Public Secrets

and an ounce of Colombian Gold on the table beside her. She’d lit candles, dozens of them, using those and the drugs to mellow her mood. Brian’s clear tenor played on her stereo.
She’d moved into Chelsea with the money she’d taken from Brian. There were young people there, musicians and poets and artists, and the ones who followed them. She thought she would find another Brian in Chelsea. An idealist with a beautiful face and clever hands.

She could pop off to the pubs whenever she liked, listen to the music, pick out a likely companion for the night.
She had a six-room flat with shiny new furniture in every room. Her closets bulged with clothes from fashionable boutiques. On her finger was a fat diamond ring she’d bought the week before when she’d been feeling blue. She was already bored with it.
She had thought that one hundred thousand pounds was all the money in the world. She ran one hand down the silk robe she wore, pleased, very pleased with its sinuous feel. She’d soon discovered that large amounts were as easily spent as small ones. She still had enough to last her awhile, but it hadn’t taken long for her to realize she’d sold Emma cheap.
He’d have paid twice as much, she thought as she nursed her gin. More than twice, no matter how much the bastard Pete had frowned and muttered. Brian had wanted Emma. He had a soft spot for children. She’d known it, but, she thought in disgust, hadn’t been clever enough to exploit it.
A lousy twenty-five thousand a year. How was she supposed to live on that, she wondered.
A little bleary with gin, she rolled a sloppy joint.
She still took in a John now and then, but that was as much for the company as the extra cash. She’d had no idea she would miss Emma. As the weeks passed the concept of motherhood took on new, emotional meanings.
She’d given birth. She’d changed nasty nappies. She’d spent her hard-earned money on food and clothes. Now the little brat probably didn’t remember she existed.
She’d hire a solicitor. She’d hire the best with Brian’s money. There was justice in that. There wasn’t a court in the country that wouldn’t see that a child belonged with her mother. She’d get Emma back. Or better, she’d get twice as much money.
Once she’d bled them a bit, Brian and his snotty new wife wouldn’t forget her. No one would forget her, not the stinking press, not the stupid public, or her own little brat.
With this thought dangling in her mind, she brought out her cache of Methedrine and prepared to go flying.

Chapter Six

E MMA COULDN’T WAIT much longer. There was a nasty sleet falling outside, but she continued to press her face against the window to try to sec through it.
They would be coming soon. Johnno had said so. She was wise enough to know that if she asked him how soon again he’d snarl at her. But she couldn’t wait. After her nose grew cold, she stepped back to dance from one foot to another. Her da was coming home, with Bev, and her new baby brother. Darren. Her brother’s name was Darren. She tried the name out to herself in a whisper. Just the sound of it made her smile.
Nothing in her life had ever been so huge, so important as having a brother. He would be her own, and he would need her to tend to him, to look out for him. She’d been practicing for weeks and weeks on the dolls that now filled her room.
She knew you had to hold their heads ever so carefully, or they fell way back and broke off. Sometimes babies woke in the middle of the night, crying for milk. She wouldn’t mind, Emma thought. She rubbed her own flat chest and wondered if Darren would find milk there.
They hadn’t let her go to the hospital to see him. That had upset her so that for the first time since she had come to her new home, Emma had hidden in a closet. She was still angry about it, but she knew it mattered very little to adults if children were angry.
Weary of standing, she sat on the window seat to pet Charlie and wait.

She tried to think of other things. Her time in America. Humming to herself, Emma let herself picture all the things she’d seen. There had been the big silver arch in St. Louis. There had been the lake in Chicago that had seemed as big as the ocean to her. And Hollywood. She’d liked the big white sign, and remembering it, tried to picture all the letters.
Her father had played at a huge theater there right outside. They had called it a bowl. She had thought that strange, but it had been run to listen