was a b.a.s.t.a.r.d, P.M. thought, and began to read.

Dear P.M.,

I guess I'm supposed to say I'm sorry about your divorce, but

I'm not. I didn't like Angie. The sisters say that divorce is a sin

but I think it's a bigger one to pretend you love someone when

you don't. I hope you're happy again because when I saw you

last summer you were sad

There are lots of things in the paper about you and Bev.

Maybe I'm not supposed to talk about something like that, but I

can't help it. If you and Bev get married, I won't be mad She's

so beautiful and good you can't help it if you love her. Maybe if

she's happy with you, she won't hate me anymore. I know you're

not fighting with Dad like it says in some of the papers It would

be stupid to blame him for loving Bev if you love her, too.

I found this picture I took of you and Dad a long time ago. I

know you're going to start the new alb.u.m soon, so you can show

it to him. I hope you're happy, because I love you. Maybe I'll see

you in London this summer.

Love,

Emma

P.M. studied the picture for a long time, then slipped it inside the

folded letter, and the letter inside the envelope. Divorcing his wife

had been one thing, he realized. Divorcing his family was something

else again.

OHNNO SPENT HIS FIRST day back in New York sleeping, and his second

composing. He was living alone at the moment, and gratefully

so. His last lover had driven him to distraction with obsessive

cleanliness. Johnno was fastidious himself, but when it had come to

washing all the bottles and cans that had come into the house from the

market, even he had been baffled.

He appreciated the silence-after the housekeeper had left. He thought

idly about spending the evening out, but decided he was too lazy. It

wasn't jet lag as much as it was the strain of the last few weeks. The

legalities and ha.s.sles of the new label, the difficult visit with Stevie

at the clinic, and worse somehow, the time he had spent with Brian,

watching his oldest friend snuggle down deeper into a bottle.

Yet the music Brian was writing was better than ever. Stinging,

lyrical, sharp-edged, dreamy. He wouldn't speak of his feelings, of his

hurt or anger over P.M."s relationship with Bev. But it was there in

his music.

That was enough to keep Pete happy, Johnno thought as he stripped off

his shirt. As long as Devastation kept rocking, all was right with the

world.

He took out the shrimp salad his housekeeper had made up, uncorked a

bottle of wine, and pushed idly through the mail which had acc.u.mulated

during his absence. When Emma's handwriting caught his eye, he grinned.

Dear Johnno,

I've snuck away from the nuns for a little while. I guess I'll do

penance for it later, but I felt I might scream if I didn't have a

few minutes alone. Most of the sisters are cranky today. Three