Page 6 of The Duet
I huddle close to her. She’s a little taller than me. So far, we’ve used two microphones to sing our duet, but as I hold up my phone to snap the picture, maybe, for the last chorus, when things get a little heated in the song, we should share the mic.
I inspect the picture I’ve just taken. “You look amazing,” I say. “Me, much less so. Can we do another?”
“Show me.” Lana holds out her hand and, with a meekness quite foreign to me, I give it to her. “What are you talking about? You look fabulous. What do you think is wrong with you in this picture?”
“Um, my eyes are only half open. I have a wisp of hair in front of my cheek.” And, maybe, compared to Lana, I’m just not as photogenic. Maybe, with her glossy dark hair and blistering brown eyes, the camera just loves her more.
“Nonsense.” She gives me back my phone. “If it’s that important to you, we can take another. But just for the record, I think you look wonderful.” She follows up with a warm smile.
“Maybe for this one, we can pretend to be singing into the same microphone,” I suggest.
“Whatever you say.” She grins indulgently at me as though she’s only going to do me a silly courtesy like this once.
“This tour is going to be all over socials. You do know that?”
“Sure.” Lana looks as though she couldn’t care less about what lengths new bands will go to in order to maximize visibility these days. She doesn’t have to. She already has a mansion in Laurel Canyon. She’s had numerous number one records. The Lady Kings’ fanbase might have decreased while they were on hiatus, but many fans have remained loyal to their idols, because The Lady Kings aren’t just any old band.
Even though I was only a toddler when they made it big, I realize how hard it was for an all-female band to be taken seriously in the nineties. The Lady Kings paved the way for bands like The Other Women. They put up with a lot of shit that would be inconceivable these days.
I pull the microphone stand close and we take up our positions. Instead of pretending, Lana sings the chorus of “I Should Have Kissed You” and I sing along. The resulting picture is perfect, even if I say so myself.
We look great together and I can’t wait to get on the stage with her to perform it at the end of the show. Me and Lana on stage together at the very moment when the crowd is at fever pitch, singing this particular song. It’s slow and sensual and full of innuendo. It will drive quite a few people in the audience crazy—both our bands have quite the queer following. It will be the perfect concert ending, Lana’s right about that. It will also bring some attention back to the opening act, which is a win-win for The Other Women.
“Are you free tomorrow morning to practice this with the band?” Lana asks.
Not really, but I can hardly say no to her. “Sure.”
“It’s going to be dynamite, you know,” she says, a tinge of excitement in her voice. “You’re good, kid. Very good.”
Bursting with pride, I belt out a few more run-throughs.
Chapter 5
Lana
On the first night of the tour, I’m more nervous than I expected. When I look at Billie, it’s easy enough to understand why. Billie is a wonderful woman and a kick-ass guitarist, but she’s not Joan.
Because I’m the singer, I’ve always been considered the cool front lady of our band, but if I’m cool, then Joan was made of the coldest polar ice. Nothing seemed to faze her. If I got worked up about something, all I had to do was look at her. She’d return my glance with the utmost calm, and I knew everything would be okay. It worked like a charm until the day she collapsed on the floor and never got up again. Just like that, Joan Miller’s physical body ceased to function. She was gone in less than a minute.
Billie is the opposite of Joan. She’s the opposite of calm. While I get it because this is her first big gig with The Lady Kings, it also makes me jump out of my skin.
From our dressing room backstage, we can hear The Other Women’s show. I wonder how Cleo’s feeling. Earlier, their drummer, Jess, couldn’t stop staring at me. As though she was looking to me to find some calm, the way I did with Joan.
“I’m going to see how they’re doing,” I announce to my bandmates. “I’m curious.”
“I’m coming,” Sam says, and follows me. “How are you feeling?” She bumps her shoulder lightly into mine. “Coming back after all these years, without Joan, is no small thing. We’re all aware of that.”
“Tonight, we play for her.” I don’t mean to sound as dramatic as I do.
Sam holds out her fist and I bump mine against it. As we approach the side of the stage we fall silent, the music too loud for us to comfortably exchange any more words.
Immediately, my gaze is drawn to Cleo. The song they’re playing is reaching its climax. Cleo is completely lost in the music and seems to hold on to her microphone stand for dear life. When their drummer ends the song with a couple of cymbal crashes, Cleo snaps out of it instantly. I can barely see her face from the side, but I know she’s sporting a huge smile.
“You guys are amazing,” she shouts to the audience.
She’s right. The crowd is hot tonight. The Other Women are hardly still an up-and-coming band. When I scan the first few rows of the audience, I think it’s a safe bet that quite a few of those people came here to see The Other Women rather than The Lady Kings. Our fans aren’t as young and wild any longer. It reminds me of the good old days when it amazed me every single night what rock music could do to people, the frenzy it could get them into. The things fans are willing to offer. I’m sure someone with Cleo’s charisma gets lots of offers—decent as well as indecent.
“It’s such an honor to play here, for you and for the one and only Kings,” Cleo shouts. She turns toward the wings and winks at me. Wow. She’s in the zone, that’s for sure. She’s riding the upper crest of a performance-induced peak of self-esteem—a feeling I know all too well. I wink back because I won’t be responsible for pulling a performer out of their flow. Cleo Palmer is the real deal, that much I know.
