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brothers?”
    “Yes. My father is the oldest of five brothers. They’re all great men, all great success stories.” Michael gestured with his fork. “Look, another drink,” he said wickedly.
    Diane pushed it firmly away. “No. I refuse to embarrass myself further.”
    “Does this mean no dancing? Oh, well. Now you tell me.”
    She looked puzzled. “Tell you what?”
    “Well, let’s start with how many times you’ve been in love.”
    Marco approached the table. “How is everything so far?” he asked.
    “Oh, Mr. Carlucci, everything has been delicious. Really.” Diane smiled happily.
    Marco leaned in. “Would you like to try the veal?” he asked her. She nodded. He patted her hand. “It’s perfect tonight. Just wait.”
    Diane sighed after he left. “I’m going to have to walk at least fifteen miles when we’re done. I just know it.”
    “Okay. So, we’ll walk. But now, how many times have you been in love?”
    So she told him. And as she told him, and as they ate, she found herself leaning toward him more, watching him closely. Once or twice her hand accidentally touched his, and she felt a warm rush in her cheeks. She was smiling at the end of the evening, her hand propping her cheek, thinking she had probably said too much. The effects of the vodka had worn off, but she was still feeling light and absurdly happy.
    They left around eleven, having thanked Marco, and they walked in the cool, spring evening, past darkened shop windows. They were shoulder to shoulder, not touching, still talking. She stopped in front of her car, and she leaned her back against the door, breathing deeply.
    “I had a terrific night, Michael. Everything was just wonderful. Thank you.”
    Michael stood, hands in his pockets. “Me too. Listen, I won’t be back until Tuesday, no, probably Wednesday, and things are going to be crazy. But I want to see you again.”
    Diane nodded. “I’ll see you Friday night. We’ll come backstage.” She took a deep breath. She wanted to touch him. “I’ve got to go. It’s late.” She leaned over and quickly kissed his cheek, then turned, reaching to open the car door.  
    Michael put his hand on her shoulder and turned her back around, pulling her toward him. He kissed her, and his arms went around her, and when he let her go she was out of breath, blood drumming in her ears, her face flushed.  
    “I’m going now,” she whispered. His face was very close and his lips brushed her cheeks, the corner of her mouth.  
    “Okay,” he whispered back
    She had been gripping the smooth fabric of his jacket, and she let go suddenly, smoothing out the wrinkles with her hands. She could feel him, still close, his hands against her back, hot against the cool silk of her blouse.  
    “Good night.” Her voice was hoarse. She was looking into his eyes and she brought her hands up and into his hair, soft and thick, and they kissed again. She leaned forward, her whole length against him, feeling the slim strength of his body, and when she finally pulled away she had to take a deep breath, her eyes closed, as she pulled the world back into sharp focus.
    “I have to go,” she said softly.
    “Yes. You mentioned that.” He kissed her cheek, the soft spot below her ear, her neck.
    She opened her eyes and took another breath. “Really. It’s late.”
    “Okay.” He cleared his throat and stepped away from her. “Good night.”  
    She got into her car and drove away.

CHAPTER THREE

    O N F RIDAY NIGHT , they piled into Sue Griffen’s Suburban and inched their way into the parking lot of the Fleet Bank Arena. The younger girls had been in a frenzy all afternoon. They had arrived at Diane’s house after school with armloads of outfits and spent hours screaming, laughing and arguing the merits of each article of clothing. Diane vetoed Megan once and Emily twice. She had no control over what the other girls wore, but her own daughters were not going anywhere in anything too tight or showing too