Page 13 of The Duet

“Oh no, of course. I wasn’t implying any of that. Sorry if I gave you that impression. I know you’re light-years out of my league. I just rather selfishly wanted to get this off my chest. Thank you for listening to me and for taking me seriously. It only makes you go up in my esteem.”

“My pleasure, kid,” I say, realizing how patronizing I sound again. But I never promised anyone exemplary behavior on this tour. It’s a big deal for The Other Women, but it’s a huge thing for me and my band as well. We lost our guitarist, just like that. One minute she was there; the next, she was gone forever. No one saw it coming. Because of that, The Lady Kings were out of the limelight for ten years. It takes some getting used to being back, no matter how thrilling it is.

As if suddenly in a rush, Jess hurries out of the room. I stay behind for a few minutes and ponder what just happened. Maybe if certain stars aligned in the sky and the circumstances were just so, I could develop a mad crush of my own on, say, someone like Elisa Fox, but because of my age, my experience, and all the things I’ve gone through, I would never in a million years tell her, or anyone else about it.

My muscles might be sore and I may be out of breath more often than I care to admit, but getting older does have its advantages. By no means can I speak for all rock stars, let alone for most of my male counterparts, but age has at the very least brought me some wisdom.

Chapter 10

Cleo

The next day we’re on the road up north. It’s the first day on the bus, which still smells fresh, and everyone’s abuzz with energy.

I somehow missed this but, apparently, Jess had a little heart-to-heart with Lana last night about her crush on her. Now, she can’t shut up about it. Even more than before, when she was trying to be at least a little stealthy about it, it’s all Lana-this and Lana-that. As though they had much more than a brief chat about Jess’s one-way infatuation.

“I know it sounds crazy,” Jess says. “But you just never know what might happen on a tour like this. All this time spent together. It’s just a pity we’re not on the same bus. But we can’t have it all, I guess. We already have so much.”

We’re bandmates, but more than that, the four of us have always been friends first. I’m no stranger to what it’s like to suffer from an unrequited crush. That maddening but intoxicating feeling. I may know a little too well exactly how Jess is feeling. But I can’t give in to it. I need to be strong, resist it at all costs, and hope it blows over. Last night, after our encore duet, when Lana callously dropped my hand from hers again, I thought I was pretty damn close to being completely over it. Maybe I am.

The only problem is that I have to go back out there every night and sing with her. I have to let her make eyes at me again and pretend that it’s me she wants to kiss—and boy, can Lana put all her feelings into those lyrics. When I’m on stage, I have no defense. As soon as I have a mic in front of me, it’s all me out there, all my emotions on display. I haven’t learned to do what Lana does so effortlessly. I haven’t learned to pretend like her, although it’s not quite pretending. If it were, every singer would also be the best actor in the world and that has proven not to be the case many times.

Daphne’s head pops up in front of us. “Aren’t you sometimes inclined to believe the rumors that Nora Levine is gay?”

“Inclined? Sure,” Jess says. “But that doesn’t make it true.”

“Did you get any vibe off her last night?” Daphne stares at me.

“No,” I say truthfully, not that it would make any difference.

“You were too busy mooning over her to get a vibe.” Daphne sticks out her tongue as though we’re school children on a day trip. That’s what touring feels like sometimes. “Apart from Jess falling apart over Lana, do we see any promising prospects for some on-tour romance the coming months?”

“I don’t know, Daph, do we?” Daphne wouldn’t ask if she didn’t already have an answer at the ready.

“The Lady Kings’ hair stylist has captured my eye,” Daphne says. “I might get my hair done by her instead of Gill.”

“I heard that,” Gill shouts from a few rows back. “I can allow that shit once in the name of love or whatever you want to call it, but that’s it.”

Just like that, the bus comes alive with banter and teasing each other mercilessly because that’s how you kill time on the road, especially during the first few days, when no one’s sick of speaking to each other yet, and, like Jess said, everything’s still possible—although not exactly the things both Jess and I are dreaming of.

At our next show, when it’s time for me to go out there again for the encore with Lana, I’m riled up when I curl my fingers around the mic, yet I feel carried by the cheers of the audience. I’m so incensed by Lana’s proximity to me and how she plays me so she can play the crowd, that I lose myself in the song even more. I channel all my contradictory emotions into how I’m singing, into how I deliver the words to this song that has, already, come to mean so much to me.

We have thirty-one more shows on this tour. If she doesn’t get sick of me, I’ll be doing this with Lana thirty-one more times—this approaching each other as though we’re going to kiss, proclaiming to each other that it’s what we wanted all along. This is only our fourth show and already it’s beginning to feel like hours of foreplay with no sign of a climax. All I can do is channel my frustration, my five-minutes-a-day ultra-fierce attraction to her, in my performance.

Tonight, I don’t wait for her to walk over to me. I go up to her. Lana’s a pro and a rock concert is not a tightly choreographed show. There’s lots of room for improvisation, for going with the flow and doing what feels right in the moment. Because we’re in San Francisco, the crowd’s even queerer than in LA—although I’ve been warned that a bunch of tech bros sprung big for a meet and greet after the show—and their howls of encouragement only spur me on more to get as close to Lana as I can get.

I watch her as she sings a line, as beguiled by her as every other person in the venue. When Lana sings, it’s impossible to look away, because it’s not only her voice that makes her who she is—that has made her into the icon she is today. It’s her magnetism. The confidence with which she delivers the sultriest lines. The ease she carries herself with on stage, as though it’s her one and only home.

What is this that I feel for her? Is it a silly celebrity crush like Jess—and presumably a whole lot of other people out there—has on her? Is it stage-induced lust, which wouldn’t be unheard of? Stepping onto the stage is like entering a different realm with entirely different rules. Entertaining a crowd of thousands focuses you like nothing else. In those few minutes that this song lasts, all my focus is directed toward Lana. To have been asked to do this, to be praised for it every single time I walk off by at least a few people, the dizzying satisfaction of having pulled it off, to have held my own next to a legend like Lana, the joy of singing in harmony without any musical accompaniment to the delight of so many, it all pales in comparison to these moments when it’s just her and me on stage.

It’s some sort of bubble we disappear into, just the two of us, where something magical happens every single time. There’s no other way for me to describe it. What I’d really like to find out is how Lana feels when we’re out here, when we’re doing this. When we croon this love song to each other. Does she feel the same sort of magic? Does she even get a whiff of the chemistry I feel, or is it all just me? By the way she drops my hand once it’s all over, I’m inclined to believe it’s all just an act to her. That she’s more seasoned when it comes to things like this, to faking emotions, to pretending she’s into me.

Earlier, in the long hours between the sound check and our set, I typed our names into Google and if the internet’s to be believed, Lana and I have fallen head over heels in love already. According to the thousands of comments underneath the video footage of us singing this duet, there’s no room left for any doubt when it comes to us.

But Lana and I never discussed any of this. When I went over to her house to practice this song, there was no mention of creating some sort of sapphic fantasy for the fans. Lana just needed a female voice to sing with and I was there—and she deemed me worthy. Surely she must have an opinion on this? I make a mental note to ask her later tonight.

She curls her arm around my shoulders again and there’s nothing showbiz-like about her hug.

I revel in her touch and drop my head backward onto her shoulder. The crowd shrieks. This is exactly what they want. They can’t get enough of this illusion we create.

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