There was complete abandon when he performed that night. He was living life, right there for that moment and for that moment only. There was no past. No future. No worries about absolutely anything. Only the present.
It was him and his performance, his art, and his connection with the crowd.
I’ve always admired people who can live like that. I want to live like that.
I want freedom.
That kind of freedom is what I’m chasing, but the very act of running to find freedom in itself makes the goal unattainable because instead of running toward something, I’m running from something else.
If there is a time that I get to let go completely, it’s tonight.
I laugh hysterically most of the way to the restaurant, and Karl has been staring at me like I’ve grown two heads—or like my hair has turned to snakes like the Medusa medallions on my dress.
“You’re sure you aren’t high?” He asks for the third time during our ride to the restaurant in our limousine.
Ourlimousine.
I’ve laughed so hard; I’m risking tears ruining my makeup. I carefully dab the corners of my eyes with my fingers.
“I’m sorry,” I say between guffaws.
At first, I snorted when the limousine pulled up in front of us, and Karl opened the door. And then he told me we were dining at the Ampersand, the most upscale and exclusive restaurant in Kansas City. And I couldn’t help it. I can’t stop laughing.
“Are you going to tell me what’s so damn funny?” Karl asks with mock frustration, but the amusement dancing in his pupils tells me he is far from frustrated.
“It’s just, I drive past the Ampersand to go to work most days. It’s in the rich part of town, and I always trudge into this neighborhood in mycarcacha, barely on fumes. I never thought I’d get to eat there. And look at me now!” I scream and laugh harder. “In a limousine, wearing a dress that costs more than my car, driving past clients whose toilets I’ve cleaned only this week. And my date is freaking Karl Sommer!”
Karl laughs, amused at my antics.
This is it.
What Iggy must have felt that night. Or something close to it. When nothing matters but the perfect little moment that this messed up life offers you. A little gift that you must seize before it’s taken away again. And you do; you want to sink your fingers into something thick and tangible and smear it over your body to graze at the raw nerves that are feeling life to the fullest. It’s raw, gritty, and honest. What life is for.
It’s rock and roll.
“Are you done yet?” Karl asks.
“Yeah. I’m done. But Karl?”
“Yeah?”
“Don’t call medolltonight.”
His lips disappear into a thin line before he asks, “Why not?”
“Just for tonight, I want to be Lola. Not Lo. Not Dolores. I don’t even want to have a last name. Just Lola.”
He smiles, though he’s still eying me like he doesn’t believe I’m not high.
But I guess I am. I’m high on life. And I just want to be me. Not my parent’s daughter, not the housekeeper.
Lola.
“You got it, Lola.”
16
KARL