Public Secrets

yesterday. He’s doing Madison Square Garden next weekend. There isn’t a ticket left in the city. Are you going to catch it?”
“I wouldn’t dream of it.” He cocked a brow. “I’m hardly a fan.”
“But he’s recorded three McAvoy/Donovan songs.”
“That’s business,” Johnno said, and dismissed it.
“Why don’t you like him?”
Johnno shrugged and drank again. “I’ve never been sure. Something about that smug smile.”
Turning, Emma reached in the cupboard for more chips. “I suppose he’s entitled to be smug. Four gold albums, a couple of Grammys, and a stunning wife.”
“Stunning estranged wife, I’m told. He’s certainly coming on to our favorite redhead.”
“Marianne?” Tossing the bags of chips aside, Emma shifted, scanned, then spotted her roommate cuddled on the shadowy window seat with Blackpool. She felt a surge of emotion that was tangled jealousy and alarm. “Let me have a cigarette,” she murmured as she struggled to shrug it off.
“She’s a big girl, Emma.”
“Of course she is.” She drew in the strong French smoke and winced. “He’s old enough to …” She trailed off, remembering that Johnno was four or five years Blackpool’s senior.
“Atta girl,” he said with a chuckle. “Bite your tongue.”
But she didn’t smile. “It’s just that she’s been so sheltered.”
“Of course, Mother Superior.”

“Cram it, Johnno.” She picked up her drink again, and kept her eye on Blackpool. The name suited him, she thought. He had dark, lush hair and favored black clothes. Leathers, suedes, silks. He had one of those moody, sensual faces. Heathcliff, as Emma had always imagined him. And she’d always thought Bronte’s character more self-destructive than heroic. Beside him, Marianne looked like a bright, slender candle ready to be lit.
“I’m only saying that she’s spent most of her life in that damn school.”
“In the bed next to yours,” Johnno pointed out.
She wasn’t in the mood to laugh. “All right, that’s true. But I also had all that time with all of you, seeing things, being a part of things. Marianne went from school, to camp, to her father’s estate. I know she puts on a front, but she’s very naïve.”
“I’d give odds on our favorite redhead. Blackpool’s slick, dear, but he’s not a monster.”
“Of course not.” But she was going to keep her eye on Marianne nonetheless. She lifted the cigarette again, then froze.
Someone had put on a new album. The Beatles. Abbey Road . The first cut on the A side.
“Emma.” Alarmed, Johnno gripped her wrist. Her pulse was scrambling, her skin was ice. “What the hell? Emma, look here.”
“He say one and one and one is three.”
“Switch the record,” she whispered.
“What?”
“Switch the record.” She could feel the breath backing up in her lungs. Clogging there. “Johnno, please. Turn it off”
“All right. Stay here.”
He skimmed his way through the crowd, moving quickly, smoothly enough to prevent himself from being detained.
Emma gripped the edge of the wall until her fingers went numb. She wasn’t seeing the party any longer, the pretty people mixing together, laughing over plastic glasses of white wine or chilled bottles of imported beer. She could only see the shadows of a hallway, hear the hissing and snapping of monsters. And her little brother’s cries.
“Emma.” It was Brian now, standing in the tiny kitchen alcove, Johnno at his side. “What is it, baby? Are you sick?”
“No.” It was Da, she thought. Da would make it all go away. “No, it’s Darren. I heard Darren crying.”

“Oh Christ.” He took her shoulders and shook. “Emma, look at me.”
“What?” Her head snapped up. The glaze seemed to melt away from her eyes into tears. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I ran away.”
“It’s all right.” He gathered her close. His eyes, anguished, met Johnno’s over her head. “We should get her out of here.”
“In her bedroom,” Johnno suggested, then casually began to clear a path. He slid the frosted-glass doors closed behind them, muffling the sounds of the party.
“Let’s lie down, Emma.” Brian kept his voice soothing as he set her on the bed. “I’ll stay right here.”
“I’m okay.” Her worlds had separated again. She didn’t know whether to feel grief or embarrassment. “I don’t know what set that off. Something just clicked and I was six years old again. I’m sorry, Da.”
“Ssh.” He pressed his lips to her temple. “It