When money got tight, as it often did, I fantasized, again, about the life of a rock star's wife.
A fit of sadness over some slight at school, work or home, made me remember not the chill of being sent away, but the warmth of being in Frankie's arms.
It wasn't sexual, or at least only partly so.
It was about life: the one I had, versus the one I thought I wanted.
Or at least occasionally thought I wanted.
It was about adventure.
It was about self-esteem.
It was, again, about hope, the hope that I, April Gatta, the little country girl from the little rural town, would face the world as Somebody Special.