John Taylor had invited me to his daughter's birthday party! How freaking cool was that? Warren was saying that he had a million things to do that day, but nothing was keeping me from it. Besides, Atlanta was such a darling little child. Now, which books will she like best...

"Whatcha reading?"

Blond hair, blue eyes, English accent. I was in love instantly. "A bunch of stuff. Do you want to see?" She nodded, sitting next to me on the steps of the reading corner. "I have to find a birthday present for a friend of mine. How old are you?"

"Four and a half."

"Well, my friend will be four on her birthday! Maybe you can help me pick a good book for her?"

"'k!" She let me read to her for at least 20 minutes, giving me a carefully considered opinion of each book. So far we liked "The Purple Plastic Purse," (she could 'identify') but not "Cinder-elly" (too long). My little friend already had "The Paperbag Princess," so we didn't read that, but she recommended it.

"Saffron! Who have you corralled into reading to you?"

"She offered, Daddy!"

I jumped at the sound of his voice. Simon? Big scary Simon? This angel was his? "Emily!"

"Emma!" They all did that to me. Nick's fault. "I did offer, really."

"Emma. Em. Whatever."

"You know her, Daddy?"

He sat next to her, setting the pile of books he was holding next to him. Toni Morrison, the latest Anne Rice, I couldn't see any of the others. "Yes, sweetie, she works with us. She takes pictures."

She wrinkled her nose at him. "That's what Mummy does."

"Yes, usually people take Mummy's picture. But some people take my picture, too. Em comes to Warren's, and takes pictures while we work."

"Why?"

He rolled his eyes, smiling at me slightly. "Ask Nick, sweetheart. He has a million reasons."

I giggled. "And I'm going with Warren to the States next week."

"Yeah? That's cool."

"Actually, I'm trying to find a book for Atlanta, since it's her birthday while I'll be there. You know Atlanta, right, Saffron?" She nodded. "Do you think she'll like any of the books we read?"

"Yeah! But she already has 'The Paperbag Princess', 'cos she gave it to me!"

"Well, its a good thing we figured out that you know her, then! Or I would have gotten it. Which ones do you think she'll like?" Saffron considered the books seriously and I looked up at Simon. His expression made me laugh out loud, a comical 'aw, shit' look. "Let me guess, Mr. leBon, you forgot Atlanta's birthday?"

"John would have killed me, too. You saved me, darlin'. What do you have picked out there?"

"Hey, I get first dibs on the cool books!" Saffron helped us pick out the best ones, and then Simon offered to buy us both tea at the nice place down the block. It wasn't until we were seated, tea and tasty pastries ordered, that I realized I was there with Simon. The scary one. Between Saf and discussing the books we'd just bought, I'd forgotten to be scared of him.

He caught me looking at him and raised an eyebrow. "Yes?"

"Oh, um... never pictured myself having tea with Simon leBon and his lovely daughter, that's all."

"You going to report back to all the Duranies on this?"

"No..." They loved to tease me about being a Duranie. I'd let slip with some bizarre John factoid in the midst of a general discussion one day and they'd teased the embarrassing details out of me. Luckily I'd won their trust by that point. "No, you're just the scary one."

"Am I?"

"Daddy's not scary!" Saffie protested, and I smiled at her.

"Of course he's not. But sometimes when he's working he's not as nice as he is when he's with you."

I loved this. I absolutely loved it. I was standing on a stage not two feet off the ground, taking a picture of all the fans waiting to see Warren. "Smile, and you might be on the next album cover." They screamed. God, no wonder rock stars have huge egos. This is way too cool.

I'd been following him around all day, taking pictures, talking to fans, making friends with the rest of his entourage. It was so exciting, the energy that followed him around. He loved performing, he was a completely different person from the calm, taskmaster Warren I knew in London. He kept calling me "babe". This was Warren Cuccurullo, guitar god. He was, too. I'd never thought about him much in the context of Duran, I only had eyes for my John. But he was an amazing talent, he deserved every one of those screams he got, and then some. Where were all the Duranies? Then again, what a surprise that he had fans of his own.

"EMMA JANE EVESHAM!!!!"

Bayley? I hopped off the stage and ran over to her. "What are you doing here?"

"I only live a couple of hours away, Emmie. You're the one who lives in London."

I kissed her, not wanting to risk crushing the lenses I had tucked in various pockets of my flak jacket with a hug. "I was going to surprise you tomorrow, and you ruined it."

