by thousands of people stomping in euphoria, to feel the wound, but mostly the confusion.
Kelsey’s rendition of “Chemistry Lesson” brings Terrance to his feet, pumping his arm in the air. “That.” He leans in. “ That is the real deal.” Kelsey swivels her hips as the lift carries her out over the floor seats and her posse gyrates on its poles for the final number. “She took it,” he says forcefully. “Two hours—straight. She took it.”
I unspool the years, realizing, as Andy watches Terrance clap for her third drenched bow, that we have both had to take it for a really, really long time.
Chapter Five
We’ve plowed through three more cities in as many days when just past sunup, I stand by the entrance of the Royal Amsterdam Inn, waiting for GM and Andy to help Kelsey stumble off the bus. Bumped, because of a gas leak, from our garage-equipped hotel of choice, Kelsey must now traverse the flashbulb-filled cobblestone holding up her travel pillow to block the shots.
Our new lodging is made up of a series of adjoined seventeenth-century riverhouses, which require us to navigate two claustrophobically narrow staircases before we get to the tiny elevator leading to her suite. Surveying the tight fit, Andy steps back to wait for the next one. “The pillow might have to wait, too,” I mutter as the door slides shut and an ancient pulley creaks into motion.
“Huh?” she asks, dropping her head against the wall of the car.
“Nothing, sorry. Stay asleep.” I scroll my e-mail, seeing one from Rachel about Lauren’s bachelorette party, all of the bridesmaids cc’d. “We were thinking suites for all of us wherever Kelsey’s staying, then a spa day (can Kelsey join?), then dinner wherever she likes (private dining room???), VIP clubbing (she likes to dance, right?), and in-room massages the next day with brunch. So excited! XO, R.”
She forgot to specify if she expects Kelsey to perform the in-room massages. I’m sure she does.
I dump my phone back into my pocket, thinking of switching to Gmail and not telling anyone.
“You feeling okay?” I ask, studying Kelsey’s greenish pallor under the crystal pendant.
“Achy.” She lifts her pajama-sleeve-covered hand over her mouth as she yawns.
“Let’s get you into a bath.”
“I don’t want a bath.” She closes her eyes and grimaces. “I can’t listen to her right now.”
On the landing we wait beneath mildewed wallpaper for the elevator to bring Andy.
“And it was the Limited,” she says.
“Sorry?”
“Not the Gap. When I first heard myself on the radio.” Kelsey smiles. “The rest you got right.”
The Presidential Suite feels a little less Obama than Roosevelt—Teddy. Michelle is already in the bathroom, removing her makeup as the tub fills.
“I’m sorry, this place was listed as a boutique option—” Dust fills my nose, and I sneeze.
“Whatever. It’s fine,” Kelsey says as she goes to tug the shutters closed.
“She’s not feeling great.” I update Michelle. “Maybe we should skip the bath?” I offer. “I could keep you company, and Kelsey can go to sleep?” Kelsey shoots me a grateful look.
“Oh, she just needs a nap and a McFlurry.” Andy clicks on the TV as he drops onto the nearby couch.
Michelle opens the complimentary toiletries and sniffs each one. “It’ll help you unwind, Kel, after all those photographers.”
Andy raises his arm in my direction. “Oh, and Cheryl’s e-mailing you talking points.”
“Thank you.” I tug my phone out of my pocket and see that she’s already sent me the document, subject line Logan and Kelsey’s History.
“Night, Logan. Happy face in the morning.” Michelle waves me off, and I hear her ask Kelsey, “Now what was that woman saying in your dressing room?”
“Which woman?”
“In the red dress and the funny hat, you remember? What was she saying?”
I let the door shut behind me and traverse another warren of hallways to a dust-mite-caked bed, where
Kelsey’s rendition of “Chemistry Lesson” brings Terrance to his feet, pumping his arm in the air. “That.” He leans in. “ That is the real deal.” Kelsey swivels her hips as the lift carries her out over the floor seats and her posse gyrates on its poles for the final number. “She took it,” he says forcefully. “Two hours—straight. She took it.”
I unspool the years, realizing, as Andy watches Terrance clap for her third drenched bow, that we have both had to take it for a really, really long time.
Chapter Five
We’ve plowed through three more cities in as many days when just past sunup, I stand by the entrance of the Royal Amsterdam Inn, waiting for GM and Andy to help Kelsey stumble off the bus. Bumped, because of a gas leak, from our garage-equipped hotel of choice, Kelsey must now traverse the flashbulb-filled cobblestone holding up her travel pillow to block the shots.
Our new lodging is made up of a series of adjoined seventeenth-century riverhouses, which require us to navigate two claustrophobically narrow staircases before we get to the tiny elevator leading to her suite. Surveying the tight fit, Andy steps back to wait for the next one. “The pillow might have to wait, too,” I mutter as the door slides shut and an ancient pulley creaks into motion.
“Huh?” she asks, dropping her head against the wall of the car.
“Nothing, sorry. Stay asleep.” I scroll my e-mail, seeing one from Rachel about Lauren’s bachelorette party, all of the bridesmaids cc’d. “We were thinking suites for all of us wherever Kelsey’s staying, then a spa day (can Kelsey join?), then dinner wherever she likes (private dining room???), VIP clubbing (she likes to dance, right?), and in-room massages the next day with brunch. So excited! XO, R.”
She forgot to specify if she expects Kelsey to perform the in-room massages. I’m sure she does.
I dump my phone back into my pocket, thinking of switching to Gmail and not telling anyone.
“You feeling okay?” I ask, studying Kelsey’s greenish pallor under the crystal pendant.
“Achy.” She lifts her pajama-sleeve-covered hand over her mouth as she yawns.
“Let’s get you into a bath.”
“I don’t want a bath.” She closes her eyes and grimaces. “I can’t listen to her right now.”
On the landing we wait beneath mildewed wallpaper for the elevator to bring Andy.
“And it was the Limited,” she says.
“Sorry?”
“Not the Gap. When I first heard myself on the radio.” Kelsey smiles. “The rest you got right.”
The Presidential Suite feels a little less Obama than Roosevelt—Teddy. Michelle is already in the bathroom, removing her makeup as the tub fills.
“I’m sorry, this place was listed as a boutique option—” Dust fills my nose, and I sneeze.
“Whatever. It’s fine,” Kelsey says as she goes to tug the shutters closed.
“She’s not feeling great.” I update Michelle. “Maybe we should skip the bath?” I offer. “I could keep you company, and Kelsey can go to sleep?” Kelsey shoots me a grateful look.
“Oh, she just needs a nap and a McFlurry.” Andy clicks on the TV as he drops onto the nearby couch.
Michelle opens the complimentary toiletries and sniffs each one. “It’ll help you unwind, Kel, after all those photographers.”
Andy raises his arm in my direction. “Oh, and Cheryl’s e-mailing you talking points.”
“Thank you.” I tug my phone out of my pocket and see that she’s already sent me the document, subject line Logan and Kelsey’s History.
“Night, Logan. Happy face in the morning.” Michelle waves me off, and I hear her ask Kelsey, “Now what was that woman saying in your dressing room?”
“Which woman?”
“In the red dress and the funny hat, you remember? What was she saying?”
I let the door shut behind me and traverse another warren of hallways to a dust-mite-caked bed, where
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