Maxx drew the microphone to his mouth and the second he began to sing, the stage came alive around him: guitars, keyboards, drums. Someone to Gerry’s right screamed in blissful anguish, but whether it was Angie, one of the other girls, or some complete stranger, Gerry couldn’t say. Nor did he wish to find out. His eyes were glued on a sight of supreme perfection. His mind was a million miles away, riding sparkling starships with a beautiful oddity, and drinking champagne from the cupped palms of angels. His heart had been stolen, and Gerry couldn’t care less about ever getting it back.
* * * *
“I can’t,” Angie said, turning to Gerry with tears streaming down her face. “I can’t leave. Not yet. Not ever. It was so—”
“Perfect,” Gina whispered. “It was just so perfect.”