She raised an eyebrow at me. She'd literally learned that from Nick, spending hours in front of the mirror perfecting it when we were in high school. "Em, the last time you showed up in America and surprised me, a British popstar had swept you off your feet and turned you into a groupie with just one kiss. Does this mean what I think it means?"

"Not in the least. Warren asked me to do some shots for his next album. But he only asked me three days ago, so I was running around like mad."

"Showtime, babe." Warren tapped my shoulder and I spun around.

"OK. Warren, this is my best friend, Bayley."

"Oh, the one from Philly? The writer?"

"Can I have an interview?"

"Bayley!"

Warren just laughed. "Sure. We're having a party after. I'll give you 20 minutes."

"Can I use Em's pictures?"

"I get approval. Where is this thing going to be published?"

"Wherever I can sell it." She grinned at him and he laughed.

"You've got balls. I like that."

Warren had lent me the record company car the day, as he was seeing friends. Which meant I was alone on the long drive from our hotel out to Amanda's, where Atlanta's birthday party was being held. What if Amanda answers? I only know John and Atlanta, how will I explain myself? Luckily, Atlanta was on door duty, and giggled happily when she saw me. "Em! Are you my special surprise?"

I hugged her. "I'm not sure. Are you surprised to see me?"

"Uh-huh. Daddy said I might get a special surprise person today. I bet you're it. Daddy!"

"Yes, Bean?" We both looked up, startled at the closeness of his voice. He smiled at me, that deep sweet sincere smile that made the 16-year-old inside me melt. Hell, it made the present day Em melt, who was I kidding?

"Is Em my surprise?"

"Yes, she is. Surprised?"

"Yeah. C'mon, meet my friends!" She dragged me away, and I only had time for a 'hi' tossed over my shoulder at John as he took the presents out of my hands. On the way out to the backyard, Atlanta kept up a steady stream of chatter, about how this was her best birthday ever and did I like her new dress? She introduced me around proudly, as her 'friend who came all the way from London for the party.'

I caught Amanda looking at me suspiciously once or twice, but didn't get to be introduced, as John was starting a game of 'Simon Says', which turned into a gymnastics lesson when I threw out "do a cartwheel." I looked up from my cartwheel to ten 4-year-olds clamoring "I wanna do that!"

Cartwheels and a somersault are fully my bag of tricks when it comes to gymnastics, but it kept them entertained for about half an hour. John picked up the teaching of it within minutes, even if his attempt at a cartwheel was pretty pathetic. He was adorable with the kids, obviously enjoying every moment of interaction, patient when explaining the basics, thrilled when one of them was successful.

Amanda called out that it was time for cake and presents, and the kids disappeared before we could blink, or before I could finish my 50th cartwheel of the day. John laughed at my dizzy expression when I stood up. "Sorry. Didn't mean to put you to work like that."

"Are you crazy? It was wonderful. Glad I could keep them entertained for a bit."

He put his arm around me, leading me inside the house. "You were quite the hit. Thank you for coming."

"I enjoyed it." Atlanta demanded his attention the moment we walked into the room, so I took my cake to a relatively quiet corner where I could watch without being in the way. Amanda sat down next to me after a moment, startling me out of mooning over John being sweet with his daughter. "I'm Amanda deCadenet. John's wife. Atlanta's mother. Who are you precisely?"

Oh, fuck. Astrid had warned me about Amanda. "Em Evesham. Lovely to meet you. I work with John."

"Doing what?"

Attitude, attitude. I took a sip of my punch, considering her. Fuck. Do I have a Kool-Aid mustache now? Probably. "I take pictures for Duran. They want some behind the scenes stuff for the b-sides compilation."

"John hasn't been to London for weeks."

"I met him and Atlanta when I first got the job."

"She seemed pleased to see you."

"We write email. Quite a wit, your daughter." Atlanta suddenly screamed with laughter and we both turned to look at her, giggling with John.

"Email. With Atlanta."

"And John." God, Amanda, lay off. John has never looked twice at me.

"So, you're more than an employee?"

I rolled my eyes at her. "We might be friends. I don't know. Ask him." I walked away from her, carrying my trash into the kitchen. At the table, I found two men huddled around a laptop. Never one to walk by a computer without at least looking, I joined them.

