Chapter 28

"That's not fair!" Kyla squealed. "We're great; Emma's song is great. You even said so!"

Jerrica shook her head. "And I meant it. Kyla, you've got a great voice, you've really got a handle on that guitar, and Emma," she smiled at the younger girl, "I can't believe you wrote those lyrics at your age! But that doesn't mean you're ready to perform at the benefit."

"But Ashley said…" Marla protested. "I mean, that's why the Starlights, or I guess we're Starlight now… that's why we held auditions!"

"And even if Ashley's had to leave, so what?" Julie demanded. "Kyla's good enough to sing lead!"

"At any high school talent show, absolutely," Jerrica nodded. "Maybe even Star Search. But as good as you guys are, you're not ready for this."

"But we—" Emma looked desperately at Kimber.

Kimber shook her head. "Emma… you never told me this was for the benefit. I-I would have explained to you that…" She took a breath. "The top high school basketball team isn't ready to go head to head with the bottom team in the NBA." She pressed her lips together in an apologetic smile. "Keep at it and in a few years, you might be on that stage. But not now."

"But…"

Jerrica shook her head. "I'm sorry girls. No."

One by one, four pairs of eyes lowered and four sets of shoulders slumped in defeat. After Jerrica and Kimber left, though, Emma lifted her eyes again and they were blazing. "We're getting up on that stage somehow," she snapped. "We just need to figure out a way!"

The desk clerk looked up sourly. "You're back," he said.

"Rumor has it you've got Roxanne Pellegrini in custody."

The clerk sighed. "And I heard the aliens landed in Simi Valley last week. You gonna go check that one out, too?"

"Can I talk to her?"

The clerk rolled his eyes. "We've been over this before, Ms Montgomery. First, I'm not confirming she's here. Second, even if she is here, we're not letting the press—or the reasonable facsimile you represent—inside. It's in everyone's best interests that she not talk to you guys. So, how about you give me one good reason why I should let you and that tabloid news program you work for get a scoop now instead of waiting for the police blotter tomorrow and heading off to the courthouse for the arraignment with all the serious reporters."

"We dated for three months, Darryl," Ms Montgomery wheedled.

The clerk shook his head. "You've dated a lot of people. You hit them all up for favors, Connie?"

Constance Montgomery shrugged. "Hector Ramirez trusts me to pay our sources well for their info. You might call that 'favors', but I call it, 'you wash my back and I'll wash yours'."

"Ramirez," the clerk sniffed. "That sleaze gives the legitimate paparazzi a bad name."

"But he pays well."

The clerk snorted again. "It's not for the money," he said. "And it's not because you and me dated for a couple of months. It's because I wrote her a fan letter when I was nineteen. I never got a reply…"

"You're miffed about that?" Constance asked, trying to sound sympathetic.

"I'm not that big an idiot," Darryl snorted. "No. Three months after I wrote to her, she was on one of those trashy morning talk shows and she was laughing with the host about the, I quote, cringe-worthy letters she was getting. And she handed a stack over for the host to read. And he did. Out loud. Now, granted? At nineteen years old, Shakespeare I wasn't. But I put a lot of work into what I wrote and even if she didn't mention my name on air, it didn't do a lot for my self-esteem to have my best efforts turned into a joke."

He picked up a folder from this desk, got up and walked to the photocopier. "Anyone asks where you got your hands on this, I hope you'll be at least as sensitive as she was and keep my name out of it," he said, as he laid the three sheets in the feeder and pressed the print button.

Constance took the pages with something approaching reverence. "Thanks, Darryl," she said with feeling. "Why did I ever let you go?"

Darryl shook his head. "Was probably the nicest thing you ever did, Clash. Take care of yourself."

"You, too," she said gently. Then she slid the pages into her purse and added crisply, "And if you hear anything else that might interest my employer, feel free to call me. Always nice to catch up with an old friend."

"That was rough," Casey said, putting a hand on Emma's shoulder.

Emma shook her head. "I don't want to talk about it."

