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It’s the possibility
of having a dream come true,
that makes life interesting.
Paulo Coelho
Em stared out the window at the passing sights. Like most New Yorkers, she hated looking like a tourist, but she’d never been this far from home, and the scenery, sun and warmth were intoxicating. What’s more, she could feel the excitement in the air. Although she still wasn’t sure who Mandy was, this was a big event. She smiled at the thought of her friends and family seeing her on TV, and grinned at her superiors’ reactions. She’d already resigned herself to the fact her career was effectively over. However the investigation ended, life in the NYPD would be stressed to the breaking point. But she saw things through to the end, whether her superiors wanted her to or not.
She turned to Amanda, seated across the seat studying her script for the night. “So what’s the plan?”
Amanda glanced up, marking her place in the document. “Well, first we get dressed.”
“Your friends’ dress?”
Amanda giggled. “More like a custom-made designer gown. We’ll stop by their shop, where we’ll be fitted. I sent them your measurements, but they’ll need to tailor it. They also have make-up artists. To prevent us from traipsing around town in their outfits, they’re bringing in someone to do our hair. I haven’t touched mine up in a while, but yours...,” she studied at Em’s hair and wrinkled her nose, “could use a little work. They’ll also loan us some jewelry, so be careful, or you’ll be out up to a million if you break a necklace.”
“Shit!” Em exclaimed, clutching her throat. “I could never pay that much back. How about if you wear the expensive shit, and I simply smile and stay in the background?”
“Don’t worry, you’re responsible and I trust you. You’ll be fine. Besides, if you’re accompanying me, you’re going to be in front of the same cameras I will.”
Em smiled. “My friends will eat their hearts out. I normally don’t worry about fashion, so my wearing an original designer outfit will get them to sit up and take notice. I’m normally more concerned with moving fast than being fashionable.”
“Speaking of lumbering around, I told them you’re not used to heels. They selected something lower to the ground, but they’re not boots.”
Em waved the concern off. “I’ve worn heels. I’m not crazy about them, but my girlfriends appreciate it. As long as I don’t jog, I’m fine.”
“Well, there’ll be no jogging tonight. It’s a stately procession.” She demonstrated Queen Elizabeth’s partial wave. “It’s not a red carpet like in the Academy Awards. Instead it’s a stage where I pose for photographs. There won’t be any fans clamoring. Mostly it’s photographers shouting instruction about how I should stand for the best shot.” She rolled her eyes. “It’s not much fun, but it’s part of the job.”
“So everything is private, out of the public eye?”
“Well, if you don’t consider being broadcast to a national audience, it’s like sitting at home in your pajamas. Aside from the singing, dancing, speeches and being made fun of by the MC.”
Em laughed. “Sounds like an evening with my friends, but I don’t have to worry about tripping in front of a thousand cameras.”
“Your showing up on my arm will trigger questions, so expect a lot of stares and the occasional shouted question. We’ll be going to the Staples Center early so I can practice my dance routine and learn the steps. Since no one will be in the audience, you can meander around the back stage, seeing how everything is done. Just be careful, as there will be people running in all directions.”
“Believe me, between locker rooms, crime scenes and drunken cop bars, I’ve had practice sidestepping people.”
“That’s what I figured. After watching my routine a couple times, it’ll get pretty boring. You might want to wait to see the final act so you’ll be surprised with everyone else, or you can watch famous celebrities in their underwear running around changing costumes. But I forgot who I’m telling. You won’t recognize anyone anyway. You’re likely to chat up the backup dancers and the cleaning staff.”
Em held her hands up as if framing a scene. “Hey, if the janitors look good in their underwear, I won’t prejudge.”
Amanda punched her friend on the arm. “That’s quite ... Christian of you, making passes at the hired help while your date’s slaving away earning a living in the next room.”
“It’s the least I can do. After all, you can’t flirt with everyone. Someone has to help carry the load.”
Amanda shot her a curious glance. “You know better than to get in trouble, don’t you?”
“Please, give me a little credit. In spite of having a few rotating girlfriends, I’m not a player. I’m actually very loyal. I stand by my friends. They all know who I see. I don’t date them for the excitement, it’s so I don’t scare anyone away.”
Amanda leaned back, arching an eyebrow. “And keeping yourself emotionally distant because you’re not ready to commit to anyone?”
