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As odd as it seemed to Hedwig to be going on a national television show to discuss her identity crisis less than forty-eight hours after the mental breakdown that brought it on in the first place, that was also how one remained relevant in the entertainment industry. Or so Phyllis told her. Hedwig hadn't really been listening – and not for any drama this time, or thinking herself above it all. This same national television show happened to have a five am call time and Hedwig was therefore only half-awake. Not even half, really. She was conscious, barely, and she suspected her wife and the band were in the same boat. That was really all anyone could ask of a crew that kept the hours they did. Rockers were generally nocturnal creatures, and Hedwig was sure their target audience would be watching this segment much later, on DVR or something. She did chuckle, however, to consider the most likely – and most easily scandalized – live audience. Suburban housewives were almost too easy a target. Hedwig had been scandalizing that particular demographic for years, often through her mere existence.
As the too-chipper makeup artist contoured her face, Hedwig glanced at Krystal. Her beautiful, long-suffering wife, her own identity sacrificed to accommodate Hedwig's ego. This was about her, too, Krystal's own rebirth. It cut a little deeper every time Hedwig thought about it. Now that her eyes were open, she was having a lot of trouble processing the truths that were suddenly laid bare. With any luck, she and Krystal would have years more together, time in which she could try to make up for past hurts, but that didn't change the fact that it should never have gone that far or gotten that bad in the first place. Hedwig sighed, hit with a fresh wave of guilt as she continued to dwell on the matter. “Why didn't you run when you had the chance?” she asked quietly. Hedwig didn't particularly want to invite the show's stylists into their personal drama, but at the same time, it was no secret that there had been problems. She'd invited entire audiences into their personal drama for years.
Krystal shrugged noncommittally, her gaze not leaving the cup of coffee in her hands. “Eh, no Starbucks in Croatia.”
Hedwig laughed. They'd had so many more of these moments, even in just the last day and a half. Krystal's quick wit, the dry sense of humor that had charmed Hedwig early in their marriage, they were coming back. She was finding herself again. “Fair enough.”
Phyllis hurried back in to their periphery, bright eyed and energetic. She'd always been a morning person. “You're looking great, my darlings. This is going to be huge for us. It's the kind of exposure we're actually looking for.”
“And?” Hedwig prompted. There was always an “and” with this kind of speech.
“Annnd.” Phyllis dragged the word longer than was strictly necessary, giving Hedwig a significant look. “I'd just appreciate it if, maybe, you held onto any more surprises you might have until we're off the air. We've discussed the basics of the re-branding. The fresh start, for both of you.” She sighed, though she didn't sound nearly as overwhelmed as she had in recent months. “What I'm saying is, we have an outline. For the love of God, Hedwig, please stick to it.”
Hedwig snorted. “And why is this specifically directed at me?” She knew damn well why, but she was inclined to be a bit playful.
Phyllis shook her head. “Because I can trust Krystal to behave, that's why.”
Hedwig shrugged. “Okay, so I admit, killing you off last time might have been a step too far. I was on a roll.” She'd made a game lately of inventing outlandish stories about Phyllis to tell her audiences, as if they were fact, to see just how ridiculous a web she could spin and keep a crowd eating it up. It had gotten somewhat out of hand at the last performance. Hedwig didn't even remember all of it; she'd been cruising toward her eventual breakdown at an alarming rate. Judging by Krystal's expression, she did, though, and Hedwig resolved to get it from her later. Even failed bits sometimes had a gem or two that could be salvaged and recycled into something new. (And wasn't that concept representative of her life in general lately?)
Phyllis gave her a look, one of tolerant affection Hedwig knew well. “We can discuss your penchant for bizarre and disturbing storytelling later. This morning, just stick to the script.”
