Chapter Nineteen - The Woman in the Duet
CHAPTER NINETEEN
The Woman in the Duet
Sadie arrived in Larkspur Falls without makeup, sunglasses, or the white dress the internet had turned into a character flaw.
She wore jeans, boots, and a brown jacket that looked expensive only because everything sat correctly at the shoulders. Celeste drove. Priya met them at Switchback fifteen minutes before closing, and Ada reacted to the arrival of two attorneys and one famous singer by wiping the counter harder.
“We’re not doing depositions in my dining room,” she said.
Priya set her bag on a chair. “Neither are we.”
“Good. Pie?” Celeste looked at Sadie. Sadie looked at me.
I said, “Take the pie.”
Ada nodded once, as if I had passed a test nobody else knew existed.
She put us in the back booth. Priya and Celeste took a smaller table nearby after confirming that Sadie and I both wanted to speak without them sitting between us.
Close enough to intervene. Far enough that the conversation belonged to us.
Sadie slid into the seat across from me. For several seconds, we watched each other. In person, there were details cameras had never made useful: a pale scar near her chin, chipped dark polish on one thumbnail.
“I almost didn’t come,” she said.
“Why?”
“Because every version of this looks like content.”
I understood immediately. Two women photographed together after being assigned opposite sides of a scandal. The forgiving wife and the innocent younger singer. A hug outside the cafe. A headline about solidarity.
“I told Ada nobody takes pictures.”
Sadie glanced toward the counter.
“Can she enforce that?”
“I wouldn’t test her.”
That got the smallest smile. Then it was gone.
“I need to explain something that isn’t in the emails.”
I waited. Sadie folded her hands on the table.
“When the duet first came up, it was pitched as a legacy collaboration. Your husband’s biggest song, younger artist, new generation. I liked that.”
“You liked the song.”
“I did.” Past tense. I noticed.
“What changed?”
“The promotional language.” She looked toward the front window, checking her reflection rather than the street.
“First it was musical chemistry. That’s normal. Then they wanted behind-the-scenes clips of us laughing between takes. Fine. Then they wanted me sitting close enough in interviews that screenshots would look intimate even with the sound off.”
My stomach tightened.
“Did Eli know?”
“About the interview setup? Probably. About how they talked about it in my prep meetings? I don’t know.”
“Say only what you know.”
“Your lawyer has trained you.”
“She has threatened to invoice me for unsupported conclusions.”
Sadie continued.
“I know my team knew. Nolan’s people knew. They kept saying nobody was claiming an affair. They wanted ‘possibility.’”
The word felt dirtier than an outright lie.
“What did that mean?”
“It meant if an interviewer joked that Eli had found a new muse, I wasn’t supposed to shut it down too hard. Smile. Redirect. Let people clip the smile.”
“And you agreed?”
“To some of it.”
The answer came without self-defense.
“Why?”
“Because I’m twenty-seven and I have one album that did well enough for everyone to tell me the second one decides whether the first was luck.”
She picked at the chipped polish on her thumb.
“My label wasn’t threatening to drop me. Nobody said, flirt with a married man or lose your career. It wasn’t that clean.”
“Pressure rarely is.”
“Exactly.” She looked at me.
“It was ‘be collaborative.’ ‘Don’t make everything a values conversation.’ ‘This is how promotion works.’ Every time I objected, someone reminded me how many people were investing in the release.”
The language was familiar. People. Jobs. Investment. Consequences arranged around the person being asked to surrender something. Sadie continued.
“I was already the difficult one once.”
“When?”
“Last year. A photographer kept asking me to change into something I had declined in fittings. I stopped the shoot.”
“What happened?”
“Nothing dramatic.” Her mouth tightened.
“Which is why it’s hard to explain. Nobody punished me in a way you could screenshot. Calls slowed down. My manager started prefacing my requests with ‘Sadie is particular.’ A stylist joked in front of a brand rep that I needed everything in writing.”
“That’s punishment.”
“It’s deniable.”
“That’s why it works.”
She exhaled.
“When the duet came along, I told myself I could be easier without being dishonest.”
“And then ‘muse’ happened.”
“And then ‘muse’ happened.”
Ada brought two slices of pie and left without asking whether we wanted coffee. Sadie stared at the plate.
“What kind?”
“Apple.”
“Is it safe?”
“No one has died this week.”
She took a bite. I waited until she swallowed.
“Did you ever think I was jealous of you?”
Her fork stopped.
“Briefly.” The answer hurt even though I had asked for it.
“When?”
“After the takedown. My manager said Nolan’s office thought you were reacting to me, not the rights issue.”
“And you believed that?”
“For about a day.”
“What changed?”
“The documents.”
“Only the documents?” She shook her head.
“The way you spoke about me in your statement.”
I looked down at my plate.
“You didn’t owe me generosity,” she said.
“It wasn’t generosity.”
“I know that now.”
“What was it?”
“Accuracy.” I nodded.
“That’s what I meant it to be.”
Sadie set down the fork.
“I need something from you.”
My body tightened on instinct. She noticed.
“Not the song. Not forgiveness. Not friendship.”
“Good.”
“I want us to decide what we will and won’t say before the next press cycle turns this into women-versus-women again.”
