Public Secrets

to California a couple of days ago. The divorce business. Actually, he’s expected back anytime now.”
“Expected back here?”
She drank again, but met his eyes levelly. “Yes, here. Is that a problem, Johnno?”
“I don’t know. Is it?”
A trace of the old fire came into her eyes—stubborn, defensive. “He’s a very sweet man, a kind man.”
“I know. I’m rather fond of him myself.”
“I know you are.” She sighed, and let the fire die. “Don’t let’s make it complicated, Johnno. We’re just looking for a little happiness, a little peace of mind.”
“That’s bullshit. P.M.’s been in love with you for years.”
“So what if he is?” she demanded. “Don’t I deserve someone who loves me? Someone who puts me first?”
“Yes. And doesn’t he deserve the same?”

She shoved away from the sofa to pace to the window and back. The rain slicked down the glass like bars. “I’m not going to hurt him. He needs someone right now. So do I. What’s so wrong about that?”
“Brian,” he said simply.
“What does he have to do with this? That was over long ago.
He got up slowly. “I won’t insult you by calling you a liar, or by calling you a fool. I will say that I care about you, and P.M. And Bri. And I care about the band, what we are, what we’ve done, what we still can do.”
“I’m hardly a Yoko Ono,” she said stiffly. “I won’t come between your precious band. Have I ever? Could I ever?”
“You never have. Maybe you’ve never known how easily you could. Brian’s never loved anyone like he loved you, Bev. Believe me, I know.”
“Don’t say that to me.”
He started to speak again, but they both heard the door open, and the rush of footsteps down the hallway. “Bev! Bev!” P.M. turned into the room, his coat wet from the rain and flapping open. “Johnno, thank God. I just heard about Stevie on the radio. What the hell’s going on?”
“Have a seat, son.” Johnno settled back on the sofa himself. “And I’ll tell you.”

H E LOVED HER so sweetly. He touched her so gently. The candles flickered, flames dancing with the dark as Bev stroked a hand down P.M.’s back. His whispers were soft, the words lovely. It was easy, so easy to give herself to him, to let the strength of his feelings carry her along.
She would never have to ask herself if he needed her, if she would be, could always be, enough for him. With him, she would never have to spend nights wondering, worrying, aching. And she would never, never, feel that thrill of unity, of Tightness, of belonging.
She gave him all she could, arching up to him, opening for him, accepting, even welcoming him into her. Her body didn’t shudder as his did, her heart didn’t threaten to burst through the wall of her chest. But after a good, clean climax came the peace. And she was grateful.
But she should have known such simple things don’t last.

The candles still flickered as he drew her close, to hold her warmth to him. He loved the serenity that always cloaked her after sex, the complete and somehow elegant stillness of her body.
Her eyes were half closed, her lips soft and just parted. Her limbs were pliant. If he rested his head, as he often did, on her breast, he would hear the strong, steady beat of her heart.
Sometimes they talked like this—as he had never talked with his wife of seven years. They talked of what had happened to them during the day, or what had happened to the world. Or they lay and listened to the radio that had played during their lovemaking. They would drift to sleep like that, quiet and content. And in the morning he would wake, dazzled and delighted that she was beside him.
He shifted her so that he could brush his hand through her hair. “The divorce is going through.”
Roused out of a half-doze, she opened her eyes and watched the pattern of light and shadow on the wall. “I’m glad.”
“Are you?”
“Of course. I know how hard it’s been on you the last few weeks. You want it behind you.”
“I do. I married Angie for the wrong reasons, Bev. I wanted to settle down so badly, to have a wife, a home, a family. Of course that monster in Beverly Hills was never a home, and she always had an excellent excuse for putting off starting a family. Just as well. I was as poor a choice for her as she was for me.”
She linked her fingers with his. “You’re too hard on yourself.”
“No, it’s true. I was a career choice for Angie. The pity is, she didn’t realize I was fond enough