Chapter 46: She was smiling

The hosts came back, followed by some other people giving out a couple of awards, and then there was a break, probably for the television broadcast to play some ads.

Jane looked around. There was a dark-haired man sitting next to her. “Look, our suits are nearly the same colour,” she said to him. She held her sleeve next to his.

“So they are,” he replied.

“I like how shiny and pointy your shoes are,” Jane continued. “I should have gone to more effort.”

“Thank you. Your ensemble is understated and classy. Not like me, always looking like I have something to prove.”

“Oh, I don’t think that’s the impression you give at all. I flew in from Brisbane today. Where are you from?”

They chatted amiably until the lights went down and the hosts reappeared. Jane clapped loudly when they introduced the next performer—Amber.

She was wearing a gold dress with a short skirt, and she had shiny, gold make-up in streaks up her cheekbones. She shimmered under the lights.

Because she wasn’t promoting any new music, she had decided to do a medley of all her “old hits”. People in the crowd screamed when she launched into the first song, kind of a slower one about rain and floods. Then she grabbed an electric guitar off a stand and launched into a faster one about a heart to borrow. Then she put that down and sat at a grand piano and sang very loudly about “all my tomorrows”. Jane could hear people singing along, looked around, and realised everyone she could see in the whole place was singing along, even Mr Shiny Shoes beside her.

The drums took over, very loud, and Amber ran to the front of the stage and ripped off the shirt of her dress. Now she was just in a gold leotard and gold high heels. Jane exhaled and ran the back of her hand across her forehead. Her collar felt very tight. Was she burning up?

The ad shoot had run late, so there hadn’t been time that afternoon to have any moments alone together. They had made out until the nice make-up lady had arrived but hadn’t had the opportunity to do anything more. Jane was suddenly very aware of the fact.

Amber belted out a lyric about “wanting to do things to you they don’t teach in school” and pointed with an extended arm right at Jane. They locked eyes, and Amber gave her a wink before she turned away to go stand on the top of the piano and sing a song called “The Moonlight Moves Me.”

Jane’s whole body thrummed, like an electrical pulse was running through it. Amber had a power that was like magic. She was entrancing all the thousands of people in the crowd, and all that energy directed at her, even for just a moment, hit Jane so hard that she rocked back on her heels.

The audience all stood up. The people in front of Jane were dancing energetically, and when she looked up at the cheap seats above her, the balcony seemed to be heaving as everyone up there moved their bodies to the song.

Amber brought it all home by lifting up a spangled microphone stand over her head. As the song ended, the crowd roared. Amber held the pose and grinned, then threw her head back with a look of sheer joy, before blowing kisses and mouthing thank you to each section of the ecstatic audience.

Jane felt a pressure in her head, then realised she had tears in her eyes.

Amber was born to perform, and watching her so in her element, doing the thing she loved, had made Jane’s chest ache. She cast her mind back over the last few years—had she felt like that doing her job, ever? When she’d first started as a researcher, getting into the flow of information, working with others, running ideas to the ground, and chasing capital-T “Truth”, she had felt it. But not recently. Maybe when she got this associate professorship and had more autonomy to choose the projects she wanted, things would change.

As Amber moved offstage, Jane felt her absence like the sun setting. She wished she was waiting in the wings, ready to wrap her up in her arms. Why wasn’t she?

When Jane first said she would go with her to the awards, Amber had bounced up and down with excitement. She had reminded Jane of Sara, whose enthusiasm Jane had always attributed to her youth. Now she knew some people bounced well into adulthood—maybe they bounced their whole lives. Jane didn’t recall ever bouncing, even when she was Sara’s age.

Amber had started rattling off how amazing the night would be—they would walk the red carpet together, do interviews with all the journalists and live streamers, and Amber could introduce her to some of her old friends from the biz. Jane had poured cold water all over it. Nicely—a splash here and a trickle there—but she had doused it completely nonetheless.

The university expects a certain image…certain promotion…associate professorship…distractions from my achievements…blah blah blah.

Jane winced now in the darkened auditorium. The importance of it all had paled beside the energy and love Amber had been able to whip up within the crowd with the moonlight song.

How important was any of her stuff? And why had she spent so many years of her life agonising over it all?

“We don’t have many like her,” said the dark-haired man as they took their seats again.

“No, she’s very special,” she replied. Her throat felt thick, and the tears threatened.

His forehead creased, and he patted Jane’s arm. “Big music fan, hey?”

Jane nodded but did not speak. She was incapable of forming any words of explanation.

The hosts returned. One leant right up into the mic and yelled, “How about Amber Freaking Hatfield?! She’s back, she’s awesome, and she’s just knocked our bloody socks off!”

The crowd clapped and whooped.

Two more awards were handed out. Jane clapped politely as a woman in an oversized T-shirt and baseball cap went up to receive a statuette, then a trio of young men in colourful sneakers.

Then the awards show took a break for more ads. People wearing black ran around on the stage moving instruments and microphone stands. A strange silence descended, which was quickly replaced with soft chatter from all parts of the crowd.

Someone a few rows back let out a “woo!”. Jane turned and saw Amber walking down the aisle, holding the skirt of her silver, sparkly dress out to the side so she didn’t fall down the wide, shallow steps. Some people who noticed her clapped as she walked by.

Amber acknowledged the recognition with smiles and nods. For a few people, she held out her outstretched arm in their direction and waved.

Everyone in their row had a smile and a kind word for her as they shifted to let her through.

She reached Jane and beamed. “Hi.” She put her hand on Jane’s arm and made a small motion to tilt her face up, like she was going to give her a kiss. She stopped herself, though and gave another tight-lipped smile.

“Hi,” Jane replied. Stupid, stupid, stupid.

Amber was respecting Jane’s boundaries and wishes. Nothing that would show the people here what they were to each other, what they did behind closed doors.

It was all wrong, though. Jane had big, tender feelings roiling around inside her. And she had to sit on her hands instead of throwing her arms around the amazing woman smiling up at her? She didn’t deserve to be an associate professor, unless it was the position of Associate Professor of Dumb Idiots.

“Congratulations on an amazing performance,” said Jane’s new friend, the dark-haired man.

“You are too sweet. Thank you! It’s been way too long since I’ve seen you. How did we let so many years go by?” Amber gave him a hug and a kiss on the cheek.

Jane scowled. Nope, I never liked that man. Too chatty.

“Time marches faster the older we get,” he replied with a smile.

The house lights dimmed, and there was a shuffling sound as people resumed their seats.

“Have you enjoyed it so far?” Amber asked Jane as they settled in.

“It’s been great. I loved your medley.”

Amber grinned. “That makes me really happy.” She looked up at the stage where the hosts were taking their places. She was still smiling.

As Jane watched her, the throat-aching feeling returned. Being around Amber was a roller-coaster of emotions—one minute she was full of joy at a great musical performance (which had never happened to her before) and the next she was going to blubber and have to ask her new friend for a hanky.

She looked over the dark-haired man.