Chapter 9 #2
We’re still kissing when there’s a knock at the door to announce our food has arrived, and it’s only because I feel my stomach growling that I reluctantly break our kiss.
Somehow, after our plates are empty and our stomachs are full, we’ve ended up back in bed, entwined together.
This time, Cassie is lying flat on her back, her head propped up by pillows, and the side of my face rests on her chest. Her robe has loosened a little, and I’m granted a patch of her warm, smooth skin to nuzzle against. It’s my bad ear, because otherwise I doubt I’d be able to hear her speak, and I can feel the softest thump of her heart against my cheek.
But I don’t hear it, and that makes me sadder than I will ever share with her or anyone.
“Do you miss home?” she asks as she runs her fingers through my hair. I wonder if she likes finding knots there, like I did. I’m glad she’s close enough that I can hear her speaking with only a little muffling.
“Home? You mean Sweden?”
“Yes.”
“Sweden hasn’t been home for a long time.”
“But you must still have family there.”
“My brother, yes. He’s still there, in Stockholm. With his wife and two children, who only know me from photos in magazines and music shows on TV.”
“Why don’t you go back?”
“Because it’s still winter and cold there right now,” I quip.
“You could go in summer,” she says, not falling for more avoidant sarcasm, which has me swinging from irritation to delight and back again.
“I don’t have very good memories of growing up there,” I finally say, and I think we’re both surprised into silence that I’ve confessed that much.
After a moment, I hear Cassie’s muffled voice but can’t make out the words, so I lift my head up slightly and ask her to repeat herself.
“Tell me more,” she says.
I sigh before speaking. “It’s complicated, but I didn’t have a very happy childhood.
My mother moved to Sweden to be with my father after he met her on this big world trip he did.
But it wasn’t anything like what she expected.
She had to work three jobs to pay rent and afford decent winter coats and boots, which are essential over there.
And my father, he came and went as he pleased, until he never returned at all.
And my mom…” I pause, finding this harder to admit than I expect.
“She was his first Thai wife, but not his last. I have half-brothers and half-sisters I don’t even know.
He wasn’t the best introduction to men.”
“That sounds … difficult.”
“It was all I knew. And yet, I also had this continuous sense that life didn’t need to be this harsh or unpleasant, just cold and work, work, work.
Nor did I have to be embarrassed about looking different.
I was constantly aware of my darker skin, my eyes being a different shape, my black hair.
And the staring. People would just stare at me – at me and my brother and my mom.
Maybe that’s why my mother was never happy.
Not really. She hardly smiled. She didn’t have many friends.
And even though she never said as much, I felt like she blamed me.
And Niran, my brother. Especially him, because he needed all this extra attention at school, and she struggled to speak Swedish with his teachers, so it was just …
yeah, I guess, you’re right, it was difficult. ”
Her arms wrap around me and squeeze.
“So as soon as I could leave, I did. Studying music in Amsterdam let me find my voice. Literally. My singing voice, but also who I really am. It was like breaking out of a cage I didn’t know I’d been locked in.
I think I sort of subconsciously decided there and then that I wasn’t going to let anybody else hold me back or make me feel like I was a problem or a burden.
If my life was going to be challenging or hard or chaotic, it would be my own doing.
If people were going to stare at me, I was going to give them something to look at. ”
“And is it? Is your life hard or challenging or chaotic?”
“Sometimes.” I shrug. “But like I said, it’s more often than not my own doing.”
“I envy you for that. That control and agency over your own life.”
“You could have it too,” I tell her. “Why not?”
“Because … Well, I could blame other people. Kevin. Stephan. The label. The whole sexist industry, but really, it’s because I suppose I haven’t found my voice yet. Maybe I’m still locked in a cage.”
Her voice is so small, barely audible to me, that I push up on my arms so I’m above her, looking down right into her eyes. Once again, I’m speaking before my brain has a chance to filter out the words. Words I definitely shouldn’t be saying.
“Then break out of the cage,” I tell her.
“Be who you really are. Ditch Stephan and the boys. Launch a solo career. Write more songs about being in love with women. Sing more songs with me.” I stop momentarily, feeling heat in my cheeks and a new, quicker rhythm in my heart.
“Fuck it. Let’s tell the world what our song is really all about, when it comes out. ”
She blinks at me a few times. “Are you serious?”
Considering this idea is only just appearing in my mind in this very moment, I shouldn’t be. But I am. “Yes, very. Why should we keep this a secret?”
“This?” she asks, her voice full of air.
