Page 48 of The Duet
“Fuck, Daph. It was amazing, okay? It was out of this goddamn world.” I wish I could experience it all over again tonight, and the night after, and every single night of this tour. I wish I could get to know her better, peek further behind Lana’s facade, see even more of the real her.
“Oh, damn.” Her fingers tighten around my knee. “As in wow-I’m-in-bed-with-Lana-Lynch or more as in I-think-I-might-love-her?”
Is she making fun of me? Daphne’s just playing, I know that, yet I’m too tender to go along with it.
“Remember when I had that thing with Grace Jacobs? I liked her, but, for me, it was more of a star fuck than anything else. I knew that pretty quickly.”
“A star fuck? Are you for real?” The things that get said when you have hours and hours of time to kill on the road.
“Oh, come on, Cleo. We’ve all done it. Although we’re at that turning point where we are becoming the stars more than the other party.” She pats my knee again. “Maybe that’s exactly what you need. A night with an adoring fan who worships the hell out of you.”
“A groupie? I so hope you’re kidding.”
“You can be holier than thou about it all you want, but again, we’ve all done it. I bet Lana has had her fair share as well.”
“I haven’t,” I say, quickly realizing that’s a flagrant lie. Being in a band is like dousing yourself in the most potent aphrodisiac. Ever since one of our songs made it into the Top 100, and not even very high, I’ve had many a woman throw herself at me and I’ve not always said no.
“Sure.” Daphne gives me a knowing look. “Do you want me to arrange something for tonight? Maybe it’s not the best idea to stay in your room all night on your own.”
I shake my head. “I think being alone for a while is exactly what I need.”
“Suit yourself, but let me know if you need anything.” Daphne gets up. “You never answered my question, though.” She leans into the space between us. “About what kind of night it was with Lana.”
“I don’t think I ever will.” I look away from her, hoping she’ll take a hint. How dare she vulgarize my night with Lana to something meaningless? How can she even imply that it might have been any less than me having feelings for her? But Daphne doesn’t know how I really feel. I don’t even know how I really feel. When you end up with a legend like Lana, it’s always going to have the sparkle of being in bed with a celebrity about it. There’s just no other way because, no matter how naked, no matter how vulnerable she made herself that night, you can’t separate one from the other. She’s both Lana Lynch, front woman of The Lady Kings and the woman behind that persona.
I do know one thing, though. Unlike when Daphne had her fun with Grace Jacobs, Lana means much more to me than that. Now I don’t even get to sing with her anymore, either.
Chapter 27
Lana
We’re in Syracuse and I’m about to go back out to perform the final encore of the night—without Cleo.
I have experience on my side and I’ve had time to prepare for this. The only obstacle I face is, quite possibly, a few boos from the audience when I fail to ask Cleo to join me. The internet is very good at creating expectations and I can hardly claim Cleo’s unavailable. They’ve all seen her perform—kill it, actually—with The Other Women earlier.
I can’t sing that song a cappella on my own. Technically, I could, but I don’t want to. It doesn’t feel right. So I’ve asked the band to join me. Both Billie and Sam can deliver decent backing vocals, but neither of their voices has anything on Cleo’s—or Isabel Adler’s. At least, once we’re playing our three shows in New York City, I’ll be able to sing the duet with its original co-singer. I’ve already called Izzy about it. She said she had to think about it, but she’s a performer most of all. Deep down, I know she’ll do it.
Tonight, it’s just me and my band, performing the song I used to sing with Cleo. If there’s one thing I’ve learned over the course of this tour, it’s that “I Should Have Kissed You” is the kind of quiet song that has much more impact dressed down, without too much accompaniment. Not that the original has a bombastic arrangement, like all of Isabel Adler’s new music. Her current voice thrives with only a few sparse piano notes as background. Most of the emotion comes from what’s not there.
The Lady Kings can tone it down like the best of them, like we do in “The Better Part of Me”, but singing a duet alone is never an easy thing to do.
I return to the stage to loud applause that swiftly gets a nervous energy to it because Cleo’s not there.
“Just little old me tonight.” I hold up my hands in supplication, playing to the sympathy of the audience. Some people whoop, but there’s a slight hesitation. “And the amazing Lady Kings, of course.” Sam, Deb, and Billie walk out to howling cheers. Maybe I shouldn’t have worried about this at all. We are The Lady Kings—we are the band these people came to see. What better gift can we give them than more of all of us? And if that’s the case, have I been wrong doing this song with just Cleo all this time? But there’s no time to ask myself these questions now. It will all be discussed in detail in the debrief later.
From somewhere in the back, I make out a few faint cries for Cleo. I square my shoulders and face the audience. Billie’s playing acoustic guitar for this last song. She stands by my side.
Deb counts us down and off we go. She only touches the odd cymbal and Sam’s baseline is subtle and deep more than overpowering.
Billie annoys me sometimes—maybe because she’s too direct and too honest for my liking—but I can’t fault the way she plays guitar. She tees me up and then I sing this song, which was never meant for one voice alone, but I make it work. I make the audience believe it, because that’s what I do. That’s my gift. I can make them believe that Cleo’s not up here with me for good reason. Maybe even because I should have kissed her, that’s what I’m singing about after all.
But it’s not the same without Cleo. Not only because she’s one hell of a singer and her voice complements mine beautifully, not only because she could convey the meaning of the song so expertly in how she delivered it, but because it was always a special moment to be up here just the two of us, to say goodbye to the audience and close out the night with this special energy between us.
When the song ends, I swear the applause is not of the same grandeur I’ve gotten used to. A good portion of the people are left a touch disappointed, and I can’t help but feel sorry for them—for not giving them exactly what they wanted. But as magical as Cleo and I are when we sing, that magic doesn’t extend to our time off the stage. I can’t make it so that she wants to sing with me again. I can’t make it so that she sees that us being together, ultimately, shouldn’t be a threat to her band and to her friendship with the other members. That’s not up to me.
Deb and Sam join Billie and me at the front of the stage and all four of us bow to the crowd.
When I walk off, the only member of The Other Women watching is Jess.