The tension eased.
“What do you propose?”
“No joint interview.”
“Agreed.”
“No photographs together.”
“Definitely.”
“No statement about whether you forgive me.”
“I don’t think you need my forgiveness for singing a duet you were told I approved.”
Her gaze held mine.
“I made choices inside that.”
“So did I, for years. That doesn’t make us equally responsible for every consequence around us.”
Something moved across her face. Relief, maybe. I did not offer more.
“Facts only,” I said.
She nodded.
“The collaboration was professional.”
“Correct.”
“There was no romantic or sexual relationship between you and Eli.”
“None.”
“I did not approve the sample, altered bridge, or dedication.”
“You didn’t.”
“You were told that I did.”
“I was.”
“You withdrew when you learned the consent was false.”
“Immediately.”
“The rights issues are being handled through counsel.”
“Yes.”
“And neither of us comments on my marriage.”
Sadie considered that.
“Can I say I never intended to interfere in it?”
“Better not.” Her eyebrows lifted. I kept my voice even.
“Because then the framing is still that you were close enough to interfere. You don’t need to defend yourself against a relationship that didn’t happen.”
She leaned back.
“That is better.”
“It also keeps my marriage from becoming the test of whether you behaved.”
“Also better.” I took a bite of pie. It was excellent, which annoyed me because Ada would become unbearable if told. Sadie looked toward Priya and Celeste.
“What about the music?”
“What about it?”
“The duet.” I put down my fork.
“I don’t want it released.”
She nodded immediately.
“Neither do I.”
“Even with a cleared version?”
“Even then.” That surprised me.
“Why?”
“Because the recording is poisoned for me now.”
“That’s emotional, not legal.”
“I’m aware.”
“I also have a lawyer.”
Then she became serious.
“If Northline wants another collaboration with Eli someday, that’s between them and him. I don’t want this one repaired into profitability.”
The phrase landed.
“Why not?”
“Because everyone will sell the correction as part of the campaign. ‘Look how responsibly we handled it.’ My statement becomes promo. Your credit becomes promo. The fact that nobody slept together becomes promo.”
I had not thought that far ahead.
“I’m tired of every boundary becoming a marketing angle,” she said.
I called it exhausting.
“What do you want instead?”
“To release my own record.”
“That simple?”
“No. That difficult.” I understood. The cafe door opened. A man I did not recognize stepped inside, saw Ada pointing at the CLOSED sign, apologized, and backed out. Sadie watched him leave.
“I envy places where people accept a closed door.”
I knew she was not talking about the cafe. For a moment, I considered telling her about Eli at the cabin threshold.
I didn’t. Some parts of my marriage did not need to become evidence of female solidarity either.
“Are you afraid this will hurt your career?” I asked.
“Very.”
“What are you most afraid of?”
“That I’ll become expensive.”
I frowned.
“Not financially.”
“I mean reputationally.” She folded the napkin in half.
“The artist everybody has to check with twice. The woman whose publicist says, ‘Let’s make sure Sadie is comfortable,’ in that tone where comfortable means difficult. People like easy women in complicated industries.”
“People like useful wives too.”
Her gaze met mine. We had both learned how institutions rewarded women for making their boundaries cheap. The costs were different. The mechanism rhymed.
“I’m not going to tell the press you’re brave,” I said.
“Thank God.”
“I’m not going to call you my friend.”
“Also good.”
“I will confirm the facts if anyone tries to blame you for my leaving.”
Sadie sat still for a second.
“That’s enough.”
“It needs to be.”
“It is.” Priya approached after forty minutes.
“Do we have agreed language?”
Sadie and I looked at each other. I handed Priya the notes I had written on a paper napkin because apparently decades of documenting my life had not taught me to carry enough legal pads. She read them.
“Clean.” Celeste joined us.
“No joint appearance?”
“No,” Sadie and I said together.
Ada looked over from the counter.
“That sounded rehearsed.”
“It wasn’t,” I said.
“Shame. Could’ve charged for the room.”
Sadie laughed. The sound was different from the one I remembered under stage lights.
Less measured. Not mine to interpret.
At the door, she stopped. No hug.
No promise to keep in touch. Sadie extended her hand. I took it.
“For what it’s worth,” she said, “I hope the song you’re writing is good.”
My grip tightened slightly.
“How do you know I’m writing?”
Her face changed.
“I saw the clip from the cafe.”
“What clip?”
“You performing?”
“I haven’t performed.” She stared at me. Then realization.
“Sorry. Wrong assumption. Someone posted a photo of you with a notebook. I filled in the rest.”
“Apparently everybody does.” Sadie winced.
“Point taken.” I released her hand.
“Still working on it.”
“Then I hope it becomes yours before anybody decides what it means.”
That was better. She walked out with Celeste. I watched through the window until their car disappeared. Ada came beside me carrying the empty pie plates.
“You make a friend?”
“Not yet.”
“Enemy?”
“Not that either.”
“Those are not the only settings.”
“I’m learning.” She took the plates away.
Through the front window, Sadie’s taillights crossed Main Street and disappeared around the corner. Ada stacked our empty plates and carried them to the kitchen.