There’s more blushing and more avoiding my gaze, and this makes me feel impatient and reckless.
“Go on then,” I say. “Sing to me.”
This pulls her eyes up to me. “Now?”
“How else do you think we’re going to do this?”
“But the opening verse is yours,” she points out.Fan. She’s right.
I rearrange my body in the chair, legs down and hands on the table. I open my mouth to sing, but I’m suddenly and unwelcomingly nervous. Why do I fucking care what Cassie thinks? Why am I worried about whether I sound bad or good to her ears? Why do I feel intimidated of all fucking things?
Pushing my shoulders back, I take a moment to compose myself and do what I know works when self-doubt comes up for me; I tell it to fuck off, and I press on like it never happened.
My voice cracks on my first line, and I squeeze my eyes shut so I don’t have to see how Cassie reacts. It helps to not have her pretty blue eyes and thoughtful cupid’s-bow pout in my line of vision, and I make it through the remaining three lines without incident.
Blonde hair, big blue eyes
You look good in a bed of lies.
Truth hurts, don't ya think?
I'm ready to fight. You ready to sink?
The room falls silent as soon as I do, and only then do I open my eyes again.
Cassie’s lips are parted, and the bottom one is slick, like she just licked it. “That was … good. Really good.” She smiles at me.
“Really?” The question, the fucking doubt, is flying out of my mouth before I can stop it. I never fucking care what people think of my music. The boys, Kevin, the label, the sound techs – I don’t give a shit. But Cassie … for some stupid reason, I crave her validation like my next breath.
“Yes, it’s the perfect opening. It’s cheeky, it’s suggestive. ‘The bed of lies.’ God, I love that. It almost hints at…” Cassie snaps her mouth shut abruptly and sits back, like she needs distance from me.
“What?” I prompt.
“I don’t want to sound silly. They’re your lyrics. I don’t want to assume.”
“Look at me, Cassie,” I say, gesturing down the length of my body with my hand. “People have been making assumptions about me since I could walk. At least you have my fucking permission to do so.”
“Well, the bed of lies … It sounds like her lover is fighting with herself about…about how she feels. And yet to everyone else, they will think the bed of lies is the bed she shares with the man because he’s cheating.”
“Exactly.” A wide smile pushes my cheeks up.
“But theshe,” Cassie says, her eyes glazing over. “Her lover … theshein this situation…is me.” Her voice shrinks as the words leave her lips. Something dawns on her, something clearly uncomfortable, and I’m instantly compelled to do something, say something to bring back her smile.
“It’s not really,” I say. “We’re performing, remember.”
“No.” Cassie shakes out her hair, and her eyes come back to me, but they’re still too glossy, too empty for my liking. “I’m telling you. Thatsheis me. I’m the one living a lie.”
“Oh, we all live lies. That’s what they want us to do. They don’t want any of us women to live our truth because then all hell would break loose.” I deliver this flippantly, with a wave of my hand and probably too much enthusiasm, but it doesn’t seem to affect Cassie.
“You don’t,” she levels at me, and I don’t know how she manages to make it sound like both an accusation and like praise. “You live your truth.”
I swallow before I speak. “Yeah, and look where that got me – singing a godawful song with my biggest rival.”
That brings her back to herself as giggles erupt out of her. She brings a hand to her mouth, as if to catch them, and I wish shewouldn’t do that. I wish she wouldn’t hide her pretty face or her joy from me.
This frustration with her feels a lot more familiar and comfortable than whatever just happened between us, and so I decide to put whatever I felt a few seconds ago behind me. We need to get this song done, record it tomorrow, and then move on with our lives.
It’s just a happy bonus that I get to fuck with bigots while doing so.
