of what?”
Cleo puts her fork down and leans back. “The effect you have on people.” She sinks her teeth into her bottom lip.
“I think I have a pretty good idea.”
Cleo shakes her head. “I’m not sure you do. Who’s the one musician that you admire the most, the one whose songs you had on endless repeat when you were a teenager, the one you would consider a true idol?”
“Kay Cooper,” I blurt out without thinking. “She paved the way for me.”
“Imagine going on tour with her, being invited to sing a duet with her, and going up to her room for an impromptu dinner.”
“We have actually toured with—” Oh. Wait. What is Cleo trying to say? I study her face, but it’s hard to read—I’m all out of practice. “Is this too much for you?” I wave at the half-eaten food between us, realizing that what I’m saying is also up for misinterpretation. “Does you being here make you uncomfortable?” Have I overstepped another boundary I wasn’t even aware of?
“No, god, no, Lana. It doesn’t make me uncomfortable. I’m loving every minute of it, but what you must understand is that you are my Kay Cooper. I have nothing but respect and admiration and… well, some other things, for you.” She pushes her chair back a fraction, as though she has to distance herself from me. “I know that part of it is irrational, because a lot of it is just projection. It’s my brain making me believe you are a certain kind of person, although I have no way of knowing. But getting to know you has not disappointed me whatsoever. You have so much integrity and there’s absolutely nothing fake about you. Singing with you is like…” She sucks air into her cheeks and lets it escape slowly. “It’s like going to another planet for five minutes. It’s better than sex.” Her cheeks flush. Maybe she hadn’t meant to add that last bit and it got away from her, but Cleo, as are many people her age, sure is much more eloquent at expressing her emotions than most people of my generation.
“Better than sex, huh?” I’ve had a few flings since Joan died, but if they are anything to go by, then Cleo is right. Being on stage is better than sex.
“In a manner of speaking.” Cleo has regrouped quickly.
