But there was also the SUV inching closer behind me. And the fact that the concert was going to start soon.

‘ Seriously, we need to go.’

‘ Fine. But I feel I should warn you, I’ m a man who finishes what he starts. So that means that those gorgeous lips’ -he traced my mouth lightly with a fingertip-’ are mine.’

IT WAS FIFTEEN MINUTES to showtime when we pulled into a parking area in front of the hotel reserved for motorcycles. Troy locked the helmets to the bike, and we hurried into the casino. Although Kitty and Gran would have already picked up their tickets at the box office, I didn’ t want them to miss any of the show waiting for us.

‘ I can’ t believe I’ m rushing to see Wayne Newton,’  Troy groaned.

Kitty waved to us from near the entrance to the showroom. ‘ There you kids are! We were starting to worry. Ma’ s already inside.’  She handed us each a ticket and bustled us through a curtained doorway. As we walked, she chattered on about the buffet and the people they’ d met in line and the ‘ Waynabelia’ -that was, the Wayne Newton memorabilia-that they’ d bought at the souvenir stand.

Our table was dead center and jutted up against a divider. It wasn’ t close to the stage, but I was pleased to see that it had an unimpeded view. Kitty and Gran sat on one side of the table, and Troy and I slid in across from them. The table was covered in drinks. ‘ Thirsty, Gran?’  Troy joked.

‘ Ha, ha. We took the liberty of ordering for you,’  she said. ‘ You get two free drinks with your ticket. I got the feeling if we didn’ t order them now, we may never see a waitress again. So drink up.’

Kitty lifted a fruity drink-sans parasol, I couldn’ t help but notice-and said, ‘ A toast.’  We each grabbed a drink. I had two huge tumblers of white wine in front of me, one of which I raised as she said, ‘ To making dreams come true.’

‘ Here, here,’  Gran added, and we clinked.

Gran and Kitty thumbed through the Las Vegas souvenir books they’ d bought while I surveyed the room. Troy and I appeared to be the youngest people there. Nothing but gray and balding heads dotted the showroom-a Berber carpet of aged fans. A man in the front shook his cane along to the piped-in music.

Leaning back toward Troy, I said, ‘ I hear Wayne does a great cover of ‘ Get Jiggy with It.’ ‘

‘ Hey, speaking of that song,’  he said casually, ‘ the station’ s throwing a big concert. August seventh. Will Smith’ s going to perform. Want to come?’

‘ I’ d love it.’

‘ It’ s a date, then.’

A date!

Although August 7 was ringing a bell.

I didn’ t have time to ponder it. An announcer onstage said a hello and urged us to give a big welcome to Mr. Las Vegas himself. A cry went up in the room when the lights lit up on the stage. The crowd wriggled to attention.

It was thrilling to see Wayne Newton take command of the stage. He looked exactly as I’ d remembered him from the Hollywood Wax Museum, right down to the black hair and painted-on brows. I found myself riveted by his vocal struggling to be heard over his twelve-piece backup band. They sat in neat rows behind him-the men innocuous, the ladies overly made-up and big-breasted yet strangely wholesome. As Wayne sang and told stories about the old days of Vegas, Troy whispered things to me such as ‘ Can you believe this guy?’  ‘ This is the hokiest thing I’ ve ever been to,’  and ‘ Oh, you smell so good& .’

After singing many of his big ‘ hits,’  Wayne started in on a medley of patriotic songs. Gran leaned forward excitedly. ‘ This is going to be great. A lady we met in line told us that his version of ‘ America the Beautiful’  is a real slam-banger.’

A waitress worked her way through the tables, handing out mini-flags so we could join in the fun. Kitty and Gran each took one, waving them along to the music. I couldn’ t help but smile, particularly as I watched Kitty. Even though this had to be painful for her, she was determined to have fun in honor of her daughter.

And with that thought, another one hit me like an anvil crashing onto my head. The force it of knocked me back in my seat. Because at that moment I remembered what my plans were for August 7.

It was Deedee’ s due date. The day I was going to become a mother.

And I’ d completely forgotten.

‘ I& Oh my gosh, I& ‘

Troy asked, ‘ You okay?’

I grabbed the tumbler of wine, and chugged it back. How could I have forgotten?

The crowd was clapping now, and-confused and not wanting to draw attention to myself while I sorted my thoughts-I clapped along. I said quietly to Troy, ‘ August seventh& I just remembered. I can’ t make it. It’ s Deedee’ s due date.’

‘ Little Deedee?’

‘ Yeah.’

‘ She’ s pregnant? Jesus. I didn’ t even realize.’  After a moment he said, ‘ So you need to be there for her?’