Half an hour later, John found us, still playing with the possibilities of the B5 website. What should a tiny record label do with its web space? An interesting question. My new friends and I were arguing over frames when John pulled up a chair, not joining in the fray, just watching us with a small smile. "If nothing else, we need some new pictures, right?" They agreed with him, exclusive pictures would be nice. "Interested, Em?"

"Pictures of what?"

"Me."

John? Just John? I could have license to stare at those cheekbones all I wanted? "Sure. When?"

He convinced me to stay an extra day or two in L.A. After all, why did I need to be back in London right away? The moment I said ‘yes,’ I heard Amanda behind me. "Don’t make plans for tomorrow, John."

"Why ever not, Amanda, my dear?"

I tryed not to giggle at his tone, ever so slightly mocking. He caught my eye briefly before looking back at her, raising his eyebrow quickly. She attempted to make excuses and he knocked them down with great calm, refusing to look at me again as I was pulling faces. After a moment Atlanta tore into the room, yelling for her Mummy, and Amanda turned to her with a smile.

She was a wonderful mother, really. And this jealousy thing was just silly and childish, she would certainly outgrow it soon. I giggled, realising that Amanda was three years younger than me, and John leaned towards me, grinning. "Glad to see you can laugh about it."

"About what? That wasn’t about me at all, should I be upset?"

"No. You’re absolutely right, she’s just concerned about me talking to other women."

"She’ll outgrow it. What is it with younger women, John? I am too old for your tastes?"

"My younger women stage is over. You’re just about the perfect age..."

Raised eyebrow, charming grin. How can I be old enough for him when he constantly makes me feel 16 again?

This was awful. The venue had pulled the plug on Warren's gig, and he was fuming. Such a difference from the New York show. I was almost scared of him, he was ready to kill someone. Anyone. I really didn't want it to be me, but these were pretty cool pictures, Warren screaming at people.

"God, Em, would you put that fucking thing down for a second? The fucking flash is really annoying, has anyone ever told you that?"

No, actually. I put the camera away immediately, swallowing the fact that he was paying me to take pictures, after all. And these were more interesting than the typical concert shots, of which I had hundreds.

Whatever. He was pissed off, far be it from me to make that worse. I ignored him, breaking down my equipment with great care, until I realized that I was the 'babe' he was attempting to summon.

"Yes, sir?"

"We're taking the first flight out, OK?"

I shrugged. "Whatever. I'm staying an extra couple of days." He wandered over to me, still annoyed, but better.

"You are? Why?"

"John asked me to do some shots for him."

"What, for that fucking solo album?"

I laughed. "Isn't this your solo tour?"

"I didn't have to create my own label to sell the fucking thing."

"I'm not getting in the middle of Duran politics, Warren."

"Of course not. God forbid you fucking Duranies should ever admit that John Taylor is less than perfect. He's spending all his fucking time here in L.A. working on that freaking label that will never go anywhere, and I'm doing the fucking bass tracks on the new album."

''Which word didn't you understand, Warren? I'm not getting into this. Not because I'm a Duranie, and not because I think John is perfect. I simply refuse to get into Duran politics. If you want John to come to London and do the bass tracks, ask him. I'll give you his number."

"I have-"

I held up a hand. "Warren, stop. Been nice working with you this week. See ya in London."

"Fine." He turned, dismissing me. I stuck my tongue out at his back and left the club, throwing my bag over my shoulder. First Amanda, then Warren, I was tired of being yelled at for things that had little to do with me. The fans gathered at the stage door stirred a bit when I appeared, but then settled again. I was not important enough for interest.

Stalking over to the curb, I looked for a cab. Fuck. Why couldn't this have happened in New York, where cabs were plentiful? Did I even have enough money on me to take a cab all the way back to the hotel, wherever that was?

Fuck fuck fuck.

I liked Warren, I really did, I just did not want to get dragged into this John thing. There were little whispers at Privacy, rolled eyes at the frequent 'John's not coming after all' statements. I pretended not to hear. None of my business. If the others were fighting with John, or annoyed at his absences, I didn't want to know. I didn't want to know why John was never in London, either.

"Do you need a ride?"

I turned, finding a women with long brown hair looking at me with concern. "I'm never going to get a cab, am I?"

The attractive man with her answered me. They seemed to be a couple, just something about the closeness of their body language and the way they spoke to one another with only brief looks. "You've never been to L.A. before, have you?"

"Does it show?"

"Only that you're not going to get a cab, you're right. Didn't you come with Warren, tho'?" She was sweet, wanting the information, but not wanting to look like she did.

