Page 15 of The Duet

Cleo walks on, hand raised to salute the audience. We haven’t addressed what we talked about last night—she and her bandmates hardly made it out of their rooms on time for soundcheck today—but what she said still sits at the forefront of my mind.

“This song’s called “I Should Have Kissed You”.” I wait until the audience quietens before singing the first verse. As has become my habit, I look into Cleo’s eyes. The only difference is that because of what she said to me last night, this time, I really look. I hadn’t even noticed the peculiar blue of her eyes, or is that the effect of the spotlight she’s under?

She returns my gaze without qualms. Of course, I’m using her in a way. It works out really well for me to be able to sing these lines to another person—another woman. I use the fact she’s here on stage with me to my advantage because that’s one of the reasons she’s here in the first place.

Cleo plays her part so well. That hint of smile. The way she bats her lashes, tilts her head, and keeps her hands clasped behind her back as I sing to her. All that restrained emotion and how it builds the intensity. Yet another reason I asked her to sing this song with me.

We start the chorus, and the crowd gives an exuberant yelp when Cleo hits her first note. They love her and rightly so. Touring on our own might have been easier—fewer people to manage and fewer egos to cater to—but Cleo has been such a gift. She sounds and looks the part and she can hold her own beside me. Not many could.

What is it I’m meant to feel? What am I doing that’s making her feel used? For the life of me, I can’t figure it out. Maybe it’s a generational thing. Maybe what she experiences when she’s on stage with me is something I can’t even imagine because my life experience has been so different from hers.

We alternate lines as we make our way through the first chorus, gazes firmly locked on each other. The vibe in the audience is changing. Even if they were expecting this—because of the internet, nothing that happens on stage is a surprise anymore these days—they’re still amazed by what they’re witnessing. Oh. I’m getting an inkling of what Cleo might be alluding to. The audience’s reaction to the chemistry we project is a direct consequence of how Cleo and I sing this song. This dance we do with each other that is inextricably linked to who we are—front women of queer bands.

Maybe I should watch one of the video clips of us on the internet. Maybe then I might truly get it.

But all of this is just organic to me. Action and reaction. Cleo’s reaction to me forces me to react to her in a similar way and so it spirals on. Yet, clearly, what we’re doing right now makes her feel something that I don’t.

I watch as she belts out the second verse, her voice powerful and vulnerable at the same time and hitting notes with that desperate twang that drives people crazy. She narrows her eyes as she glares at me, as though to defy me to not feel what she’s feeling. It’s not as though I don’t feel anything. On stage, I feel it all. Right here is where I process my life.

The same thing is most likely happening to Cleo, but she’s attaching a different meaning to it. I get it. It’s easy enough to do. When I’m on stage with my band, I love all three of them with all my heart and I forgive them for the many times they’ve hurt me and vice versa. It’s when we come together to create something that can’t exist unless the four of us are on stage together. Making music together can feel like magic sometimes. And right now, it’s just my and Cleo’s voices blending together, creating that special moment for the audience, but also for ourselves. I’m no shrink, but I guess she’s doing some projecting and it’s all enhanced by our time together on the stage. If her boundaries are so blurred, it’s no wonder I’ve crossed them—even though I never meant to.

She does the same thing she did at our previous gig. She finds me for the final chorus. We stand so close together, our cheeks touch a few times as we sing. The vitality that’s coursing through her right now radiates onto me. We pull back a little before launching into the final line. In unison, we draw a breath. She looks at me and I look at her. Oh. I do feel something, but whatever it is, I can’t let it deter me. We belt out the last line to loud cheers from the audience—as though we’ve just broken some long-standing Olympic record instead of singing a tune together. Cleo matches me and I match her in return—we make each other better. Oh yes, I definitely feel something now, although it’s more inspired by this moment, by the harmonic sound our voices are creating and the audience’s reaction to it, than by her, per se.

Instead of letting her head fall backward onto my shoulder like last time, Cleo throws her arm around my waist and pulls me close. The volume of the audience’s cheers explodes. We hold the note for as long as we can—longer than we’ve held it at any previous gig. Instead of taking Cleo’s hand to say our goodbye, we bow to the audience with our arms folded around each other’s backs. I guess that’s what she meant by the intimacy of the song. We walk off still clutching at each other. Maybe, previously, I have made too little of this. I have walked off too ignorant and oblivious to how any of this made Cleo feel.

I will be more respectful tonight. Fully intending to thank her profusely, I remove myself from our embrace. Before I can say anything, before I can even give her a well-deserved pat on the shoulder, she’s exchanging high-fives with her bandmates, and I’m left standing there, watching her, and concluding that, perhaps, I’ve just been schooled by a woman more than twenty years my junior.

Chapter 12

Cleo

Ever since I opened my eyes this morning, a hell of a headache hammering at my skull, I’ve been mortified by what I said to Lana last night. But not anymore. Not after that performance. On top of that, I didn’t give Lana the chance to drop my hand from hers as though we’d just settled some admin instead of singing our hearts out to each other. Instead of exchanging all those emotions on stage for everyone to witness.

I hope my bandmates are up for a party tonight because I’m all amped up and ready to go. Maybe we can hit the town and see some different faces. Maybe there’s a couple of eligible people hanging around who loved our show and are suitably impressed. It’s one of those nights when I feel like I can walk into any room and pick whoever I want to be with.

“Just a gentle reminder,” someone from the crew comes up to us. “It’s a long drive tomorrow. We’re leaving a little earlier than you might have wished.”

“What time?” Daphne asks.

“Be ready to go by nine.”

“Oh, come on, man,” Tim says as though the guy just asked us to leave in the middle of the night, even though 9 a.m. is early for a band on tour.

“It won’t kill you to have an early night. On the contrary.” The guy’s not impressed by anything or anyone. He looks like he’s been on the road with bands like ours since long before we were even born. “It’ll do you good. This tour is long and full of temptations.”

“When they say nine, they probably mean ten,” Jess says. “To keep us in line.”

“Damn, I just felt like a party,” I say.

“I don’t. A little too much imbibing last night. Damn you, Andy,” she says, although Andy is nowhere to be seen.

“I’m working on a new song.” Daphne surprises us all. “I think I’ll just do that tonight. And I need to FaceTime my mom before she forgets what I look like.”

“Is that code for secretly hanging out with Tessie?” Tim always sees and knows everything.

“Maybe, but I would appreciate you respecting my privacy, so there you go.” The smile on Daphne’s face hides nothing. At least one of us is getting lucky.

I guess I’ll do some quiet reading in my room, then. Maybe that’s all fate has in store for me tonight.

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