Page 95 of Here We Go Again
Joe stares at the stage in open-mouthed horror, and Logan forgets about Rosemary and the wordloveentirely. “I think I’m going to be sick,” he mutters under his breath.
“Please welcome back to the stage, Madame La Tush and Rita Morenhoe.”
“You don’t have to do this if you don’t want to,” Logan reassures him, but they’ve already cued ABBA, and Remy is already moving toward Joe, beckoning him with the crook of his finger. Joe begins rolling himself toward Remy, caught in the enchantment of this siren. Remy helps Joe onto the stage using the ramp, and then Rita is front and center, under the spotlights where she belongs.
The lyrics begin and La Tush and Rita immediately fall into old choreography. They’re singing “Mamma Mia” as a duet, moving their older bodies in their younger synchronicity, except they both make modifications for Joe’s wheelchair. And Joe looks magnificent. Triumphant.Alive.
That’s the true allure of the Ocean Springs lotus flower: it has made them all forget how this road trip is going to end. Here, under these lights, Joe seems like his pre-cancer self, and it’s so easy to believe that he and Remy will have a happy ending.
The crowd is on their feet, clapping and cheering, and there’ssomething about the instant camaraderie of this moment that overwhelms Logan’s chest. There’s so much love in this church basement, it’s pressing down on every inch of her.
“He’s perfect!” Rosemary shouts into her ear, and Logan turns to see Rosemary is crying openly as Joe dances onstage, loving him fiercely, like she’s forgotten she’s going to lose him.
Logan grabs her by the waist and tugs her close. Their mouths meet even as Rosemary is still saying something about Joe. She catches up quickly, and her hands grip Logan’s suspenders, pulling their bodies flush as they stand. And this kiss—it feels like the unwavering acceptance of a room full of queers, like a good hug and a warm voice in her ear saying, “Welcome. I see you. You’re safe here.”
“Rebel,” Logan says into Rosemary’s ear. “Will you please sing to me?”
Rosemary looks up at her, eyes fierce and free. “I thought you would never ask,” she responds in a confident purr, and Logan feels every protective barrier in her body disintegrate at the feet of this woman.
Joe and Remy are both back at the table before Logan registers the song has ended. “Sing for us, Rebel!” Joe slurs, drunk on happiness and martinis he snuck when Rosemary wasn’t looking.
Without hesitation, Rebel struts his way toward the stage, and Logan screams so loudly, she misses what Rosemary says when she first grabs the microphone.
“I only know one song I can confidently sing by heart,” she tells the room. She leans close to Gladys to give her the title, and then Gladys turns to the laptop to cue it.
“The instrumental version, please,” Rosemary teases into the mic. And Logan witnesses the exact moment that Rosemary fully becomes Rebel: she shakes out her limbs, then straightens into someone taller and prouder, somehow. It’s not her usual rigid posture, but something self-assured and sultry. Logan doesn’t realize the song has started until Rosemary draws the mic to her mouth and growls, “I hate the world today.”
It’s “Bitch” by Meredith Brooks, and Rosemary isn’t lip-syncing. It’s her real voice, and it’s the most beautiful siren song she’s ever heard.
“Elton fucking John,” Joe cries. He latches on to Logan’s arm with his fake nails. “Did you know Rosemary can sing?”
Logan doesn’t take her eyes off Rebel in the spotlight. “I did.”
Sing-alongs with Olivia Newton-John while watchingGrease. Singing all of “Bye Bye Bye” when they filmed the backyard music videos. Sleepover nightmares that woke Logan up with missing her mom and Rosemary singing her back to sleep. Like so many things, it’s a talent Rosemary buried when it didn’t fit into her image of who she is.
But Rebel hasn’t buried anything. He sings the first verse with restrained breathiness, then bursts out at the chorus, screaming that he’s a bitch, he’s a lover.
Logan can’t look away. She can’tbreathe. Rebel stamps his foot and belts the chorus, and all Logan can think is,I’m so epically fucked.
“So take me as I am,” Rebel sings in that thick, raspy, holy voice. “This might mean you’ll have to be a strongerwo-man.”
And that’s it. Logan is going to jump off the ship into dangerous waters for this brave woman. She’s going to chase this siren song all the way to her demise. She let herself care, and now she cares so much, she’ll never recover, never again be able to hide behind her mask of apathy. But she doesn’t have the faintest idea how to love fiercely or freely.
“Here you go, kiddo,” Joe says, handing her a handkerchief. She’s crying, apparently.
Rebel finishes the song, and Logan is so absorbed, she almost misses the way the audience has flooded the stage for Rebel. Logan wants to run to Rosemary, too, but she waits until the judges all hold up their 10s, waits for her to move through the crowd back to their table, sweaty and beaming and beautiful.
Rosemary is an unguarded heart and eyes of pure fire, and Loganfeels like she can’t catch her breath. She reaches for Rosemary’s hand. “Can we get out of here?” she whispers.
Rosemary takes her hand and guides her through the crowd toward the door.
Logan steps into the cool night desperate for air, but the night isn’t cool at all, isn’t comforting. They’re in Mississippi, where it’s humid as balls and the air always feels too close. Encroaching. Suffocating.
Logan loosens her tie, but it doesn’t help.
Fireworks fill the night sky with explosions of color and sound. Logan is exploding.
“What’s the matter?” Rosemary asks when it’s just the two of them outside the church. “Are you okay?”