“Fine,” Hedwig agreed, sighing as though the request would require great sacrifice of her. It was all part of the game. Though what exactly the game was anymore, she wasn't sure. Two days ago, it was about clinging to what was left of her sanity. Now, that wall had fallen – and as it said in her own introduction, she didn't know who she was anymore. Well, that wasn't strictly true. She was a lot closer to that answer than she ever had been, actually. Now that she could accept the fluid nature of her gender, that she didn't have to be one thing or another, it was really very freeing. The rest could fall into place.
Looking back on it, Tommy found it particularly funny that, as always, it was the music that had brought them together.
One could say he'd followed her voice.
The irony was not lost on him.
Tommy Gnosis – that was what the world knew him as. For the last several years, that was how he'd even thought of himself. It made him feel good, like he really was more than some loser kid from Kansas. Fame had come fast, overwhelming him. He'd made mistakes. A lot of mistakes. Most of them, he regretted. The rest – well, he'd been too high at the time to remember them. They were probably pretty awful too. He'd been a sheltered kid from a sheltered life when he met the woman who changed everything. She opened his eyes to an entirely new world that was out there, the one Tommy had longed to see. And then he'd gone and fucked that up – freaking out, hurting her.
It probably would have been better if his relationship with Hedwig Robinson had ended that day in the trailer, when he'd run out. (Like a coward, he realized now. Time had afforded him some clarity, especially when he wasn't high out of his mind and repeating lines whispered to him by his PR crew.) He'd been a kid, a stupid kid, and he'd reacted in the worst possible way. And, to her credit, when he'd come back to see Hedwig the next day, she'd let him in. As hurt as she must have been, she gave him another chance. But nothing was the same after that. She tensed whenever he touched her, terrified of rejection. That day probably should have been the end, but it was just the beginning of the end. Their relationship, in a tailspin.
At the time, Tommy had been clueless. He'd known they were in trouble, but he kept congratulating himself on being contrite enough for long enough that all the bad stuff would blow over. It should have been a giant red flag when she threw those couple of pages of sheet music at him across the table – his attempt at a pop love ballad, finished during one of her fits of insomniac creativity.
Look what you've done...
But it wasn't a love ballad when Hedwig was finished with it. The song had become an angsty breakup tune, raw and dripping with pain. But, Tommy, nineteen and naive, had only gushed about how great it was – this was going to be their number one hit. She'd smiled in that distant, disaffected way she'd developed and murmured, “So it might.”
It had, admittedly, charted at number one for several weeks; he wasn't entirely wrong.
Eventually things had come to a head between them and after a screaming argument one night in Utah when Hedwig discovered how extensive his drug use was becoming, he'd grabbed all the sheet music he could and left. They were copies; that was how he justified it to himself, knowing it was wrong even at the time. Hedwig had her originals. It was both of them in a race to the top and let the best one win. He'd let a pushy record executive convince him that his past was exactly that – the past, and a new story, one that didn't include a girlfriend for whom gender was a complicated issue, was the ticket to fame. “Given this opportunity, she wouldn't credit you, would she?”
Tommy wasn't as stupid as he sometimes looked. He saw how smarmy the guy was. He knew it was wrong. And he'd shrugged, agreed, and signed the contract anyhow. He should have held out for another arrangement, one more ethical. But he was young and desperate to prove he could play the music world's cutthroat game.
Just another fuck-up in a very long line of them. Those would continue and build, especially once Hedwig found out – and how wouldn't she have? He was in every magazine, every special, the golden (silver?) boy of the rock world, and she was sitting in a trailer park in Kansas. Eating ramen and having plenty of time to grow bitter.
Looking back, it really wasn't much of a shock that she'd gone a little off the deep end.
And, as much as it became one of his biggest headaches, it was really his fault. If he'd credited her from the beginning, thanked her in his awards speeches, paid her for her contributions, she might not have stalked him to the ends of the earth.
It all made so much sense now, but hindsight was 20/20, especially considering he spent most of his waking hours with several hundred dollars' worth of premium heroin coursing through his veins.
