“Even knowing all the pain you caused?”
“As long as I caused it for you, and look where you are now.”
“Annette, why do you hate me so much?”
“I was Mother’s favorite until you came. And then she started loving you more than she did me. You even got my brother to love you. He betrayed me because of you.”
“If you had just told him the truth, he could have had some happiness these last years.”
“I don’t care, if he would have had it with you.”
Robert came, too. “Hello, darling.” He kissed me on the forehead and handed me bouquet of flowers.
“Th-they’re beautiful.” I looked into his smiling face. “Then you’ve forgiven me?”
“Of course, darling. I want you to concentrate on getting better. Because the sooner you get well, the sooner I can have my divorce.”
My God, my God, what have I done? Twenty-six, and I had nothing left to live for. I had destroyed my marriage to a man who loved me. I had lost all the men I cared about – Daddy, Tad, Tony. I lay in my starched white bed and wished I were that little girl listening to the raindrops on the awning of my home and smelling Mommy’s homemade bread. How complicated life becomes. I used to make up stories to make my life more interesting, but now I realized truth is stranger than fiction.
But now I am safe, at least for the moment, tucked away from the world. No worries, no responsibilities, no heart wrenching decisions. The world didn’t stop just because I wasn’t helping it spin. Now I could rest and remember the lizard that used to live outside my window. Now, for the first time in twenty years, I could listen to the rain.
☼
Alice turned the page, but the next one was blank, only to be followed by information on other books from that publisher. This can’t be the end. Where’s the happily ever after? She checked the binding to see if any pages had been ripped out. That’s the end? No deus ex machina?
“Where’s my happily ever after?” She threw the book against the wall.
“Alice,” Mr. Peacock said from her doorway just as the book hit the floor, his tone of voice far too grim for first thing in the morning and only half a cup of coffee. “Are you all right?”
“You can tell Winnie Johnson, that is most decidedly not a romance novel!”
Mr. Peacock wrinkled his brow at her in confusion, but his curiosity did not rise to the level of requiring an explanation. “Jack Hartz is here. He is asking to see you.”
The blood drained from Alice’s face and left it tingling. “Oh…okay. Did he say why?”
“Will you see him?”
She nodded and Mr. Peacock stepped back to allow Jack to come through. Jack closed the door and sat down.
“How’ve you been, Alice?” He spoke like a mortician.
“You’re kind of freaking me out, Jack. Could we save the pleasantries for later and get to the point?”
He held up a folded newspaper and slid it across the desk to her. “He…we wanted you to see this before everyone else.”
She unfolded The Intruder to the front page emblazoned with the headline “Peter Walsingham Engaged!” over a fuzzy picture of Peter smiling, his eyes closed as he embraced a woman with her back to the camera.
“Oh, God.” She checked for her trashcan to be sure it was near in case she had to throw up.
“There are more inside.”
“I don’t think I want to see anymore.”
“I’m sorry, Alice. He was right. He said you’d be upset. I didn’t realize it would bother you so much.”
She rubbed her eyes and repeated the mantra to herself, I will not cry. I will not cry. “Oh, he knew this would upset me!” She had to know. “Who is she?”
After several seconds of silence, she began to think he wouldn’t answer, but he responded with another question. “Who is who?”
“The woman. His fiancée – the woman in the picture.”
He said nothing until she looked up at his puzzled eyes. “Alice, it’s you.”
The shock hit her like a bucket of cold water. “Me?”
“Yes – it’s the two of you at Alsace Aquitaine.”
She yanked the blurry image up to her face then turned the pages to the story, and there they were. Peter holding her hands as they gazed into each other’s eye. Her face then lit up with surprise and excitement. Finally, her grinning from ear to ear with her arms around his neck.
Alice perused the photos and the short article describing an intimate dinner for two during which Peter popped the question.
Then she burst out laughing. She threw her head back and guffawed as Jack sat with his eyes wide and his mouth hanging open.
“So you…you aren’t upset?”
“With a story this ridiculous? I can’t believe even The Intruder could get something this wrong. I bet Peter is livid.”
“So he didn’t ask you to marry him that night?”
“Of course not. Why? Didn’t he tell you it wasn’t true?”
“He didn’t tell me what was happening in the photos, but he never said they weren’t true, so I thought…”
“He probably thought it was too ludicrous for him even to deny!”
“Then what did he tell you that night?”
“That he…oh, it’s not important anymore. Tell him I am very sorry he has the discomfort of having to refute being engaged to someone as insignificant as Alice McGillicutty. Does he wish me to issue a statement?”
“No. In fact, he told his publicist not to respond at all.”
“That’s probably wise. It’ll die down much faster if he doesn’t issue a denial, which would just incite more questions and keep it in the tabloids that much longer. What I don’t understand is why now. This was three weeks ago. I thought this rag was all about being first with the ‘big story.’”
“I have no idea why they came out now. I think a waiter took them.”
She glanced at the photos a moment longer until a bittersweet ache just below her sternum compelled her to close the paper. “How is he?”
“Still keeping to himself. Still won’t look at any scripts I bring him.”
“Did he…” Should she? Oh, to hell with it. “Did he have a message for me or ask about me?”
