"Sure." Brian pa.s.sed the cigarette. "As long as I don't start making

you hot and bothered."

And that had been the end of it.

When Johnno took a lover, he took him discreetly, and never discussed

it. His s.e.xual preference was common knowledge within the band, but for

his own privacy, and at Pete's insistence, he cultivated an image of a

heteros.e.xual stud. For the most part, it amused him.

There were regrets, though he hated to acknowledge them. It came to him

now, as he bounced Emma on his lap, that he would never have a child of

his own.

And with frustration, he was forced to admit, as he watched Brian slip

an arm around Bev, that the one man he truly loved would never be his

lover.

EMmA WAs DAZZLED by New York. After a late breakfast where Brian

indulged her with strawberry jam and sugary pastries, she was left in

Bev's hands. It didn't worry her, not this time. Her Dad was going to

be on the telly that night, and he'd promised that she could go to the

place where the telly pictures were made and watch.

In the meantime, she and Bev drove around the city in the big white car.

She giggled at the blond wig and big round sungla.s.ses Bev wore. Though

Bev didn't smile much at first, Emma's excitement soon distracted her.

Emma liked watching the people rush along the sidewalks, jostling each

other, streaming across intersections while horns blared. There were

women in short skirts and high heels, their bouffant hairdos as steady

as carved stones. There were others in denim and sandals, with their

manes of hair hanging straight as rain down their backs. On the corners

there were vendors selling hot dogs and soft drinks and ice cream which

the pedestrians snapped up as the temperature soared outside the cool

coc.o.o.n of the limo. There was a nervy aggression to the traffic that

Emma didn't understand but enjoyed.

Unruffled, and proper in his tan uniform and stiff-brimmed hat, the

driver pulled to the curb. He didn't think much of music himself,

unless it was Frank Sinatra or Rosemary Clooney, but he was sure his two

teenagers would go wild when he brought them home autographs at the end

of his two-day job.

"Here we are, ma'am."

"Oh." A little dazed, Bev stared out the window.

"The Empire State Building," he explained with a gesture toward the

doors. "Would you like me to pick you up in an hour?"

"An hour, yes." Bev took Emma's hand firmly in hers when the driver

opened the door. "Come on, Emma. Devastation's not going to the top

alone."

There was a long, winding line, with wailing babies and whining

children. They started at the end, two bodyguards silently falling in

behind, and were soon swallowed up. A group of French students filed in

seconds later, all carrying Macy's shopping bags and talking in their

fast, flowing language. Amid the mix of perfume, sweat, and wet

diapers, Emma caught the dreamy aroma of pot. No one else seemed to

notice or care. They were shuffled onto an elevator.

Long, stuffy minutes later, they were led off to wait again. She didn't