As her day progressed, her worry about her circumstances gave way to irritation. If her fiancé was hanging out in his hotel room with an ex, why should she feel guilty about going to see Adam perform? She hadn’t been to a gig in ages and she decided to throw herself into the opportunity.
After quickly eating a pizza around the hotel pool, Carla retreated to her room, where she applied smoky eye makeup and coral lipstick. She wore her hair long and curly and put on one of Babs’s flouncy black lace dresses and matching flat pumps, a look Carla might have sported back in her early twenties. She made sure she took her list of Logical Love questions along with her.
Adam was performing at the Conquistador hotel, farther inland. It was a seventies concrete cube of a building, the kind of place that served fries with every meal, including breakfast. A big poster in the lobby featured Adam with a purple-and-green aura, as if he’d been snapped in front of the Northern Lights. He pointed a finger, and his eyes followed Carla around the lobby like the gaze of the Mona Lisa. His majestic hair looked exactly the same as it had twenty-one years ago and Carla nervously ran a hand over her own.
There was a hum of excitement as other tourists waited to be admitted to the entertainment lounge. Sundresses showed off peeling pink shoulders and rose tattoos, and when the doors opened, there was a rush for the bar and the best seats. The stage at the far end of the room was already set up for Adam’s act, with a microphone and a piano strewn with red silk roses on top of it. Carla’s heart thrummed at the thought of seeing her ex again and she bought a glass of sangria packed with ice and pressed it against her hot cheeks.
She took a seat at a round table on her own, but was joined instantly by a group of women on a bachelorette party. The bride-to-be wore a white veil, a very short wedding dress and a plastic ball and chain around her ankle. “Adam, Adam,” the group chanted.
When the lights dimmed, whistles rang out and Carla sat bolt upright. Music struck up and then, there he was, holding both arms in the air, the coolest man she’d ever met in her life, Adam Angelino.
A delicious flush enveloped her body and Carla couldn’t help smiling to herself, knowing he was going to be meeting her afterward.
A couple of hundred women in the audience cheered and sang along as Adam belted out hits by Coldplay, Bruno Mars and Robbie Williams, without delivering any of his own tracks. He still had the same commanding stage presence and rich baritone voice that she remembered. Nothing much else had changed except he was a little thicker around the waist. In fact, Carla thought, his moves, patter and good looks appeared frozen in time.
Adam performed a series of big rock numbers until the lights dimmed and he sashayed to the front of the stage. “Obrigado. Thank you, my friends, you’re very kind.” He wiped his brow with a red satin handkerchief. “This next song is for a long-lost friend of mine, who’s joined us this evening. We once shared some very special moments together.”
It slowly dawned on Carla that he was talking about her, and a smile stiffened on her lips. Was he really calling her out in public? Her body became so rigid she could only move her eyes.
The first bars of “Purple Rain” rang out, and dry ice billowed onto the stage, instantly transporting Carla back to the first time she’d met the singer.
A few fellow travelers had invited her along to a local music festival where Adam had been performing. He’d asked for an audience member to join him onstage, and Carla and her friends had jumped up and down on the spot with their hands raised. Adam had pointed to Carla and held out his hand, helping to pull her through the crowd and up onstage beside him. Her friends had whistled and catcalled her.
Dry ice had puffed all around them, stinging Carla’s eyes and catching in her throat. She’d coughed until tears streamed down her face. Adam had knelt down to serenade her, and all she could do was stuff a fist to her mouth. She’d wished a trapdoor would appear so she could drop down into it and disappear.
He’d stopped his performance midballad and mouthed to her Are you okay?
Carla had shaken her head, and when Adam escorted her offstage, his band had played on. She’d felt stares of pity and disgust from the audience piercing into her, and now Carla wanted to flee the room all over again.
When Adam finished singing “Purple Rain,” he plucked a handful of roses from the top of the piano and stepped down off the stage. Women waved at him frantically. “Me, choose me,” they hollered.
He handed out the flowers, fixing his eyes on various audience members, until he stood in front of her holding out a rose. “Hey, Carla,” he said with a warm grin. “Meet you outside at ten thirty.”
“See you later,” she managed to croak, astonished he’d recognized her after all these years—and underneath so much makeup.
Adam was deluged by a rush for selfies after his show. One woman begged him to autograph her thigh. “I’m going to get his signature tattooed on,” she cried out.
Carla kept an eye on her watch, her nerves cantering as their rendezvous time grew closer. She stepped out of the room, sped through the lobby, and paced up and down in front of the hotel. The warm evening, the sangria and the rose made this feel more like a date, something that left her throat feeling tight. This is a fact-finding mission only, she reminded herself.
“Carla?” Her name rang out from behind her.
She spun around to see Adam walking toward her, wearing a wide smile. He’d changed into a gray suit and a white T-shirt, with a leather satchel across his body. Now that he’d removed his eyeliner, she could see his face was tanned with friendly crinkles around his eyes. Offstage, his spiky black hair looked too dark and heavy, as if he was wearing a hat made of raven feathers. She recalled he had a badly etched bat tattoo on his shoulder that she’d once thought was the epitome of “cool.”
And, oh god, she still found him attractive.
“Hi,” she said, tentatively raising a hand in a wave. As Adam grew closer, he looked even more handsome and she swallowed awkwardly.
“Shall we head down toward the beach?” he asked.
“Sure.”
They started walking in step.
“Mind if I take this off? I forgot I was wearing it.” Adam reached up and pulled his hair so it came away in his hand, revealing his bald head underneath. He stuffed the wig into his satchel. “I sometimes think it’s part of me.”
“Oh.” Carla stopped dead and tried not to stare. “I didn’t know...” She narrowed her eyes. “Did you wear that thing while we were dating?”
“I didn’t need it then.” He laughed.
“You don’t need it now.”
Adam ran his hand over his head. “My audience might disagree.”
“Do you give them the choice?”
“Fair point.”
It was like Adam had stripped away a layer to reveal the real person underneath, which made their rapport feel easier and more natural. Adam the fantasy figure was disappearing, replaced by a living, breathing middle-aged guy.
“How did you find me in the audience?” Carla asked.
“I dug out a couple of old photos of us and looked you up online. You run some kind of dating agency in the UK?”
She nodded. “Yes, Logical Love.”
“Great name, though surely the two words don’t fit together.”
“A bit like you and the wig.”
