The afterparty was held in a reception hall right there in the venue, and like the party earlier in the week in the Marylebone townhouse, it was a pay-to-get-in fundraiser. I saw quite a number of the same faces as earlier in the week, which really came as no surprise. It was for the same refugee aid organization, after all. Emmy had become their biggest individual donor in quite a while when she had signed over all her proceeds from the three London shows, so they loved her and were happy to use her as a headline draw for their charity.

Emmy immediately went to working the room, still in her Bowie-esque outfit from the show, looking as natural on her as if that was what she wore all the time. Even the way she moved was subtly different than usual- her shoulders were a bit rolled back, hips forward, a sort of swagger in her walk. Emmy’s chameleon-like ability still amazed me after seeing it so many times- she could inhabit a character like nobody I’d ever seen.

She’d been approached several times about acting but she always turned it down, despite my urging. She would be phenomenal on screen, in my opinion, but she seemed to want nothing to do with it, so I never pushed.

Henry Powell spotted me in the crowd and came over to talk. “Leah!” he said, offering his hand to shake. “I’m so glad to see you again. You watched the show? Of course you did,” he continued as we shook hands. “Let me say, not to boast, but I have seen almost all the top artists over the decades and very, very few shows have equalled what The Downfall did tonight.”

“I’m sure Emmy would love to hear that, Henry,” I said. “The performance is everything for her. She loves to leave the audience satisfied.”

“Satisfied is hardly the word for it,” he said with a chuckle. “I’d seen some of their live videos, but I simply wasn’t prepared for the experience of seeing them in person.”

Just then a waiter passed by and Henry asked him for two Scotches. “That is what you were drinking at the party, isn’t it?” he asked me for confirmation.

“Good memory,” I said.

“So how have you been enjoying London?” Henry asked when the waiter returned with our drinks.

“I’ve always liked the town,” I said, “but Angela- she’s fallen in love with the place. In fact, I just bought her an apartment here,” I said. “So we’ll be spending a lot more time in London in the future.”

“Really?” Henry asked, surprised and pleased. “An apartment?”

“We talked about a townhouse like where the party was held the other night,” I said, “But really, if we’re not going to be here more than a few months a year, a house like that would be too much of a hassle to keep up,” I said. “An apartment in a new building that comes with concierge services means that all we have to do is arrive and the place is clean and ready when we get here.”

“Practical,” Henry said, nodding his approval. “Do you think you will be spending only a few months a year here?”

I shrugged. “That’s about how much time we spend in our Manhattan townhouse, so probably. Or maybe half that much, since we’ll have two houses to split time with away from Los Angeles. In any case, we can only spend six months here max, to avoid immigration difficulties.”

Henry nodded in understanding. “Let me know if you would like residency visas,” he said. “An old school mate of mine can get that sorted for you.”

“I may take you up on that,” I said. “It would be good to not have to limit the time we spend here.”

Just then Stephanie joined us, a champagne flute in her hand. She waited politely for a break in our conversation, then when we turned our attention to her, she introduced herself to Henry.

“Hi. I’m Stephanie Houk,” she said. “I’m The Downfall’s manager.”

“Henry Powell,” he replied, taking her offered hand. “Merely a Downfall fan.”

Stephanie laughed at that, then turned to me. “Hey, Leah, when are you going back to LA? Will you be around tomorrow?”

“Yeah, that’s the plan,” I replied. “My flight is a bit after one. Why?”

“Is there any chance you could fly a bit later? Like, maybe four in the afternoon or so?”

“I’m flying commercial, so no, not really any flexibility there,” I said. “Why?”

“I have some stuff I was going to send back home, but if you’re going, I was thinking you could take it with you, if that’s cool. It’s just paperwork, maybe about as much as a medium-sized coffee table book, that’s all,” Stephanie explained. “I guess I can drag my ass out of bed and get it to you early.”

“Yeah, no sweat,” I replied.

“Thanks, babe,” she said, giving me one of her easy smiles that used to melt my heart. Well, still did, to be honest.

After she left, Henry asked, “She’s young to manage a band like The Downfall, isn’t she?”

“Just the other day the band was talking about how she’s made their life much easier,” I said, defending her.

“I guess when you get to be my age, everybody looks young. Except Keith Richards, of course,” Henry joked. “This apartment you mentioned- where is it located?” he asked, changing the subject.

“Other side of the river, in Southbank,” I replied, just as happy to change the subject. “One of the new high rises over there.”

“My daughter lives in one of those towers,” Henry said. “Her penthouse has wonderful views out east along the river. I must admit, the view from the fortieth floor is quite impressive.”

“If she’s got a penthouse on the fortieth floor of a tower in Southbank, I’d guess that she’s probably our new next-door neighbor,” I said with a laugh. “I think there’s only one residential tower that tall in the area, and only two units on the top floor.”

