“But in between your thighs,” I continued for effect, “I make you paint new colors. A fact only we can know.”
The crowd responded bigger than I could have imagined.
Screams of “Yaaaaas, queen!” filtered up.
As I walked down to beinthe crowd, I sang the dirtiest bits of the song with abandon. Every creed of person was there to celebrate. My music was no longertoo gayortoo feminist. It wasn’t dangerously edgy or not commercial. It was everything these people needed. Here on the main stage of the biggest music festival on this continent, I had them eating out of my hand.
“When will I get to call you mine? To share your world?” I took a deep breath. “To do more than hear you scream my name.”
The crowd got to its loudest decibel yet before I slowed, voice softening.
“But to have you say the sweet things I know you hold tight.”
The song continued. Every chorus got louder. People sang the dirtiest of its words with me. I knew we had an instant, unlikely hit here. Too bad, I worried it came at the cost of a relationship with a woman I desperately loved. Of course, I couldn’t worry about that. I played the biggest set of my life and my band counted on me.
We wrapped, finishing on the highest of notes. The sound of screaming was deafening, and the visuals of beach balls bouncing remained engrained in my memory. My legs still felt shaky—as if I’d been at sea for years before climbing ashore.
“That was tits!” Barry declared. “Fucking fire!”
Dad appeared, ready to hug me, but I pulled back.
“Dad I am so sweaty. I stink.”
“I played hockey! I can manage!” He hugged me tight.
I couldn’t fault him. After all, he came all this way to see me play. He must have been riding on the same high we all were.
“We should really get moving!” I said, in a race to leave before Betty somehow found me to argue before the cameras.
We made our cowardly way out, leaving Dad at the VIP hospitality suite. He’d go back to the hotel and rest while we partied with roadies, a thank you for all their dedication. That was the way we always did it. Without the crew, we wouldn’t have survived.
“You want a beer?” Barry offered, opening the cooler by the tour bus entrance.
“No, I’m good,” I said.
“What’s up with you?” Alicia asked, confused.
“I’m gross,” I lied. “I just need to shower.”
Chapter 34
Can We Talk About It?
BETTY
We played our respective roles. I was supposed to be in awe of a good performance—getting into it with Alia for the sake of fun—when Marit playedthesong. Her words hit hard. Did she really think I sat in an ivory tower? Did she really feel like all we did was fuck? I didn’t think to ever end up in a song, but this was a hell of one to feature in.
Unfortunately, I found it out surrounded by strangers, Jaz, and a documentary crew I couldn’t wait to ditch. The set finished after a good number of songs, including a few delightful covers, and an encore of Justice. Mary shone like the sun—both because she’d been running around the stage for an hour and because she played the show of her life.
The cameras continued to roll as the groups met backstage—off me once they got a reaction. To my dismay, we were thrown in the VIP lounge while Mary and the band headed to their bus with their crew.
“Are we gonna talk about that song?” Jaz asked.
“I don’t think so. I don’t even know what?—”
“Give her a chance to explain. Maybe it’s not about you? But girl… if so… she’s got it bad for you. And damn those were big feelings. Shelovesyou.”
I wanted to believe in it—to believe that I was so loved. I wanted to tell Mary that I felt the same way, but I had a different read on the song.
