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Ritz.”

F OR EMMA IT was the beginning of her first relationship with another female that wasn’t based on fear or intimidation. Over the following days, they shopped at Harrods, walked in Green Park, and lunched at the Savoy. Bev ignored the photographers who snapped them. When she discovered Emma’s love of beautiful materials and bright colors, she indulged them shamelessly. Within two weeks, the little girl who had come to her with only the shirt on her back had a closet bulging with clothes.
But at night the loneliness crept back, when each lay in bed pining for the same man.
Emma’s longings were more direct. She wanted Brian to come back because he made her feel good. Love wasn’t something she’d learned to define or agonize over.
But Bev agonized. She worried that he would grow tired of her, that he would find someone more in step with the world he lived in. She missed the good, strong sex they shared. It was so easy to believe he would always love her, always be with her during that calm drugging time after love and before sleep. But now, alone in the big brass bed, she would wonder if he filled up his loneliness with women as well as music.
The sky was just beginning to lighten when the phone rang. Bev groped for it on the third ring. “Yes.” She cleared her throat. “Hello.”
“Bev.” Brian’s voice was urgent.
Instantly awake, she shot up in bed. “Bri. What is it? What’s happened?”
“Nothing. Everything. We’re a smash, Bev.” There was a dazed and dashing edge to his laughter. “Every night the crowds get bigger. They’ve had to double security to keep the girls from flinging themselves on stage. It’s wild, Bev. Insane. Tonight one of them grabbed Stevie’s sleeve as we were making the dash for the limo. Ripped his coat clean off. The press is calling us vanguards of the second wave of the British invasion. Vanguards.”
Sinking back onto the pillows, Bev struggled to drum up enthusiasm. “That’s wonderful, Brian. There’ve been some snippets on the telly here, but not much to go by.”
“It’s like being a gladiator, standing there onstage and listening to the roars.” He didn’t think he could explain, even to her, the thrill and the terror. “I think even Pete was impressed.”
Bev smiled thinking of his pragmatic, business-first-and-last manager. “Then you must be something.”
“Yeah.” He drew on the joint he had lit to extend the high. “I wish you were here.”

She heard the background noises, loud music, male and female laughter mixed with it. “So do I.”
“Then come.” He pushed away a blonde, half naked and glazed-eyed, who tried to crawl into his lap. “Pack a bag and fly over.”
“What?”
“I mean it. It’s not half as good as it would be if you were here.” Across the room a brunette, nearly six feet tall, slowly stripped. Stevie, the lead guitarist, popped a Quaalude like rock candy. “Look, I know we talked about it and decided it was best for you to stay home, but we were wrong. You need to be here, with me.”
She felt tears well in her eyes even as laughter bubbled. “You want me to come to America?”
“As soon as you can. You can meet us in New York in—shit. Johnno, when are we in New York?”
Sprawled on a couch, Johnno poured the last of the Jim Beam. “Where the fuck are we now?”
“Never mind.” Brian rubbed his tired eyes and tried to concentrate. His mind was bloaty with booze and smoke. “I’ll get Pete to work out the details. Just pack.”
She was already out of bed. “What should I do with Emma?”
“Bring her, too.” On a burst of family feeling, Brian grinned at the blonde. “Pete will figure out how to get her a passport. Someone will call you this afternoon and tell you what to do. Christ, I miss you, Bev.”
“I miss you, too. We’ll be there as soon as we can. I love you, Bri, more than anything.”
“I love you. Talk to you soon.”
Moody and restless, Brian reached for the brandy bottle the moment