“You bought the other penthouse apartment? The one with the top deck?” Henry asked, surprised.

“Angela liked the view,” I said with a shrug.

Shaking his head in amazement, Henry sipped his Scotch in silence for a moment.

Angela joined us just then, wrapping her arm around my waist.

“Henry’s daughter owns the other penthouse in our building,” I said. “The one facing east.”

“Really?” she asked, her face lighting up. “I can’t wait until the apartment gets finished. We’ll have to have a housewarming party, and of course, you’ll have to come,” she said, giving him a winning smile. Turning to me, she said, “Hey, I came over here to tell you that somebody brought Emmy’s guitar for her and she’s going to play a few songs over there,” she said, pointing to the far end of the large room.

“Shall we?” I asked Henry, and he inclined his head to say, ‘lead the way’.

Emmy was perched on a stool on a small raised area, not really a stage but more like a sort of presentation dais. She was holding that rusty old metal hollow-body guitar with the flaking blue paint, which she hadn’t actually played in any of the shows I’d seen on this tour. Checking the tuning and adjusting the amp, she glanced up and spotted Angela and me, giving us a smile.

“I was asked to play a few requests,” Emmy said. “But I want to start off with a song that we were expressly told not to play tonight, even though we really wanted to,” she said, looking pointedly at Stephanie, who did a classic face palm move.

Emmy reached into her pocket and when she pulled her hand back out it had her glass slide on her ring finger. Looking around at the expectant faces gathered to watch, she slid into a melody that sounded familiar, but I couldn’t put a name to. I figured it probably wasn’t originally a slide blues guitar tune, but there were people in the audience already laughing in recognition.

Of course, when Emmy sang, “I saw a werewolf with a Chinese menu in his hand,” it became obvious.

When the chorus came around, I heard Lee and Jackson chime in with the “Ah hoo” howling sound. With each subsequent verse, more and more of the audience joined in on the wolf howls until pretty much the whole room had gotten in on the fun by the end of the song.

Laughing with joy, Emmy said, “And to think- we were told not to sing that song tonight because it would offend the audience! Let me ask- were you offended?” This prompted more laughter from the crowd.

Her next song didn’t take me nearly as long. Even though the slow, slinky slide guitar work took a while to get where it was going, I knew Led Zeppelin when I heard it.

Sure enough, Emmy sang, “If it keeps on raining, levee’s going to break,” in a slow, soulful voice.

It was a bit of a disconnect, Emmy wearing this very cultured, sophisticated outfit straight from the English upper crust, singing and playing music with roots in the rural American South. Still, she made it work, and when she sang, “All last night, I sat on the levee and moaned, thinkin’ about what happened to my happy home,” I felt the emotions as surely as if I’d been flooded out, too.

Henry leaned over while Emmy was playing ‘Money Can’.

“When I first heard this album, I didn’t really know what to think,” he said close to my ear. “It seemed lightweight, but there were flashes of, well, of brilliance,” he said.

“They say money can’t buy love, but believe me, it can,” Emmy sang, her voice sultry and slow- much slower than it was on the album.

“Your wife is absolutely spectacular,” Henry added. “She is the real thing. A true artist.”

“Yes she is,” I agreed.

When Emmy finished her solo show and rejoined the crowd, she found me still talking to Henry and his friend Colonel Roger Bridger, a retired UK military officer.

“Mr Powell!” she said in greeting. “Did you enjoy this evening’s performance?”

I still had no idea how Emmy managed to learn and remember everyone’s names so easily, but I’d long since stopped being surprised by it.

“It was quite the show,” he said, nodding to her. “I mentioned to your lovely wife here that I’ve seen very few performances that could equal it.”

“That means a lot, coming from you,” she said with a smile.

Back at the hotel, Angela steered Emmy towards the room’s tub, taking her time peeling Emmy’s clothes off after she started the water. “I like this look on you, Em,” she said, carefully rolling up the silk tie and setting it on the credenza. “This androgynous thing, I never found it sexy before tonight,” Angela said, helping Emmy out of her shirt. “But you make me hot!”

Emmy laughed and said, “Then I will dress like this more often.”

By the time the two of them were done with their bath, I’d showered and climbed into bed, waiting for them.

“I am going to miss this,” Emmy said, snuggled up against me. “I wish you did not have to go back home.”

“I wish you could come home with me,” I replied, stroking her hair. “Both of you.”

“I do, too,” Angela sighed. “This whole touring thing was fun at first, but I’m getting tired of it.”

“Well, it’ll only be a few more weeks before you take a break,” I said.

“Angie, if you want to go home with Leah, I will be fine by myself,” Emmy said, reaching across and resting her hand on Angela’s arm. “I will miss you, but I would understand. For me, this is work, but for you, it is nothing but endless travel and hotels.”

“Are you sure, babe?” Angela asked. “I hate leaving you alone.”