Em shrugged, glancing out the window at the passing palms. “Maybe. I love my friends, but I’m not in love with any of them. Instead, I see it as a service. I treat them to an intense burst of utter devotion, and they return it by listening to me gripe about my job. None of us could maintain that intensity for long, so by rotating among several people, everyone comes to the game ready to play.”
Amanda rolled her eyes, waving her hand. “Only you would use a baseball analogy to describe sleeping around among your friends. You’re just like a guy.”
“Hey, some women are into that.”
Amanda stared at her friend a moment before shaking her head. “Once show time nears, you’ll need to remain seated. I’ll be popping in and out, changing costumes for different acts while showing up for reaction shots as they announce the awards. Anytime I’m not there, some cute seat filler will occupy my chair. Don’t waste your time flirting. They’re warned beforehand not to distract the performers, so they won’t respond. Besides, if you did, they’d run off mid-sentence anyway.”
“Sounds like an engaging evening.”
“No, more like an exacting dance, with the performers playing audience members between acts. We slip in and out of the audience as effortlessly as we change costumes. It’s exhausting, but it’s also an exhilarating experience which keeps your adrenaline pumping the entire evening. Afterwards, you’ll end up having to talk me down.”
“Discussing afterwards,” Em prompted.
“That’s when the real excitement begins. Once the show is over, everyone will be amped up and ready to burn off their excess energy. There are a series of after-parties, comprised of stars, promoters, agents and entertainment executives. There will be reporters heading in, but the parties themselves are no-camera zones. A few journalists will take a couple initial shots, and then they’ll pack up and head out. No one wants videos of their getting drunk and saying something stupid. It’s a chance to talk with people we don’t have the opportunity to at other times of the year. A lot of contacts are made and contracts arranged at these things, so I’ll try not to drink much. But ... there’s a lot of alcohol ... and other things. Please, don’t embarrass me by trying to arrest anyone. If I start drinking too much, slap my hand. I need to present myself as a professional who can fulfill contracts. Getting drunk and vomiting on someone’s shoes won’t help my career.”
“Don’t worry. I’m an experienced social drinker. I can make a single glass last hours, but I’ll probably drink ginger ale. I’ve been to enough events to know how to dance around the career pot holes. Just as an aside, isn’t it ... stupid introducing someone unfamiliar with the particulars? I know you like being an outsider, but you’ve got image consultants, public relations people and intricate contract negotiations. It sounds like this is asking for trouble.”
“No, none of those people know I’m gay. If they knew I was planning to come out, they’d do everything they could to stop me, including putting pressure on you. Their entire careers rest on my playing the innocent princess. Again, I trust you not to do anything stupid, including not offending anyone. But yes, it’s entirely possible this will end my career entirely, but it’s a chance I’m willing to risk. I’d rather be who I am than continue pretending to be someone I’m not. If this is the end of my career, I prefer going out on my terms, not anyone else’s.”
“Sounds like you know what you’re getting into. If nothing else, I can console you once your career goes up in smoke on the flight back home.”
“And it sounds like I picked the right girl to ask to the prom. Thanks for not backing out.” The car slowed, pulling up to the curb. “We’re here, so we’ll be wrapped up in our own worlds. After that, we won’t get to talk much. Don’t take it personally, but this is the biggest night of the year for me. This is the culmination of my entire career—each year it occurs—so forgive me if I seem distracted.” She leaned forward, kissing Em quickly on the lips. “And thanks for being here. It means a lot. Tonight will forever change how my fans, the public and the industry respond to me. If everything goes well, it should go smoothly while bringing me a lot of attention. If I screw it up, or do something stupid, I’ll never hear the end of it.”
“No egg costumes, then?” Em asked.
Amanda clutched her hand. “No, and no meat dresses either. Save the theatrics for professionals like me. Now, let’s make you drop-dead beautiful. You can tell your girlfriends they owe me one, too. You should prepare yourself, for as much as you hate shopping and make-up, the next several hours will be sheer agony for you.”
Amanda and Em climbed into the limo as an assistant held the door. Mandy flowed across the open space, Em ... not so much.
