mouth. "I'd love to."

SHE HMDLY HEARD THE CHEERS. Her brains barely registered the music.

When it was over, and her father, dripping sweat, came off the stage for

the last time, she knew that if a fraction of the dozens of pictures

she'd taken turned out to be worth anything, it would be a miracle.

"Christ, I'm starving." Mopping his face and hair, he headed for the

dressing room, cheers and screams still ringing in his ears. "What do

yotA say, Emma? Let's drag the rest of these rock relics out for a

pizza."

"Oh, well, I'd love to but-" She hesitated, not sure why she felt

uncomfortable. "I've got some things to do." Quickly, she reached up to

kiss him. "You werewonderful."

"What did you expect?" Johnno asked as he elbowed his way down the

crowded hall. He dropped his voice to a creaky whisper. "We're

legends."

His red face streaming, P.M. stopped beside them. "That Lady

Annabelle-with the hair." He held his hands out to the side of his own

head to demonstrate.

"The one in the red suede and diamonds?" Emma offered.

"I suppose. She w.a.n.gled a spot backstage." P.M. swiped a hand over his

brow. Though his voice was aggrieved, laughter sparkled in

his eyes. "When I went by, she-she-" He cleared his throat, shaking his

head as if he could hardly go on. "She tried to molest me."

"Good G.o.d, call the law." Johnno swung a comforting arm around his

shoulder. "Women like that should be locked up. I know you must feel

used and dirty, dearie, but don't you worry. Come tell Uncle Johnno all

about it." He started to lead P.M. off. "Just what did she touch, and

how? Don't be afraid to be specific."

Chuckling, Brian watched them go. "P.M. always attracts the blatant

sort. Hard to figure."

There was affection in his tone. Emma caught it, wondering if her

father knew he'd forgiven his old friend. Then she saw the smile fade.

Stevie stood a few feet away, resting a shoulder against the wall. His

face was pale, both it and his hair running with sweat. Emma thought he

looked ten years older than his contemporaries.

"Come on, son." In a casual move, Brian slipped an arm around his waist,

steadying, taking the weight. "What we need's a shower and some red

meat."

"Dad, can I help?"

With a brisk shake of his head, Brian turned toward Stevie's dressing

room. This wasn't something he would turn over to his daughter or

anyone else. "No, I'll take care of it."

"I'll-see you at home," she murmured, but he had already closed the

door. Feeling a little lost, she went to find Drew.

SHE ExpEcTED HIM to pick a loud, crowded club with hot rock musio-Tramp

or Thboo. Instead, she found herself sitting in the dim corner booth of

a smoky jazz club in Soho. There was a trio spotlighted in dreamy blue

on the stage, a pianist, a ba.s.s player, and a vocalist. They kept the

music low and moody, like the lighting.

"I hope you don't mind coming here."