"Ready? We've got about forty-five minutes until the show."

“I can't believe you, Tony. I never thought I'd get to see Barry Manilow live."

"I wanted to make your birthday special."

"Mission accomplished," she said, buckling her seatbelt.

Lori had used her artistic abilities to create a poster for Barry. She'd sketched a bold profile and embedded tiny lights into his nose. Beneath the profile was the line, "Pick Me, Barry."

She'd originally made the poster for her boss, Holly, who saw Barry at the Star Theater last summer. Barry had, indeed, picked Holly to join him onstage. Lori hoped desperately that lightning would strike twice.

As they merged from I-57 onto the Dan Ryan, she popped in a CD.

"Her name was Lola..." She began.

"She was a showgirl..." He joined in.

He inhaled sharply after the word showgirl. She knew him so well she didn't have to ask. But she couldn't help herself.

"You forgot the tickets, didn't you?"

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