‘ I’ m her labor coach.’  I stopped my clapping long enough to start in on the second glass of wine-I still wasn’ t feeling the first one. Then, resuming my clapping, I said, ‘ And then& after& I’ m going to adopt the baby.’

‘ You’ re going to& huh?’

‘ Adopt the baby. Deedee’ s too young to be a mom, and I’ ve always wanted a baby, so& ‘  My voice trailed off once I caught Troy’ s face. He looked as if I’ d told him a joke but he was having a problem understanding the punch line. ‘ Anyway,’  I said, ‘ that’ s the plan.’

He breathed out a laugh, although there wasn’ t much humor to it. ‘ Shit& a kid. You’ re going to have a kid in a matter of weeks. A newborn. That’ s& ‘  He rubbed the back of his neck. ‘ Wow.’

All of a sudden, I noticed he was far away from me, practically sitting at the next table.

‘ It’ s a girl,’  I said, not knowing what else to say.

He nodded, his brows furrowed. ‘ You know what’ s funny? All those times we talked on the phone setting things up. And hanging out all last night and today. You’ d think in all that time& you might have mentioned it.’

‘ I’ m mentioning it now.’

‘ That’ s nice of you.’  There was a bite to his voice I’ d never heard before.

‘ What the-Why are you angry?’

‘ Hey, I’ m not angry. It’ s great. A baby.’

The rhythmic clapping of the crowd turned into applause as Wayne wrapped up his medley and then told the crowd he was going to sing a song that was a favorite of his, by a man who loved Las Vegas as much as he did. Then he launched into Elvis’ s ‘ Can’ t Help Falling in Love.’

‘ I can’ t believe you have the nerve to be pissed off,’  I hissed. ‘ So I’ m adopting a baby. As I recall, the standard response is congratulations.’

‘ You’ re right. Excuse my lack of manners,’  he said curtly. ‘ Congratulations.’

‘ Thank you,’  I spat.

What was his deal? My head started to whirl from disappointment. Not to mention the cheap wine.

For a moment, we pretended to be engrossed in Wayne Newton, who was now coming out into the audience as he sang. Apparently, the divider that we sat next to was a ramp. Wayne walked along it, leaning down to shake hands with people as he sang. Tiny lights led his way to us.

‘ Oh, June!’  Kitty cried. ‘ He’ s coming this way. Let’ s try to shake his hand!’

Glad for the distraction, I gave Kitty a thumbs-up. I narrowed my eyes at Troy. Amazing how easily infatuation can turn to annoyance.

No matter, because the one, the only, the incomparable Wayne Newton himself stood in front of our table. In front of me.

What the hell-might as well make something of the evening. I thrust my hand toward him.

He didn’ t take it. Instead he shook his head no, only to pause and give the crowd an ‘ I can’ t help myself’  shrug. The next thing I knew, he gestured for me to stand. When I did, he planted a wet, sweaty kiss on my lips. It felt as if he were one of those snakes whose jaw can open really wide, pulling me in deeper and deeper. For a moment, I feared being swallowed whole headfirst into his gullet, until at last he released me.

The crowd cheered, and Wayne said, ‘ Thank you, beautiful lady.’

He picked up the next line of the song and moved on. I used a napkin to dry my face and wipe away the stage makeup that had rubbed off on me. It would take a shower and a few weeks to get rid of the aftershave that lingered.

‘ You’ re so lucky!’  Gran exclaimed.

I might have felt special, except that he went on to kiss pretty much every woman in the place-even climbing off the ramp to plant one on an old gal in her wheelchair.

‘ It’ s the Walk of a Hundred Kisses. He’ s famous for it,’  Kitty said. ‘ But you were first!’

‘ Good thing, too,’  Gran said. ‘ I don’ t know if I’ d want that mouth on me after seeing where it’ d been.’

Judging by Troy’ s stony expression, I was certain that was the only kiss I was going to score for the night.

Having finished my glasses of wine, I mooched the second daiquiri, which Gran hadn’ t wanted. When the show finally ended and we stood to go, the room tipped around me. I stumbled. Troy caught me, but then he couldn’ t let go of me fast enough.

Kitty and Gran chattered as we walked out. The ride home on the motorcycle sure wasn’ t going to be the snuggle-fest it was on the way here. I started to wonder if Troy was so appalled by my status as mom-to-be that he was going to tow me behind his motorcycle rather than share the seat with me.

He had other plans. Leaning close, he said, ‘ You should take the cab back with my mom and Gran. You’ re not in any shape to ride.’

‘ Fine. I didn’ t mean to disgust you with my drunkenness.’

‘ I don’ t want you to get hurt.’

Too late for that. It was clear: Once I brought up a baby, he didn’ t want anything to do with me.

I remembered back to the game of ‘ what if’  I’ d recently played with my mom, and my heart sank.