Wow, this is better than reality shows about rednecks.

> wrong, wrong, wrong, wrong It's not wrong. All you've ever had is Harold Fawn. You deserve some hot-boiled 'Bama love.

> what if I fell for him?

Oh, h.e.l.l, Sarah, let him go down on you if he wants.

Wendy Mann Senior Consultant Stargazer Public Relations Late that afternoon, Sarah drove Rachel and two new employees she'd hired to the photo shoot for the alb.u.m cover at the statue of Vulcan. The Cheatin' Hearts were already there, lying in lounge chairs in the bed of Quentin's truck, watching the photographers set up their tripods around the wall at the base of the statue. Quentin jumped down from his truck and met Sarah at her car door.

He kissed her briefly, softly on the lips. "I missed you today."

"I missed you, too." She smiled up at him. This was the understatement of the year. Normally she loved the office work of her job, in which she dotted all the i's, crossed all the t's, made sure everything came together, and networked in a friendly way with the media. Even back when she thought she was in love with Harold, daydreams of him never distracted her from her job.

Quentin was a different story. Sarah had known she was good at mult.i.tasking, but she'd amazed even herself at her ability to give statements to the press about the band and the alb.u.m release and the upcoming concert while simultaneously fantasizing about making Quentin come.

He glanced toward the new employees climbing out of the backseat of her BMW. "Since when do you give rides to the paparazzi?"

"The Cheatin' Hearts' star is still rising. After your concert, Rachel's going to need more help. These ladies were hanging around at the bottom of your driveway, and they seemed perfect for the job, so I asked them to keep doing what they were doing but report your movements to me as well as the media. That's how I knew you'd gone to the bar at Five Points with Martin the other night."

Quentin's eyes followed the women across the parking lot. "You hired the art school girls?"

Sarah laughed at his name for them. "They're well qualified. They have lots of experience following you around. And Beige will graduate from college in August. Amber will, too, if she can manage to pa.s.s geology."

In the same surprised tone, he asked, "Their names are Beige and Amber?"

"I thought it was weird, too, that they have such neutral names to go with their black garb. You'd think they'd be Drucella and . . . I don't know."

"Noir," Quentin suggested. He drew Sarah by the hand toward his truck. Erin stood nearby, with a makeup artist touching up her lipstick. Owen and Martin still lay in chairs in the payload. Martin wore long sleeves in the heat.

Sarah looked back at her car and motioned for Rachel to join them. Rachel shook her head almost imperceptibly and sat on the hood of the BMW.

Quentin lifted Sarah onto the tailgate of his truck, hopped up beside her, and draped one heavy arm around her shoulders. "You look tired. You should have eaten breakfast."

"I had the first course," she whispered.

He gave her a lopsided smile, green eyes sparkling. "Maybe that's why you're tired."

"Then I could get used to being tired." She sighed with satisfaction.

He rubbed her arm. "I'm sorry. You're tired because I woke you up in the middle of the night."

"Don't be sorry. I always have trouble sleeping. And anyway, how do you know I was awake? You were asleep."

"I could feel you tossing and turning." His voice softened. "I dreamed about you." He wrapped both arms around her from behind.

She tried to enjoy it. Just drop all the schemes and worries and enjoy it for a moment: the hot sunshine, the fresh summer breeze slightly cool at this alt.i.tude, and Quentin's protective embrace, almost as if he loved her. Of course, he didn't love her, and fantasies aside, Natsuko insisted that Sarah keep this in mind.

And then he kissed the top of her head, absently, asking nothing in return. As if he loved her.

It was all for show, she reminded herself. For Erin, who watched them from a few yards away as one man pulled at her hair and another coated it with hairspray.

To distract herself so she wouldn't cry, Sarah asked Quentin, "What's the name of my alb.u.m?"

Quentin said, "Buns of Steel."

Sarah squinted up at Vulcan high on his pedestal. "I thought the statue was made of iron."

"Buns of Iron ain't funny," he told her with exaggerated patience.

The crew moved away from Erin's hair. "Your turn, Q," she called from underneath her enormous coif.

