"Sure." Brian passed 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 sexual preference was common knowledge within the band, but for
his own privacy, and at Pete's insistence, he cultivated an image of a
heterosexual 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 sunglasses 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
cocoon 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