Hedwig hadn't been Tommy's biggest problem; the drugs had. But Hedwig was louder and easier for his team to focus on, so they'd directed the public's attention to a story about a deranged fan turned stalker. Easier to keep them distracted, keep them from realizing the real mess that his life was becoming. After the accident, he'd gotten a new team, who quickly scrambled to use his problems as a selling point. He was going to rehab. A brief tour of atonement first, where he could apologize to all his fans for dragging them through the wringer.
The most celebrated are the rehabilitated...
Tommy had little interest in musical theatre overall, but he could appreciate the story of a guy from Kansas who'd let a little power go to his head.
His people still cautioned him to avoid the subject of a certain mystery woman, to deny everything, and they'd drafted a nice settlement to persuade her to keep everything to herself. But that wasn't Hedwig's way. She didn't want the money; in fact, she refused it as soon as the offer was made. She wanted the credit she deserved. He knew that. And it was the night before his show in Times Square that everything started to come together. He didn't know most of Broadway from bluegrass, but apparently some new musical had bombed out of the gate and through means entirely unknown to his people (but Tommy could guess), Hedwig's band had booked the theater. Crudely thrown together “one night only” posters had been slapped up all over the area. As for Tommy, that night, he'd been shooting up in his hotel room, trying not to panic.
A block away. She was going to be a block away . Cover stories could only go so far. A lot of people were going to see her perform and they'd know. He was going to be expected to play the game, keep his story straight. He couldn't give up now, not when his album sales were crashing and burning. It wasn't exactly like he could go back to Kansas if he failed; he'd alienated his parents and burned most of his bridges. He'd gone back to the source, pouring through all of the old sheet music desperately. Maybe if he found some way to twist those notes to make sure he sounded better, no matter what stops Hedwig pulled out. And then it happened. A piece of notebook paper fell out of the pile and drifted to the floor. Tommy had never noticed it, somehow. It was Hedwig's handwriting, half-haphazardly jotted across the page, and he almost tossed it, figuring it for a random note. But, no. It was lyrics. Stained with something – probably wine – and scribbled as if she'd had a lot of that wine before sitting down to write. But legible. And...incredible.
It was the final verse to Wicked Little Town. She'd always insisted the song was supposed to end exactly as it did. Tommy had argued it needed a proper close instead of a subtle fade. Every time, she rolled her eyes and told him to write one himself. But it seemed she had. Did she even remember this? Had she ever put it to music? And the words. It was everything he'd wanted to say to her since everything had spun out of control. What had she been thinking when she wrote this? It seemed too intimate to be writing just another song she hoped to sell to Phil Collins.
Tommy's head had been spinning, and not just from the drugs. And he knew then that he had to make this his apology. Was it in poor taste, to apologize with her own words? Possibly. But it was less egregious by far than everything else he'd done to her. He lied a little in his intro, saying he didn't know where “she” was, this person who'd written the song for him. But if anyone bought that, he'd throw in the Brooklyn Bridge for free. They had to know who he meant. He had no idea if she'd hear; that part was true. But he had publicity on his side and maybe she'd hear about it.
The time between was a blur, but here he was, two days later. He was up early, the morning news shows blathering on in the background while he realized he was entirely too sober to deal with life and trying to rectify that. Several more major cities, a few minor ones, a grand finale in LA, and then off to clean up his life. That was the plan. And then he heard it, the German accent he'd have recognized anywhere. And he turned to the television, watching as Hedwig – notably more calm than she had been in recent months – sat with a woman Tommy didn't recognize, saying something about gender and identity. She was all charm and poise, no anger. Was this her own atonement tour? He had no idea, but something about her new serenity held his attention. Tommy fumbled for the remote, just in time to hear the interviewer ask Hedwig if she'd heard the rumors that his show's final number had been dedicated to her.
