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down.
Pleez
. You're going to be a big star now. Everything you say will be considered interesting. You were
interesting
the first day you came to my office.”
    I punched Barry in the arm—hard—for that one. I shut my eyes, opened them again. This was hard for me. I didn't like to talk about it, not even to Barry.
    Finally, I took a deep breath, and began:
    “My parents drank too much. Slight understatement there. They were both alcoholics. My father was wild, ran around. He left us when I was four.
My pop
. I developed this horrible stutter that used to embarrass me to tears. I buh-buh-beat it though. Mom died when I was in the eighth grade. My two sisters and I stayed with my Aunt Irene. I moved out when I graduated from high school. My sisters both married and moved upstate.
    “Teachers all wanted me to go to college. I just couldn't see myself there. I got a job at a fancy restaurant near West Point. Met Phillip.
He loved me
. Said he did, acted like it. I
really
needed for somebody to love me. I mean—
really
needed it.”
    Barry frowned. “Phillip was your pop all over again, Maggie. We have a tendency to repeat our worst mistakes, don't we?”
    “I guess so. He was a mathematician in the new army. Repressed. Vulnerable. Even needier than I was. Phillip turned out to be a drinker too. Just like Daddy. I wanted to save him, of course. Thought I could.”
    “He hit you, beat you up?” Barry said and lightly touched my cheek. It was just the right thing to do. My friend.
    “I didn't know how to get out of it. Not back then. I didn't know where I could go, how I could possibly bring up Jennie. I used to escape to the attic of our house and write songs all the time. I'd sing them for Jennie. Both of us up in the attic.”
    “You never performed them around West Point?”
    I shook my head. “Forget it! I was much too afraid for that.”
    “You lied to me during your job interview. You're fired.”
    “That's okay,” I said. I touched Barry's cheek. “I can take care of myself and Jennie now. Thanks for helping me.”
    “I did nothing. I just watched it happen. You're an amazing person, Maggie. I hope you realize that yourself someday.”
    I leaned across the table and gave Barry the gentlest kiss. We were such good friends and I loved him. I could
think
that—I just couldn't say it.
    “You're the best,” I whispered.
    “No. Only the second best. I mean that, Maggie. Remember where you heard it first.”

CHAPTER 14
    J ULY SECOND OF my year of years, the best time in my life by about ten thousand percent. I was at the Meadowlands sports stadium outside New York City. I was there with Jennie and Barry.
    I
will never
forget this. No one can take this part away.
    A few minutes after eight-thirty the outrageous New York disc jockey, Bret Wolfe, came prancing out onto the Meadowlands' concert stage. He was dressed like a naughty teenager who shouldn't have been let out of the house by his parents.
    The first warm-up act was scheduled to begin soon. Everybody in the audience knew that the headliners— R.S.V.P.—wouldn't make their grand appearance until at least ten, probably even later than that.
    They were in for a shock though.
    Bret Wolfe could barely be heard over the noise of the crowd:
“It is my distinct pleasure to introduce …”
The orchestra struck up a familiar melody. Glowing fluorescent flying objects flickered up toward the bland-faced quarter moon sitting over the stadium roof.
    “…
My distinct pleasure to introduce to you
—
Ladies and Gentlemen … R.S.V.P.!”
    Stunned silence followed, then there was chaos in the audience that was still lazily milling into the stadium.
    “I can't believe it's
them
. They shouldn't be on for hours!”
    “Jesus, what's going on? What is this shit?”
    From backstage, I watched as long paper streamers and electric blue fireworks rocketed high above the stage. Billowing smoke and gold lamé sparks erupted and drifted east toward New York. The R.S.V.P.