"I'm not going to wear makeup," Quentin said stubbornly. "We go through this every time. I won't be facing the camera anyway. I have an idea."

Erin looked apprehensive, Martin groaned, and Owen cursed.

Quentin released Sarah from his hug and slid off the tailgate. She noticed for the first time that his faded black T-shirt was emblazoned with white words: Will cook for s.e.x.

Sarah said, "You dressed up for the cover shoot, I see."

He looked down at his shirt, then back up at her. "I can honestly say that I gave it no thought whatsoever. Anyhow, I had some idea I might get naked."

"Naked?"

He took off his shirt.

"Quentin," Sarah warned him.

"Bear with me." The pun struck him, and he laughed so hard that he had difficulty unb.u.t.toning his shorts. Between spasms, he said low enough that only Sarah could hear, "You want some more, don't you."

"Who could resist an ego like that?"

He dropped his shorts and boxers together.

"Quentin!" she gasped. "The park's still open!"

"We got permission to be here," he reminded her, kicking off his shoes. "Surely they expected something like this. Everybody in Birmingham knows we get naked. It's art, right?" He pointed to the art school girls for confirmation, and they nodded.

Erin called, "We've been arrested for public indecency so many times-"

Quentin finished, "We should set up the Jefferson County court system to debit our account." He walked over to the photographers, who moved back ever so slightly. He pointed and framed with his hands, explaining his vision. Erin, Owen, and Martin went to sit on the retaining wall.

Then Quentin, with his back to Sarah and the photographers, struck a pose exactly like Vulcan, one arm raised to the sky. Sarah understood the picture now: Quentin as Vulcan in the foreground, his bandmates behind him on the wall, and the real Vulcan above them and in the background. The cameras flashed, and a ring of spectators began to form.

After a few minutes, Quentin relaxed and motioned to Owen. The two of them came toward the truck, Quentin still naked. They opened the doors and rummaged in the cab.

Now that Martin was at a safe distance, Rachel had joined Sarah on the tailgate. As Quentin and Owen found what they wanted in the truck and walked by again, Rachel commented in her demure voice, "You do get used to it."

Sarah doubted this.

Quentin slid his boxers from the tailgate as he pa.s.sed-pink boxers printed with little red hearts and the words Kiss me. He pulled them on and sat by Erin on the wall.

Now Owen stripped amid murmurs from the crowd. When he took the Vulcan pose, he held up one drumstick like Vulcan's spear.

As the cameras quietly snapped, Sarah looked at Rachel beside her. Rachel's gaze was fixed on Martin.

Sarah said conversationally, "I know Martin's thirty-one, but when I first saw him without his gla.s.ses as we drove up, I thought Erin had acquired a twenty-one-year-old boy toy." Sarah didn't add that she'd been alarmed at first. Alarmed for her plan to make Erin jealous, and excited at her new prospects with Quentin if Erin were otherwise occupied and out of the picture. And then she'd realized it was Martin.

Rachel said, "He looks young because he's lost so much weight."

"That, too," Sarah admitted. She went on cheerfully, "But I'd never noticed that he has dark blond hair, or handsome dark eyes. The gla.s.ses overwhelm him."

"He can't see a foot in front of his face without them," Rachel told her, nodding slowly. "That's why he has them off. He knew I'd be here. He doesn't want to see me looking at him."

What Sarah had read as Rachel's reserve, she now realized was profound sadness. She said quietly, "With your experience, I could put in a good word and get you a job doing publicity for another group signed with Manhattan Music. Get you away from here."

"Thanks." Rachel kept her eyes on Martin, who sat beside Erin on the wall, zoning out. "I might take you up on that. But not yet. I'm not quite through here yet."

Owen relaxed his pose. Quentin asked the crowd, "Which one looks better, me or Owen?"

Erin said, "You look more like Vulcan."

Quentin craned his neck to look backward and up at the statue. "I'm not sure how to take that."

Erin said, "Uh. You're shorter. In height?"

Owen asked, "Well, which one do you prefer?"

"We won't see your front in the photo, right?" Erin asked. "Because all I'm getting is the front, if you know what I mean."