"Um... yeah. But he's taking the next flight back to London and I'm staying on for a couple of days."

"Is he really upset?"

"Pretty much. He's ranting at everyone, I just wanted to get out of the way."

"Italians. I can say that, I am one." I laughed with them, relaxing a bit. I'd apologize the next time I saw him, we'd be OK, I thought. It wasn't much of a fight, really. "Have you worked with him before?"

"I'm doing some work with Duran in London, and Warren asked me to come on this mini-tour with him, take some stuff for his next solo thing."

"Oh, you're Em!" She clapped a hand over her mouth, and her boyfriend glanced at me, considering.

"How did you know that?"

"I, um, know your friend Astrid. On-line."

Fuck. I'd told Astrid not to tell anyone.

"Shit, I wasn't supposed to say anything... she hasn't told me any dirt, I swear. Just that her friend Em was working with Duran, and they'd been really good to her."

"Well... that's OK, I guess. I don't really know any dirt. What's your name, I'll tell Astrid I met you next time I talk to her." We introduced ourselves and the boyfriend smiled at me.

"Well, now that Astrid can vouch for us, can we offer you a ride back to your hotel? Won't ask for any dirt, I swear. We’ll drop you off around the corner, you never have to even tell us where you’re staying."

"Um..."

"Astrid was named after the Beatle girlfriend, and her favorite Duran is Simon. Mine too, that's why we're friends. And she's known you all her life."

I laughed. "OK, that's all correct. I guess you do know her."

"See, not psycho fans, I swear. We'll just drop you at your hotel. Won't even stay in hopes of seeing Warren."

Did I really have a choice? The only person I knew in L.A. was John, and I really didn't want to explain to him why I wasn't taking the car with Warren. It was fine, by the time we got to the hotel, I asked them in for a drink. They told me they'd met because of Duran, and were planning to play vast amounts of Duran at their wedding reception. They were one of the sweetest couples I’d ever seen, I wrote their wedding date down in my planner so that I could ask Duran to send them flowers or something.

The next morning, the phone rang me out of bed. John's cheery voice woke me up immediately. "I waited until noon, figured you'd be out late."

All I could think of was that scene in '3 to Get Ready' where he and Simon chastised Nick for never getting out of bed before noon, and bit back a giggle. "Um, yeah. It was a late night."

"Did I wake you?"

"Yes, actually."

"Sorry. Do you want to go back to sleep? We can do this tomorrow?"

"No, no, I'm fine." We made plans that I'd meet him in the lobby in an hour, but 45 minutes later there was a knock at my door. John, of course. Carrying flowers? At my confused expression, he laughed. "They're not from me. They were outside your door. Perhaps you have a secret admirer?"

"Doubtful." I took them from him, finding the card. Just "Sorry, W". "Oh, that was sweet. He didn't have to do that."

John sat on my unmade bed, smiling at me. "Who didn't have to do what?"

"Warren. We had a bit of a spat last night, but he didn't need to send me flowers."

"A spat? What over?"

I couldn't look at him, opening my camera bag instead, checking to make sure I had everything I might need for today. "Nothing." Certainly not you. "The club last night pulled the plug after barely three songs, he was in a rotten mood and I got in his way."

"That's no excuse. You didn't do anything."

Hmm. That sounds vaguely like John wants me to dish on Warren. "No, but he was frustrated. It was really no big deal, I overreacted a bit and ended up catching a ride back here with some fans."

"Ah, the Duranies. They even give our hangers-on rides."

I scowled at him. "I'm not a hanger-on. I'm an employee, at least according to your wife."

He shook his head. "Sorry. She was a little..."

I shrugged, shouldering my camera bag. "It's not like I deal with her often. Don’t worry about it."

He smiled at me for a moment, then stood up and held out a hand. "Want me to take that?"

I laughed. "No. I've got it. Where are we going?"

"Where do you want me?"

"Wherever you want to be, darling."

We agreed on the beach, both of us liking the overcast sky as a backdrop. We did not agree on his outfit of t-shirt and jeans. "C’mon, at least change the shirt."

He shrugged. "I have to do laundry."

"Then buy a new one. You’re not that broke."

He pouted at me, a full on, full-body, arms crossed "I like this shirt..." but still drove me to a funky thrift store when I insisted. We liked a dark vest, a new t shirt and I loved a black overcoat and practically forced him to buy it, teasing him the entire time about how ‘lost style is criminal.’