Hedwig nodded, “I like to think so. I saw it, actually. When I stepped outside for some air.” She squeezed the hand of the woman beside her, and it confused Tommy somewhat – wasn't she married to some Eastern European guy? – but not enough to distract him from Hedwig's words. “What with that pedestal, I'm surprised they didn't see him in Connecticut.” But her tone was teasing, light, and even Tommy could admit it had been a bizarre staging choice. He couldn't even blame the drugs; he hadn't been involved in such administrative decisions.
“So do you take it as some have?” the interviewer asked. “An admission, of sorts, that you did write for him – and an apology?”
Hedwig smiled, and Tommy's eyes were locked on the screen, because he hadn't seen her smile like that in a very long time. Since well before that catastrophe in her trailer. This was genuine. Something had changed in her and Tommy had no idea what, but he was glad if he could help. He also rather hoped he could find a bit of this new peace for himself. “I choose to consider it an apology, if not a direct admission.”
The interviewer was quick to pursue that train of thought. “I suppose the follow-up question would be, do you accept it?”
Hedwig smiled again, but this time it was at the woman beside her. “I've got enough apologies of my own to make. I don't see how I'm in much of a position not to accept his. So...yes. I do.”
“There's a saying in Germany, forgive if you must but don't ever forget that bastard's name.” A random memory floated to Tommy, years ago, when things were still good. He was still as sure as he'd ever been that half of Hedwig's “German proverbs” were things she made up on the spot, but she had a valid point. She'd been talking about her ex-husband at the time, but Tommy's own actions had led it to be about him. An apology was a start. But he needed to do more. Maybe that was how he'd find some serenity of his own. He called his manager, snapping orders down the line, not letting her get a word in edgewise. The hush money Hedwig had refused, it was only a fraction of the royalties he owed her. She deserved every penny and more. He'd cut her a check for at least an estimate; he didn't know if he could swing it all at once, considering recent sales. He could make sure all future releases of his albums included her credits. It wasn't enough to erase what had been done, but hopefully she could see he knew how wrong he'd been. Hopefully it would be enough to let her forgive. He didn't expect her to forget.
That having been accomplished, Tommy returned his attention to the TV, catching the end of her band's performance of Origin of Love. And, slowly, something else dawned on him. By Jove, that ridiculous expression. The hand of Jove. Osiris apparently wasn't the only god's name he'd fucked up. He'd been convinced it was Job - another of Hedwig's sly Biblical references.
His laughter was on the verse of hysterical, imagining Hedwig's reaction had she gotten to the end of the song in his limo before they started fighting. Eventually, he was laughing at his own stupidity – and life in general. But it felt good to laugh again. He'd followed Hedwig's voice back to a flicker of hope, that maybe he could turn things around. Take rehab seriously for once. Maybe he wasn't the lost cause he'd given up and assumed himself to be.
By Jove, he finally got it.
The interview had gone well – better than Hedwig expected, actually. She had been vaguely skeptical of the morning-show setup from the start, considering the way that type of television tended to pander to middle America's delicate sensibilities. But, though the interviewer had been quick to jump on the first opening that could turn the conversation to topics like Tommy and forgiveness, the mission was accomplished. Hedwig had played her part, been pleasant and conversational, and she had admirably restrained herself from answering questions like, “What do you think draws your band together the most?” with things like, “We're all really, really queer.” Even Jacek, whom they'd originally thought was the only straight one in the bunch, had recently started to realize he was aromantic. Hedwig wasn't surprised. They were all kindred souls on some level; they had to be in order to have stuck together the way they had these past seven years.
The conversation about Tommy wasn't entirely unwelcome either, not anymore. Hedwig hadn't been lying when she said she forgave him. Would she ever be able to forget what he'd done to her? Hardly. Nor would she want to, really. Those emotional scars were as much a part of her makeup as the physical ones she carried. But she had made a lot of mistakes, too. More than she even cared to think about. In protecting herself from more pain, she had become just like him. At her worst, she'd been just like Luther, and that wounded her even more. Tommy had been a misguided kid who acted carelessly. Luther was manipulative and calculating. And to move on, to truly be her whole self again, she had a lot of work to do – and a lot of forgiving to do, both of herself and those who hurt her. (At least when it came to those who'd hurt her unintentionally. Her father, Luther? They could burn in hell for all she cared.)
