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
bloody 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, grass, 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 grass. 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
assassinations. 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