Page 18 of The Duet

“Really?” Maybe I am the only one who has completely missed the chemistry Cleo and I create when we sing together. I make a mental note to watch some more of those videos of our encore later.

“Duh.” Billie sinks down in the chair.

“Can you, um, elaborate on that?”

She squints at me. “What do you mean?”

“It’s different when you’re in the moment. When you’re doing it. It’s hard for me to judge what it looks to anyone else when Cleo and I are on stage together.”

“Well.” Billie leans backward. “It’s probably not my place to say, what with being only such a recent addition to The Lady Kings, but I’ve never been one to mince my words, so.”

“Okay.” I’m not sure what to expect.

“Honestly, the three of us, as we made abundantly clear when you first floated the idea, are perfectly fine with you doing the final encore of the show without us. Just you and Cleo up there. We thought it would make for a wonderful moment of emotional vulnerability and that it would help you to… process certain things now that you’re back, but now that we’ve seen you and Cleo perform that song to a live audience a few times, well, it can’t help but make us a little nervous, because now your duet is quickly turning into the climax of the show instead of a cute little afterthought.”

Is she for real? Have I missed everything this duet is making other people feel? “This isn’t some sort of twisted prank, is it?”

“No—I mean, I only exaggerate slightly. We’re not fearing for our jobs, but the issue is two-pronged because from what I’ve heard from Sam and Deb, The Lady Kings have always been very tight. Yes, you’re the singer and that will always bring you most of the attention. You’re the face of band and that’s how it is.” She huffs out some air. “And what a face it is, Lana. You’re amazing and you’re a big part of what makes The Lady Kings who they are, but… you and Cleo, when you sing together, when it’s just your two voices and your combined energy out there, it’s special. It’s something else. It touches a nerve with the audience as well as with the band.”

“Are you saying that you, Deb, and Sam are feeling threatened by my duet with Cleo?” Maybe I’ve been too insensitive about leaving my bandmates out of the last song of the night. Perhaps this is just another consequence of no longer having Joan around. She was always the perfect buffer between me, Sam and Deb—between the two people at the front of the stage and the ones more toward the back. “If you do, I’m truly sorry about that.”

“Threatened isn’t the right word for it. Maybe just a little left out.”

I should really check with Sam and Deb, who I’ve known much longer than Billie and ask if they feel the same way about this.

“Is that why you wanted to talk to me tonight?”

“No. I didn’t know Cleo was going to be here. I just wanted to hang out with you.” Billie clears her throat. “Make sure you’re happy with my performance now that we’re a few gigs into the tour.”

Ah. I recognize insecurity when it so blatantly stares me in the face. “You’re doing great, Billie. Surely, you must know that.” As a former applause addict myself, I know there’s no such thing as being told how great you are too many times.

“The vibe between us is good, but then I see how you vibe with Cleo and I’m like—well, it makes me wonder if there’s anything else I can do for us to have that kind of chemistry on stage.”

“I don’t think you can compare the two.” The tour has only just started and I’ve been blindsided with a conversation I didn’t see coming twice already. I knew it would be challenging without Joan, especially the first few weeks, but I hadn’t expected this.

Billie shrugs.

“Do we need to have a band meeting about this?” We’ve learned the hard way not to let negative emotions fester. When that kind of bubble bursts, the mess it leaves takes months to clean up.

“I don’t know. I guess it couldn’t hurt.”

“Fuck,” I say on a deep sigh. “I’m upset with myself because I wasn’t aware of any of this and I feel it’s part of my job to—” To what? To lead? To stay on top of this? Or to, at least, sing the duet with Cleo in the middle of our set instead of robbing my bandmates of the triumph of the final encore.

“Don’t be, Lana. It might just be me. I’m really sensitive to things like this. Coming in as the new girl is quite intimidating and seeing you with Cleo… I guess it’s making me feel a little insecure.”

“That’s understandable.” I haven’t missed Joan this hard, this acutely, in a very long time. “We have a lot of miles to cover tomorrow, so how about we talk about all this first thing on the bus? We’ll have plenty of time to hash it out.”

“Yeah, that would be great. Thanks, Lana.” Billie rubs her palms on her jeans. It’s funny how people who can have such stage presence, such swagger in their step when they saunter up to me for a guitar solo, can look so fragile in real life.

“Hey, Billie, I mean it. You’re an ace guitarist.” And you have some big shoes to fill.

“All right.” She straightens her spine.

“Touring is both a lot of fun and very hard at the same time.” I lean forward and pat Billie’s knee.

“In the spirit of not mincing my words.” She looks me in the eye and for a moment I fear I’m about to have another conversation like the one I had with Jess last week. “I guess I’m a little jealous… of you and Cleo. Were you serious earlier? When you said no hitting on the support band?”

I huff out a chuckle. “I honestly don’t care who hits on whom.” Billie’s ten years younger than me and much closer in age to The Other Women. “A tour is a tour, people are people, and things will always happen.” In our early, wilder years, even Joan and I had special rules when we went on tour.

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