Chapter 1

Home, Donovan wasn't sure what that was these days. Sure, he owned a house on the beach south of L.A. and a condo in Aspen, as well as a house in suburban Central City. But he was rarely there. Twenty-seven weeks on the road sucked the energy right out of him. Every couple of days the band was in a new town. Throngs of people clamored for his attention. It wore on him these days. Was it ever fun? He wasn't sure any more.

At least there would be peace and quiet. No more entourage, no more fans, no more agents. Only Crystal and that would be bad enough. Maybe he could recharge before she found out he was home. Maybe it would all be better after a good night's sleep in his own bed in his quiet house.

The gentle thrum of the airliner's engines failed to lull him to sleep. At least no one on this flight recognized him. Maybe it was the week old beard that he sported. Or the plain red flannel shirt. He really didn't care what it was. He just wanted to be away from the fans. He shuddered as he recalled the nightmares of clutching hands and demands for money and time. Everything in life had a price to pay. Fame was no exception. In fact, Donovan mused, fame charged an exorbitant toll.

As he stared out the window at the soft white pillows floating below the plane, Donovan pondered his life. He had never really wanted fame. He just wanted to play his guitar, his shiny, metallic blue Gibson Les Paul Custom. He was like an addict, addicted to the sounds that poured forth when he plugged that blue monster into his Marshall stacks. To him, she sang as his fingers caressed her strings, drawing forth pleasured notes in fleeting runs across her neck. But when the lights were dimmed and the amps turned off, she was a thousand pound weight around his neck, striving to sink him in a pool of screaming teenagers and twenty somethings.

Perspective, that's what he needed. At least that was what his agent, Morty Andrews, told him right before he boarded this flight. "You'll be back," Morty said. "You just need some time away. Your calendar is clear for a month. Go home, relax, and write a few more songs."

The last part was really what Morty wanted. More songs, lots more songs, a whole album full of songs. The record company was getting nervous. It had been nearly two years since Barrier Riff put out an album. They owed the record company another platinum album. Wasn't there anyone who wanted nothing from him?

All those thoughts wore on him as he stared out the window. Finally, the plane began its descent. Maybe this time Morty won't have tipped the paparazzi off about his destination and arrival time and he could make it through the airport without a dozen cameras being thrust in his face.

Donovan stood and dutifully shuffled off the plane with the crowd as they made their way through the terminal toward baggage claim. He leaned patiently on the column as the belt circulated with the leftover bags from a previous flight. His eyes closed as he tried to relax.

"It's him, Mom. It's got to be," he heard a girl off to his left say.

"Jennifer, don't bother the man. Even if it is him, he deserves some peace."

Finally, a person with common sense, Donovan thought to himself.

"But, Mom! He's just the best. Please, I promise I won't bother him too much. Just an autograph, Kasey and Janey will never believe that I saw him without it."

"He looks pretty tired, Jennifer. Why don't you just let the man rest?"

"But, Mom!"

Donovan decided that if he was going to get any peace, he'd best open his eyes and reward his fan. Maybe then she'd leave him in peace. He opened his eyes and peered over the tops of his sunglasses and below the brim of his ball cap.

He spied the teenager instantly. She was staring at him intently. He could feel the gaze of her green eyes boring into his skull, trying to will him to wake up and notice her. She was cute. Her long red-brown hair hung down her back in a single pony tail. She wore a tight pink t-shirt that said "Princess" across her chest. Donovan chided himself when he noted the sharp points of her budding breasts pushing out against the tight fabric. Her shirt ended just above her navel, and like so many other young girls these days, a simple silver ring was fastened to her belly button. Her jeans were dark blue and low cut on her hips, emphasizing the soft curves that had only recently begun to form. Donovan had seen so many like her in the past ten years; some who kept their innocence and others who bargained that innocence for a moment in the spotlight.

The mother stood off to the girl's left. She was an older version of the daughter. The few wrinkles around her mouth and the corners of her eyes gave her face a character that the teenager lacked. She looked a bit tired. Her lips were taut as she waited not so patiently for her baggage. She wore her auburn hair in a ponytail as well, though it was shorter than her daughter's. She wore a tan suit jacket that was tailored perfectly. The white blouse beneath it was unbuttoned just enough to show the beginnings of the cleft between her breasts. He was a little surprised to see her wearing a skirt, but it was not very short, dropping slightly below her knees.

Donovan could see Jennifer struggling to keep herself under control and not rush up to him. The longer he stayed there, the more she fidgeted. Finally, Donovan decided that she had been very patient and he reached into his jacket pocket. He always kept a few small pictures and mementos from his concerts for times like this. He pulled out a replica of his latest album cover and scrawled a note on it. He put the pen back in his pocket and then pulled his sunglasses off.

The P.A. system announced his flight number and as the throngs of people crowded forward to find their bags, he approached the mother and daughter.

He watched as Jennifer pushed her way to the baggage track and when she had her back to him, he tapped her mother on the shoulder.

"You have a very well behaved daughter," he said as she turned to him.

"Thank you," she replied, turning to look at Jennifer again.

"Would you mind giving this to her," Donovan asked, placing the autographed photo in the mother's hand.

"You didn't have to..."

"It was my pleasure," Donovan said. "This could have been ugly if she had screamed and shouted. Good behavior should be rewarded."

"Well, thank you. I'm sure Jennifer will be thrilled."

Donovan smiled and nodded and then turned away to find his bags.

Finally, he was out of the airport. He had his suitcase slung over his right shoulder and his guitar case in his left hand as he walked through the doors toward the cab stand. He paused before crossing the street and was surprised to see Jennifer and her mother waiting on the center island for a shuttle. He watched as her mother gave Jennifer the photo. He wished he could bottle the excitement that flowed from her as she stared at the photo and read what he wrote.