Page 50 of The Duet

It made us play one of the best shows of our band’s existence earlier—one to completely erase the memory of every bad or mediocre show we’ve ever played.

Tonight, none of us, not even me, can resist watching The Lady Kings. Because there’s something special in the air, we know, in our hearts, that we have to be here for this instead of lounging in our dressing room and missing it. We sense that something special is about to happen.

Lana is extra sexy up there tonight. Throughout The Lady Kings’ show, Jess has barely moved a muscle beside me, so utterly transfixed is she with Lana’s every move. And Lana’s got moves.

Like when they play an upbeat scorcher like “No Fear In Love” and she wiggles her shoulders from left to right in that special, sultry way she has. She can strut around the stage like no other with those never-ending legs of hers, using the microphone stand in ways that I have tried to copy, but somehow end up looking ridiculous on anyone else but her. She’s made of that illustrious kind of stardust that only gets sprinkled around once every few generations. And I can’t keep my eyes off her because every single minute of their show, I’m reminded why they are the best, the greatest all-female band of all time, and why we were so quick to say yes to this tour—and how I’ve somehow fucked up my chance to share the stage with Lana every night.

But if the past two shows of The Other Women have proved anything, it’s that we’re better if we’re in harmony. If there’s no strife between the four of us and we can just go out there and play for each other, trying to impress the hell out of each other and the audience in one go. Our singular kind of rock band chemistry doesn’t work when we’re fighting. I’m not as naive to think that our band will never have issues, but it all depends on what the issues are about.

“Fuck me,” Tim says. “This is a moment, guys. One I’ll never forget.”

“Lana’s the bomb, but that Billie is no slouch either,” Daphne says. “I would love to play a guitar duet with her.”

“Sam and Deb are tight as hell. They’re like one unit,” Tim says. “They’ve played together for so long, it’s like they no longer need words between them. Only their instruments.”

“Oh fuck.” Jess’s eyes grow wide.

We’ve been told about this beforehand, but it’s as though Isabel Adler has suddenly been whisked to the wings from a well-hidden spot backstage. Out of nowhere, there she is.

“I’m gonna lose my shit,” Daphne whispers. She grabs on to Tim’s arm. “Oh my god.”

“She’s just a singer,” I want to say, but I can’t get those words past my throat. Isabel Adler is so much more than just a singer. When we were working on our last album and we wanted to write a slower, more emotional song, we listened to Isabel Adler’s latest record for inspiration. The way she has found to tone everything down and amplify the intensity of her music is like magic, although we know there’s nothing magical about it. It’s what music can do.

I also know why she’s here. She’s here to take the place I took from her. She’s here to sing with Lana. Although the musician part of me is absolutely dying to see them perform their iconic duet together, my flawed, deeply human side is not immune to ugly pangs of jealousy. Although I know very well there’s nothing more useless than being jealous of someone like Isabel Adler.

Isabel’s surrounded by a couple of people, one of whom is a breathtaking woman with raven black hair and blood-red lipstick. Isabel’s partner, Leila Zadeh.

Tim fans himself. “It’s getting hot in here,” he says. “Someone turn up the AC, please.”

The Lady Kings walk off after their first set of encores. I can’t help but watch Lana. My eyes are drawn to her, and I couldn’t look away if I wanted to. She and Isabel exchange glances and I wonder what would have happened if I hadn’t refused to continue to duet with Lana. Would she have replaced me with Isabel anyway? Would it have hurt less or more than it does right now?

Lana dabs her face and shoulders with a towel and quickly drinks some water. Tessie runs a comb through Lana’s hair.

“Are you ready?” The smile she flashes Isabel Adler is so wide, so gorgeous, so Lana, my heart breaks into a dozen more pieces.

Isabel nods. Leila kisses her on the cheek. Then Lana walks back out to massive applause. She thanks the crowd profusely, then asks them for silence.

“I have a very, very special guest here with me tonight.”

“Cleo Palmer!” someone shouts.

My cheeks flush pink because I’m standing only a few feet away from Isabel Adler and it doesn’t feel right for people to be shouting my name instead of hers.

Lana shakes her head. “Nope. Try again.”

I feel dismissed again—even though I dismissed myself.

“Isabel Adler!” someone else yells.

Lana nods slowly. “One hundred percent correct.”

The cheers of the crowd are so thundering, I almost cover my ears.

Lana turns to the wings where we’re all standing. Her gaze glosses over me as though I’m just a prop—as though I have reached a whole new level of insignificance.

“Izzy, will you do me the great honor of joining me, please?” Lana holds out her arm, welcoming Isabel Adler to the stage.

The audience goes wild. Of course, they do. This is so much better than anything they could have hoped for. This is so much better than Lana singing this song with me. It’s their song. It’s The Lady Kings’—and Lana’s—comeback song. This song has nothing much to do with me at all. I was just a visitor to it for a while, for those blessed few times I was allowed up on stage, at Lana’s mercy, to bask in her glory for a few nights. But it’s not my song, nor do I have any claims to make on it.

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