Page 36 of The Duet

“You’re the one who wanted to keep this a secret.”

“That’s true.” Lana pulls me down so I’m sitting on her knees. “Because there simply isn’t that much to tell. Yet. Because it makes things easier. Case in point with Jess.” Her fingers steal across my back. “Last night was amazing. For me, at least. It was… It meant something to me, Cleo. It really did. It didn’t feel like a one-off, hence why you’re in my room right now.”

“You know how I feel about last night. I left you that message.”

“Okay, so, in conclusion… we want to be together again. I’d very much like for that to happen tonight. I’d like to spend the night with you, unhurried, not tired from just having played a show, with no wake-up call in the morning. From what you’ve told me, you’d quite like that yourself.”

I nod, swallowing hard. I want nothing more than what Lana is describing right now. It’s the stuff dreams I never even dared to have are made of.

I nod again. I want to kiss her so badly, but my trepidation has not decreased.

“How about I join them at the club for an hour or so, and then come back to your room?”

“Sure. Whatever you want.” Lana folds her arms around my neck. “Now, don’t you think it’s about time you kissed me?” She gazes into my eyes.

I can only bridge the gap between our lips and slip my tongue inside her mouth. Lana’s hands drift up to my hair. She holds me close, as though she doesn’t want me to leave.

“Do you still want to go clubbing?” Lana whispers after we break from our kiss.

I shake my head. “No, but I have to.” I kiss her again until my conscience is blaring like a loud alarm in my head. Then I tear myself away from her. “I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

“You do what you gotta do, Cleo,” Lana says and regards me with an odd smirk on her lips.

Chapter 21

Lana

Because I don’t feel like waiting alone in my room for Cleo, I take the biopic manuscript to read in the bar downstairs.

Some of the older crew members are hanging out. I order a beer and join them to shoot the breeze, to blow off some steam—and to avoid actually reading that script.

“No party for you tonight?” Dave, a burly guy who must be around my age, asks.

I shake my head. “My clubbing days are over.”

“Sam and Deb seemed up for it.”

“Good for them. How about you?”

“Me?” he gives a hearty laugh. “No,” is all the explanation he gives. “I’m glad I caught you, though.”

“What’s up?” This, too, is part of the touring life. Impromptu conversations with people you’ve just met or that you’ve known forever—like Dave.

“I was just curious how you’re holding up. I was so stoked when I got asked to go back out with the Kings again. I wasn’t expecting it, to be honest. I know Joan’s death hit you hard.”

Dave’s not mincing his words tonight.

“She was my wife.” I glance at the ring finger of my left hand that still holds my wedding ring—I haven’t come across a compelling enough reason to take it off.

“That song you do for her, “The Better Part of Me”, it gets me every single night.” Dave brings his fist to his chest. “Right here. I miss her, too. Joan Miller was something else, all right. She was made of that special stuff. Obviously, you don’t need me to tell you that, but I just want you to know that she was special to all of us and we all miss her so much, especially now that we’re back out on the road without her.”

I glance at Dave’s beer bottle to ascertain what he’s been drinking. I’d better steer clear of whatever beverage made him so sentimental.

“It’s strange without her. The first few gigs, I kept looking over and expecting to see her there, you know?”

“Billie’s excellent, though,” he says. “She really is.”

“Yeah,” I confirm. For a second, I wonder how Billie and Cleo are getting on in the club—whether Billie is putting the moves on her. But it’s easy enough to drag my mind away from all that frivolity. When your wife, who had seemed perfectly healthy, had a stroke and died in front of you, you learn to see things in perspective—after a while. This is why I can’t get worked up about Cleo’s drama with Jess. I understand it, but I can’t put any energy into it. I prefer to reserve that for things that really matter, like playing—and, perhaps, being with Cleo.

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