She had wanted to be relaxed, and poised, and smiling, and to walk straight to him with her hands reaching out for his. Instead, she could only stand with her head down, able to see nothing but the black silk stripe meeting the hem of his trousers, next to Momma's green silk pantlegs.

A tuxedo? He'd worn a tuxedo?

Cathy finally said, "Okay," and Tess was free.

She looked up and felt the impact in her throat, chest and lungs. All over. A full-body charge. A tumult of joy and relief and promise: Tonight we're going to become lovers. They both knew it in that instant when their eyes met across the crowded room, and she wondered how in the world she'd manage to sing with everything inside her seized up this way.

Then she was moving toward him, toward them-Momma first, she reminded herself.

"Momma, you came!"

"Kenny wouldn't have it any other way."

"And you look so pretty!"

"Well, so do you, honey. That's some outfit you're wearing."

She was dimly aware of people stepping back while she embraced her mother, and of Kenny and Casey hugging, too, and of the fact that Mary was decked out in the green suit and emeralds she'd worn for the wedding, and that Mary's hair had been fixed in a beauty shop and looked absolutely lovely. But all of this was secondary to the man she was dying to touch.

She gave him her hands at last, and smiled up at him, and said, "Kenny," in some strange, emotion-pinched voice, and read the look in his eyes that said, I missed you, I can't believe I'm touching you, this is torture not kissing. And oh, he looked elegant, though his face was flushed above the white collar and black bow tie of his tux.

"Hi, Tess," he said simply. But he nearly broke her knuckles, he was squeezing them so tightly.

She stretched up to him and he lowered his head and they gingerly touched cheeks, protecting her stage makeup, hair and sequins.

"Thank you for bringing her," she whispered, leaving a tiny trace of lipstick on his cheek, taking away the suggestion of sandalwood from his skin.

"Thank you for arranging it. You look beautiful."

"So do you. The tuxedo is smashing."

It was as much as they dared say under observation. She stepped back dutifully, longing only to grab his arm and haul him out of this place, away from obligation, and the crowd, and the press and the craziness-anyplace the two of them could be alone. Instead she told him, "Someone will bring you back here afterwards. Just wait in your seats."

"Time check, ten minutes," a voice warned, and she squeezed his hands and released them.

Kenny and Mary were ushered away, and Tess was separated from everyone else and taken into the anteroom where the press, the DJs and the hierarchy from her record label were waiting for a five-minute audience. She shook every hand, beamed her famous smile, remembered the first names of a couple of the DJs, answered a couple of questions, charmed the gold out of everyone's teeth, and wondered again how in the world she'd be able to sing with this swollen feeling in her throat.

At her side, someone spoke quietly. "Three minutes."

Her show producer, Ralph, always went with her right to the edge of the stage, and Cathy Mack did as well, checking her hair at the last minute, maybe whisking a brush over her nose. Tonight, as they reached the wings, Cathy sensed that Tess was more tense than usual, and stood behind her, reaching her thumbs deep down into Tess's back neckline to give her an impromptu massage. Tess let her mind go blank and her shoulders relax for thirty seconds, willing the tension away.

"Two minutes." Again, quietly, in a tone meant to calm.

There was one last thing she had to do.

"Thanks, Cathy," she said, and went out among the black-and-silver cubes holding her band members at various heights, and reached up to the one where her three backup singers stood high above her in black leather. She squeezed Casey's hand, and said, "Just like in Momma's living room, okay?" Then she gave Casey a wink and went back to stage right.

The same calm, quiet voice advised, "Okay… anytime."

Tess took a huge breath, shut her eyes, emptied her lungs in a long, slow stream, and opened her eyes again. The drummer was waiting. He caught her nod, gave a tak-tak-tak on the rim of his snare, and out beyond the curtains the music rattled to life. The crowd burst into applause that nearly covered up the drummer's backbeat, and the curtain lifted as a gorgeous male voice boomed, "Ladies and gentlemen… America's leading lady of country music… Tess McPhail!"

Deafening applause surrounded her and carried her to center stage. The beat kicked ass. The spotlights blinded.