An hour later we were on the beach, John in fabulous layers, hands in his jeans pockets as he pouted at me in best Duran style, feet bare as he walked at the water’s edge. Even his toes were gorgeous. I asked him about Atlanta and he relaxed, laughing as I snapped away, showing off the gentle creases at the corners of his eyes. I posed him in front of the jetty, had him climb up into an unused lifeguard chair, made him walk so that the coat would billow out behind him just so.

My film was gone just as the sun was setting, so I took a roll of him silhouetted against the dying light and then agreed to dinner. "Sushi?"

"Raw fish?" I was nervous.

"Not just raw fish. C’mon, it’ll be fun. Broaden your horizons."

I considered the idea. "I’m hopeless with chopsticks."

"I’m a good teacher. Better than the cartwheels, at least."

How could I possibly resist? By the end of the evening, I was an expert, and no longer frightened of raw fish. We sat at our table for a long time, chatting and practicing picking up grains of rice with our chopsticks. Somewhere over the course of the day, I’d forgotten how that face had been plastered on my walls when I was a teenager, and relaxed with his easy charm.

"Are you showing yet?"

Tricia laughed on the other end of the phone. "You just saw me last week, Emmie. I'm not wearing maternity clothes quite yet. Are you rich and famous yet?"

"Actually..." Dare I even mention this?

"What, Emmie? George Michael wants you now."

"Tricia, love, you're hopelessly stuck in the 80's, aren't you?"

"I'm about to become a midwestern mom, Em. Cut me a break."

"Ask your 5th graders. They'll tell you Oasis is all the rage."

"Oasis, then. Do they want you?"

"They're prats, Trish. I'd say no. No, Plastic Fantastic. They're a romo band."

"Romo? Somehow, I don't think even my hippest 5th graders will know that one."

I laughed. I loved Tricia, born to be a midwestern mom. The first of us to get married, to get pregnant... she'd had a miscarriage about a year ago. She was fine now. She always was. We all were. We lead charmed fucking lives.

"Romo is short for "New Romantic". Or something like that. You'd like it, hon, its a bunch of bands rediscovering synthesizers and paying homage to Duran."

"So one of them wants to you do their pictures? Why?"

"Because Nick Rhodes picked me. They haven't seen a single shot."

"You're kidding!"

I couldn't quite believe it myself. I wasn't even sure to be insulted or flattered. "No. Not a shot. I have no idea how they found me. I don't want to know, it conjures scary images of a Duranie underground, running background checks on me as soon as I set foot in Privacy."

"You know Astrid knows far too much about them. She expects introductions when she's in London next month."

Of course I'd do whatever I'd could. Astrid wasn't that scary. "Anyway, Plastic Fantastic- an entire band of Nick clones, by the way- called and said they didn't care, they wanted me."

"Did you say yes?"

"Well, I named an outrageous figure and their manager said yes. So I suppose I should listen to their album or something. I don't even know if they have an album."

It was raining. Big surprise, this is London, after all. But when I turned the corner, I was overwhelmed by bright sunny yellow. And orange and pink.

Holy shit.

That huge picture covering the bus shelter is for Plastic Fantastic's new single, and I took it! God, it looks great that big. I stood nose to nose with it, examining every detail, how the band looked out-of-focus and happy. Wow. It was a great picture.

I missed my fucking bus, I was so busy looking at it. "It is a rather nice picture." I looked up at a tall student-y type, who was watching me.

"Do you think so?"

"Yes. Makes me think of summer and decent weather. Too bad they’re crap."

I grinned at him. "Oh, they’re not so horrible. This single isn’t bad."

"Do you know them or something?"

"I took the picture."

"Really?" He studied it again. "Very nice. Yes, very. You must be excited."

"A bit, yes."

"The record shop up the street has a whole display."

"Really? Thanks!" I took off at a run, laughing when I found only about five copies of the single left. An hour later, I found myself at Warren's door. Is this my Duran day? I knocked. Nick answered.

"Em! You're drenched!"

I laughed. "I guess I am."

"This is isn't Thursday."

"No?" I considered him, coming down from my high slightly.

"Come in, silly. Warren, do you have any dry clothes for Em?"

"Say no, Warren." Simon leered at me and I grinned at him through my sudden shiver. Shit, I was freezing. That picture only looks like spring. It's barely April. "Ah, love, you're shivering. Are you OK?"