“When he called me, he thought you would be really angry about this engagement story. When I said I’d come see you, he said, ‘Find out how she’s doing. I hope she’s all right.’”
She wrinkled her brow and thought aloud, “How odd.” With too much she wanted to ask, she instead said nothing more.
“Is Giselle around? Do you think she’d talk to me?”
“Well, there’s only one way to find out. She should be in make-up or her dressing room.”
He grinned and started to go. “Thanks, Alice.”
“Do you mind if I keep this?” she asked with a finger on The Intruder. “Not every day I get to pretend I’m engaged to a movie star.”
A few days later, Alice came out of her office just as Jack and Giselle returned from lunch, smiling and holding hands and even kissing goodbye. As Jack left, Alice hopped to catch up with Giselle.
“Looks like you and Jack have picked up without skipping a beat. I take it you’ve forgiven him.”
“Well, how could I not after Peter explained it all to me and said everything was his fault and how miserable –”
“Peter?” Alice came to an abrupt halt and put her hand on Giselle’s arm to stop her as well. “When did you talk to Peter?”
Giselle turned three kinds of red before speaking. “I…He asked me not to say anything.”
“Who? Peter?”
Giselle wrung her hands together and glanced around as if she were revealing state secrets. “I’m not supposed to say anything, but when I was gone that few days? Peter found me and brought me back.”
“Found you? Where?”
“I had no idea where I was at the time, but I suppose Rich had driven us to Mexico.”
“Peter found you in Mexico?” Alice could not sup
press the shock resonating in her volume.
“After Rich found out about what you had done to his role, he wanted to walk out. He told me to come with him, and I wasn’t going to be taping anyway, so I went. That night we were going to a club, and he said he had some coke if I wanted to do a line before we went out. I don’t know what it was, but it wasn’t coke. Once I started, I didn’t stop. After that, the only thing I remember is waking up at Peter’s house.”
“So you were at Peter’s house the whole time?”
“No, only a couple of days. He told me about Winnie and how much he had done to protect her career, but he said it wasn’t worth letting Rich get away scot free to do it again. He told me he was the reason Jack had stopped taking my calls. He was very kind but crazy worried. He was so afraid someone would see us together, and he was especially concerned that you would get the wrong idea. He said he didn’t think you would ever forgive him, but I told him you are the most forgiving person I know.”
“Forgive him?” Alice had trouble absorbing all Giselle had told her. Nothing made any sense. Each time her head had come to accept it had only been a one-night stand, something would happen to wrench at her heart. Giselle and Jack spoke as though Peter really cared about her, but he had gone almost a month without a word.
Alice’s phone started buzzing in her pocket.
Giselle squeezed Alice’s hand. “I have to get to wardrobe. We’ll talk more later,” she said before walking away.
Alice pulled out her phone. Peacock. “What’s up?”
“Alice, could you come to Mrs. Jellyby’s office?”
“Uhhh…sure.”
Alice wracked her brain trying to remember the last time she had been called to Mrs. Jellyby’s office. In fact, she tried to avoid the production offices as much as possible. This cannot be good.
Even before she walked into the outer office, she could hear a man’s voice yelling behind Mrs. Jellyby’s door. What now?
“They said you could go right in,” Mrs. Jellyby’s secretary told her.
“I’m not sure if I want to.” She bit the bullet, tapped on the door, and walked in.
Mrs. Jellyby sat behind her desk with Mr. Peacock standing beside her and a middle-aged, heavyset angry man staring daggers at them both.
“You wanted to see me?” Alice asked.
“Are you the head writer?” asked the angry man. “I wanted to see you.”
“This is Mr. Burke,” Peacock said, “one of Peter Walsingham’s attorneys.”
“What’s going on?”
“He seems to think we’ve brainwashed Peter.”
“I’ll tell you what’s going on!” the angry lawyer said. “You are all attempting to destroy my client’s career! I don’t know what you’ve done to him, but you have got to cut him off of this albatross.”
Alice resisted the temptation to inform Mr. Burke that an albatross would actually be cut off. “I don’t understand. What’s going on?”
Mr. Peacock managed to cut in before Mr. Burke could speak. “The network has worked out an out-of-court settlement with Peter.”
Her heart flipped in her chest. “Oh.” Her voice sounded small and distant even to herself.
“In layman’s terms, he would be buying out the rest of his contract. In exchange for monetary compensation, the network would not force him to return.”
Now somehow her heart had crawled up and lodged in her throat. “So he is going to pay, I’d presume, a considerable amount of money not to come back.” Her legs began to shake with the strain on her weakening knees. That’s it. It’s over. It was a one-night stand. “I think I better sit down.” She took a chair in front of the desk, but now Mr. Burke hovered over her. “So why am I here?”
“Because he won’t accept it!” She flinched as Mr. Burke’s voice rang in her ear. “Mr. Walsingham says he will not accept it unless the producer, the director, and the head writer sign off on it.”
“Wait. What?”
“Do you understand how completely preposterous that is?”
“Did he say why?”
“He said his dispute is with the network, not us,” said Mrs. Jellyby, “and he did not want to risk anyone’s job unless we did not want him back.”
