Page 11 of The Duet

“It’s tradition. Joan and I always had a party on the first night of a tour. It would be foolish to break with tradition now.”

“Are you enjoying yourself?” I stare at the lights in the distance. Despite the party noise, the vibe in this secluded spot is peaceful.

“Sure. Are you?” Lana stands next to me. As long as she doesn’t stare into my eyes the way she did on stage earlier, I should be good. It was all an act, I remind myself. Lana’s very good at giving the crowd what they want.

“I just had the night of my life, so yeah.”

“You’re about to have many more of those.”

I nod. “Tonight’s been overwhelming. That’s all.”

“What’s it like for you when you’re up there? What does it feel like?” Lana seems genuinely interested.

“Like…” I glance away from her. “The most outrageous drug in the world. Like I’m outside myself. Like none of the stuff that bothers me in real life matters anymore. Like I know, for a fact, even though it’s impossible to know something like that, that if I give everything I have in me, the audience will get it and they will have the time of their life. But if I give anything less, if I doubt myself too much, or if I get into my head and think, even for a second, that I’m being a pretentious ass, it will all fall apart. That everyone will see through me.”

“Damn, kid. That’s a lot. No wonder you’re exhausted.”

“Please, Lana, could you…” I turn to look at her.

“What?” She has a grin plastered across her lips.

“Could you please stop calling me kid? It makes me feel like… I don’t know. Like I have no clue what I’m doing.”

“Right. Sorry. That wasn’t my intention. It’s just something I say without thinking.” She brings her hand to my arm and gives me a little pat. “I’ll try to keep that in mind.” She retracts her hand. “Maybe it’s because you and your band make me feel my age.”

“Oh, god, Lana, if only you could see yourself on stage.” I reach for my phone in my jeans pocket, but think better of it. I don’t need to show Lana what she’s like on stage.

“Thanks, k—” She catches herself. “Sorry. I can see how that is awfully condescending. Like I don’t take you seriously just because you were born a few decades after me.”

“Your experience does entitle you to—”

“To be an ass? I don’t think so.” She grins at me again.

Loud whoops come from the pool area, followed by a gut-wrenching cry of pain.

“Here we go,” Lana says matter-of-factly. “I’d best go see which idiot is going to miss this tour.”

“Call an ambulance,” someone yells while Lana and I make our way back from our private spot overlooking the hills to the debauchery by the side of the pool.

“I don’t need an ambulance.” A man belonging to The Lady Kings’ entourage is lying on his back, clutching his ankle.

“Rick missed his jump,” Andy, The Lady Kings’ tour manager, says to Lana.

“Get him to a hospital, no matter how much he protests.”

“Will do, Lana.”

“Stupidity is of all ages and genders.” Lana puts a hand on my shoulder again. “You just got a prime example of that.” She gives my shoulder a little squeeze and, without saying anything else, disappears inside the house.

I find my bandmates and happily accept the beer Tim hands me. I’m sure Lana and I will get plenty of time to finish our conversation. I also get the feeling that, broken bones or not, this party is far from over.

Chapter 9

Lana

Maybe because it’s our last show in LA, or maybe because Cleo appeared so totally in the moment when we held the very last note together, I’m more emotional than usual when I walk off stage.

“Elisa Fox is here,” Andy says as someone hands me a towel. “And she brought Nora Levine!”

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