A deep breath... and let's go!
Belinda encouraged herself, as, with legs stiffer than usual, she prepared to enter the stage.
When she appeared, Bill had his back to her and was heading toward the opposite side of the stage to cheer on the audience. Silent, brilliant in his shining armor, cool in his composure, she reached the center of the stage and stopped.
The audience erupted in applause, shouting and clapping loudly, while the singer, looking surprised, turned in her direction and slowly approached her. He threw himself at her feet, on his knees, loudly venting his frustration to the tune of the song.
The robot made no movement and remained motionless, beautiful and cold in its position. Bill stood up and looked up at hers, begging, as he sang, for her love.
A small breath of life seemed to animate the robot, which tilted its head and curiously leaned its face closer to hers. The audience cheered louder, but after a few moments of locked gazes, the android lowered its head, did a quick about-face, and headed for the exit.
Once again, Bill looked at her desperately, reaching out for her, trying to hold her back. The robot stopped suddenly, lingering for a moment, turning its head briefly to look at him, but then resumed its march toward the stairs.
"Run after her, you idiot!" a boy from the audience shouted, making Belinda smile under her helmet, even though she tried not to move her red lips from their rigid line.
When she reached the wings, she burst into laughter, turning to look at what was happening on stage.
The notes came out of the instruments in a very evocative way, and the giant screens continued to show the little hesitant robot. It was crazy to stare at that being and truly think it was her. Magnified like that, her eyes seemed to be suffering from the internal debate tearing the little android apart.
Was it the same for her?
Tom's voice, playing the counterpoint, tore her from those thoughts, making her focus on the band with a satisfied smile: damn, they were really good!
She turned, hearing footsteps, and saw her sister approaching, smiling. He put an arm around her waist and, with a nod, indicated the guitarist. "Look at your Neanderthal!"
Naomi's eyes sparkled as she observed Tom. "He's a bit rude, admittedly, but I have to say, getting to know him, I like him more and more!"
"But if you've always gone after the nice, polite, kind guys: he's a real pain in the ass!" He teased her.
"Like Bill?" Naomi called out ironically.
"Nice, polite, and kind, Bill? I'd say more introverted and elusive. What a shame you've given me!" she grumbled, feigning offense.
Naomi searched her sister's eyes through the small opening in her helmet. "What, you mean you haven't managed to catch him and kiss him yet?"
"As I was saying, the guy's pretty elusive..." Belinda sighed.
"But nothing happened last night? So why, when he left our room, did he have that idiotic smile on his face?"
"Who?" Belinda asked, surprised.
"Bill! Who else are we talking about?"
The girl tried to concentrate on that moment to remember what had happened. She remembered going to bed tired, throwing herself on the mattress, and having a confusing dream, in which the singer was also present. Hadn't it been a dream, then?
Her sister had sometimes accused her of giving sensible answers even when she seemed to be asleep, but she couldn't believe that even in moments like this... oh, damn it: she'd fallen asleep right at the heart of it! She hadn't enjoyed her victory... But she'd kissed him! What had it been like?
She concentrated on that moment and suddenly remembered the caresses on his hair, her warm laugh, her breath on his cheek, and then she... yes, it was she who'd pulled him close and kissed him. Yes, damn, she remembered!
She looked at him on stage, as he thanked everyone affectionately; the band accompanied him with splendid background music.
It was a moment, as Bill moved the stand to put away the microphone, that their eyes met.
"You said she was smiling?" she asked her sister thoughtfully, without taking her eyes off him.
"Yes. So, what happened?"
"Nothing big, but it was certainly a good start!" Belinda smiled mischievously as she released her embrace and freed herself from her helmet, shaking out her hair.
After a few moments, everyone else arrived, tired, sweaty, but happy.
"You were phenomenal!" Annalisa exclaimed enthusiastically, arriving from the audience. "I went downstairs to see what the mood was like, and, boy, I felt drunk without having had a drink!"
Her eyes lingered adoringly on Kristian, who was shaking out some of his hair, trying to free it from his shirt.
"Your hair is stunning, you know that?"
She no longer felt embarrassed, and Kristian seemed to have grown accustomed to that selfless, genuine adoration, which treated her with great tenderness.
"If you give me time to change, I'll take you to our hairdresser and show you the lotion I use to keep it always at its best!" He smiled at her and ran to change.
Hellen also took her "little bear," as she called Klaus, along to give him a muscle massage, since he suffered terrible cramps after every performance.
"I want a Thai massage, too," Tom muttered. "I have a muscle here..." He pointed to his neck, pretending to be in pain.
"I don't know Thai massage." Naomi pretended to think about it. "But I know a shiatsu technique that helps with pain."
He turned around. "How do you do it?"
"Come on, I'll show you!" She laughed, dragging him away. "Even though I'm not sure you can handle it."
"Do they hurt?" he asked, alarmed.