Back in the hotel, Hedwig sighed, sinking onto the bed as she watched Krystal staring at herself in the mirror. Krystal's expression was unreadable and Hedwig approached her after a moment, lightly resting her hands on Krystal's shoulders. “Hey, you.”
Krystal glanced over her shoulder to smile at Hedwig. “Hello.”
“Taking it in, hmm?” Hedwig remembered that. It had been different for her, of course, but she had spent a lot of time staring into the mirror in those early days in Kansas, wondering who the hell this woman looking back at her was. It had been too extreme, too fast, though many aspects of her new femininity did feel right in time. At least, for Krystal, this had to be a happier experience. Her look would need some tweaking for the everyday – she still relied on a lot of old drag queen tricks for her makeup and her fashion sense seemed slanted toward that extreme – but this was who she was meant to be. Guilt stabbed at Hedwig's heart suddenly, however, as she remembered staring at a relative stranger in the mirror and wondered if that was what it had been like for Krystal in the early days of their marriage.
Krystal turned from the mirror, facing Hedwig. “What is it?”
Hedwig pulled her close, resting her chin on the top of Krystal's head. “I just...God, Krystal.” Hedwig needed to say her name out loud, confirm it, let Krystal hear it on her lips again without any mocking tone. “I'm so sorry. I know I'll be saying that for a long time, for the rest of my life, but I....” She took a shaky breath. “I swear to you, if I'd had any idea you were trans, that it was more than performance, I would never have tied you to those conditions. I can't promise the rest of it would have been any better, and it doesn't matter because we can't change the past anyhow, but --”
Krystal reached up gently, putting a finger to Hedwig's lips to quiet her. “Hedwig. I didn't know either. I convinced myself it was all for show. Yes, a part of me knew, down deep, but it was too much to process and I never had the words for it until I was older.”
Hedwig sighed, still feeling more than a little guilty, but realizing Krystal wasn't going to let her go too far with this one. It wasn't as if there weren't plenty of other things for her to feel bad over. She might as well focus on making up for those. “Okay. I just – I know exactly how much it sucks to have to be someone you're not, to be misgendered daily. Now more than ever, really.”
Krystal smiled, taking Hedwig's hand and kissing it. “You're finding out who you are. And would you blame me for not knowing sooner your gender is more fluid than we thought?”
“Well, of course not.” Hedwig snorted. “That would be ridiculous. I couldn't even accept it until--” She broke off, giving Krystal a look. Irritated but impressed, she had to concede the point. “Nicely played.”
“Thank you.” Krystal grinned, though she moved to the bed shortly, her expression sobering again. “There is something I wanted to discuss, though.”
“Anything.” Hedwig sat beside her. “Tell me what you need. Hell, tell me what you want. Took me long enough, but I'm finally listening.”
Krystal took both of Hedwig's hands in hers, squeezing them. “I think we should divorce.”
Hedwig bit the inside of her lip, glad she was sitting. In the space of one sentence, the bottom had dropped out of her world. It was an entirely reasonable request, given what she'd put Krystal through. Krystal must have finally come to her senses in the last few hours. Hedwig had let herself hope, though. She let herself believe there was a future for them despite everything and now her heart was shattering. She tried to keep her voice steady as she nodded. The time when she would have given in to manipulation and begging was past. “If that's what you want, I won't stand in your way.”
Krystal frowned, then shook her head suddenly. “Oh. Darling, no.” She reached up to wipe away the tears that were forming despite Hedwig's best efforts to hold them back. “Not forever. I should have been clearer.” She stroked Hedwig's cheek. “We have been through so much. If we make it legal, when we remarry, we have a fresh start. A...what's the phrase? Clean slate.”