"You sure?" Stephanie asked. "Because if you did, we'd listen."

"Nah," Emma sighed. "I shouldn't have got my hopes up. Kimber said it: high school basketball doesn't go up against the NBA. I'm only in middle school." She forced herself to smile. "But thanks, guys." She took a breath. "If you don't mind, I… sort of don't feel like hanging out right now. I think I'm just going to go to my room, put on some headphones and pop in a cassette."

"If you change your mind before lights out, just knock," Stephanie said.

Casey nodded.

"Sure," Emma said, knowing all the while she wouldn't. "Later."

"Emma wasn't even on the outing!" Wendy told John with a groan. "When I asked after her, her friends informed me she'd stayed out late without permission and wasn't permitted to go! Had I known, I might have stayed home, too, particularly since it was your idea for me to draw her into mischief!"

John sighed. "I'd hoped if she violated their rules, she'd seem like too much of a handful for that foundling home and they'd send her elsewhere. A miscalculation."

"Well, had I known, I would have stayed home, too," Wendy retorted.

"You didn't care for the amusement park?"

Wendy sucked in a breath. Then she exhaled and turned blazing eyes on her brother. "Do you know, they've made a ride that treats of Neverland? A-and Pan's this carefree, happy… child! While we get tied to masts and forced to walk the plank and it's the pirates doing it! They've made Pan the hero! A-and Captain Hook is a caricature and a humorous one at that!"

John nodded. "I'm sorry. If I'd remembered, I would have warned you."

"You told me about the book," Wendy remembered. "I thought that would be bad enough. But this… If I didn't know better, I'd have thought Pan had a hand in its creation, the better to lure more boys to him the way he did me that first time!"

"He might have at that," John said. "Remember, children visit Neverland in their dreams. And Pan can spin a pretty fantasy when he wants to, as we all know. Well… all children, except one, grow up. And some of them become park ride designers. Or they adapt children's fantasy novels into motion pictures. Or they write children's fantasy novels based on threads of half-remembered dreams."

Wendy swallowed hard. "Jimmy?" she whispered.

"James Matthew Barrie," John confirmed. "You remember then. How Pan always made sure that Neverland seemed a grand adventure to him. He never let him see the darkest corners for what they were. And one day, when he'd had a string of unsuccessful theatre credits to his name and creditors at his door, he had the inspiration to write a new play about a boy who never grew up. And since then, Pan's hardly wanted for new companions when he tires of the old ones."

"I wish he'd tired of me long ago," Wendy heaved a sigh.

John's face grew troubled. "No, you don't," he said seriously. "Pan might see us as tools and playthings, but when he grows bored with those, he doesn't always lay them aside or abandon them. Oftentimes, he smashes them instead."

Wendy bit her lip and nodded. "They mean to go back again next month," Wendy she said. "If they mean to take us on that ride again, I shan't be able to bear it. I shan't, John!"

John nodded. "Well, if you can complete your task within the month, I shouldn't think you'd need to," he replied, and though his eyes were sympathetic, his voice mirrored the bleakness in hers.

Morning dawned and Emma felt no better. Marla, Julie, and Kyla joined her at the breakfast table to commiserate, but neither they nor Casey nor Stephanie could get more than an occasional monosyllable out of her as she stirred chocolate powder into her milk and picked at her pop tart.

She was thinking of feigning a stomach ache and begging off from going to camp, but she'd been kept behind yesterday and it hadn't exactly been a vacation. Besides, just about everyone her age that she knew was going to be there.

With a mental sigh, she joined the others outside to wait for the bus, just as relieved that Jerrica wasn't standing there to see them off.

Phyllis was just about to leave for the office when the phone rang. "I can get that for you Ms Gabor," Marisol said, just as Hana May knocked over her plastic cup of orange juice.

"Oh no!" the little girl exclaimed.

