I nodded along, knowing the facts of this well-known song.
“It was originally released in the UK in 1987, but not in the US until 1988. Please give me a challenge.”
I laughed. “I’m just warming you up, baby.”
Lena inhaled sharply, and if I had to guess, I’d say it was from my dropping the term of endearment like that. But it felt natural, so I went with it.
I played another song and then another from my playlist, waiting for Lena to guess their names and titles. She knew every one, even the obscure rock songs that I only knew about because I’d heard them at a music festival a few years back.
“That’s a special talent,” I said after her fourth correct guess.
“Not really.” She shrugged. “It’s just music. It’s not like I’m solving world peace or anything.”
I glanced over at her. She stared straight ahead, her eyes still covered.
“Do you always do that?”
That caused her to turn in my direction. “Do what?”
“Put yourself down like that?”
She rubbed her lips together and didn’t reply. Save for the murmurings of the latest song on my playlist, there was silence.
“I didn’t put myself down,” she said in a barely audible voice. “I just don’t think it’s all that special.”
“You’ve effortlessly memorized hundreds if not thousands of songs. You can recite that at will without putting much thought behind it,” I argued back.
“I’ve been listening to music since before I could talk. Both of my parents are musicians. They played in the same band together for years,” she explained. “I’m named after Lena Horne. Music is a part of me. Or it was.”
Growing quiet, she turned her head toward the windshield.
As if it was some sort of divine intervention, Lena’s song ‘Broken Kisses’ came on. She abruptly turned toward me. “You have my song on your playlist?”
“Yeah.”
“Why? You don’t even like my kind of music.”
I grinned. “It’s growing on me.”
I couldn’t read her emotions due to her covered eyes and the way she turned forward again, but a new tenseness seemed to shroud her.
I was sure it wasn’t all in my head when after a minute into the song, she said, “Turn it off.”
Her voice was a whisper, but I heard it. I did as she asked, again resolute on my decision to find out why the hell one of her most famous songs, from her best-selling album, always made her sad.
“We’re here,” I said a few minutes later. “Keep your blindfold on,” I ordered when she started to reach for it.
I got out of the car and looked out at the vast field that stretched around a large, ranch-style building. In the distance, I heard the motors of the hot air balloons. Though still somewhat dark, I spotted a few of the balloons sitting on the ground, waiting for takeoff.
A guy waved, and I squinted, seeing that it was the owner of this place. I’d made a special request to have the owner be the one to take us up and not one of his younger employees.
“Thank you,” Lena said when I helped her out of the car.
“We’re going to have to walk a short distance. It’s in some grass, but nothing too treacherous,” I told her.
“You still can’t take this thing off of me?”
“Not yet. We’re almost there.”