“What did you decide?” Alice asked Mrs. Jellyby and Peacock.
Mr. Burke answered. “They have both signed. We now await your signature.” He handed her the papers and stuck a pen out toward her.
“You both signed? You don’t want him back?”
“We wanted the ultimate decision to be up to you,” Mr. Peacock said. “Whatever you choose, we will stand beside you, but it’s up to you to say if you want him back.”
Alice glanced from paper to face to pen to face and back to paper again.
“What are you waiting for?” Mr. Burke stuck the pen an inch from her nose. “Sign it.”
She perused the papers without reading then handed them back to Mr. Burke. “No, I don’t believe I will.”
“What do you mean you won’t sign it?”
“I am not going to sign something stating that he is not wanted here, and bullying me will not change my mind!”
“Are you determined to ruin his career? Do you know he will not even look at scripts until this matter is settled?”
“I don’t see how this prevents him from reading scripts. And I don’t see how working on a soap for a few more weeks will be detrimental to his career. He is in the best position to define his career. Having our acceptance was his stipulation – not ours. If he wants to leave the show without my consent, he is free to do so.”
He took a step back and flapped the papers at her as his eyes bulged out of his head. “Oh-HO! I know you. You’re the one from The Intruder. Did you arrange those pictures to be taken of his alleged proposal to blackmail him into staying on the show?”
“If I did do something like that, I would certainly be the last to admit it.” She stood up and walked to the door.
“And that is your final word on the matter?”
As she started to turn the knob, she stopped and looked back to offer one parting remark. “No. You tell Peter there is still a role for him in All My Tomorrows.”
☼
“So who do we kill next?” Alice asked her staff of writers.
The first victim in their murder mystery had been simple, since Rich’s defection had broken his contract. Poor Brother Raife – brutally murdered before he had even taken his final vows. After all the build-up and excitement of introducing Raife and implying the possibility that he would be Giselle’s next love interest, this new twist had stunned the viewers. That along with converting Peter Walsingham’s character from her lover to her brother had the critics calling All My Tomorrows “unpredictable” – “What will they do next?” – which unintentionally gave the soap a bit of a boost in ratings.
Now the writers had to determine how unpredictable they wanted to be in killing off the cast.
“Does anyone want to leave the show?”
“I don’t think so,” Alice said. “Not since Eileen.” And Peter.
“Hey, do you think Eileen would come back for a guest stint just so we could kill her off?”
“I don’t think so. And plus, I don’t want to take away her option of ever coming back. We’re just going to have to kill off a few extras. I mean, the killer can’t just focus on the five core families on the show.”
“And who’s the killer? Won’t he be off the show too?”
“I think a prison set would be easy, or add a psych wing to the hospital. And why does it have to be a ‘he’?”
“Yeah, maybe it’s Sienna!”
As they all laughed, Giselle herself walked in. “Alice? Jack’s here.”
“Oh. Okay.” Jack had frequently been to the set over the last week, so Alice didn’t know why Giselle made a point of telling her now.
“Peter’s with him.” Oh...That’s why. “He says he’s coming back to All My Tomorrows.”
The other writers
did not react with surprise or excitement or joy to the news. Instead, all eyes rounded on Alice, and they battered her with questions on how to adapt the storyline. Alice sat there mute, frozen, flushed, deaf to all the words floating around her. She pushed herself up away from the table and followed Giselle out of the room.
Pull it together, Alice. Don’t let him see you’re affected. If he hasn’t called in a month, clearly his infatuation is over. But when she and Giselle reached them and Peter turned around, the change in his expression upon seeing her nearly melted away all of her defenses. Nearly.
“Hi, Jack.” She spoke in her most professional tone with her posture rigid. “Peter.”
“Miss McGillicutty.”
“It’s been a while – a month, I believe. I had come to think we would never hear from you again.”
“I know. I thought I might not be welcome.”
“Hmm. Peculiar. And how long will you be gracing us with your presence?”
“I think that will depend on where I fit in your story.” He glanced at Jack and Giselle then said, “Perhaps we could discuss my role in your office.”
The way his stare shot through her compelled her to hold her breath, so she couldn’t speak and only nodded and led the way at a quick pace. Once there, she stepped around and sat down, keeping at least a desk-width’s distance between them. He closed the door and locked it then took a seat.
“Why did you lock it?”
“I didn’t want anyone barging in like they often do.”
“It’s my door.”
“Do you want me to unlock it?”
She didn’t answer, and they said nothing for several moments.
“So,” she said, her voice not as steady as she had expected. “How is Britney?”
“She’s well, thank you. She’s asked about you several times.”
“Me?”
“Yes, she asks if I’ve seen my Alice in Wonderland.”
“Hers?”
“What?”
“Her Alice? Does she say ‘my’ or does she say ‘your’?”
He leaned forward in his chair. “She didn’t say either. I said ‘my,’ but I suppose that’s up to you.”
As she brought her hand up to her face, its shakiness changed her mind, and she hid both hands on her lap. “What are you trying to do? Is this some sort of game to you?”
All My Tomorrows Page 17