"What's that supposed to be to a primitive man like you!" she teased, pulling him down the corridor.
Belinda was still laughing as they disappeared from her sight, and she turned to look at Bill, who smiled back.
"She can't do it," the girl muttered, walking off to get changed.
"Do what?" he asked, following her.
Belinda looked at him in surprise. "But you still don't understand the situation?"
"Are you referring to Naomi's crush?"
"Actually, I mean Tom." She laughed, stopping. "He thinks he has the situation under control, he feels thrilled to be the center of her attention, but before he knows it, he'll find himself following her around like a puppy. I'm sorry, but that's how it works with her."
"I really don't see my brother behaving the way you say," she commented, shaking her head.
Belinda held out her hand, palm up. "Shall we bet?"
Bill shrugged. "No, I don't like betting on people."
"Not even on me?" she teased, tilting her head to the side.
Bill stared at her for a few seconds: with her hair falling over one shoulder, her red lips pursed in a fake pout, her makeup-covered eyes that seemed longer, and her vertiginous heels that brought her almost to his height, she was beautiful.
He couldn't believe she was the same sleepy girl who had spoken to him the night before and kissed him passionately and tenderly. The next morning, when they met for breakfast, she had greeted him normally, without any allusions or any particular emotion on her face.
He was a little offended by the truth, even his vanity had suffered: was it possible that it hadn't meant anything?
It often happened to him when he met and kissed fans: after a few moments, he couldn't remember their faces or names.
Had it been the same for her? A fleeting touch, forgotten an instant later?
Or had she wanted to free herself from the promise extorted from him for the failed kiss on stage? No, that wasn't what Bill wanted.
It had been beautiful, tender, and even satisfying, but he wanted something else...
He stared at her as she took off a glove, tossed it into her helmet, and then returned that deep gaze to him. Her eyes laughed, but her lips remained serious.
"It doesn't matter." Belinda feigned resignation. "You'll tell me another time."
She took a step closer and ran a finger across his lips, whispering softly. "Perhaps while you give me another goodnight?"
She blinked and, letting her hand slide over his face in a slow, meaningful caress, she swayed away on her heels.
Bill watched her, surprised and moved, his heart pounding wildly: he remembered, indeed! Little witch!
He wanted to talk to her, take her in his arms, and erase that satisfied smile with a long, deep kiss, but he held back: it would have been too easy. It was up to Belinda to seek him out, reach him, desire him. This way, it was too simple, and he would always be left with the doubt that she had kissed the singer, the big star, as she used to tease him, and not the man.
This time, he wouldn't give himself up for anything less; he was tired of empty kisses, unfamiliar faces, and banal conversations. He wanted to be desired as a person, for who he was, not for his popularity.
He followed her down the corridor, keeping a slow pace so as not to overtake her, and entered her dressing room, closing the door behind him.
Shortly afterward, André called them all into a large room and congratulated them on the success of the evening. He was thrilled because several press officers had wanted to schedule interviews and conferences with the guys, but there was also a lot of attention and curiosity about that female presence on stage.
"How did they describe her? Wait!" He took a piece of paper from his pocket and read: "A little sexy spark in the cold electronic atmosphere!"
Belinda blushed, while the others applauded.
"You know, maybe it was a good idea not to say who you are, so we'll have another way to pique the curiosity of the people who come to the concerts," he admitted with satisfaction.
"I think they'll be wondering what's going to happen next time, since we've already changed the performance from the first version, and that means a lot of people will be back for the next shows," said Lucas, the choreographer and stage technician, with satisfaction.
"You could make a mini-series special to include with the live DVD," Belinda casually suggested.
"What a great idea! We could try it, what do you say?" the man approved.
"Let's collect all the appearances and see what comes out during the editing," André suggested, though his expression revealed that he liked the idea and was already predicting its commercial viability.
"Shall we go eat?" Tom suggested, standing up.
They all agreed and rushed to the vehicle waiting to take them back to the loft.
Belinda was happy because, fortunately, everything had gone smoothly: the audience had waited and appreciated her brief appearance, the timing had coincided, and there had been no incidents.
The group commented on the results, enthusiastic about how things were going, and the prospect of performing again gave them energy.
She listened distractedly, looking out the window, sandwiched between Bill and Hellen.
Hellen continued to massage Klaus's fingers, who was clearly tired. By the end of the performance, he was in severe pain, not only in his hands but also in his legs. She smiled affectionately at him, and he blushed, embarrassed by his girlfriend's constant attentions.
Bill gestured as he commented on the emotions the stage continued to convey to him, the feedback he received from the audience, and noted the little things he needed to change in future shows.
The rocking of the car made Belinda sink even deeper into the leather seat. She closed her eyes and let herself be lulled by the murmur of the discussion.
She felt good, and her mind brought back fragments of the past, so similar to that moment, yet so different.