“Damn. That’s the last time I’ll let someone do that to me! I—”
Amanda pressed her finger against her lips and glared at her date. “Watch it. For the rest of the day, we represent America’s ‘girl next door’, and you’re the American girl next door’s girlfriend. Your spouting off like a New York cabbie is likely to cost people their jobs.”
Em glanced at her hands, then looked up and flashed a winning smile. “Ever so sorry, Miss Charlotte. I don’t know what got into me. My attitude was unprofessional.” Dropping her impression, she continued in a normal voice. “I forgot the context. In New York, the take-no-prisoners attitude is considered professional attire. Here, it’s a shocking affront to America’s sensibilities. I’ll watch myself.”
Amanda fluffed one side of Em’s hair. “That’s bull crap and you know it. What kind of impression does New York’s finest send if you’re cursing a blue streak in front of a bodega? What impact does your ‘warrior princess’ attitude have on grieving spouses during interviews. You can be sensitive and caring when you want. You portray this tough-chick patina so no one sees your softer side.”
Em shrugged, examining the sparkling bracelet on her arm to avoid facing her friend. She sighed before continuing. “You’re right. I wear the attitude to compete in the machismo world of New York cops. When I started, most officers were eager to see women fail. To be taken seriously, I had to prove I could out lift, out run, out bully, out drink and out swear everyone. I won my acceptance through hard work. But you’re right, it’s an approach I can turn off. I’m not this way with my girlfriends. If I forget and bring it home, they remind me it’s not appropriate among friends. Yet ...” she waved her hands to indicate the beautiful dress they’d glued her into to prevent gravity pulling it apart, “this isn’t exactly appropriate for friends to demand either. I don’t care what you say, these are the most awkward shoes I’ve ever—”
“Emma!”
Em blushed, glancing up apologetically. “Sorry. Hard habit to break.”
“Just watch it. You don’t need to prove anything, tonight. You’re here to support me, and I’m here to demonstrate to the world how friendly a lesbian singer can be. Now, there’s still a lot to cover, and this drive won’t take long.” Amanda examined herself in the small drop-down mirror attached to the ceiling. “Do you have any questions about what we’re facing?”
“No, besides your excellent overview, it was drilled into me in the chair of feminine torture. By the way, you look exquisite. Positively ravishing.”
Amanda laughed, snapping the mirror back into place. “Of course, they spent a fortune to assure I’m gorgeous for the entire evening. I look like a giant Barbie doll. This outfit requires a half hour and two people just to pee. As soon as we’re done with the pre-Grammy interview, I won’t wear it again. It takes too long to change in and out of.” Straightening her dress, she turned and regarded her friend. “What will you say if someone asks how long we’ve been dating?”
Em laughed like a spirit alighting on a flower petal as she imitated Amanda. “Long enough to know better than discussing age and my date in the same sentence.”
“Excellent. Have you discussed marriage yet?”
“Not before she wrestles my pa-pa and his alligators for the right.”
Amanda giggled. “Not quite what I’d recommend, but just off-beat enough to keep them off balance. Nice touch. OK, it’s official. You’re prepared.”
The driver’s voice sounded over the intercom, “We’re here. Hope you’re ready.”
“Isn’t he allowed to speak to us?”
“No. Everyone has their own preparation routine. Some drink like fish, some like silence. The last thing anyone wants is someone yakking as they’re preparing themselves.”
The limo slowed and the two women smoothed their outfits, taking a deep breath. When it stopped, a man in a suit opened the door and Em swung her legs out. They seemed impossibly long. She wondered when she’d grown another four inches, before remembering her heels. The attendant offered her his hand, but she waved it aside, getting out on her own before turning and offering her hand to her companion.
Since no one recognized her and the walkway was empty, the wall of reporters swiveled to see who appeared. That meant they concentrated on Em’s derriere, which she had to admit from checking back at the studio, looked damn good in her incredibly restrictive dress.
Mandy took Em’s hand, sliding forward in her seat and standing up. She was no longer Em’s friend Amanda. She expanded into the role. When she arose it was like the sun god rising with the morning light. Smiling with pride in her friend’s success, Em offered her arm. Mandy slid her arm through hers and the two set off.
