his head, Hugh says, “Honestly, Deanna, I was expecting more from you tonight. This is the finale! And yet, I didn’t see your usual sparkle. Hopefully, you’ll pull a rabbit out of your hat for your final song.”
The audience boos, as Aloha leans into her microphone. “I couldn’t disagree with you more, Hugh,” she says, eliciting rousing applause from the crowd. “Deanna’s performance was far more subtle than her prior ones. But that’s what made it so moving to me. Sometimes, less is more, Hugh.” Aloha looks straight at him. “Try it sometime.”
The audience roars its approval of Aloha’s assessment—and, even more, her zinger to Hugh. The man everyone loves to hate.
My cousin, Sasha, yells from her end of the couch, “You tell him, Aloha! Boom!”
Chuckling, I look at our grandmother between us to see her reaction to Aloha’s zinger, as well as Sasha’s effusive support of it, and discover our little hummingbird is fast asleep, her tiny body looking peaceful and painless in repose.
“Aw, Mimi,” I murmur. “Sweetheart.” With a little wink to Sasha, I get up and scoop our grandmother into my arms, bring her into her bedroom, and carefully lay her down. I tuck her in and head to the kitchen, where her regular nighttime caregiver, Stuart, is sitting at the table, eating a bowl of soup. I tell him Mimi is down for the count, and Stuart says he’ll take it from here.
I head back into the family room and sit back down next to Sasha, just as my phone buzzes in my pocket. It’s another text from Kendrick.
Kendrick: JESUS CHRIST!!!! I just researched Malik Wallace. He’s total trash to women, dude. Look him up. Reddit is full of women who say he’s a DOG. Which means I’m back in the hunt with Laila, baby! I’m gonna build the friendship during the tour. Become her bestie. Her confidante. Her soulmate. And when her asshole boyfriend fucks it up—which he WILL, mark my words—and she’s looking for a broad shoulder to cry on, I’ll be the one she turns to. Genius, right?
Seriously? Goddammit. I tap out my reply:
Me: I’d think Ruby would be her shoulder to cry on, don’t you? Ruby’s great at that.
Kendrick: FUCK RUBY!!!! LOL. Laila’s all mine. Ha!
Well, there’s no way out. I can’t keep this up. Obviously, Kendrick wants Laila and he’s willing to play the long game to get her. It’s time for me to step aside and forget this stupid fantasy. Because that’s all it is. A stupid fantasy. When I actually meet the woman, I bet she’ll quickly bore me to tears.
Me: You’re a genius, KC. Go get her, tiger. See you tomorrow.
Kendrick: Try really hard not to be late, okay? Opening shows are always extra crazy. First soundchecks always take twice as long to get everything dialed in.
Me: I’m insulted. When am I not on time? Haha! Gotta go. Sleep tight.
“Who are you rooting for?” Sasha says.
I look up from my phone.
Sasha points to the TV. “Are you rooting for the woman or the man to win tomorrow night?”
“I’m rooting for an asteroid to crash into the studio and kill everyone associated with the show, except Aloha.”
“Lovely.”
Sasha picks up the remote and turns off the TV. “Well, I’m rooting for Deanna. She’s improved, week after week, and she’s sweet as can be.”
“Good luck to her. I don’t care. You wanna smoke a joint on the porch?”
“Hell yeah.”
I sit on the porch with my cousin, smoking and shooting the shit. Sasha’s a massage therapist, so she tells me a couple stories about her recent interactions with clients at the spa where she works, including a recent story of a guy who wrongly assumed he’d be getting a happy ending from my cousin. We’re having a normal, amusing conversation. Nothing earth-shattering. But comfortable and calm. And that’s exactly what I want. I know I’m about to re-enter the Twilight Zone for three months, beginning tomorrow—a world where I’m a god among men and nobody but my band ever treats me like a normal human. So, I sit and listen and smoke and enjoy the peaceful moment with someone I trust completely.
After a bit, Sasha does what she always does at times like this. She stands and says, with a gleam in her eye, “Now, let me at that famous body.”
It’s an inside joke. She’s mocking the fact that my body is now a hot commodity around the world. That I’ve become a product, as much as the music. A piece of