“Us.”
It’s a simple word. Small. One vowel. One consonant. Just one syllable. Yet it fills the entire room and echoes in my ears as Cassie stares at me, clearly astonished.
“Us,” she repeats, but her voice is now weaker, emptier. She’s terrified. She’s shocked at just the idea of an “us.” It stings, makes me have the very real and sudden urge to backtrack.
“Listen, I’m not saying we tell the world we’re in love.
I’m saying we tell the world that that’s possible.
That a woman can fall in love with another woman.
And that there’s nothing fucking wrong with that.
And that there should be love songs for women, written and sung by women.
Because why isn’t there? How fucking ridiculous is it to even assume that all the love songs ever written were only ever for a man and a woman? What total fucking bullshit!”
“You don’t want to tell the world we’re in love?” she asks, still looking dazed.
“No, because that’s not true,” I say. “And it’s not even about that. It’s about more than that. More than just us.”
“It’s about proving a point,” she adds, dropping eye contact.
“Yes, exactly.”
“I see.”
“Do you? Because you’re kind of reacting like I’m speaking a foreign language.”
“No, I hear you. I know what you’re trying to say.”
Still her voice sounds off, like she needs to swallow or there’s something stuck in her throat.
“Look, you don’t need to decide now,” I say. “I’m just trying to show you that you have more control than you think you do.”
Her stunned expression cracks. Indeed, her whole face seems to crumble into something unrecognisable, but before I can interrogate it further, she’s composed her features and her voice is back to normal.
“You’ve shown me a lot of things tonight,” she says. “And for that I’ll be forever grateful.”
Now I’m the one a little shocked and puzzled by her. “It sounds like you’re saying goodbye,” I say. “But I was hoping you’d stay the night.”
A little sparkle returns to Cassie’s eyes. “Okay, I’ll stay.”
“Good,” I say, and I don’t know what comes over me, but I bury my face into her neck and inhale deeply. I want to savour her floral scent – literal fucking roses – and the warmth of her skin. I don’t like how panicked I felt when I thought she was going to leave.
There’s another muffled sentence I don’t catch, so I reluctantly push up again.
“Pardon?”
“You didn’t hear me again?” Cassie says. “Do you have problems hearing?”
I swallow, feeling a sudden chill in the room. “My left ear is fucked,” I explain. “Has been for a while.”
“You mean you have hearing loss?”
“Yeah.”
“What does your doctor say?”
“What doctor?”
“You should see a doctor about it. There may be something you can do.”
“Like what? My hearing has gone after too many years in too many loud clubs and venues. It’s not coming back.”
“Is your right ear okay?”
I don’t reply, which is answer enough.
“Jesus, Pia.” She sighs.
“What?” I snap.
“You need to see a doctor. There are hearing aids and maybe some drugs that could help prevent—”
“A hearing aid? Are you fucking serious? Have you ever seen a rockstar with a hearing aid!?”
“Well, I’ve never seen a rockstar release a song that says they are gay or bisexual or whatever, but that’s what you were just suggesting we do.” Her voice isn’t raised–at least not as loud as mine–but there is an edge to it. And it’s sharp enough to silence me.
“Fair point,” I admit sulkily but with the beginning of a smile on my face. It grows when Cassie’s expression softens.
“I don’t like fighting with you,” she says. “Not when we only have tonight.”
We only have tonight. Those words land inside me as heavy and stubborn as an anchor.
“Then let’s not fight,” I say, bringing my hand to her face. “Let’s fuck instead.”
“Yes,” she says, wrapping her fingers around the back of my neck. “Let’s do that.”
“Say it,” I demand, resisting her as she tries to pull me down.
“What?”
“Tell me you want to fuck me. And do it loudly. I want to hear that award-winning voice of yours when you admit you want to fuck your biggest rival.”
Her blue eyes shine bright as she smiles up at me. Her beauty really is one that steals the breath from my lungs and makes my heart skip a beat. I think about what I said earlier in Swedish.
Var kom du ifr?n? Och hur l?nge kan jag beh?lla dig?
Where did you come from? And how long will you let me keep you?
“I want to fuck you, Pia Lindberg. I want to fuck the one and only Femme Fatale. I want to fuck you all night long until you are so hoarse from moaning that they’ll hear it in the recording tomorrow and tonight will be memorialised forever on that fucking song.”
“That’s what you want?” I ask because all other words fail me.
“That’s exactly what I want,” she replies, and then she yanks me closer into a deep, delicious kiss.