Public Secrets
Chapter 177 : devastation 1986 The fans themselves were a rainbow. Spiked hair, razor cuts, flowing

devastation 1986

The fans themselves were a rainbow. Spiked hair, razor cuts, flowing

manes. The style now was no style at all. Dress ranged from torn jeans

to three-piece suits. A good number of the people jostling for s.p.a.ce

were her father's age and older. Doctors, dentists, executives who had

grown up on rock and roll and shared the legacy with their children.

There were schoolchildren, toddlers carried on shoulders, women wearing

pearls with their daughters clutching newly purchased screen-printed

T-s.h.i.+rts. And, like an echo of the sixties, there was the faint but

unmistakable aroma of pot to mix with the fragrance of Chanel or Brut.

She wandered away, moving slowly through the crowd. The pa.s.s clamped to

the second b.u.t.ton of her jumpsuit had security giving her the nod to go

backstage.

If it was a madhouse out front, it was only madder back here. A faulty

amp, another coil of cable, a frantic roadie rus.h.i.+ng in and out,

desperate to fix the last of the inevitable glitches. She took her

shots, then leaving the technicians and grips to do their job, she

headed toward the dressing rooms to do hers.

She wanted pictures, like the ones she remembered so well in her mind.

Dad and the others sprawled around a dressing room, chainsmoking,

joking, popping gumdrops or sugared almonds. She was just beginning to

smile at the thought when she all but ran into Drew. It was almost as

if he'd been waiting for her.

"h.e.l.lo again."

"Hi." She smiled, nervously adjusting the strap of her camera. "I

wanted to thank you for the present."

"I thought of roses, but it was too late." He stood back. "You look

incredible."

"Thanks." Struggling to steady her breath, she took her own survey. He

was dressed for the stage in snug white leather studded with silver.

Boots of the same style and color came halfway to his knees. With his

hair tousled and the half-smile on his face, he made Emma think of a

smartly dressed cowboy.

"So do you," she managed when she realized hbw long she'd been staring.

"Look incredible."

"We want to make a splash." He rubbed his palms on the thigh of

his pants. "All of us are half sick with nerves. Don-the ba.s.s

playerhe's all the way sick. Got his head in the john next door."

"Dad always says you perform better when you're nervous."

"Then we ought to be a h.e.l.l of a smash." Tentatively, he took her hand.

"Listen, have you thought about maybe going out after, having a drink?"

She had thought of nothing else. "Actually, I-"

"I'm pus.h.i.+ng." Drew let out a long breath. "I can't help it. As soon

as I saw you-it was like, wow, there she is." He dragged a hand through

his carefully mussed and moussed hair. "I'm not doing this very well."

"Aren't you?" She wondered that he couldn't hear her heart thudding

against her ribs.

"No." He took her hand. "Let me put it this way. Emma, save my life.

Spend an hour with me."

Her lip curved slowly until the dimple winked at the corner of her