“Oh.” Hedwig let it sink in, and as she did, a smile crept onto her face. They had planned to have an actual wedding this time around anyway, and this was brilliant. It might have been little more than a symbolic gesture, but Hedwig loved symbolism. “That's kind of genius, actually.” She nodded. “I think it would be nice. I've already got Phyllis on the paperwork to change our names; I'll see if she can get that drawn up too. You should probably explain it first, though, as tempting as it is to drop it out of the blue. As much as I love pulling shit on her, that one's probably over the line.”
“What, and killing her for a good story wasn't?” Krystal teased.
“It didn't hurt her anyway.” Hedwig chuckled. “Come on, you know that shit was funny. You laughed.”
“I did no such thing,” Krystal insisted, smirking.
“You did too.” Hedwig ruffled her hair. That was already a lot more fun now that it was loose. “You covered it well, but you laughed.”
“Oh, yes, hmm? That's how you play it? Well, laugh about this.” Krystal leaned forward, stealing a kiss. Hedwig's initial thought was to remind her that wasn't exactly how the concept worked, but as Krystal's lips met hers, she wasn't about to protest.
Hedwig glanced around the hotel lobby as she strolled through, cutting across to the bank of elevators. She and Krystal had been out taking in the city and she passed the room key to Krystal. “Go on; I'll catch up. I just want to check in with the band for a minute.” It was so strange, not being in some strip motel with a one-star rating – if that – and enjoying a bit of luxury for a change. In the end, that accident, while not an experience she cared to repeat, had turned a terrible situation into something that was becoming kind of amazing. The publicity had given them some much-needed cash flow, enough that she didn't even consider Tommy's hush money out of desperation. A few weeks before, she might have. And now she was strolling down the hallway of a hotel that didn't leave her half-wondering if they'd all be murdered in their sleep, to her band's room – that was separated from hers and Krystal's by a floor instead of a paper-thin wall. Separate rooms even in those hole-in-the-wall motels hadn't even been something they could always afford. Things were definitely getting better.
Skszp answered the door when Hedwig knocked. He appeared to be alone, but that was fine, because Hedwig had been looking for him in particular anyhow. “Hello.”
“Hey.” Hedwig glanced around, curious. “Where's everyone else?”
“They went out.” Skszp shrugged, stepping back to invite her in. It was odd to be so casual with him now. The last few months, he'd been professional with her, even playing along when she messed with him during a show, but generally cold the rest of the time. At least until her breakdown the other night.
“Why didn't you go with them?” Now she was just being nosy, but she also wondered if she might be interrupting something.
Skszp shut the door as Hedwig stepped inside. “I like time to myself occasionally. It's been hard to come by with our lifestyle.”
“Oh.” Hedwig turned, reaching for the handle. “I can come back.”
“No need.” Skszp almost smiled. “They've been gone a couple hours and I assume you came for a reason.”
Hedwig nodded. “I know you write music of your own.” He'd written a couple songs she'd performed before; almost all of her show was her own material but he had genuine talent and there were a few pieces too good for even her ego to resist. “When we restructure the show, we'll need more numbers for Krystal to take the lead on. I've already decided to make Wicked Little Town her song now, and I don't know that I even want to keep Long Grift but she absolutely slayed it the other night.”
Skszp nodded as well. “So you wanted to know if I had anything written with her in mind?”
“Exactly,” Hedwig said. “I know you used to play for her when you two were together back in Croatia.”
Skszp was already digging through a pile of random equipment, but he glanced over his shoulder briefly. “It was mostly covers in those days, but...yes, there are some older pieces. It's not my best.”
“Please.” Hedwig snorted. “You've written phenomenal stuff on the back of cocktail napkins.” This was one of those things she probably should have told him long ago, but now was a start.