"Look!" I opened my backpack, dumping several copies of the single on the couch next to Simon. "I did that!" They admired it and I laughed. "Fuck, I just lost all credibility with you guys, didn't I? Oh, don't tell me I never had any, I'll be crushed. Can I use your phone, Warren?" They were all laughing at me, but I didn't mind, picking up the phone to call Plastic Fantastic. I dialed their number and the bassist answered. I always got the bassist, didn't I? And this one was even named Johnny. We yelled about how the single was flying off the shelves for a moment, then I felt warm arms wrapping a towel around my shoulders, and I leaned back against Simon's chest. Johnny yelped when I told him I was with Duran, and I had Simon say hello. Hanging up, Warren tossed me some clothes.

"You should change into something dry, babe. I'll throw that stuff in the dryer."

"Thanks."

"Ah, yes, Nick, remember the first time we saw our single in the shops? A wonderful rush..." Simon had on a self-mocking tone and I grinned at him on my way to the bathroom to peel off my wet clothes.

"Back when dinosaurs roamed the earth, Mr. leBon? I believe I was all of... 11 or so when you had your first single in the shops..." Laughing, I ducked the notebook he tossed at me, shutting the bathroom door as Warren and Nick teased him, luckily forgetting my gooniness. I ran into Nick when I opened the door. "Yes?"

"Are you free this afternoon?"

"Um... yeah. Why?" Nodding, he spoke into his cell phone, then hung it up.

"I made that call you'd never let me make before."

"What call?"

But I knew. His agent friend, the one that could get me jobs I'd only dreamed of. I'd always shrugged it off before. Photos were not going to be my life's work, why set myself up for the disappointment?

"Susan. You're bit now, aren't you? It's fun seeing your work everywhere, isn't it?"

Since when is this my life? Since when is Nick Rhodes attempting to convince me to make photography my career? Since when do I get to wear Warren Cuccurullo's sweatpants?

"I'm not good enough."

"Em, your work is all over London! What other proof do you need?" I chewed my lip, considering him. "One meeting, Em. Show her your portfolio, let her get you a couple of jobs, see if you like it."

"I've taken better stuff than what you saw in my portfolio. Of course, they're all of you lot."

He laughed. "You have until three to add new shots. I'll pick you up at 2:30."

I checked my watch. 11:21. "Warren, I'll get your clothes back to you tomorrow, OK?"

It was 1 before I'd even decided what to weed out. Pictures of Alex practically covered my desk, new prints of Duran in their place. One bass player for another, he would have laughed. I'd always teased him about being the John Taylor of the 90s.

I called Nick, begging for more time, and he refused, suggesting pictures I'd already chosen. So some of Alex went back in. I was still reordering everything when Nick knocked. Fuck. I ran to the open the door.

"Warren's sweatpants are not appropriate, dear."

"I know. But I-" He glanced past me to the desk, still littered with prints.

"Fine. You change, let me straighten that up."

"What should I wear?"

"Something that makes you look like a professional photographer."

I rolled my eyes. "Yeah, what do they look like?"

He just shooed me off and had to yell for me five minutes later. I emerged in jeans and a black turtleneck and blazer. "Yes?"

He nodded. "Adequate."

"Fuck off, Nickie."

"Don't call me that, my mother doesn't even call me that."

"Don't look down your nose at my fashion choices, then." But he bickered me out the door, I later noticed.

Finally, it was warm, in the middle of May. Spring came later in England, but almost prettier. If nothing else, the English loved their gardens. I was in a park, watching the sun set, admiring the flowers, enjoying the fact that I was quiet.

It hadn't even taken a week. More like a day after Nick and I had first met with Susan, she called me, asked me to come into her office. I'd been so sure she was going to drop me without Nick present. Instead she'd started firing off band names, projects, timelines, until I had to stop her, ask her what she was on about. "They want to know if you're available, love," she'd drawled back in her lovely London accent, then laughed at the expression on my face. We'd gone out for a drink afterwards, and once drunk, she admitted that as soon as Nick had told her I'd done the Plastic Fantastic cover, it had been a done deal. My portfolio was meaningless, really.

A fact that was starting to annoy me. I need to be something other than the Plastic Fantastic girl, everyone wanted the same fucking thing of big color and goofy grins.

Susan assured me that would change as soon as my other photos started seeing print. She never made me do the same old thing, happily. I liked her, she had so far given me consistently good advice, told me who to avoid and who was cool. Which was good. My experience with local bands in America was nothing compared to this. I hadn't done anyone huge yet, but this was still light years beyond a friend asking me to do pictures for her band, or hanging out with my boyfriend.

