Page 110 of Beyond the Bright Lights

“I need some air,” I manage to say.

Bruno hands me a bottle of water. “Here.”

I nod to him and take the water, finding the door that exits to an expansive backyard. Fairy lights are hung around the pool and cabana. Lit tiki torches are spaced throughout. Everyone must be inside enjoying the food, music, and booze because I'm all alone out here.

Alone.

Even now, in this moment of lost hope, when I’d normally want to snort a drug and drink to forget or numb myself, the thought of having either makes me sick.

I set the unopened water bottle on a table and walk to the pool, standing with my hands in my pockets, my back to the mansion. Lights illuminate the pool’s basin, the water making tiny ripples from a slight breeze. It’s peaceful here, only the songs of tree crickets play. The music inside is low enough not to interrupt their concert. A plane soars overhead, and I look up to the stars, shining bright in the cloudless sky. Not even smog taints the clear night here.

I close my eyes and listen to the world around me, contemplating what happens next. What will I do without her?

Music starts playing and I wonder if someone opened the door to come outside. No. The sound is too small, too near.

It’s behind me.

The song is familiar. Not a recent song. One from the eighties. I danced to this song before. In my trailer in Arkansas during an impromptu dance party.

Then someone starts singing.

I slowly turn around.

Not someone. Her.

Lana is here. She’s breathtaking, wearing a dark green sleeveless gown. The plunging neck offers a glimpse of her ample cleavage, only covered by a sheer veil of fabric. Her long dark red hair cascades over her shoulders in luscious curls.

In her hand, held up high, is her cell phone. We Belong by Pat Benatar, her favorite song, plays on the screen. It’s a karaoke version.

She’s singing it to me.

She sings about belonging to the light and thunder.

Words we’ve both fallen under.

She sings to me about whatever we deny or embrace, for worse or for better.

We belong together.

She’s stepped close enough that I could reach out and touch her. I need to touch her. Before I can, she turns off the video and slips her phone in the pocket of her dress.

“Sorry I'm late. We got on the earliest flight available.”

I’d been holding my breath, waiting for her to speak. I let it out, shakily.

She points her thumb over her shoulder. “I was going to ask the DJ for a mic and have him play this song in there. I was going to make this grand gesture, a cheesy, Lifetime movie-worthy gesture, and sing to you. But I saw you walk in and immediately disappear out here.”

“You were going to sing in front of a bunch of strangers?”

“Yes.”

“For me?”

“For you.”

“But you have stage fright.”

“Yes, I probably would have thrown up.”

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