Skszp's almost imperceptible smile widened. He played it cool over most things, but directly addressing his talent always brightened his affect noticeably. He had a folder in his hand as he returned to Hedwig, giving it to her. “Take it with you. Look it over with her. If you see anything you like, I can make revisions.”
“Wow.” Just thumbing through it, Hedwig could tell there were entire albums of material there. Some was properly formatted and some was jotted down on hotel stationary, but this was no small collection. “You don't do things in half-measures, do you, Skszp?” She frowned as she tripped over his name again, though not as dramatically as when she did so on purpose. “I fucked it up again, didn't I?”
He laughed softly. “Closer. You'll get it.” Now that you're trying, his expression seemed to say, but he didn't voice that part.
Hedwig shook her head. “My bad jokes aside, is that name common where you're from? I know the Slavs are light on vowels, but you've got to admit that's a new level.”
“My mother said it was an old saint,” Skszp said, “but to be honest, I'm fairly sure she made it up. Or it came to her in a delusional state. It was always hard to tell with her.”
“I'm sorry?” His sense of humor could be sly and even offbeat at times, but this wasn't his style. The few times he had mentioned his mother in her presence, he'd spoken of her fondly. She'd been ill for most of his childhood, but that was all Hedwig really knew about her.
“My mother was schizophrenic,” Skszp clarified.
“Oh.” It made more sense now. “So that's what you meant when you said she was sick.” Given the casualness with which he addressed the issue, she felt like she should have known that. “Is that...common knowledge? I mean, with the others.”
“They know, yes.” Skszp didn't look annoyed, however; if anything, he seemed pleased, which further confused Hedwig until he continued. “You're getting more observant already. It's a good thing. Especially where Krystal is concerned. She always tends to put her needs behind those she cares for.”
“So I've realized.” Hedwig sighed deeply. She frowned at the floor briefly, rubbing the toe of her shoe against the carpet. “Why are you so friendly with me now, anyhow? These past few months, I was convinced you hated me.”
Skszp favored her with a rare fond look, the kind he usually reserved for the band or Krystal. “I never hated you. It was obvious you were working from a place of trauma. Your behavior? Yes, sometimes, I hated that, especially where Krystal was concerned. She's my best friend and there was a time when she was the only one in the world I could depend on. So, I can be very protective of her.”
Hedwig dropped her gaze back to the floor. She couldn't meet his eyes, not right that moment. She was afraid of what emotions she might see there. “I know. I've been a pretty awful person. But I'm trying to get better.”
“And I believe you will,” Skszp said. “You've already made moves in that direction. I'm inclined to give you some rope.”
Hedwig laughed. The idiomatic mistakes her band made sometimes never failed to amuse her. “Enough rope to hang myself with, hmm? I think you meant slack, there, but I'll take it.”
Skszp shrugged. “You've had more practice with this language.”
“That I have,” Hedwig agreed. She looked back through the folder that was still in her hands, if only to occupy herself, and shook her head. “This is an entire body of work, you know. Did you write all of it with her in mind or is some of it general?”
Skszp smiled. “The moment I heard her voice, I knew I needed to write for it. Cliche, perhaps, but it is what it is.”
“That's pretty amazing.” Hedwig found herself smiling as well. “I'm glad she's had someone like you on her side.”
He shrugged again and deferred, as he usually did with any compliments unrelated to his music. “As I said, find what you both like and I can polish it up.”
“Sure.” Hedwig was going to head back to her room, to settle down with Krystal and this music, but she paused, looking Skszp over once more. He was very pretty, always had been, even in the days where his style had been more goth than glam. His style was whatever suited him and Hedwig had always loved that, along with his dismissal of anyone's attempts to assign him to either end of the gender binary. But now as she was discovering her own point on that spectrum was in no way fixed, she wondered a bit more. “Can I ask you a potentially invasive question?”
“You can.” Skszp looked at her curiously. “I won't promise I'll answer it.”
