the tense muscles. "Just a change."

"If we're not moving forward, we're moving back, don't you see?"

But he knew she couldn't, and tried to put his feelings into more

understandable words. "Maybe it's Pete pressuring us to tour again, or

talking Stevie into sitting in with other groups in studio sessions, and

doing that movie score. All I know is, it's not just the four of us

getting together and playing from the heart anymore. It's image and

b.l.o.o.d.y marketing, it's brokers and tax shelters."

Emma rolled over, murmuring.

"And I guess it's worrying about Emma going to school, and Darren going

off one day. What's it going to be like for them? Will people

start picking at them, wanting pieces of them because of what I am? I

don't want them to have the filthy childhood I did, but am I doing any

better by them, making them a part of something that's gotten bigger

than all of us? And hungrier."

"You think too much." She turned to take his face in her hands. "That's

what I love most about you. The children are fine. You've only got to

look at them to see. Maybe their childhood isn't normal, but they're

happy. We're going to keep them happy, and safe. Whatever you are,

whoever you are, you're their Dad. We'll work out the rest."

"I love you, Bev. I must be deft, worrying about all this. We've got

everything." He brought her closer, to rest his head on her hair. He

wished he could understand why everything had turned out to be too much.

BRim's DISCONTENTMENT VANISHED after a couple of joints. The house was

full of people Brian felt understood him, what he wanted to do, where he

wanted to go. The music was loud, the drugs were plentiful and varied.

Snow, gra.s.s, Thrkish hash, speed, bennies. The grinding, soul-wrenching

rock of Janis Joplin poured out as his guests took their pick. He

wanted to listen to her, again and again, to hear her belt out "Ball and

Chain." Somehow it helped him grab onto the fact that he was alive, he

still had a chance to make it matter.

He watched Stevie dance with a redhead in a purple miniskirt. Stevie

didn't worry about beirfg a figurehead or turning into a poster for some

girl's wall, Brian mused as he washed down pretzels with smooth Irish

whiskey. Stevie gleefully jumped from woman to woman without a care in

his head. Of course, he was stoned most of the time. With a half-laugh,

Brian picked another joint out of the bowl and decided it was time to

get stoned himself

From across the room, Johnno watched Brian settle back. Distancing

himself, Johnno reflected as he chose a Gauloise over gra.s.s. It had

been happening more and more recently. Perhaps because Johnno was

closest to Brian, he had been the only one to notice. He thought now

that the only time Brian seemed truly in tune was when the two of them

sat down to write. Melody, countermelody, phrases, bridges.

He knew Brian had been upset by the deaths of Hendrix and Joplin. So had

he. In its way, it had been as devastating as the Kennedy

a.s.sa.s.sinations. People were supposed to grow old and decrepit before

they died. But though he'd been shaken, he hadn't mourned as Brian was

mourning. Then, Brian always cared more, needed more.

Like Brian, he glanced over at Stevie. He didn't like what he saw. It