She grasped Em’s arm as they neared the staging area, before moving away and strolling before the phalanx of reporters. Mandy captivated attention. She glowed before the cameras and the flash photography highlighted her healthy tan. Her dress contained metallic threads which reflected the lights and was offset by a gauze fringe which softened the glare. She looked wonderful, and Em shook her head at how much her friend had changed in only a few hours. She’d been right hesitating before admitting who she was. These were two completely different people.
Em was glad for her. She could tell the shy little thing adored the attention, even as she reveled in its absence when it became overwhelming. Em didn’t mind the fascination. She was here for support. She’d get her share of photos, but it would only highlight Mandy. The media would obsess on their relationship and it would focus even more attention on Mandy’s career. With luck, she’d be doing interviews for weeks about Em’s appearance by her side. Best of all, Em didn’t have to deal with the fallout. All she had to do was handle the flak from the NYPD. With Mike watching out for her and her career essentially over anyway, she could easily withstand a little extra attention. She’d never shied away from disapproving whispers. However, Em realized her neighbor was gone from her life forever. Once they identified her, the media would flock to her apartment and Amanda could never return. They’d still talk—from a distance—but Em understood she could never cross into this high-stakes world of constant attention.
But Mandy didn’t look relaxed. Instead of shouting questions, like Em expected, they shouted instructions.
“Move to the left.”
“Head up.”
“Look to the right.”
“Scoot down a smidge.”
“Head back.”
Amanda was so busy adjusting her stance, her grin grew strained. It didn’t seem like fun. The journalists didn’t see her as a person, she was merely a manikin in a dress. The networks would run fashion comparisons disparaging which didn’t work while lauding the extravagant one deemed just provocative enough.
Once they slowed, and the next sacrificial lamb approached, Mandy held her hand out and Em strode forward, joining her date, hoping to escape the media’s crosshairs. However, as she took Mandy’s arm in hers, someone thought of a question worth asking.
“Is this your girlfriend? Are you a couple?”
Before Mandy could respond, Em lifted her hand and kissed it. Dozens of camera flashes fired. Dropping her hand, Em again linked hands with her date and they departed with neither one speaking a word. The press got their image, something to compete with the fashion skirmish.
As they made their exit and the reporters focused on the next faceless outfit, Mandy leaned in, whispering to her companion. “Thanks for being here. I’m used to the photographs, but considering I’m coming out to the entire world, my stomach is in a constant flutter.”
Em raised and kissed her hand again. “I’m here for you sweetie. This is your world. I’m only here to ease you in and out of it again. As fun as it is, I think I’ll leave this kind of thing to you. I’d rather face an armed assailant in a dark alley. I feel safer and there’s less chance I’ll screw up and impact millions of loyal fans.”
Amanda leaned in and kissed her cheek. “You were wonderful. It’s like you were born for this. You never lost your composure or hesitated. Now come on, let me show you what backstage at the Grammys is like.” Taking her hand, she drew Em into a world far beyond anything she’d experienced.
Em leaned against a stage entrance, observing Amanda’s preparations. Despite her suggestion she wait to witness the finished product, she was enjoying witnessing the creative process. As a former competitor herself, she enjoyed the struggle to rise to the best of your game. She appreciated the effort to excel for what it was.
Amanda was doing walk-throughs. Tape recordings of her song played in the background—set to a low volume to not disturb the other acts practicing on the other stages. Each dancer moved through their action in slow motion, memorizing each step.
“Enjoying a sneak peak?”
Em pivoted and saw an older woman, who she assumed was the mother of one of the dancers. She seemed familiar somehow, but Em figured she just resembled someone she’d met in the past.
“Not exactly. I’m watching my girlfriend, actually my date for the evening.” Em turned back to watch the dancers counting steps, spinning in slow motion.
“Does ‘girlfriend’ mean a female friend or a romantic partner?”
Em smiled, realizing she’d opened a can of worms by admitting too much to a complete stranger. “Eh, it’s still a little early to define any precise roles—”
“Say no more. I know what that means.” The woman laughed, her flaxen curls bounding around her face. “Which one are you watching?”
Em shrugged. “Each of them. It’s a fascinating athletic dance, but the girl who done brung me is the lead singer.”
The woman peered over Em’s shoulder. “You mean Mandy?” When Em nodded she continued. “Hmm. I’d never have guessed. She’s certainly gorgeous and has plenty of talent. She reminds me of when I was younger.”
