From the stadium, the rhythmic clapping of the audience waiting to hear her went on, uninterrupted, patient, as though they understood that a diva was entitled to be delayed. They loved her. They belonged to a different species than the demonstrators. She knew them; she connected with them through her Tan Tien. But what if they knew the “truth” about her family’s accidents? How quickly they would become her judge, jury and executioner.

“Mauriello’s bailed you out,” Ashford said. “You can pull yourself out of this mess and get on with the tour even if some aspects are not to your primadonna liking, or you can walk off and leave the baby behind. No one I know will help you. Least of all me, Mauriello, or even Wade.”

He turned, yanked at the door handle, and left.

Rage coursed through Nola's veins. Her enemies had her. Her rebellion had come to naught, no more effective than an infant flailing its arms. There was little to gain by refusing to sing, but plenty to lose. She must sing to save Lulu—and herself.

Her fists punched her own thighs. “I’ve never felt so humiliated,” she told Leslie, who had walked in.

“Come with me,” he said. Carrying Lulu, he led Nola to the side of the stage behind a curtained panel. “Look.”

The crowd was there. Thousands of people were waiting in their seats for her. For her music. The stadium was the largest in which she had ever performed, not as an opening act for another headliner.

She swallowed hard. “You’re right,” she whispered. “My war is not with the Chinese people—only with their government.”

Back in her dressing room, Leslie crouched in front of her and held both her hands. “It won’t be as bad as you think. Focus solely on your performance. Psych yourself. And there will be the love of your fans. It’s yours alone.”

She smiled weakly at him. “Mine. Mine alone. I won’t let anyone wrench it away.”

The countdown. Excitement, like heady wine, spread throughout Nola's limbs. She put out the flickers of disgust, disappointment, and defeat as soon as they flared up. Not now. From behind the silk partition she scanned everyone’s position. Wade, out of her way, was busy at the opposite end of the stage, gesticulating and touching as he talked with the tour producer. A few steps from Nola, Yoram stood beside Leslie, who kept Lulu in her stroller. Behind them, security men fanned out in a semicircle, facing out to guard the rear. They all seemed to be doing their duty for her and Lulu. Daniel was planted fifteen feet away, his body strong and solid. A smile played in his eyes, but his scar seemed to have deepened.