This conclusion is echoing in my mind as her knee touches mine again, and just that tiny touch somehow upends everything. It has my mind flipping back on itself. It has me finding something I am normally highly suspicious and distrustful of: hope.
So I decide not to jump to conclusions. I’ll try and give her the benefit of the doubt. I’ll be patient and survive this interview so we can then go somewhere, just the two of us, and talk, really talk about what we want. Or fuck some more. I’d be more than happy with that outcome too.
“Well, first we had to agree on what we wanted the song to achieve,” Cassie begins when I’m too busy in my own head to formulate a reply. “And then after that, it was quite simple. We worked on our own separate verses, and we sang it back to each other to see what we thought. And then we worked on the chorus together, which was actually a lot more fun than I think we both expected.”
Cassie’s leg against mine is firm and constant, and her words could have a double meaning, but she’s so stoic, so focused on Ramona, I daren’t read into them any more than that.
“It sounds fantastic. And I love the lyrics,” Ramona gushes, and I fight the urge to roll my eyes. “I can hear the parallels with Dolly Parton’s ‘Jolene.’ Do you think that will help or hinder its success?”
That piques my interest. “What exactly do you mean?” I challenge her, leaning forward.
“Well, I mean … the song’s lyrics,” she stutters. “They’re clearly about two women who are involved with the same man. Just like ‘Jolene.’”
“Clearly,” I deadpan, settling back again. Ramona doesn’t get it. Not at all. I open my mouth to invite Ramona to look at that song and ours in a different light. I want to plant a seed of doubt, just a tiny poppy seed, but like such a seed, I want it to be potentially potent and powerful. But before I can think how best to do this, Cassie is speaking.
“Yes, that’s exactly what the song is about,” says Cassie, and even though her knee is pressing against mine with more force, more warmth, her words are like a shard of ice stabbing into the back of my neck.
That’s exactly what the song is about.
So that is exactly what she wants the world to believe.
She doesn’t want anyone to know the alternative. That it’s a love song from one woman to another. That it’s about women like me and, I thought, like her. That, possibly, maybe, if last night wasn’t just a one-night thing, it’s a song about us.
“Do you agree, Pia?” Cassie is asking me
“With what?” I snap.
“That we wanted to put a twist on songs like ‘Jolene’ by having two women fight for what they want in the song, rather than beg the other woman to just disappear.”
I blink at Cassie, slowly, trying to determine what she’s saying–if there is any remote hidden meaning–and what she’s trying to communicate to me with her steady stare. I can’t see it. I can’t see anything. I’m too busy feeling hurt and angry. With her. With myself. With this whole fucking shitty situation.
I need a drink. A line. To be away from this fucking studio and this fucking interview.
“Yeah, whatever,” I mutter, looking around for my bag. “Any other questions?”
“Err, yes, sure.” Ramona flicks over a page in her notebook. “Pia, I wanted to ask more about how you felt following the disappointing sales of both your latest album and this year’s world tour, despite critical acclaim of your latest album.”
I move my knee away from Cassie’s and lean forward. “Fuck. Off. Ramona.”
“Pia!” Cassie exclaims.
“What kind of fucking question is that?” I bark at Cassie, pointing my cigarette in Ramona’s direction.
“I’m sorry, I’ll rephrase it—” Ramona stumbles, but I’ve had enough of her bumbling bookish performance. I stand up, making my intention to leave very clear.
“Listen, all you need to know for your article is that this song represents an impasse between Evergreene and Femme Fatale. A little interval. You know, like when England and Germany played a game of football on Christmas Day during the First World War or some fucking bullshit. We both wanted to show off our solo talents, show the world we don’t need barely sober, never-faithful, only occasionally competent men behind us to make good music. Everyone knows Cassie is the brains and talent behind Evergreene, and we all know that without me, Femme Fatale would be nothing.That’swhat this song is about.” I pause when I see that Ramona is motionless, listening to me with her jaw hanging open. “Write this down!”
Ramona jolts into action, and Cassie leans closer to me. “Pia,” I’m pretty sure she says, along with something else. But her voice is too quiet and she’s sitting on my bad side, and I don’t even want to know what she has to say. She’s said enough.
“Did you get all that?” I ask Ramona, ignoring Cassie. I suck hard enough on my cigarette that the drag hurts my throat, but I welcome it. It’s a better feeling than the disappointment and the shame of that disappointment swirling together in my stomach. “And write this down, too. Yes, our song is about two women fighting over a man. And maybe people will listen to the song and see two women, complete opposites, rockstar rivals, whatever, who have one thing in common, if nothing else. Yes, they’ll look at us and wonder how wecould ever even attract the same man, let alone fight over him, but that’s not the point. The point of the song is, we are two women standing up for what we want. We’re fighting for what we feel in our hearts to be true, rightly or wrongly. And frankly, not enough women are prepared to do that in this day and age. They are too happy to just let life happen to them rather than going for what they really want.”
I pause, letting my words land with Cassie. She doesn’t say anything. She doesn’t move, but I can practically feel a heat radiating off her.
I know she hears me. I know she knows exactly what I’m saying.
Ramona is scribbling so fast I’m certain her writing or shorthand or whatever will be illegible when she returns to it when she’s sitting at her typewriter. But I don’t care. I’m not giving her a quote. I’m sending a message to Cassie, who I am determined I will never see again after today.
“You got that?” I ask Ramona as I stub out my cigarette.