Public Secrets

picture books Bev had stuffed into her carry-on bag. Even empty, Emma’s stomach pitched and rolled. She was vaguely aware of Bev’s helpless little hand pats and the stewardess’s soothing voice.
It didn’t matter that she had a new outfit with a short, bright red skirt and a flowered fussy blouse. It didn’t matter that she’d been promised a ride to the top of the Empire State Building. The nausea was so unrelenting that it no longer mattered that she was going to see her father.
By the time the plane banked over JFK airport, she was too weak to stand. Frazzled, Bev carried her through the gate. After clearing customs, she nearly gave way to tears when she spotted Pete.
In his impeccable Savile Row suit, he took a long look at the pasty-faced child and the edgy woman. “Rough trip?”
Instead of tears, Bev found laughter bursting through. “Oh no. It was a delight from start to finish. Where’s Brian?”
“He wanted to come, but I had to veto it.” He took Bev’s carry-on bag, then her arm. “The lads can’t even open a window for a breath of air without causing mass hysteria.”
“And you love it.”

He grinned, steering her toward the exit of the terminal. “Optimist that I am, I never expected this. Brian’s going to be a very rich man, Bev. We’re all going to be rich.”
“Money doesn’t come first with Bri.”
“No, but I can’t see him kicking it out of his way as it comes pouring in. Come on, I’ve got a car waiting.”
She shifted Emma, but the girl only moaned and hung limply in Bev’s arms. “The bags.”
“They’ll be delivered to the hotel.” He shuffled her out of the terminal. “There are plenty of pictures of you in the fan mags, too.”
It was a white Mercedes limo, as big as a boat. At Bev’s puzzled look, Pete grinned again.
“As long as you’re married to a king, luv, you might as well travel in style.”
Saying nothing, Bev settled back and lit a cigarette. She hoped it was the long, miserable flight that made her feel so out of place and hollow. Between her and Pete, Emma curled on the seat and sweatily slept through her first limo ride.
Pete didn’t pause in the lobby at the Waldorf but rushed them through and onto an elevator. He wasn’t sure if he was relieved or disappointed that their luck had held. A mob scene at the airport or on the street in front of the hotel would have been inconvenient, but it would have made great copy. And copy sold records.
“I’ve got you a two-bedroom suite.” The extra expense bothered his practical soul, but he justified it by knowing that Bev’s presence would make Brian more cooperative, and more creative. And it wouldn’t hurt for the press to know that Brian’s family was traveling with him. If he couldn’t promote Brian as a sexy single man, he could promote him as a loving husband and father. Whatever worked.
“We’re all on the same floor,” he went on. “And security’s very tight. In Washington, D.C., two teenage girls managed to get into Stevie’s room in a maid’s cart.”
“Sounds like a laugh a minute.”
He only shrugged, remembering that Stevie had been drunk enough to appreciate the girls’ offers. The guitarist had rationalized that two sixteen-year-olds equaled one thirty-two-year-old. That had made them into one older woman.
“The lads have some interviews scheduled today, then the Sullivan show tomorrow.”

“Brian didn’t say where we were going next.”
“Philadelphia, then Detroit, Chicago, St. Louis—”
“Never mind.” Bev heaved a long, grateful sigh as the elevator doors opened. The hell with where they were going. She was here now. It didn’t matter a damn that she was enormously tired or that her arms ached from carrying the sleeping Emma. She was here, and could all but feel Brian’s energy in the air.
“Just as well,” Pete said as he pulled out a key. “You’ve a couple of hours before the boys’ interview. It’s with some new mag that’ll publish its first issue later this year. Rolling Stone .”
She took the key, pleased that he was sensitive enough not to intrude on the two hours he’d given her with Brian. “Thanks, Pete. I’ll make sure he’s ready for it.”
The moment she opened the door, Brian came racing out of the adjoining bedroom to sweep both her and Emma into his arms. “Thank Christ,” he murmured, raining kisses over Bev’s face. He took the limp, drowsy Emma. “What’s wrong here?”
“Nothing now.” Bev dragged her free hands