Page 44 of The Duet

“Cleo?” I reach out my hand to her, but she just looks at it. “What’s going on?”

“We just played one of the worst shows in the history of The Other Women.” Her voice trembles. “And it’s all because of me. Because of what I’ve done. They’re all upset with me, and I can’t blame them. I deserve it. I shouldn’t have…” She pauses, as though she can’t say it. As though, no matter her conflicted emotions about it, our night together can’t be negated just like that. “We… shouldn’t have.”

“Your next show will be all the better for it. I promise.” I care about Cleo, but I don’t need all this drama over nothing.

Cleo shakes her head. “That’s not the point, though. Daphne is angry at me. Jess is pretending she’s okay with it. And Tim… I don’t know. All I know is that I have to fix this.”

“Cleo.” Poor thing. I wish I could just hug it all away again, like this afternoon. “What if there’s nothing to fix? What if I tell you it will all just blow over?”

“You keep saying that. It might not be a big thing for you and your band, but it is for me and mine. We have never let anything like this come between us. You know how hard that is for a band made up of four queers? But our friendship has always come first.”

“Okay. Fine.” I back up a bit. “It’s a big deal for you. But what can you do?”

“That’s simple enough.” She looks me in the eye now.

“Oh. Okay. If that’s what you want.” A knot grows in my stomach.

“It’s not what I want, but it’s what I have to do.”

“Sure.” I nod, slowly and oh-so condescendingly.

“And our duet… I’m not sure we can still do that,” Cleo says.

“I can’t believe this.” I scoff.

“It’s not like I ever signed a contract to sing that song with you at every show.”

“That’s absolutely true, Cleo. You’re free as a bird when it comes to me.”

“Lana, please… This is really hard for me.” She shakes her head. “I feel like I have to choose between you and my band, and it’s excruciating.”

“You don’t have to choose.” I can stand here and declare that all I want, but if Cleo can’t see it for herself, there’s no use. I can’t convince her of something she doesn’t feel in her own heart. That’s like asking someone to love you when they clearly don’t.

“I do.” She sounds adamant, but I can tell it’s more empty bravado than anything else.

“You choose your band.” Following Cleo’s logic, it makes perfect sense, but it undoes something in me. When I slept with Cleo, it was so much more than sex. But maybe we’re already touching on the crux of why this can never work, anyway. The differences between us are too big.

Cleo nods.

I make for the door. “I get it, but…” There’s no point in my pleading my case. What am I pleading for, anyway?

There’s a glint of hope in Cleo’s eyes when she looks at me next, as though I’ve found a magical solution for her impossible conundrum.

“We’ll talk about the duet later, when things have calmed down.”

Cleo exhales and shakes her head. “I can’t do the duet with you anymore, Lana. It’s too much. You’re too… you.”

That’s the first time I’ve ever been accused of being too much of myself, but even this, I somehow understand. We might be professionals, but we’re also humans with feelings. I can choose to see the end of the duet with Cleo as a blessing in disguise. The fans will get over it. I’ll just sing “I Should Have Kissed You” by myself. I’m Lana Lynch. I’ll make it work.

“Okay,” I say. Cleo’s back is still glued to the door. “We’ll stay out of each other’s way.” I point at the door. “Can I go now?” My skin is cooling off quickly. I need to get warm so my voice doesn’t get affected.

She swallows hard before taking a step to the left. “I’m sorry, Lana,” she says, her voice but a ragged whimper.

As I exit her dressing room, I only have a deep sigh to offer in response,

“If I knew she was going to dump me, I wouldn’t have hugged her for everyone to see.” I slur my words, but Dave’s a good sport. Unlike most people on this tour, I’m a lightweight when it comes to drinking. The three beers I’ve had have gone straight to my head.

“Can I join you?” Of all people, Billie turns up at our table. I’m not in the mood for her snark, but what can I say? Apparently, bandmates are more important than anything or anyone else.

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