Em faced the woman. She was blond—as were many of the women in L.A.—and her skin was flawless, but she was older than the other performers. She carried herself with an athleticism which Em recognized, and with a confidence which was hard to deny. She hoped whoever she was cheering on appreciated her strengths. “My name’s Em. Pleased to meet you. Who are you here watching?”
The woman gave her a puzzled expression then burst out laughing. “I’m trying to track down my kids. They keep getting into things when I’m not watching. I’m ... Louise Ciccone. I’m the den mother of a couple holy terrors who’d rather be anyplace but here.”
Em surveyed the corridor. “Plenty of places to hide, lot of activity and oodles of stuff to investigate. I see where you’d have trouble.”
Louise glanced at Em. “You have kids?”
“Me? No. I’m ... well, I live alone in Manhattan and lead a ... solitary life. I’m a homicide cop. I deal with death on a daily basis. I’m not sure I’d be a good influence.”
Louise cocked her head, regarding her. “Yet there’s a wistfulness when you mention them.”
Em shrugged. “My sister-in-law and niece have been visiting, and she’s a positive delight. She manages to brighten up an otherwise dreary day. I’m just not sure I’m cut out for it.”
“Lots of cops have families. Some are even successful at it. There’s nothing inherent in being a cop that’s foreign to the raising of children. Being so grounded and aware of the trouble kids can get into helps you set boundaries.”
Turning back, Em watched Amanda trace a path around the other dancers as her chorus played behind her. “Yeah, but I’m not sure if the ...” When she left the sentence hanging, Louise stepped in. “You aren’t sure whether she’s the one?”
“My life is ... busy. I’ve got a few girlfriends to contend with.”
She examined the troupers, considering Mandy. “Is she one of many, or is she separate from the rest.”
Em grinned, glad the woman was quick enough to see through her emotional armor. It made for a good foil, someone prepared to thrust through her defenses and into her heart. “No, she’s someone who stepped in from the sidelines.” She turned back to the woman, who didn’t seem to be in any rush to find her kids. “She asked me to attend an ‘industry event’ with her this weekend. It wasn’t until we were aboard her private jet that she admitted who she was.”
Louise smiled, tilting her head. “And you had no clue who she was, despite knowing her for some time? The fact her songs are playing everywhere never tipped you off?”
Em blushed and glanced down. “I’ll admit, I’m not a big music fan and I don’t follow celebrities. She kept dropping hints the entire way to the airport, but I was too dense to pick up on them.”
Louise smiled. “Oh, I see, we got both kinds. We got country and western.”
“Was that a Blue’s Brother’s reference?”
“Yeah, and the fact you recognize it, but never recognized Mandy, places you right in that demographic.”
“Well, I’m not quite that bad, but yeah, I’m not exactly up on the latest trends. I tend to spend my time crawling through America’s underbelly.”
Louise took on a motherly tone as she imparted some maternal advice. “It sounds like she appreciates an outside perspective from someone who doesn’t hold her in awe. That can be a powerful draw to someone wrapped up in ... this life,” she said, indicating the many players on the stage. “But the fact she’d hide who she was, yet still reveal herself to you—both a complete stranger and a known friend—speaks highly of how she sees you.”
“Maybe. I’m still trying to figure out our roles. She’s ... different, but it’s like I’m meeting another person than the one I’ve known for so long.”
Louise giggled, her blond curls dancing around. She brushed a lock aside. “She’s the same person, she just has a little more baggage than she did when you boarded her plane. It’s like when you discover someone had a history you didn’t know about. Did they not mention them because they’re embarrassed, it’s not who they are, or they appreciate the honesty they share without the obstruction their fame might cast over the relationship?”
“Sounds like you’ve been through something similar.”
“I’ve ... encountered it a time or two.” She watched the dancers with Em, wincing when a dancer took a wrong step. “The question is, is your relationship strong enough for another bag, or are you going to quit the entire journey because your closet is too small?”
Em regarded her. “You put everything in a ... new perspective. You sound much too wise for someone your age. You weren’t a mystic sage in a prior life, were you?”
“I wouldn’t put too much into that otherworldly crap if I were you. Sometimes someone sees something you’re too close to see for yourself.” She glanced down the long hallway, as if remembering her kids once again. “If we get a chance at the after parties, maybe you and your girl can get together with me and Timor and talk through some of this.”
