Page 9 of The Duet

“Excellent gig, Tim. Really great.”

“Thanks.” He opens the fridge and, without qualms, gets out four bottles of premium IPA. “Thanks for these. And for the party. We’re all so stoked. We might get a little tipsy tonight.”

“Enjoy.” It’s a trip down memory lane to tour with a much younger band. To be that young again. To have it all in front of you still.

“Hey, um, Jess, our drummer, has like this huge crush on you and she’s basically too nervous to talk to you. Like, at all. Would you mind making her day and joining us for a few minutes? She won’t know what to do with herself and it will be so cute.”

“Sure.” I take two of the beers from Tim’s hands. “How about I join you now?”

“Oh, yes.” Tim leads the way to the corner of the living room taken over by The Other Women and some of their crew. As I approach, the atmosphere stiffens a bit.

“For you.” I give Jess one of the beers.

“Oh, uh. Thank you so much, Miss Lynch. I mean, um, Lana.”

Poor thing. Tim was right. I hope her crush blows over soon. Two months of this is no fun for anyone. I give the other beer to Daphne, who played the guitar tonight in a way Joan would have approved of.

“I’d toast to a wonderful opening night with a first-rate opening act, but I find myself empty-handed,” I say.

Jess shoots up. “I’ll go get you one.” She rushes off.

“Told you,” Tim says.

“Maybe I should remove myself from this scene,” I offer, “so as not to perturb your drummer too much. You need her.”

“Oh no, no,” Daphne says, “Please. Stay.” She scoots over on the ottoman she’s occupying and pats the spot next to her. “Jess will be fine.”

“She’s only had a mad crush on you since she was twelve,” Tim says. “Believe me. I know all about it.”

I glance at Cleo, who is silent. She just sits there, nursing her beer with a blissful expression on her face. She’s still coming down from the show.

“Here you go, Lana.” Jess has returned and nearly curtsies as she presents me with a fresh beer.

“Thank you.” I send her a warm smile while trying to remember when I last had a crush on someone. Joan and I were together forever, and while we weren’t always monogamous, I can’t seem to remember anyone else but her. When she died, my capacity to have feelings for another woman died along with her. Maybe that’s something that will come alive again as we resume our old lives as The Lady Kings. It’s not something I’ve been hoping, nor waiting for.

I hold up the bottle for a toast with The Other Women. “To a great tour.”

“What’s it like being back on stage after all this time?” Tim, clearly the least intimidated of the bunch, asks.

“Fucking great,” I reply, as though it was always a foregone conclusion that The Lady Kings would come back. Being on stage was exhilarating. To slip back into my old skin, to know that it still fits, maybe not as perfectly as before, but life will do that to you.

“The encore with Cleo was amazing,” Jess murmurs quietly.

The mention of her name makes Cleo look up. She finds my gaze. I return her look and throw in the merest hint of a smile.

“Thanks. Cleo’s very talented.”

“My bandmates haven’t always agreed with me on this, to put it mildly,” Daphne says, “but I grew up on a steady diet of Isabel Adler songs courtesy of my mom being a huge fan. The original with Isabel is so good, I was pretty nervous about hearing this new version, but you nailed it. The audience was completely enthralled by it.”

“It’s different because Cleo’s not Isabel. Their voices are night and day.”

“What was it like?” Daphne asks. “Recording this song with Isabel Adler? What is she like?”

Cleo remains silent while I chat to Daphne about Isabel Adler, whose comeback story is one of the greatest in music history. If anything, Isabel reemerging as a singer after she lost her voice—all described in gruesome detail in her biography—inspired The Lady Kings to give it another go. Because just like Isabel, for me, a life off the stage, a life without performing, a life without my bandmates beside me, is not much of a life at all.

“When we’re in New York, I’ll introduce you to her,” I say to Daphne.

“No way!” She brings her hands in front of her mouth. “I’ll need to fly my mom over. Give her the best day of her life.”

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