I hadn't seen a penny of profit yet, all my money was going for new equipment and rent on a darkroom space. I led a strange shoot to darkroom existence. This was the first full day off I'd had since I'd met Susan. I'd slept late, answered email, ran errands, and now here I was with my new camera, waiting for the sun to go down so I could-

"Em!" Hearing my name, I looked up, down when someone hugged my knees.

"Saffie!" My bookworm buddy. Simon had taken to bringing her to the studio on my days, the other girls, too, sometimes. Darling children. "How are you, sweetie? I haven't seen you for a while, how was your vacation?"

"Good. It was pretty there. Whatcha doing?"

I looked over when Amber said hello, smiling at her and chatting for a moment until Saffie repeated her question. "Oh. I want to take pictures of the sky after the sun goes down. You know that pretty dark blue color it gets? Well, I have this new camera, and new film, and I want to see how it works."

"I thought you just took pictures of Daddy!"

"I take pictures of lots of things, sweetie."

"Oh! Em!" The recognition in an unfamiliar tone startled me, and I looked up to find Yasmin leBon standing near a stroller containing the littlest leBonling. Jesus, she was even more gorgeous in person, wasn't she? "I've heard so much about you, but couldn't quite figure out why my daughters were so happy to see this strange woman..." She extended a perfectly manicured hand. "I'm Yasmin leBon, pleased to finally meet you."

I hesitated to shake that perfect hand with my paper-cut, broken nailed, rough one, but did so. "Emma Evesham. I've met your lovely daughters, obviously."

She smiled, smoothing Amber's hair. Amber looked exactly like her, lucky child. "They rave about you, as does my husband."

"He does not."

She laughed. "He does, really. He only acts scary when he's out of sorts. He told me Nick's set you up with Susan?"

"Do you know her?"

"I'm a model. I know these people. You can't go wrong with her, she's very levelheaded."

"Just what I need."

Sitting next to me, she nodded. "If you're going to- what, Saf?"

"Can Em come and get ice cream with us?"

"I don't mind, but I think Em has something to do. But you can ask her."

"Em, will you come and get ice cream with us? I haven't seen you in ages and ages."

How could one resist those blue eyes? "I'd love to, but only if you can do me a favor, if your mommy says its OK." They both turned expectant eyes to me. "Would you and your sisters pose for some pictures for me, so I can try out this new camera?"

Saffie immediately sucked in her cheekbones, pouting for me, and I laughed. "Yasmin, do you mind?"

"If they're good, can I get prints?"

"Of course. They might be crap, I'm still getting used to this camera." The girls climbed around the bench and the stroller, and I told Yasmin not to move, enjoying taking pictures of such a perfect face. She was funny, playing with the kids, while attempting to talk to me about Susan. I liked her.

Simon

The band burst on stage through a wall of sound and Simon just had to yell his approval, smiling at John. You had to love these young bands, still full of energy and excitement. Especially this band, one song over almost before it began, barely a breath before launching into the next attack of energy. In and out and moving on.

Was it any wonder it made him think of sex? The singer was not interested, he'd already tried with her, about a year ago, and had been politely rejected. Standing in the balcony, he had the perfect view of the groupies closest to the stage.

Her. Right in front, screaming along with the words. Smiling at the singer every once in a while, looked like they knew one another. Good, she'll be backstage.

John

John bumped into a young woman, caught in the crowd as they poured from the theater. His apology died on his lips when he recognized her quick smile. "Em?"

"Shh... I'm undercover."

He was bit too transfixed by her smile to figure what she meant. Then he realized that Oasis, the band they'd just seen, made a habit of trashing other British band in the press every chance they got. Especially Blur, and Em had dated their bassist for a while.

"Someone in this crowd might recognize me."

"Shall we disappear, then? Would you like to get some coffee or something?"

"Sure. I know a place about three blocks that way, would that be alright?"

"Great." They began walking, quickly losing the crowd. "So, what were you doing there, consorting with the enemy?"

"Well, they do go on about themselves so much in the press, wanted to see what all the hype was about."

"And your opinion?"

"I have seen better live shows. Yourself?"

"I like their music. But I could have stayed home and listened to the album, for all the energy they put out."

She giggled. "I agree. So, were you by yourself?"

