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Only P.M. left early, anxious to get back to his wife and baby.
"He's getting old," Johnno decided, plopping down beside her to play
some blues on a harmonica. He glanced back to study the
seventeen-year-old vocalist who was already an established star.
"Christ, we're all getting old. Before long, you'll commit the ultimate
insult and make us grandfathers."
"We'll just push your rocking chair up to a mike." She tipped up the
bottle.
"You're a nasty one, Emma."
"I learned from the best." Chuckling, she draped an arm around his
shoulders. "Look at it this way, there hasn't been anyone else on stage
today who's lived through two decades of rock-and-roll h.e.l.l. You're
practically a monument."
"'ftuly nasty," he decided and cupped the harmonica. "All this talk
about lifetime achievement awards," he muttered between chords. "Rock
and Roll Hall of Fame."
"They have their nerve, don't they?" She laughed and hugged him.
"Johnno, you're not really worried about age."
He scowled and began to blow more blues. Behind him, someone picked up
the rhythm on ba.s.s. "See how you like it when you're cruising toward
tucking fifty."
"Jagger's older."
He shrugged. The drums had fallen in, a brush on the snare. "Not good
enough," he told her and continued to play.
"You're better looking."
He considered that. "Rue."
"And I've never had a crush on him."
He grinned. "Never got over me, did you?"
"Never." Then she spoiled the solemn look with a chuckle. She began to
sing, improvising lyrics as she went. "I've got those rock-androll
blues. Those old, old, rocking blues. When my hair is gray, and you
ask me to play, I say don't bug me, Momma, my bones they're aching
today. I got them rock-and-roll blues. Them old man rocking blues."
She grinned at him. "Did I pa.s.s the audition?"
"Pretty b.l.o.o.d.y clever, aren't you?"
"Like I said, I learned from the best."
While he continued to play, she slid off the edge of the stage and
framed him in. "One last shot before I go." She snapped, changed the
angle, and snapped again. "I'll call it Rock kon. " She laughed when
he called her a nasty name, then packed the camera in her case. "Shall
I tell you what rock and roll is, Johnno, from someone who doesn't
perform, but observes?"
He gestured with the harmonics, then cupped it again to play softly as
he watched her.
"It's restless and rude." Walking back, she laid a hand on his knee.
"It's daring and defiant. It's a fist shaken at age. It's a voice that
often screams out questions because the answers are always changing."
She glanced up to see her father standing behind Johnno, listening. Her
smile swept over him. "The very young play it because they're searching
for some way to express their anger or joy, their confusion and their
