Page 65 of A Country Kind Of Love
“Cleo, wait.”
Peyton is out of breath from chasing Cleo down the three flights of stairs. She fights with the revolving door in the reception area, and almost traps the woman behind her inthe process.
“Sorry.” She holds up her hand but continues to push.
“Cleo,” she yells.
The heat hits her as soon as she steps clear of the air-conditioned entrance area. A delivery guy holding an armload of parcels tries to squeeze past her, and she almost knocks every single one from his grasp, but his reflexes are quick.
Just as well. “Sorry.”
The front court outside the label is busy, too busy. Peyton’s immediately self-conscious. She hates to make a scene, but Cleo is at the pavement’s edge. She has no choice but to yell at the top of her lungs.
“For god’s sake, Cleo, stop!” The entire crowd of passers-by look her way.
It does get Cleo’s attention. There’s a long poignant moment of silence. It lasts long enough for Peyton to watch a highlight reel of all the heart-breaking scenes in the history of lesbian cinema mashed together in her head, and she still feels like nothing is as agonising as what she faces now.
“Do you know what hurts the most?” It’s a question, but she doesn’t allow Peyton to answer. “The fact that you’re singing itwith a guy.”
Cleo throws her hands up. “Who the fuck ishe, Peyton?”
She slams her open palm at the street sign and continues. “That song is about us, isn’t it?”
“Yes.”
“I’m not so sure now. Maybe it’s just words on a page to you, just a melody to get you the deal you want.”
Peyton interrupts, “That’s not true.”
Cleo is angry. Her stare is icy. Her jaw is clenched. It’s hostile. She’s never seen Cleo like this.
“Did I mean anything to you? Am I just a steppingstone on your way to bigger and better things? Huh?” Each word is a knockout punch.
“Of course not,” Peyton croaks. Her eyes sting. The tearsare coming.
“You wrote a song, and you thought, huh, that’s pretty good, so I’m going to go behind my girlfriend’s back.” She’s never said theGword before, and now what should be a happy moment is horrible. “You record it with some random guy and release it withouttelling me?”
“That’s...”
She doesn’t give her time to respond. “What the fuck, Peyton?”
“Cleo, please, it wasn’t like that. I didn’t mean for thisto happen.”
“I can’t believe I trusted you.” She hails thenearest cab.
“Cleo, please. Let me explain,” Peyton pleads.
“Good luck with your love songs, and your sold-out tours with your fake boyfriend,” she scoffs. “I hope it was worth it.”
“Cleo!”
She gets in the cab and turns away. Peyton bangs on the window. The action is reminiscent of a dramatic movie scene, but the cab doesn’t halt. It merges with traffic, and Peyton is left with the echo of Cleo’s voice and faint taillights in the distance.
She’s gone.
Peyton drops to the ground by the curb. People excuse themselves as they try to walk around her. The tears won’t stop, and she doesn’t try to stop them.
I think I love you. She mutters underher breath.
