maybe if you’re lucky
Cherie comes away with a quick smile in the July heat and Dakota can’t remember how to walk in platforms. She’s anchorless, a moment, laughing to cover what’s happened (Jesus, she thinks, like a snap and she was gone). Kristen, or Joan–she can’t tell these days–offers a hand to help her from the street.
Dakota looks up into darker eyes and smiles.
Her walk has changed. Fewer steps required, a little lank, a little swagger. There are days when Joan doesn’t button up her jeans or her leather pants. There are days when Joan needs to scream until the words are free from her chest. The demons calm when she looks at Cherie, focus into a microphone or a guitar chord.
Kristen calls it method acting.
The first kiss is neither Joan nor Cherie, not found in any script. Dakota ducks her head after, hiding a smile.
Kristen says, “C’mere and do that again.”
A breeze rolls by, shaking the branches over their heads. They stare for a moment, eye to eye.
“I’ll take off the boots next time.” Lips. Hands.