Her cordless mike was waiting. She grabbed it and started giving these people what they'd paid to hear.

All dressed up and howlin' on a Saturday night,

Creeping down the alky toward your back porch light,

Woo-ooo (the girls sang)

Mee-yew (they jutted their hips)

Gonna dress in satin,

Gonna go out cattin'

With you.

The playbacks carried her own voice back to her as she sang for an audience that remained invisible. She could see nothing beyond the blinding footlights. But during rehearsal she'd marked the spot below the stage apron where Mary and Kenny would be sitting, and now, as she sang the chorus, she pointed a long copper fingernail at where he must be, just as she'd done at the wedding dance: with you.

She wished she could see his face. But he could see hers, and it was heady knowing he was there, eyes lifted, while she telegraphed her intentions before eighteen thousand fans.

She never opened a concert without a modicum of angst. It was customary. And, granted, tonight it was worse, but, as always, the music grabbed her, controlled her, and midway into the first number she had forgotten everything else.

The song ended. Her arms were extended in the air over her head. The crowd went wild with applause as she stood center stage wishing more than ever that she could see Kenny and Momma. Even though she couldn't, the knowledge of their presence fired her performance as never before and brought her a satisfaction that superseded any she'd ever felt about her work.

The concert flowed seamlessly. Tess's professional side took over, entertaining her fans, yes, but analyzing everything at the same time. Casey did a remarkable job, considering how little rehearsal she'd had. Tess could watch the show on a closed-circuit TV screen that hung from the catwalk above the audience's heads, of which they were unaware. She was pleased with what she saw. The lighting was innovative, rhythmic, and effective on her shimmering costumes. The three backup singers had their licks and movements down cold, and against the dull black leather of their dresses, their rhinestone belts accented each maneuver when the powerful spots hit them.

There were cold audiences and warm ones. Tonight's audience was warm: polite and quiet during the numbers, explosive afterward.

When the band took over during the first costume change, Ralph Thornleaf was waiting in the wings to give her the thumbs-up. "You got 'em, kid! Dynamite!" Cathy Mack skinned her out of her white suit and zipped her into a green beaded gown held by an assistant. She put a quart bottle of cold Evian water into her hands, and Tess drank half of it, then climbed into a Stutz Bearcat that drove her onto the stage for the next sequence. There were six other costume changes, and six other bottles of cold Evian water. There were dancers and graphic effects, and a slide show of Tess at all ages, reproduced from Mary's old home photographs. There were blowups of all Tess's album covers on nine huge squares arranged like a tic-tac-toe board, automated to turn individually like those on a game show.

Midway through the show she introduced the members of the band, saving Casey for last. She told the audience, "This little girl is special. She's from my hometown of Wintergreen, Missouri, and this is her first time ever onstage with me. We've been writing music together and our first collaborative effort will be the title song on my new album in September. You're going to see a lot of this young woman in the years ahead, and I have a feeling she won't always be backing me up. Won't you give her career a big send-off… here's Casey Kronek!"

The audience responded with an enthusiastic ovation, and Tess felt the vicarious thrill that she saw in Casey's face as the applause swelled for her alone. When the auditorium quieted Tess moved close up to the footlights and spoke into her mike with an air of sincerity that silenced every rustle in the house.

"Tonight is very special for me because there are some people here I love. People from back home." A spotlight hit row one on cue and Tess saw Mary and Kenny for the first time since walking on stage. She let her eyes pause briefly on him before settling on her mother. "One stands out above all the rest for what she's done for me my whole life long. This lady sat on the front steps and let me serenade her when I was six. She bought me a piano and paid for piano lessons when I was seven. She overlooked my terrible grades in every other class except music, and allowed me to join a little band when I was much too young to legally do so. She suffered through all those awful rehearsals in our living room long before there ever was a record contract. And she watched me pack my suitcase and drive away to Nashville the very week I graduated from high school, without once letting me see the tears in her eyes, or hear the voices of misgiving that surely must've been busy in her head. She always said to me, 'Honey, I know you can make it. There's not a doubt in my mind.' "