Page 8 of The Duet

The audience doesn’t sound too disappointed that it’s only me.

I wave to the crowd as I join Lana. Although still the epitome of cool, her demeanor is much more gregarious on stage. She opens her arms to me as though we are long-lost friends. It’s all part of the act. Of making the audience feel as many emotions as possible. I step into Lana’s embrace, which is a typical showbiz one, all lightness and vast amounts of air between our bodies.

I take my spot behind the second microphone. The roar of the crowd is more than enough to get me going again. I find Lana’s eyes, those smoldering dark beads, and she gives me a nod, and then we launch into our duet.

With no musical accompaniment, Lana sings the first verse, and I can’t keep my eyes off her. When Lana sings, something in the air changes. The vibrations around us shift. I know her voice so well and I’m about to blend mine with it. It starts with us singing the last line of the first verse in harmony. Our gazes still locked, we pause before launching into the chorus together. Even though there’s no instrumental back-up, our version is much more powerful than the original. Not better, just different because of the circumstances in which we’re singing it. In the chorus, our voices flirt with each other, toppling over each other, finding each other again at the right moments.

As I sing the first few words of the second verse, it hits me that this is by far the best moment of my life. To sing this song at the Hollywood Bowl with my lifelong idol, Lana Lynch. I close my eyes for a moment, and I put all my emotion into the words. The crowd is quiet, almost solemn. Is this as special a moment for them as it is for me?

Lana joins me again for the next chorus. We sing all the lyrics together this time around, slowly working up to the grand finale of the song. When I open my eyes again, in between the thousands of faces staring up at me, I also see thousands of phones aimed at us. This will be all over the internet tonight. I wonder what Isabel Adler will make of this. I wonder if I will ever know.

In the last verse, we alternate lines, and the mood of the song becomes more sensual but also more regretful. We sing about something that should have happened, could have happened, but never did. “I Should Have Kissed You” is a song about two women who were crazy about each other but could never be together. It became the ultimate sapphic anthem the minute it was released. Another reason it means so much to me.

In the pause between the final verse and chorus, Lana swaggers over to me. The look she gives me makes something in my belly swirl, although the dizzying feeling I get could just as easily be ascribed to the mind-blowing situation I find myself in. Not only am I singing this sapphic anthem alongside Lana Lynch, but she also took on board my suggestion about performing it a cappella while sharing a mic for the last chorus, for increased drama and stage magic.

Singing into the same mic is an intimate business. Lana’s shoulder rubs against mine. Her body heat is off the charts. Her face is shiny from standing under the spotlights all night and I can see drops of sweat trickling down her forehead. Lana’s face has never been symmetrical enough for her to be considered a classic beauty yet, right now, as I have done for most of my life, I think she is the most beautiful woman in the world.

She has character and grit—and the lines to show for it crinkling around her eyes. She’s so cool and warm at the same time, it’s maddening.

When we approach the final note of the final song of this first evening of our tour together, that tingle in my belly explodes. Lana gazes into my eyes, as though we’re not singing for a crowd of thousands, but only for ourselves—only to each other. And I know it’s an act, just another way to give the audience what they want, yet it feels very real to me. Then there are the words we just sang: Even though I never did, I should have kissed you long ago. If she kissed me now—

The roar of the crowd snaps me out of the foolishness my intoxicated brain was lost in. Lana curls an arm around my shoulders and waves goodbye to the crowd. I do the same. I lean into her a little, because I can, but also because my body seems to be that way inclined. Whatever I had imagined this moment would feel like, whatever emotion I had expected to course through me, it’s nothing compared to what I actually feel. Exactly how it’s supposed to be when your biggest dream comes true. Sharing a stage—and a song and microphone—with Lana Lynch was never going to be a disappointment.

Lana and I bow to the crowd, then, to my surprise, she slides her arm down and takes my hand in hers to walk off. She drops it as soon as we’re out of the audience’s sight. She turns to me.

“Told you, kid. Pure dynamite.” She waggles her eyebrows and disappears into the small group of people that has formed around her.

My bandmates surround me. Jess’s eyes look watery.

“You killed it. Again,” Tim says. “That was out of this world.”

Was it? All I can remember is Lana staring into my eyes with such intensity, I was glad I had a microphone stand to hold onto. But it was always going to overwhelm me the first time. I let the exhilaration wash over me, the rush of going out there and singing a duet with my idol.

“That was a special moment,” Daphne says. “I swear you could have heard a pin drop. The crowd was totally into that.”

“So was I,” Jess whispers, as though she’s been hypnotized.

Someone from The Lady Kings’ entourage joins us. “After-party at Lana’s later. We’ll have a car waiting for you outside.”

“Damn,” Tim says. “This is our life now. Can you believe it?”

I can’t believe any of it. And the night’s far from over yet.

Chapter 7

Lana

I didn’t necessarily want to have this party after our first show, but from experience, I know it will take a few hours for the adrenaline rush of performing to die down. I won’t be able to sleep until deep into the night. And this tour is cause for celebration. The show was amazing. The first night is always special because it’s the beginning of something and everyone’s raring to go. Everyone is buzzed and chilling out together is exactly what we need.

When I arrive at my house, the lights are on and there are people in my living room. Congratulations are exchanged. The vibe is friendly and full of hope because the tour is only beginning and camaraderie is required if you’re going to spend so much time together on buses and in hotel rooms.

I shoot the breeze for an hour or so while making my way from the living room to the kitchen. I hope someone has briefed my guests that the three original members of The Lady Kings are in their fifties now and that, therefore, the raucousness of previous tours’ after-parties will no longer be tolerated. But who am I kidding? The tension in my muscles isn’t fading. The excitement in my flesh doesn’t feel as though it’s going to subside soon. I’m as gleeful as anyone else here tonight and we’re united in that feeling of being on the cusp of something extraordinary. Because this tour is special. It might very well never have happened, but it is. We said yes to life again, to the life we once knew. We made a new record. We poured our hearts—and the loss of Joan—into our new songs, and now we’re taking them on the road.

“‘Sup,” one of The Other Women nods at me, playing it very cool.

“Tim, right?”

“The one and only Other Woman who identifies as a man.” He smiles at me. “I was just raiding your fridge. Getting more beers.”

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