Anger boiled up in him suddenly. He kept it under tight control as he told her, "You know, Faith, you and I have been together all these years and hardly ever had a fight… but you're really pissing me off right now. So before I say something I'll regret, I'm getting out of here." He headed for the door, informing her over his shoulder, "I'm going to L.A. tomorrow and I'll be there for three days. Maybe while I'm gone you should take your extra clothes out of my house and leave the spare key on the kitchen table."

She watched him in stupefaction as he broadsided her screen door with both hands and let it slam behind him.

"Kenny!" she called, bolting after him. "Kenny, wait!"

Outside she changed her mind about chasing him down the sidewalk and stopped on the steps, bent urgently toward his disappearing form as it was swallowed by the night shadows. "Kenny, please, can't we talk about this? Don't go."

"I have to, Faith," he called without turning back.

"Kenny, this is silly! We can't end it like this without even talking about it!"

"The neighbors are going to hear you, Faith. Go on back inside."

Some time later, when he'd driven away and left her standing on the steps pleading, she wandered inside feeling dazed and somewhat dizzy with the sudden shift her life had taken in such a few short minutes. She should have let him go without saying a word. Should have let him fly off to L.A. and get it out of his system without ever finding out she suspected.

Touching her lips, she looked around the kitchen as if searching for something. But everything was in its place, everything put away neatly, everything in order.

"Oh, Kenny," she whispered, wilting back till her hip bumped the cabinets. "You're going to get so hurt." But what she really meant was I'm going to get so hurt.

CHAPTER TWENTY

The Anaheim concert was scheduled to begin at eight the following night. At seven, backstage at Arrowhead looked like backstage at NASA-confusion to the untrained eye, complexity within order to the trained. The sound check had been done that afternoon, but technicians darted everywhere, stretching cables and communicating on walkie-talkies. The floors looked like jungles, twisted with electric cables that resembled tree roots, some as thick as a man's arm. The curtains were closed. Dim canister lights dropped blotches of illumination from the gridwork of metal that hung from the blackened ceiling. On the stage wings immense black speakers were piled like tall buildings, and everywhere in the dimness small red lights peppered the scene. Members of the band gave their instruments one last tuning. A faint electronic buzz could be heard over all, punctuated by the hollow thud of footsteps hurrying over the elevated wood floor. Some people wore headphones with mouthpieces fixed before their lips, like telephone operators. Some people wore tool belts. Some wore suits and ties. Some ran around with flashlights, shining them into dark corners.

On stage right, beyond the circuitry and circus, a corridor between the curtains led to a large windowless room completely curtained in white. Ceiling to floor, the drapery covered every wall. Against one, a long table held a bouquet of enormous white lilies. The lilies-dozens, arranged with pure white snapdragons and clouds of airy sprengeri-filled the room with an overpowering fragrance. Beside the table black-clad members of the caterer's staff stood awaiting requests for anything not already provided. There were cold drinks on ice, bottled water, a variety of sodas, fruit juices and milk, but nothing alcoholic. There were a dozen kinds of finger foods, including specific favorites of Tess and the band, from salmon sandwiches on dilled bread rounds to miniature quiches. There were berries and cubed fruit and a tray of gooey brownies and hot coffee.

But no one was eating a thing.

A half dozen reporters milled in a corner where torcheres spread rosy light onto the draped wall above their heads. Two long white sofas were unoccupied, but near them stood the executives of the MCA record label and their spouses. Yet another group of top DJs waited around while a pair of uniformed, armed guards stood with their hands linked at their stomachs just inside the door. A woman with a clipboard came in and glanced around and went back out, remaining just beyond the door. A different woman-younger, dressed in a black leather off-the-shoulder dress, high black spiked heels and a rhinestone belt slung low on her hips-approached the woman with the clipboard, and said, "Hi."

The woman smiled. "Hi, Casey."

"She in there?"

"Yes. Go right in."

"Thanks."

Casey passed between the guards, who smiled and nodded and relaxed their knees a little. "Hi, how's it goin'?" she said to them nervously, then, scanning the table as she passed, "Hey, this is really somethin', isn't it?" She veered over to the food and pointed. "Is that pizza?"

One of the caterers, happy to see any interest shown in their handiwork, answered, "Yes, mushroom and sausage miniatures… please, help yourself."