Sarah predicted that they'd ask Erin to p.r.o.nounce judgment on the front view next. Then there would be a fight, wooden beams, and st.i.tches.

"Okay, that's it," Sarah called, walking toward them. "Wrap this up and put your clothes back on." Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed a local news van setting up in the parking lot.

"This is great publicity," Quentin told her through his teeth.

"If you get arrested tonight," Sarah pointed out, "you might not make the alb.u.m deadline tomorrow."

Owen dove for his clothes.

"It's still not quite right," Quentin said. "Martin, you want to try it with a guitar pick? Is that insulting? No, a guitar!"

"That's okay," Martin said. He looked toward Rachel, then looked away. "I'm not in the mood."

"Well, I'm going to try one more time," Quentin said.

As Owen put his clothes on and sat down, Quentin stripped. Then, c.o.c.king his head and looking up at the statue, Quentin slipped his ancient deck shoes back on because Vulcan wore Roman sandals. He pulled his T-shirt back on because Vulcan wore a smithy ap.r.o.n. He held the microphone he'd fished from his truck like Vulcan's spear. Then he resumed the pose, b.u.t.t still bare to the warm sun and the mountaintop breeze.

"What are the rest of us supposed to do?" Erin called to no one in particular. "Get an eyeful?" She ogled Quentin. "Just sit here and look pretty?" She smiled sweetly for the camera.

"Shield your eyes," Owen suggested. He and Martin shielded their eyes while Erin continued to look pretty. The camera flashed, and Sarah knew that this was the alb.u.m cover.

The photographers kept working, capturing the scene from every possible angle with every available light setting. Sarah sat back down on the tailgate of the truck, next to Rachel. She'd known Rachel only a few days, but she felt for her. She put her arm around her.

"I was right to break up with Martin," Rachel whispered.

"Of course you were," Sarah said. "You couldn't stay with an addict. You owed that to yourself."

Rachel's eyes widened. "How long have you known?"

"Since I got here."

Rachel sighed. "I don't know what to do anymore."

"He needs to go to rehab, plain and simple."

"But Quentin says, and I know it's true, that Erin and Owen will kick him out of the band if they find out. Then he'll think he has nothing to live for. That's what will happen if we do an intervention. Quentin says we just have to wait for Martin to make the call. Then we can invent an excuse for Erin and Owen and get him the help he needs in secret. But what if Martin never makes that call, or makes it too late?"

Sarah rubbed her hand soothingly across Rachel's back. "Don't give up on Martin yet. I think you should hang tight, wait and see, because the band can't go on like this much longer. Something's going to give. Can't you feel it?" She glanced at Rachel's placid face hiding such sadness. "No, you can't feel anything but Martin." She glanced at Quentin's bare b.u.t.t. "And they all look relaxed enough. But trust me. I can feel it. Something's about to happen."

The photographers finished with Quentin and switched their attention to Erin, who stood on the wall and let a large fan blow her skirt up like Marilyn Monroe for the back cover of the alb.u.m. Quentin shuffled over to Sarah. He was still bare from the waist down but for the deck shoes. Rachel wisely went to sit in the BMW. The show was over.

Sarah would have to leave soon, too, and she couldn't stand the thought of spending hours and hours more fantasizing about Quentin without some promise of fruition. She said, "About this morning."

He said quickly, "Please don't give me a hard-on while I'm naked in public."

"Put. Your. Clothes. On."

He slid the Kiss me boxers from the tailgate and pulled them on. Over at the wall, the other Cheatin' Hearts applauded. "Put it on, Q!" they called.

Sarah asked, "Did your sisters give you those boxers?"

"How'd you know?" He pulled on his shorts.

Sarah eyed the Will cook for s.e.x T-shirt. "Where'd you get that shirt?"

"Erin, I think. Women give me weird clothes."

"Because you wear them," Sarah laughed. "They think it's funny that you actually wear them."

"Where else am I supposed to get my clothes?"

"From the store?"

"I don't shop," he said simply. "Now. About this morning." He stepped closer to her and held both her hands in his. "I want to try it again and see if I can do better this time. But we're recording until late tonight."

"I'm staying late at the office, too."

"Then let's make a date for tomorrow morning."