“Fair enough.” Hedwig hesitated a moment, trying to find the best and least insensitive way to word it. “You know, how when people ask what you are, like a guy or a girl, and you always give them some smartass answer?” He nodded. “Well...what are you? I mean, where on the whole scale? Are you both? Does it change? I...all of this is so new for me. I always convinced myself I had to pick a team, so to speak. I mean, obviously I knew about the whole non-binary spectrum, but--” She spread her hands in front of her. “I just wasn't able to see it in myself until the other night. I lived so long having to convince myself and the world I was a woman. And before that, I held so tight to the idea I was just a boy who liked pretty things sometimes. Now...fuck, I'm just all over the place.”
Skszp nodded slowly. “I don't like to label it, myself. I know some use that as an excuse to be...how do I put it...?”
“Less queer?” Hedwig suggested.
“Yes, exactly.” Skszp seemed relieved that she understood. “I don't care about that part. The advantage, I suppose, of growing up with a mother who was rarely grounded in reality is that she never made me feel ashamed of who I was. That came later, when I got into the world.”
“I understand that,” Hedwig murmured.
Skszp put a hand on her arm. “I can't tell you where you are on that spectrum. I chose to stop labeling it myself when I couldn't find any way that felt right to describe it. As you describe it, for you, it seems to be something of both, but more of one than another at a given time?” He paused, as if for confirmation, and she nodded. “For me, it's more...neither. I choose not to choose. I use the pronouns I do, because in my language, everything has a definite gender. Even chairs. Those are the ones I've used all my life, so even if they aren't fully accurate, I'm comfortable with them. Does that make sense? It's hard to explain.”
“No, I get that.” Hedwig reached up to put her hand on top of his, squeezing it. “I don't know where I am on the whole pronoun thing, either. I feel like it's going to shift with me, but is that obnoxious? I don't know.”
“You do what you need to do for yourself.” Skszp gave her that fond look again, and it warmed her. “If you want to talk more about it, I'm here. Any time.”
“Thank you.” Hedwig squeezed his hand again before releasing. “I'd better get back before Krystal thinks I got lost. But, really, thank you.” She paused, her hand on the doorknob. “Is this the part where you threaten me within an inch of my life if I ever hurt her again?”
Skszp smiled. “I thought that was already implied.”
Hedwig was just outside her room when her phone buzzed. She frowned at the caller ID – Tommy's people. No doubt they'd seen the clips from the interview. With a sigh, Hedwig answered it. She wasn't in the mood, but best to get this over with so she could move on to more pleasant matters. “Yeah, hello?”
“Ms. Robinson?” Hedwig was pretty sure it was the same woman who'd tried to get her to take the hush money.
“Well, it's Schmidt now, but yeah.” Hedwig leaned against the wall. “Spare me the introductions. I know, you're with Tommy's people. Is this about the interview?”
“Only tangentially,” the woman replied.
“What the hell does that even mean?” Hedwig asked.
If the woman tried to cover her sigh, she wasn't doing a very good job of it. But she did begin to explain, that Tommy had a change of heart. That he wanted to credit her for her contributions to his music. And that this credit would be coming with compensation, financially, and all the details of the agreement that Hedwig soon began to lose track of in the legalese. She could only focus on the main point. She was finally getting credit. This had never been about the money, though this money she wouldn't turn down. Finally. She nodded numbly, providing an address the contract could be couriered to so she could sign it and ending the conversation.
Hedwig always thought she might cry when this day came, but she'd cried so much in the last few days the tears didn't come initially. She let herself into the hotel room, reaching for Krystal, who hurried to her. It wasn't until her face was buried in Krystal's hair her tears did finally fall.
Krystal hugged her tightly. “What's wrong?”
“Nothing.” Hedwig shook her head, not caring how shaky her voice was. “It's good, really.” She laughed at her own words, overwhelmed with the emotions coursing through her. “Really good, even.” She held Krystal for another moment, just relieved she had someone to share it with. “We won, babe. We finally won.”