you're going to sit there and tell me that you just can't help killing
yourself That's fine then, but don't expect the people who love you to
stand and watch."
She started out, only to be stopped in the doorway by a petite brunette.
"Miss McAvoy? I'm Dr. Haynes, Mr. Nimmons's psychiatrist."
Emma's body braced, like a boxer readying for a new match. "I'm on my
way out, Doctor."
"Yes, I can see that." The woman smiled and offered a hand. "Nice show,
dear. I recommend a brisk walk, then a hot bath." She moved by Emma to
go to Stevie's bed. "Ah, Scrabble. One of my favorites. Care for a
game, Mr. Nimmons?"
Emma heard the tiles hit the wall, but kept on walking.
She found Brian outside, leaning against the hood of his newest Jaguar.
When he spotted her, he took one last drag on his cigarette, then
flicked the butt away.
"I thought you might stay a bit longer."
"No, I said all I had to say." As she spoke, she fastened the bottom
snap on her dark blue bomber's jacket, then pulled up the zipper. "I
wanted to ask you if I'd heard correctly. Did you buy drugs for
Stevie?"
"Not the way you mean it. I'm not a dealer, Emma."
"Word games then," she agreed with a nod. "Did you provide him with
drugs?"
"I provided him with an opiate substitute-to help get him through
the tour and keep him from going out to some alley and trying to score
heroin."
"To get him through the tour," she repeated. "I thought Pete was bad,
lying to the press, helping Stevie lie to himself"
"Pete's not at fault here."
"Yes he is. You're all at fault here."
"Are we supposed to take out an ad in Billboard saying that Stevie's a
junkie?"
"It would be better than this. How is Stevie ever supposed to face up
to this if he can't admit what he is? And how is he supposed to stop
being what he is if his friends, his very dear friends, keep handing him
drugs so he can get through one more show, one more city."
"It isn't like that-"
"Isn't it? Or are you deluding yourself into thinking you're doing it
out of friendship?"
Too weary for anger, he leaned against the car again. The breeze that
ruffled his hair was brisk with autumn and smelled of rain. Peace, he
thought as he studied his daughter's furious face. He only wanted
peace.
"You don't know anything about it,' Emma. And I don't appreciate being
lectured by my own daughter."
"I won't lecture you." She turned and walked to her own car. With her
hand on the door, she looked back at him. "You know, I never told you,
but I went to see Jane a couple of years ago. She's pathetic, wrapped
up in her own needs and her own ego. Until now, I hadn't realized how
much you're like her."