“I am certain. It is only for a short while,” Emmy said. “Your health and the health of our baby is more important than anything. I will be so busy that I will hardly have time to feel lonely.”

“Emmy,” Angela sighed pensively as she kissed Emmy’s hand. “I’ll keep touring with you until the break, and then we’ll talk about it when we’re all home.”

“I think that’s probably the best plan,” I agreed.

We had breakfast at the Ritz Carlton with Emmy’s parents, then we all parted ways. Emmy and Angela went with the band cavalcade north, and I made my way to Heathrow.

Watching London disappear out the plane’s window, I settled back into my seat for the long flight to Los Angeles and our empty home. I trusted Tiny and Grant to keep Emmy and Angela safe, but that didn’t mean I wasn’t going to worry some anyway.

The next morning I was back at the gym when Eddie opened the place up.

“Where you been?” he asked as he unlocked the door and flipped on the lights. “People been askin’ if you’re comin’ back.”

“Just a quick trip to Europe,” I said, following him in.

“Must be nice,” he replied as he settled down behind his desk.

“It was,” I agreed.

I’d just racked my bar when Joey came over to talk.

“Leah, um, hey,” he began, more than just a bit awkward. “I’m glad two see you back. Me and some of the guys were worried that you’d gone for good.”

“Nah,” I said, toweling my face and neck. “I just had something I had to do in Europe.”

“That’s cool,” he said, sounding relieved. “Well, I’m glad you’re back. The place wasn’t the same without you.”

“Thanks,” I said, charmed a bit by his clumsy attempts to strike a conversation. “Hey, um, Joey?” I said. “I’m feeling a little rusty today, but I’d totally be down for another spar sometime soon.”

“Really?” he asked, his face lighting up. “Yeah, that’d be great! I’ve been working on what you said, about not telegraphing my moves.”

“Then we really need to get it done,” I told him.

“Awesome!” he said, grinning like an idiot. I held my fist out and he bumped it, stoked. “I’ll make sure I bring all my gear!”

“Like I said, not today, but maybe next week? Skipping the gym for a couple of weeks has taken its toll on my fitness.”

“Sure, sure,” he agreed. “Let me know when.”

“Did I hear you ask Joey to spar again?” Richie asked when Joey walked away.

“You jealous?” I teased as I took my stance under the bar.

“Maybe a little,” he replied. “I was hoping it would be me that took him apart this time.”

“Don’t make me laugh!” I said as I set the bar back on the rack, rather than letting it crush me with a bad squat. “Not when I’m lifting heavy, anyway.”

Richie chuckled, pleased his joke had landed.

“Hey, you up for coffee after your workout? My treat this time.”

“Sure, sounds good,” I said, resuming my stance. “Eight thirty?”

“Shouldn’t you call it ‘oh eight thirty’?” Richie asked. “You know, that military training?”

“No,” I said, straightening up again, wondering if I was ever going to get my set of squats done. “I need to blend in with the civilian population, remember? It’s that whole ‘covert’ thing.”

“Good point,” he said, nodding. “I hadn’t thought of that.”

The little indie coffee shop had a new mural since the last time I’d stopped in, but the menu was just the same. True to his word, Richie did pay for our drinks and pastries, leaving a generous tip.

“Gotta support the working man. Or woman,” he said when he stuffed the ten in the jar on the counter.

“So the story going around the gym is that you had a job in Europe,” Richie said when we sat down with our coffees.

“You make it seem as if all that happens in that gym is everybody sits around and gossips about me,” I said.

“Well, stands around, but yeah, that’s pretty much it,” he said with a laugh. “Like I said, you’re a favorite topic of speculation.”

“Why is it so hard to believe that I’m just an office worker who enjoys a good workout?” I asked.

“Nobody believes that,” Richie said with a laugh. “Nobody.”

“What’s the current theory?” I asked, amused.

“Same as before. You’re like a female Jason Bourne or something, product of some sort of secret government program to create a super soldier or spy or something,” Richie said.

Shaking my head, I said, “Look, as amusing as all this is, I seriously hope it is all just a joke, and you guys are just having fun with it. I mean, nobody really believes I’m some sort of programmed killer, do they?”

“I’m pretty sure… well, O.K., some of the guys probably do actually believe it, but I think most of us are just rolling with it. You know, when you told Joey that you had a job to do in Europe, well, fuel for the fire, know what I mean?” Richie asked. “What you did, is it anything I would have seen in the news?”

“That depends on your news source. I went to see a few concerts, and do some sightseeing and shopping,” I said, rolling my eyes. “I didn’t go to ‘do a job’,” I said, making air quotes.

“That’s cool, but not nearly as interesting a story,” Richie said with a smile.

“I’ll tell you what. Follow me to my office and I’ll introduce you around. You’ll get to see how boring my line of work really is,” I suggested.

“Or how good your cover really is,” he countered. “It’s difficult to prove a negative.”