Phyllis sighed. "Better mop that up, Marisol; I'll get the phone." She hoped it wasn't Roxy calling again. Last night had been upsetting enough. She still wasn't sure whether her former bandmate and friend (former friend? After last night, Phyllis wasn't sure…) had hung up on her, or whether she'd been yanked away when she'd started swearing.

She grabbed the receiver. "Yeah?" she asked.

"Phyllis. Rory. I… have a question for you."

"Make it fast, I'm running late," she snapped. An instant later, she registered the slight hesitancy in his voice. A bit more gently, she added, "Is everything okay?"

"I'm not sure," Rory said. "I… Does Roxy have a little girl, about… four years old or so?"

Phyllis's eyebrows shot up. Automatically, her eyes flicked to the kitchen table where Marisol was gently sponging Hana May's sticky hands with a damp washcloth. "Why do you want to know that?"

"Does she?"

Phyllis paused for a moment. "Yeah, she does. Why?"

She heard Rory swallow on the other end of the line. "Because, according to Roxy, I'm her father."

"I missed you yesterday," Wendy said, as Emma set down her swimming gear in the pile with the other girls' belongings.

"I got grounded for coming back after lights out," Emma admitted.

Wendy gasped. "Oh, no! Is that because you were out with me? How ghastly!"

Emma shrugged. "Not your fault."

"But you missed the outing!"

"Yeah, uh… could we not talk about it?" Emma said quickly. "I don't really want to know how much fun you guys had."

"Oh, it wasn't nearly as much fun as you'd think," Wendy said. "Or perhaps, I'm not the sort to find it so," she added. "Honestly, the queues were so long and the rides were so short, that…"

Emma raised an eyebrow. "You sure you're not just saying that to make me feel better?" she asked, smiling a bit.

"Well… perhaps just a bit," Wendy allowed. She sighed. "I forgot. Your power."

Emma shrugged. "I don't know if it's my power, or just that I can't believe you seriously didn't enjoy going to Disney, but thanks for trying." She shook her head. "Actually missing out on that wasn't half as bad as what happened afterwards."

"What do you mean?" Wendy asked.

Emma told her.

Phyllis sucked in a breath. "You're what?" she shrilled. Dimly, she was aware that Marisol and Hana May were both staring at her. Making an effort to steady her voice, she said more quietly, "Don't spring stuff like that on me out of the blue, will ya? Your timing really sucks."

"It knocked me for a loop, too, when she told me. But we were… together about five years ago. It didn't last long and she never mentioned anything…"

It was on the tip of Phyllis's tongue to ask if either of them had used protection, but her gaze fell on the little girl sitting at the table with a frightened expression and she reminded herself that birth control wasn't a one hundred percent guarantee and that she wasn't one bit sorry that Hana May was in her life. "She has a kid," she said finally. "She'll be five in October."

"And you're looking after her?"

She only paused for a beat before she replied. "Yeah."

There was a long pause. "Can I see her?"

She wasn't awake enough to deal with this now. She needed another coffee. Or maybe something stronger. No, scratch that. A stiff drink this early in the morning was the last thing she needed and it wouldn't help her judgment any either. "Sure," she said finally. "Call me tonight. We'll set up a time." She ended the call.

"Who was that, Auntie Phyl?" Hana May asked.

Phyllis looked at the little girl fondly. "Oh, just an old friend. Hana May, do you ever wonder about your daddy?"

Hana May shrugged. "I don't got a daddy."

"Well, do you ever wish you did?"

Hana May shrugged again. "Dunno," she said. Then, more brightly, "Marisol said we're gonna go to hear a concert in the park!"

Phyllis smiled. "Sounds like fun," she said wistfully. "Tell me about it later?"

"Okay!" the little girl said. "Bye!"

It wasn't until she was out the door and walking down to her car that Phyllis's smile dropped away. She liked Rory. Time was when she'd fallen hard for him and, while he did possess a calculating streak she recognized all too well, there was a decent guy under it. But as for being a decent father? She'd never thought of him as parental material. Then again, until she'd brought Hana May into her home and heart, she'd never considered whether she herself might be either.

