Page 68 of Love on the Main Stage
“I suppose that’s true. I’m trying to get there, though. In all honesty, I am having an amazing glow-up, but I get down on myself waiting for the other shoe to drop.”
“I have been doing that for months. I wish I could say it ends, but it’s just imposter syndrome, älskling. You must remind yourself that the worst thing you can do now is get in your own way.”
I nodded as I traced the outline of her tattoo. I tried not to let the pangs and worries of this ending in a matter of hours get the best of me. I had Mary and we had words. It wasn’t just the sex, I’d miss this connection.
“Thanks for just lying here with me,” I said.
“Of course,” she said, sweetly. “It’s what I wanted most.”
“And about that linear thing,” I said. “You make a lot of sense.”
“How so?” She looked down as I lay on her shoulder.
“Well, life isn’t so simple, but isn’t that what makes songwriting beautiful in your eyes? It’s like… when shit gets complicated, do you write? I guess I assume because that’s whenever Leah says she’s most productive.”
Mary grinned. “Yes. It’s the circular, frustrating parts that make you tear your hair out that lead to the best stuff. One sec.”
She pulled away, grabbing her phone from the nightstand.
“Oh, fuck, it’s dead,” she groaned. “Uh… can I text myself from your mobile?”
“Sure,” I replied, confused. “Here.”
I handed her my phone and she typed. Five minutes later, she was back on planet Earth.
“What was that?”
I asked. “A couple of verses. When words hit me, they hit me hard. I must write them down.”
“Was I your muse then?” I giggled.
She kissed me slowly. “A bit. More than a bit, even.”
“Hand me your phone,” I insisted.
“Why?”
“I’m going to put it on the charger while we get breakfast,” I said. “If you have time.”
“I’m all yours, skatt.”
Chapter 27
Followed
MARY
“Must they follow us?” Pappa grumbled in Swedish as we traversed the airport in New York. “Why?”
After a successful day shooting a quick recording session, the documentary crew chased us to Miragelite. We filed from gate to gate, hurrying to board with the rest of first class. Father wanted to see me play. At nearly ninety, he sometimes needed a wheelchair, but his health remained good. He was still the same grumpy old man he’d always been and remained my greatest fan.
We arrived at the gate where a gaggle of girls wearing college hoodies and toting rucksacks confronted us.
“Oh my god! You’re the Zamboneys!” One shrieked. “I amobsessedwith you, Mary!”
That was a new one. Uneasy, I just smiled.
A friend slapped her. “Stop being so damn thirsty!”