“Oh, do the two of you know each other?”
Louise giggled. “We’ve never talked directly, but she’s seen me around. I’m fascinated seeing this new dimension to her I never imagined. Anyway, I’ve got to run. I’ve got a practice of my own to get to.” With that, she clutched Em’s arm before heading off down the hallway, twirling around the other performers with a practiced ease. Em chuckled, glad they’d met.
Glancing back up, she noticed Mandy’s routine had finished and they were starting again, preparing to run through it again at full speed. Figuring she’d seen enough, Em pushed off, searching for another insight into this strange, wonderful and frightening world.
The show, once Amanda found Em watching the activity in a secluded access way, was a letdown. The production was top notch, but Em was interested in the personal struggles of the participants as they struggled with their craft, rather than in the finished product. As she threatened, Amanda didn’t remain in her seat for long, dashing behind the curtain to appear on stage as Mandy in a new outfit. She made some clever quips and read the winner for another award before disappearing again.
“Your seat’s no longer empty, but there’s a hot one opened up over there,” Em suggested to the young male seat filler sitting beside her. As Amanda said, he wasn’t interested in conversing. He waited until she was almost upon them before moving, by which point the other seat had already been filled by someone else. Em had no idea where he went after that.
“Nicely done. Do you actually know anything about lead female country singers?”
Mandy laughed gently. “I know more about it than you and I can make a convincing presentation.”
“That you can,” Em conceded.
She leaned over and whispered in Em’s ear. “You’re not bored, are you?”
“No, this is fascinating. Now that I know what to look for, I’m more interested in everyone leaving their seats and sneaking backstage rather than the acts being presented, though.”
She punched her for that observation. “You’re so bad. I bring you to the biggest show in music, and all you do is focus on the girls sauntering away. You realize, most of them are going to the bathroom, don’t you?”
“That may be, but seeing as they appear onstage shortly afterwards, they pee faster than anyone I know.” That earned Em another light punch.
Em turned back in time to see Louise walking off stage. She missed what the woman was involved in and chided herself for not paying attention. She was curious what the woman’s claim to fame was. She didn’t see any kids, but they could easily have run off ahead of her. Em leaned towards Amanda. “Who was—”
“Shh! This is important.”
Em sat back while they read the award for best score soundtrack album for visual media. “Did you make a soundtrack album?”
Mandy’s eyes never left the stage. “I wrote and performed the lead song. Still, it got a lot of attention.” When they played a snippet, she clutched her arm. “That’s it!” As behind the times as Em was, she recognized the catchy tune. Becky even hummed it around the apartment. As they tore the envelope open, Amanda gripped Em’s arm and her nails dug into Em’s flesh. Although she might punch like a girl, her nails were an entirely different matter.
Em watched her as they announced the award. Her face went through a range of emotions: biting her lip as they opened the envelope, frowning when they announced someone else won the award. She leapt up, flashing a brilliant smile and applauding wildly.
When they sat again, Em couldn’t constrain her curiosity. “Brave face for the cameras?”
She pursed her lip. “Not really. It’s hard to beat a Disney film, but the winning song was terrific. They deserved to win and I’m happy for them. I’m disappointed not to win myself, but this wasn’t my strongest event. The award was for the entire album, not my work alone.”
Mandy wasn’t quite as calm as they announced the winner of song of the year. Her nails dug a new trench in Em’s arm. Em swore, if she ever attended another of these events, she’d wear long sleeves. She wasn’t sure, but she suspected her friend might have drawn blood. As they opened the envelope, the huge monitors overhead showed each of the contenders. When they announced someone else as the winner, she didn’t jump up quite as fast. Em had to help her stand, but her smile was only marginally dimmer and she still applauded.
When she applauded the acceptance speech, Em nuzzled her. “You still OK?”
“Yeah, that one stung a bit. I mean, it was a tough competition, but I was hoping. I invested a lot in that song. It ... was personal for me. Winning would have meant more than increased sales. It would have been a ... validation of what I’ve experienced.”
Em clasped Amanda’s hand. “The fact that millions of fans appreciate your experiences is more of a validation than a small trophy.”
She squeezed Em’s hand in return. “That’s true, but I really wanted the award.”
