Slayer strums softly and begins singing the turtle song. With a big smile on his face, Rafe backs him up.
What was once a playful, dessert-fueled bedroom jam about a stuffed turtle has turned into something meditative, almost sacred.
They’ve deepened the lyrics, layered the melody, and now tell a tale of shelter, endurance, and homecoming. A song about patience. About moving through life inch by inch. About loving slow. Loving long. Loving forever.
“Bix,” Slayer says into the mic. “I need you to come out here and help make this song whole.”
A low murmur swirls through the crowd as heads turn and whisper.
Some have read the tabloids and gossip columns. Some have likely seen us together this weekend. But who knows what they believe.
“I’ll take you,” Milo says, pulling me to my feet. He grabs my hand and guides me to an opening in the stone where I can make my way to the stage.
A moment later, I’m standing where gladiators once slayed tigers...
And my Slayer now thrills his fans.
As I step into the light, the crowd explodes—clapping, whooping, whistling, chanting.
“Show respect,” Slayer says into the mic, eyes narrowing playfully.
He turns to me, drawing me close.
I lean into him. “What do you want me to do?”
“Accompany us in your own inimitable style. You’ll know what to do.”
I nod. And somehow I do.
The stagehand hands me a microphone. I raise it slowly as Rafe and Slayer continue their song.
Finding the beat, the right entrance point, I use my voice to echo the emotions of the song. It rises naturally, as it always does, a small tributary flowing into the big river of sound.
As Slayer sings, I imagine Oscar’s smooth, leathery head, those soft, blinking turtle eyes. Going slow. Going slow. Eventually the song drifts into silence, and the audience cheers.
After the applause winds down, Slayer raised the mic again. “You all think Bix is my girlfriend,” he says.
Some in the crowd cheer, others laugh knowingly.
“But she’s really a fake, hired to sanitize my bad-boy image,” he confesses.
My mouth drops open as he turns to look at me, taking my hand.
“But something happened,” he continues, voice softer. “I fell in love with her.”
I glance out at the people sitting on their stone seats. Everyone’s looking right at me.
“And tonight,” he says, “I want your support. I need to persuade her to become my femme.”
He looks at me a long moment. Then, in a very slow, ceremonial fashion he takes the silver pendant from his neck and puts it around mine.
“Bix,” he says, again taking my hand. “Will you be my femme?”
At first, there’s complete silence. Then, from every direction I hear voices calling, “Oui! Oui! Oui!”
Before I can answer, Slayer rises, pulls me into his arms, and kisses me. His lips are gentle against mine. Solid. Certain.
The crowd roars their approval.