"Yes. No Simon this time."

She smiled, remembering the last show they'd seen together. "I promise, no alcoholic beverages at the coffee bar."

"It was fine, Em, really. Are you alone?"

"Like any of my friends would have gone with me to that show? Not likely. See, I'm wearing my incognito hat."

She pulled her floppy hat down lower over her eyes, smiling up at him. It framed her pretty face perfectly, a few dark curls escaping, just accenting the curve of her cheek. "And a very charming hat it is."

She grinned, pulling open the door to a small coffeehouse. There was a table free in the back corner, and she made a beeline for it. They made small talk about coffee and the concert, and after their coffees and pastries arrived, she pulled a pack of cigarettes out of the pocket of her well-worn leather jacket.

"I don't imagine you smoke any longer, either."

"No." He could just taste it. She smoked his favorite brand. It had been years, even though cigarettes were the last thing to go.

"Will it bug you if I do?"

"Nick and Simon do it all the time. Go ahead." But they smoked uninteresting cigarettes. And they certainly didn't look as sexy doing it. She'd come on to him at that Elastica show last week, and he'd stumbled on, pretending not to notice. He'd noticed, and ending up leaving before something happened that they'd both regret in the morning. She flirted almost unnoticeably in their frequent emails. He'd certainly noticed the way she looked at him sometimes, and Nick enjoyed teasing him that most of the pictures she took were of John. It's nothing, John. Teenage angst revisited, a teenybopper crush re-ignited. She would move on.

Soon, he hoped. It was getting more and more difficult to laugh it off, he hated the way he looked forward to coming to London partially because he'd get to see her. Everytime he logged onto his computer he hoped there would be an email from her. He thought about that day they'd spent taking his picture on the beach far too often.

"Hey, its my song." He tuned in to the music, recognizing it as one of Justine's.

"Em? Did I say something wrong, you're shaking."

My mind was racing, and I jumped up to catch it, pacing around the bench for a moment. I ran my fingers through my hair, pushing off my silly hat. My body is mine. I should be able to feel things when they touch me. Thank you, Astrid, my little therapy girl.

John just watched me. I must have seemed completely insane to him. He would never hurt me, I knew that, what was I thinking? Finally, I stopped pacing, dropping my cigarette on the ground, grinding it out very deliberately.

"No. You didn't say anything wrong. I just didn't realize that I was disconnecting on that level."

I couldn't feel this headache, then, either. God, I must have been clenching my jaw all night.

"Disconnecting?"

"Um... that's what I've always called it. I stop... feeling things. Anything. And I won't let anyone touch me, if I can help it."

"Was it Jarvis or me that brought this on?"

"Not you."

Silence. He wants to ask why I do this. But he doesn't want to know the answer. They never do.

Sighing, I leaned against a nearby tree, hoping the feel of the bark against my hands would keep me grounded.

"Jarvis was... very unexpected. I never quite dealt with my feelings towards him, I don’t think. I trusted him very much once, and he betrayed that."

"How? Is there something about him you didn't tell me?"

Oh. John thinks it was Jarvis? "No. Jarvis never, ever did anything to hurt me. Physically. But he was able to tell that someone once did. I was raped, a long time ago, and I have been dealing with that on a million levels ever since. Jarvis noticed some of the things I did, and asked one night. One... nevermind. That's a very long story. But he asked, and I told him everything. He was wonderful. As far as I know, he's never told anyone about the things I told him. Maybe Alex. Later..."

"What did he notice?"

"Um... the fact that I could never be alone with him. With any man, except Alex. I don't do that anymore, obviously. And I always need to know a way out. I still do that. Other things. I don't remember anymore. It made perfect sense for him to ask me at the time, we were sharing secrets. But my reaction tonight... again, I apologize. I’ve been a bit freaked."

"Please. Don’t apologise. Does this have anything to do with the second unforgivable thing that Alex did?"

Rubbing my temples, I looked at him. "Alex did not rape me, if that's what you're asking. I was raped long before I ever met Alex, and it'll never happen again. But... forget it. I'm exhausted. What time is it?"

He checked his watch. "4:14."

"Oh, jesus christ. I have completely talked your ear off. You should have shut me up hours ago!"

"No. You needed to talk."

"Thank you. Who knew that John Taylor was such a sensitive male?"

He laughed. "Therapy. Lots and lots of therapy."

"Have I passed my first session? Am I cured?"

"What, precisely, do you w