And now? She found herself wondering whether she'd been pushing so hard for Roxy to come back into her daughter's life because deep down, she'd known that Roxy wouldn't. And she'd come to love the little girl whom she was doing her best to bring up properly. But Rory? If he wanted Hana May, he could probably get awarded custody relatively easily.

Phyllis winced. If Rory was Hana May's father, then that was almost certainly for the best.

At least for Hana May.

But it was going to rip a chunk out of her heart so big, Phyllis doubted it would ever get filled again.

Get a grip, Pizzazz. He just wants to meet her. That doesn't mean he wants to take her away!

But it didn't mean he didn't either.

Yeah, a stiff drink didn't sound half bad.

Except that she had a full roster of clients to see today and she wasn't the wild child she'd been a decade ago. With a sigh, she decided she was going to grab a coffee on her way into work after all and hope it didn't make her any more jittery than she already felt.

Wendy frowned as Emma finished talking. "So… you're just going to leave it like that?" she asked.

Emma blinked. "Uh… yeah. What else can we do?"

"Do? Why, you ought to be performing on pavements, i-in parks. You ought to have enough people hear you and like you that they'll set up such a clamor and your Jerrica will simply have to allow you onstage."

Emma snorted. "Yeah, right. It takes time to build up a following. The benefit is only a month away."

Wendy frowned, thinking. "Well, are you lot going to be in attendance?"

"I don't know. Maybe."

"Well, if you are, then perhaps you can slip out of your seats at some time and slip onto the stage. Once you're up there, I'm sure you'll be smashing."

Emma shook her head. "And then we'll be grounded till we turn eighteen."

"Surely not, if you're as talented as you think. Your public would never stand for it."

Emma shook her head again. "It's a nice idea, but I don't think so."

Wendy thought for a moment. "What if there was a way?"

"How?"

Wendy hesitated for a moment. "Promise me you'll keep practicing. That way, when the moment comes, you'll make a fine showing."

"Wendy—"

"Promise!"

Emma knew it was impossible, but Wendy sounded so certain. "I'll talk to the others," she said finally. "It's not up to me alone. But what did you have in mind?"

"Well, that'd be telling," Wendy laughed. "Just trust me and be ready."

"Okay…" Emma said slowly, just as Joellen came to tell them that lunch was over and that it was time for soccer. Emma got up at once and beckoned to Wendy to follow her.

Wendy hung back. She'd done it. She'd gotten Emma's hopes up and this time, when the girl broke the rules, it would be in so spectacular a fashion that she'd almost certainly be sent elsewhere.

She smiled. Once her mission for Pan had been discharged, Michael would surely be safe. Her smile fell away. Unfortunately, she had no idea yet how she was to get Emma and her friends up on that stage at the benefit.

Officer Darryl Tapia looked up from his cup of coffee when he heard footsteps. He nodded a greeting toward the newcomer. "Sorrento," he said. "How goes it?"

"The usual," Sorrento shrugged. "People are idiots."

"Not news," Tapia said with a snort. "Don't tell me. Someone called their best bud and told them exactly where the loot was buried?"

"That happens more often than you'd think," Sorrento replied. "I mean, we do tell them that any calls they make that aren't to counsel are going to be monitored; do they think it's something we make up to scare them?"

"Hey, it works in school." Tapia affected a deeper voice. "And this will go down on your permanent record."

Sorrento snorted. "Guess they figure we just do random spot checks, like border crossings and they might get lucky."

"So, you heard a murder confession?"

Sorrento shook his head. "No, but there's a washed-up rocker who's got a kid with a record company exec who used to have a band of his own."

Tapia frowned. "You talking about Pellegrini?"

"And Rory Llewellyn."

Tapia let out a low whistle. Then he shrugged. "Not exactly what you'd call news these days."

"Maybe not, but it was to Llewellyn."

As Tapia listened, a faint smile came to his lips. Something told him that he and Connie were about to have another conversation, and he was definitely looking forward to it!