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"And you're a regular Amazon. Here I was loping across the lot, trying
to play white knight. You stole my thunder."
She laughed and kissed his cheek. "You'd have flattened him."
"I don't know. He's a lot bigger than I am. Better all around that you
punched him yourself I'd hate to have gone on the telly with a black
eye."
"You'd have looked das.h.i.+ng, and rakish." She slipped an arm around his
waist. "Let's not say anything about this to Dad."
"Bri's very handy with his fists. I'd fancy seeing Blackpool with a
s.h.i.+ner."
"I'd fancy it myself," she murmured. "At least wait until after the
awards."
"I never could resist a pretty face."
"No, you couldn't. Have you convinced Katherine to marry you yet?"
"She's weakening." They could hear one of the rehearsing acts playing
before they entered the theater. Rough, unapologetic rock blasted
through the walls. "She stayed in London. Said she had too many
patients to take the time for this. But she also stayed behind to see
if I could deal with this business on my own."
He stopped near the rear of the theater, just to listen.
"And can you?"
"It's funny, all those years I took drugs because I wanted to feel good.
There were some things I wanted to forget." He thought of Sylvie, and
sighed. "But mostly because I wanted to feel good. They never made me
feel good, but I kept right on taking them. In the past couple of
years, I've started to realize what life can be like when you face it
straight." He laughed, his shoulders moving restlessly. "I sound like a
b.l.o.o.d.y public service announcement."
"No. You sound like someone who's happy."
He grinned. It was true, he was happy. More, he'd begun to believe he
deserved to be. "I'm still the best," he told her as they walked toward
the stage. "Only now I can enjoy it."
She saw her father being interviewed offstage. He was happy too,
she thought. Johnno was stage right hara.s.sing P.M., who was trying to
show off baby pictures to any technician he could collar.
The group on stage had broken off rehearsing. They were young, Emma
noted. Six smooth young faces, under ma.s.ses of hair, who were up for
Best New Group. She could feel the nerves from them, and she could see,
with a sense of pride, the way they glanced toward her father from time
to time.
Would they last so long? she imagined them asking themselves. Would
they make so deep a mark? Would another generation be touched, and
moved by their music?
"You're right," she said to Stevie. "You are the best. All of you."
She didn't think of Blackpool again. She didn't look over her shoulder.
For hours she indulged herself, taking pictures, talking music, laughing
at old stories. It didn't even bother her to make an entrance, and
stand at the podium reciting her lines to a near-empty theater. She sat,
sipping a lukewarm c.o.ke, as some of the musicians jammed centerstage on
old Chuck Berry tunes.
