Only P.M. left early, anxious to get back to his wife and baby.

"He's getting old," Johnno decided, plopping down beside her to play

some blues on a harmonica. He glanced back to study the

seventeen-year-old vocalist who was already an established star.

"Christ, we're all getting old. Before long, you'll commit the ultimate

insult and make us grandfathers."

"We'll just push your rocking chair up to a mike." She tipped up the

bottle.

"You're a nasty one, Emma."

"I learned from the best." Chuckling, she draped an arm around his

shoulders. "Look at it this way, there hasn't been anyone else on stage

today who's lived through two decades of rock-and-roll h.e.l.l. You're

practically a monument."

"'ftuly nasty," he decided and cupped the harmonica. "All this talk

about lifetime achievement awards," he muttered between chords. "Rock

and Roll Hall of Fame."

"They have their nerve, don't they?" She laughed and hugged him.

"Johnno, you're not really worried about age."

He scowled and began to blow more blues. Behind him, someone picked up

the rhythm on ba.s.s. "See how you like it when you're cruising toward

tucking fifty."

"Jagger's older."

He shrugged. The drums had fallen in, a brush on the snare. "Not good

enough," he told her and continued to play.

"You're better looking."

He considered that. "Rue."

"And I've never had a crush on him."

He grinned. "Never got over me, did you?"

"Never." Then she spoiled the solemn look with a chuckle. She began to

sing, improvising lyrics as she went. "I've got those rock-androll

blues. Those old, old, rocking blues. When my hair is gray, and you

ask me to play, I say don't bug me, Momma, my bones they're aching

today. I got them rock-and-roll blues. Them old man rocking blues."

She grinned at him. "Did I pa.s.s the audition?"

"Pretty b.l.o.o.d.y clever, aren't you?"

"Like I said, I learned from the best."

While he continued to play, she slid off the edge of the stage and

framed him in. "One last shot before I go." She snapped, changed the

angle, and snapped again. "I'll call it Rock kon. " She laughed when

he called her a nasty name, then packed the camera in her case. "Shall

I tell you what rock and roll is, Johnno, from someone who doesn't

perform, but observes?"

He gestured with the harmonics, then cupped it again to play softly as

he watched her.

"It's restless and rude." Walking back, she laid a hand on his knee.

"It's daring and defiant. It's a fist shaken at age. It's a voice that

often screams out questions because the answers are always changing."

She glanced up to see her father standing behind Johnno, listening. Her

smile swept over him. "The very young play it because they're searching

for some way to express their anger or joy, their confusion and their