Part 26 (2/2)

famous smile, son. It's show time.”

Johnno was angry, but hid it well as the young, bearded reporter sat

down with them. They had no idea what it was like, he thought. None of

them, save Brian who had gone to school with him, had befriended him.

The names he'd been called-f.a.g, p.u.s.s.y, queer. They had hurt a great

deal more than the occasional beatings he'd taken. Johnno knew he would

have had his face smashed into a pulp more than once if it hadn't been

for Brian's ready fists and loyalty.

They had been drawn together, two ten-year-old boys with drunken

fathers. Poverty wasn't uncommon in London's east end, and there were

always toughs ready to break an arm for pence. There were ways of

escaping. For both him and Brian, the escape had been music.

Elvis, Chuck Berry, Muddy Waters. They would pool whatever money they

could earn or steal to buy those precious 45s. At twelve, they'd

collaborated on their first song-a really poor one, Johnno remembered

now, lots of moon/June rhymes set to a three-chord rhythm they'd pounded

out on their battered guitar. They'd traded a pint of Brian's father's

gin for that guitar, and Brian had taken an ugly beating. But they'd

made music, such as it was.

Johnno had been nearly sixteen before he realized what he was. He'd

sweated over it, wept over it, pounded himself into any girl who

would have him to turn his fate around. But sweat, tears, and s.e.x

hadn't changed him.

Finally it had been Brian who had helped him to accept. They'd been

<script>