The lido deck was as packed as ever. Women held their drinks high over their heads as Sarah squeezed through. She avoided the morass of the lido deck as much as possible on all the cruises she worked, the actual heart of it, around the stage, but she had to get from one side to the other, and she didn’t want to wait for the elevator or a security guard to help push people out of the way, and so it just was what it was. Bodies were warm, and they were dancing. Shawn was at the center of the stage jumping up and down to House of Pain’s “Jump Around,” which Sarah didn’t think had ever played at any proms, not even in Boston. Terrence was deep in a pocket of women who had opted for the skimpiest versions of prom dresses, and all together they waved their arms from side to side while jumping as instructed, some of the women with one hand flat against their bosoms as they bounced. Scotty was in another pocket and had already taken off his tuxedo pants to reveal a pair of tiny gold shorts underneath. Corey—face clean, smile wide—was perched on the staircase, where women stuck their arms out for him to touch, with no hope of connection if he didn’t reach back. The Talkers reached anyway—they always would.
They could do it without Keith. Sarah felt disloyal for thinking so, but it was true. The women who loved him best would still love him best. It wouldn’t be precisely the same, but it would bemostlythe same. The Talkers wouldn’t forsake them. They would, in fact, forgive Keith. On one cruise, a heavy metal drummer—one of the best in the business, a legend—had OD’d and gotten airlifted to a hospital in Miami from a tiny helipad in the Bahamas. Sarah had found another drummer within twelve hours. The band didn’t miss a song or a beat. Was it exactly the same? No. People weren’t replaceable, Sarah knew that—every single person brought something unique, especially when it came to music. Still, life happened. Life changed. It was madness to expect anything human to stay the same forever, like it was made ofmarble. Boy Talk could be the four of them. Or they could hire someone else—someone else these women already loved, another handsome guy from another band from the era, or someone younger, even—to come in to sing Keith’s parts. It was sacrilege, Sarah knew, what she was suggesting, but hadn’t they all had disappointments before, things they had to get used to? It wouldn’t be her, it couldn’t be, to say it. That was Bobby’s business, she guessed. And she was glad it wasn’t hers.
“Come up” crackled in her walkie. Sarah looked up to the balcony and saw Bobby wave, his face hard and tight. She nodded and kept pushing her way through the Talkers, who jumped on her feet over and over and over again. Pain was part of the deal.
45
Sunday, 10:03 p.m.
Deck 7
“Are you hungry?” Keith asked. In the quiet of the Sanctuary, he could hear his stomach growl.
“Yes,” Annie said. “I think I am, even though I’ve eaten about seven meals today. The days are so long somehow, aren’t they?”
“They really are. Let’s see what we can find.” Keith stood up and then offered a hand to Annie. She looked at him, her mouth twisted to one side, like she was about to laugh, but she didn’t. Instead, Annie took his hand and stood up. She let go quickly and brushed her hair out of her face.
“I forgot I was wearing this silly bow,” she said, unhooking it and tossing it back onto the couch.
“I liked it,” Keith said. “Better than this. I feel like a banana.” He gestured to his pants.
“You do look high in potassium.” Annie smiled.
Steffani had never come on a cruise. The first time, she argued that Madison was too young, that she didn’t want to leave her for so long, but after that, it became clear that Madison was not the problem. Steffani just didn’t want to go. Keith couldn’t blame her, really—the foodwas mediocre, the boat only made one stop, and so it wasn’t even good for sightseeing, and everyone there had been obsessed with her husband and his bandmates for thirty years. It wasn’t a place to make friends, and if she was going to hide away from the Talkers, it was little more than being trapped in a hotel room for four days. It wasn’t appropriate for Madison, god knew, what with all the signs that people made about riding him like a horse (Cowboy Night). He’d never brought a friend, because why on earth would anyone want to do that? There were sometimes other people in the Sanctuary—other people’s wives, other people’s friends—but Keith had never had a guest before. It was nice to have someone to show around.
“Over here,” he said, and bowed slightly as Annie walked into the hallway that led to the greenroom.
“Wow,” she said. There was a full spread out: fruit and cheese and tiny sandwiches with toothpicks poked through them and the cold cuts that Scotty insisted on, even though no one else ate them. Terrence only drank red wine and Dr Pepper, so there were plenty of both. “You know what this feels like, actually?”
“What?” Keith asked. He picked up a plate and held it against his chest.
“After prom. You know, when you and your boyfriend or you and your friends go to a diner and it’s like, two in the morning, and you’re all in your dress-up clothes, but it’s so late, and you’re starving, so you go somewhere to eat french fries in bad lighting. This is not bad lighting.”
“I never went to a prom,” Keith said. “We performed at a couple of Sweet Sixteens for, like, daughters of record execs, but that’s about it.”
“Oh, you didn’t miss much,” Annie said. “This is the fun part, after the pressure is off.” She smiled. “Slow-dancing, punch—who needs it?”
Slow-dancing and punch sounded nice. He imagined putting his hand on the small of her back and pulling her close, right here in thecatering room. Keith watched as Annie picked up a plate and made herself a snack. “So, where are you from?”
“New York City. Manhattan. And you’re still in Jersey, is that right? Do you live—” She paused here. “If that’s too personal, please don’t answer.”
Keith laughed. “Yeah, I still live in Jersey. Bergen County. About a half hour from where we grew up.”
“That’s pretty close,” Annie said. “I grew up close too. Dobbs Ferry, on the Hudson. It’s probably a half hour away, actually. But psychologically, an important half hour.”
“I always thought I’d move into the city someday,” Keith said.
“Oh, you should!” Annie said. “I mean, sorry. I don’t actually know you. Please don’t let me give you advice.”
Keith nodded. “No, I’ll take it.”
—
There was a knock on the door, and Bobby’s face appeared. Keith felt his chest deflate. It was nicer pretending to be somewhere else, making conversation with a stranger.
“Hey, slugger,” Bobby said.
“I’ll go wait out there,” Annie said. She bowed slightly to both of them and zipped out the door, back to the couches. Keith wanted to follow her but knew that he couldn’t.