“I’ll tell you what, if it’s so important, I’ll buy you a toy gramophone at the gift shop afterwards.”
Amanda turned, squeezing her hand as their eyes met. “It’s more than just the trophy. It’s ... the effort, the struggle, the doubt. More than that, it’s the recognition, the appreciation. It’s evidence I’ve finally made it after years of struggling.”
“Believe me, I understand perfectly.” Em hesitated before kissing Amanda’s hand. “That’s why I want to finish this case, even if it means the end of my career. It’s recognition that I follow my cases through to the end, even if it’s not in my best interest. I’m searching for ... confirmation that doing the right thing matters.”
“I know. I mean, I know these are mostly popularity contests. The awards go to the biggest selling records, but I want affirmation that writing from the heart means something. That opening my soul for the entire world to witness is ... worthwhile.”
“This is hardly a pop—”
“Shh,” she insisted, shifted back into Mandy mode, “they’re announcing the final category. This is the one I’m nervous about.” Emphasizing her words, she lifted Em’s hand with hers as she began chewing her knuckle.
“And the winner of this year’s Grammy for Best Album of the Year goes to ... Mandy, for her newest Album, “Songs Borrowed from Life”.
Time seemed to freeze for Mandy, who seemed to have shrunk back into Amanda at the announcement. She sat there staring in shock as everyone around her leapt to their feet. Em nudged her, lifting her by their gripping hands. Once in motion, the energized Mandy grasped Em in a full body hug. That lasted for a second, as she hugged the people by the aisle and hurried, with everyone congratulating her, towards the stage.
Em smiled, glad her struggles were rewarded, and happy to see her basking in it.
Her speech, like most of them, thanked her producers, her sponsors and her collaborators. But at the tail end, she paused. “Most of all, I’d like to thank my girlfriend, Emma. She didn’t help with the album, since we haven’t been together that long. With luck, she’ll provide the inspiration for the next several. She’s filled me with the courage to be true to myself in the face of everyone’s expectations to continue as I have. Here’s to you Em.”
As the audience erupted in applause and the rest rushed to be the first out, Em was horrified to see her face flashed on the huge overhead monitor. Amanda must have told the staff what she planned. Em didn’t mind supporting her. Being seen at the Grammys isn’t such a big deal. Everyone who knew her would notice, but few others would. Being romantically linked to a rising star would attract attention. Alerting the readers of the gossip magazines and her coming out as a lesbian with her new lover would draw even more notice. But being named as the inspiration in her acceptance speech in a broadcast across the world would focus more attention on both of them. The combination of all four would put Em on the tip of everyone’s tongue.
With a shy smile, she meekly waved at the camera as she felt the heat of embarrassment rising in her cheeks. However, those surrounding her congratulated her, hugging and embracing her, so she didn’t see any more for some minutes.
When Mandy returned, clutching her new trophy several minutes later, after being congratulated the entire way back, she closed in on her date. “I can’t believe it. I got it. This is ... so special. It’s especially so because I could share it with you. You gave me the strength to be the real me, not what everyone expected me to be. Thanks for that, Em.” After giving her a heartfelt embrace, she pulled back. “But I’m keeping the Grammy. If you want, we’ll get you an imitation from the gift shop.”
Em appreciated why everyone was in such a rush to leave, as it took them forever to exit the Staples Center. Everyone wanted to congratulate Mandy, and each wanted to make the moment personal by sharing something with her. Em smiled, trying to stand back, letting them have their moment. Yet Mandy inevitably pulled her in, hugging her or giving her a quick kiss, as if marking her territory. There was no doubting her sexual identity after this!
When they cleared the building, there were the interviews. Every news agency wanted three minutes with her, getting a new quote from the Grammy winner. Mandy struggled to give each a new response, but through it all, she beamed with pride. Only part of her joy was over having won the Grammy. The rest was from winning the industry’s acceptance at the exact moment she stood and announced to the world who she truly was. You couldn’t have wiped the smile from her face with Clorox bleach.
Each time, Mandy’s response was the same. Just as the interview wrapped up, she’d drag Em into the shot; either hugging, kissing or holding hands, but definitely projecting the private New York cop into the limelight. Em wasn’t required to say anything, simply being present was enough. Looking like a million bucks didn’t hurt, but she could imagine the fallout she’d face when she returned home.
