Public Secrets

knew. It didn’t make a difference to him. Then when I told him, he was, well, embarrassed. There was something so charming about the way he reacted.”
“Did you go out with him?”
“No. I was too flustered, and maybe a little afraid to say yes. Then today, he sent me a note. And—oh, Mum, I’m dying to see him again. I wish you’d come tonight so you could just be there.”
“You know I can’t, Emma.”
“I know, I know.” She let out a long breath. “You see, I’ve never felt this way before. Sort of …”
“Light-headed, short of breath.”
“Yes.” Emma laughed. “Yes, exactly.”
She had felt the same way once. Only once. “You have plenty of time to get to know him. Go slow.”
“I’ve always gone slow,” she muttered. “Did you go slow with Da?”
It hurt. More than fifteen years had passed, and it still hurt. “No. I wouldn’t listen to anyone.”
“You listened to yourself. Mum—-”
“Let’s not talk about Brian.”
“All right. Just one thing more. Da goes to Ireland—to Darren—twice every year. Once on Darren’s birthday, and once on … once in December. I thought you should know.”
“Thank you.” She gave Emma’s hand a squeeze. “You didn’t come here to talk about sad things.”
“No. No, I didn’t.” Emma knelt, rested her hands on Bev’s thigh. “I came to ask you something vitally important. I need something absolutely wonderful to wear tonight. Go shopping with me and help me find it.”
With a delighted laugh, Bev sprang up. “I’ll get a jacket.”

E MMA HAD NEARLY convinced herself she’d been foolish to worry about her attire. She was there to photograph, not to flirt with the lead singer of the opening act. There was so much to do, equipment and lighting to check, stagehands and smoke machines to dodge, that she soon forgot it had taken her over an hour to dress.
The audience was already filing in, though there were more than thirty minutes to the opening. There were stands of merchandise to be plucked through. Sweatshirts, T-shirts, posters, key chains. In the eighties rock and roll was no longer just music for young, rebellious kids. It was big business, umbrellaed by conglomerates.
Anonymous enough in her black jumpsuit, she prowled the stands, snapping pictures of fans as they forked over pound after pound for memorabilia of the big concert. She heard her father discussed, dissected, and cooed over. It made her smile and remember the day so long ago when she had stood in line for the elevator to the top of the Empire State Building. She hadn’t been quite three then, and now, nineteen years later, Brian McAvoy was still making giddy teenagers’ hearts throb.
She switched cameras, wanting color now to show the screaming streaks of red, blue, green, of the shirts with their boldly emblazoned lettering.
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 space 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-shirts. 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 pass clamped to the second button 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 rushing 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. Da and the others sprawled around a dressing room, chain-smoking, 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.
“Hello 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.”