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preferred her own view, through her own eyes.
"Can we live here?"
Bev fiddled with the telescope until she focused on the Statue of
Liberty. "Here, in New York?"
"Here. On top."
"No one lives here, Emma."
"Why not?"
"Because it's a tourist attraction," she answered absently. "And one of
the wonders of the world, I think. You can't live in a wonder."
But Emma looked out over the high wall and thought that she could.
THE TELEVISION stuDio didn't impress Emma. It didn't look as pretty or
as big as it did onscreen. The people were ordinary. She did like the
cameras, though. They were big and bulky, and the people behind them
seemed important. She wondered if looking through one of the cameras
was like looking through the telescope on the Empire State Building.
Before she could ask Bev, a skinny man began talking in a loud voice. It
was the oddest American accent she'd heard yet. She couldn't understand
half of what he said, but she caught the word "Devastation." Then came
the explosion of screams.
After the first shock, Emma stopped cringing into Bev's skirts and
leaned out. Though she didn't understand the screaming, she realized it
wasn't a bad sound. It was a good, young noise that bulleted off the
walls and slammed off the ceilings. It made her grin, though Bev's hand
trembled lightly in hers.
She liked the way her father moved across the stage, prancing and
strutting as his voice, strong and clear, merged with Johnno's, then
Stevie's. His hair glowed gold under the bright lights. She was a
child, and easily recognized magic.
As long as she lived she would hold this picture in her mind, and her
heart, of four young men standing on stage, drenched in light, in luck,
and in music.
THREE THOUSAND MiLEs AwAy, Jane sat in her new flat. There was a pint
of Gilbey's and an ounce of Colombian Gold on the table beside her.
She'd lit candles, dozens of them, using those and the drugs to mellow
her mood. Brian's clear tenor played on her stereo.
She'd moved into Chelsea with the money she'd taken from Brian. There
were young people there, musicians and poets and artists, and the ones
who followed them. She thought she would find another Brian in Chelsea.
An idealist with a beautiful face and clever hands.
She could pop off to the pubs whenever she liked, listen to the music,
pick out a likely companion for the night.
She had a six-room flat with s.h.i.+ny new furniture in every room. Her
closets bulged with clothes from fas.h.i.+onable boutiques. On her finger
was a fat diamond ring she'd bought the week before when she'd been
feeling blue. She was already bored with it.
She had thought that one hundred thousand pounds was all the money in
the world. She ran one hand down the silk robe she wore, pleased, very
pleased with its sinuous feel. She'd soon discovered that large amounts
were as easily spent as small ones. She still had enough to last her
awhile, but it hadn't taken long for her to realize she'd sold Emma
