Part 123 (1/2)

father. He bought her a Warhol lithograph, an exquisite Tiffany lamp

with signs of the Zodiac, and an Aubusson rug in shades of powder blue

and pink. For the week he stayed in town, he dropped in daily with a

new present. She couldn't stop him, and after seeing the pleasure it

gave him, stopped trying.

They gave their first party on the night before he left for London.

Packing crates stood on the priceless rug. The Tiffany graced the card

table. There was food both in plastic bowls and in the fragile Limoges

Marianne's mother had s.h.i.+pped to them. The radio had been replaced,

thanks to Johnno, by a wall-trembling stereo unit.

A handful of college students mingled with musicians and Broadway stars.

Dress ranged from denim to silks and sequins. There were arguments and

laughter, all drowned out by the music blasting against the windows.

It made Emma nostalgic for the parties she remembered from her youth,

the people sprawled on the floor, on pillows, the bright and

beautiful discussing their art. She sipped mineral water and, as she

had always done, watched.

”An interesting soir6e,” Johnno stated, swinging an arm around her

shoulders. ”Got any beer left?”

”Let's see.”

She steered him into the kitchen. There wasn't much left in the fridge

but a bottle of jug wine and part of a six-pack of Beck's. Emma opened

a bottle and handed it to him.

”Just like old times,” she said.

”More or less.” He sniffed the gla.s.s in her hand. ”What a good girl you

are.”