"Oh, I couldn't eat a thing." She pressed a hand to her stomach and made a face. "Too scared. But thanks anyway. Maybe afterwards."

The curtained walls were interrupted by a single door. Affixed to it was a small brass plaque that said Mac, in the same signature typeface as that used on her album covers. Casey knocked and stuck her head inside.

"Okay if I come in?"

Tess was sitting at a dressing table having finishing touches put on her hair. Her face had been illumined by stage makeup-a thirty-five-minute application that Cathy Mack had done with brushes and a palette, like an artist doing an oil painting. The freckles were gone, covered by an alabaster base. The lipline was perfect, enlarged slightly, and flattering. The lips themselves had been darkened to plum. Her eyes, shaded and mascaraed to appear larger, became vibrant with welcome as she caught sight of Casey in the mirror. "Of course. Hey, you look sensational!"

"So do you."

They truly did. Casey's hair was done in shiny loose locks, drawn back behind one ear. Tess's was a longer version of the hairdo on her upcoming CD photo, a sexily disheveled shag that was made to look unstyled but had-in fact-taken Cathy another thirty minutes to arrange.

Cathy said, "Hold still…just one more minute."

Complying, Tess followed Casey with her eyes. "They taking care of you okay?"

"Everybody's been just great."

"The dress looks fabulous."

"Now I know what Rowdy feels like when I've got him saddled." She put a hand on her trembling stomach where the leather dress clung.

"Scared?" Tess asked, smiling a little.

"Shitless."

Tess laughed, relieving a little of the tension. "That's all right. When you get on that stage you forget all about it."

"I know. Hey, have you seen anything of Dad and Mary yet?"

"Not yet." Where are you, Kenny, where are you?

"Gol, you don't suppose they missed their plane, do you?"

The tension was back, full force, greater than ever before in Tess's life. She hid it for Casey's sake. "If they did they'd have called." But inside, her stomach trembled, and every time anyone came to the door her heart jumped into her throat.

"Do you think Mary will be with him?"

"I can't even guess. She absolutely refused to commit."

Hurry up, Cathy, I want to be perfect when he walks in, and not anchored here in this chair. Tess sang a few lines from her opening number, to relax and be certain she was in good voice.

Finally Cathy said, "That's it for hair and makeup. Now for the suit." Tess got up and Cathy went to pull a white satin trouser suit off a hanger. Tess dropped her dressing gown and stepped into the pants. They were trimmed with a strip of clear sequins down the outsides of both legs. The jacket had an oversized collar, a nipped waist and was covered all over with clear sequins that glittered as she moved.

"Earrings," Cathy said, and handed Tess a pair made of white egret feathers dusted with the same iridescent sequins.

"Shoes," Cathy said, and produced a pair that had been custom-made to match the suit. They, too, glittered when she walked.

When Tess was dressed she faced the mirror, which was surrounded by lights. All right, Kenny, come now... please!

Casey appeared in the mirror beside her.

They checked each other out.

"Wow, fresh, huh?" Casey said.

"A couple of real eye-catchers, ain't we?" Tess joked.

"I say we look like a pair of Saturday-night hookers."

They were both laughing when the door opened and made Tess's heart go ka-wham. But it wasn't Kenny and it wasn't Momma. It was the woman with the clipboard. "Time check, twenty minutes," she said.

Twenty minutes… where could he be?

Then it seemed like everybody came in at once. Estelle and Diane, also dressed in black leather, styled differently from Casey's. "Just wanted to say break a leg, Mac. You, too, Casey." And behind Estelle came Charlotte Carson, Tess's publicist, who told her, "Got the press and a few people from MCA out here waiting whenever you're ready."

"Okay, be right there. Cathy, something's scratching my neck back there. Will you see what it is?"

Cathy was checking the neckline of her dress, and the room was filled with chattering people when Charlotte answered a knock and Ross Hardenberg stuck his head in, announcing, "Somebody special to see you, Mac."

And into the dressing room walked Kenny with her momma.

It wasn't at all the way she'd imagined, seeing them again, not with her chin down while Cathy snipped with a scissors and held her prisoner. Not with a half a dozen chattering people filling the room, and a bunch more waiting outside for her attention. Not with all this commotion!