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And every sense heard.
“Who is that up there?”
He asked because it couldn’t possibly be. He just had her forever on his mind. So it couldn’t be. Just a trick his ears were playing. There was no way, and she didn’t sing, except to him in their most private moments, his most cherished ones. But still he knew, he knew with a sense beyond the six, with a shock that made him stagger. “Oh fuck.” She was here and she was dying out there.
He took a step towards the stage. Taylor caught his hand. “Let her finish. She wanted to do this for you. She was here, she heard you sing.”
Her voice was toneless, tuneless, without rhythm. She knew the words but she clipped them short, forgetting to exchange boy for girl where the song needed it. She was out of time and the band played over her, the room had stopped listening, except for those laughing, and all he heard was a fantasy, a second chance.
Blood thumped hot in his chest. What did this mean? Why was she here? Her song was about loss and hurt and trying again.
She was singing and the room was spinning. He held on to Taylor.
“What’s she wearing?”
“She looks great.” It was either Hello Kitty pjs or… “Wearing a sexy dress, her hair up, heels. Sparkly earrings.”
“What
colour’s the dress?” That night she’d helped him at Dalia’s play. Her fantasy dress had been red, all kinds of cut low and daring, but red and elegant, something for her and for him, at the very start of them.
“It’s red.”
“Jesus.”
“Are you okay?”
“No. I don’t understand this.” Georgia sang the last line and the place erupted with catcalls and ironic applause.
“Are you blind? She loves you.”
“I need to… I need.” He couldn’t get enough air. Taylor was gone. He didn’t have his stick. There were too many people here. He needed Mel. He needed Taylor. Why did she leave him?
“Taylor!”
Angus had the mic. He was announcing a new song.
A hand to the back of his, hesitant. Not Taylor.
“Georgia. Oh God, Georgia.”
She was in his arms, she was hugging him, she was sobbing hard.
He took a step, felt for the wall, she came with him. He bundled her into the green room and shut the door. Mel barked, once, a yip of surprise. Georgia started and stepped away.
He caught enough breath to say, “You’re real?”
“You have a dog.”
“Mel.” He tapped his leg and she came. “Hold your hand out.” He heard Mel snuffle Georgia. “Her name is Mel, for Mel Blanc, The Man of a Thousand Voices. Bugs, Daffy, Porky, Barney Rubble, Marvin the…” He shook his head. Vertigo, not enough air, now too much.
“It’s a good name.”
“She’s a good dog. We’re learning each other.” He addressed Mel. “This is Georgia. She’s come a long way to see me. I think.” He shook his head. “I don’t know what to think.” He wasn’t going to waste words on the dog. “You sang.”
Georgia’s hand to his chest. “No one thought that was singing.”
“You sang for me.”
