by Dianne Dixon
Matt was gritting his teeth when he said, “Do you know what kind of bastard this makes you?”
“Did you know there was a time when Einstein was all sick and sad because he got bumped out of his steady gig as a high-school math teacher?” Seth yanked his phone away from Matt, stuffing it into a designer messenger bag. “The guy responsible for that particular job loss, was he a bastard? Or was he the hero who paved the way for our pal Albert to stay hungry and keep scrambling till he came up with E equals MC squared?”
Seth swung the messenger bag over his shoulder, winking at Matt. “It’s always about the Next Thing. All about keeping the wheel turning, baby. All about change.” As he walked away, he said, “If things don’t change, you got no chance to grow. And without the chance to grow, there’s no point in being alive.”
The only clear thought in Matt’s head was—This must be what it’s like to have a heart attack.
“What are we going to do?” he asked.
“Not much we can do,” Aidan replied. “Most of the time, what these idiots want is more money, but we’ve talked to his agent. Money isn’t the issue with this guy.”
The female executive picked up her purse. “We could tie him up in court. But as long as he refuses to come to work, we’ve still got no show.”
The two executives and Aidan were leaving the set, heading into the gloom of the unlit soundstage. The female executive was muttering, “If we don’t find a way to convince that asshole to stay put, we’re completely screwed.”
Matt heard Aidan’s voice float toward him out of the darkness: “Hey, Matty boy, want to join me on a two-day drunk in Cabo?”
Matt didn’t bother to answer. He just waited until the steel doors at the other end of the building banged shut. Then he lowered himself into the lounge chair where Seth Kates had been. And Matt sat there, not moving a muscle. Like he’d been turned to stone.
• • •
The house Matt came home to later that night was a very different place from the one he and Ali first moved into. With Sofie’s arrival, Ali had come out of her emotional fog and had started to take an interest in 76 Paradise Lane. There were pictures on the walls and fresh flowers on the tables. The furniture, most of it casual and upholstered in simple ivory twill, was beautifully arranged. The chairs had pretty baskets next to them, filled with craft projects and baby toys.
Matt found Ali in the kitchen. A mellow light was coming from small, parchment-shaded lamps spaced at intervals along the soapstone countertops. The room was peaceful, inviting.
Sofie, now fifteen months old, was playing on the floor, entertaining herself with a flow of giggles and toddler jabber.
Matt’s attention was on Ali. She was setting the table for dinner. It looked as if she’d just gotten out of the shower. Her skin was clean and fresh, her hair coiled at the back of her head and pinned up, curling tendrils clinging to her temples and the sides of her neck. And Matt wanted her. In the same blind, urgent way he’d wanted her the night he’d proposed to her on that windblown bluff in Newport.
He impulsively reached for her, then quickly pulled back. He saw the look in her eyes and remembered the visit to the pediatrician. The Seth Kates crisis had erased it from his mind. His instinct was to ask how the appointment went, and he understood it wouldn’t do any good. It would only open the door to a fight.
Ali didn’t want him the way he wanted her. She didn’t want him at all. She was disgusted with him.
Matt turned and walked away. Tired of failing. Tired of being shut out. Tired of scratching to find a way in. He was ready to give up on Ali, ready to give up on everything.
Then, just as Matt was leaving the kitchen, Sofie let out a happy shriek. It startled him; he turned to look in her direction.
Since she’d come to live in this house, Matt had done his best to avoid Sofie. He wanted to keep his distance. Because of his past and the sins that were buried there, sins against vulnerable little girls and helpless women. Places he didn’t want to go again.
But the truth was that as much as Matt had tried to wall her off, Sofie had slipped through his defenses and charmed him—just as she charmed everyone who came in contact with her.
And this was the moment Matt knew he’d lost the fight. Sofie had made her way straight into his heart. Eagerly holding her hands up to him, eyes bright—saying: Da.
Matt’s surprised gaze met Ali’s.
In the stunned silence that followed, Sofie again held her hands up and reached toward Matt, her face lit with pure adoration. And again, she uttered that single, soft syllable. Da.
It was as if Matt, who’d been so cold and alone lately, was being warmed by a shaft of sunlight. What he was seeing in Sofie was unconditional love. The kind of love Ali had for him before her attack, before she’d armored herself with such sharp edges.
Sofie, as she held her hands out, was giving Matt what he was desperate for. She was giving him hope.
And that changed everything.
• • •
Over the next few weeks, a thread of tenderness began to reconnect Matt and Ali. Sofie’s smiles and happy embraces drew Matt like a magnet, and Ali seemed pleased by how willing he was to be drawn.
This morning, as he did every morning before he left for work, Matt was making a little ceremony of saying good-bye to Sofie. She was in her high chair in the kitchen, just finishing her favorite breakfast—warm oatmeal, with golden-brown plantains that Ali had sautéed in butter.
The room was sunlit. And full of happiness.
Sofie was bouncing with anticipation as Matt placed her plump, little hand on his freshly shaved cheek.
And because he didn’t know any nursery rhymes, he was doing what he did every morning to put that grin on Sofie’s face. He was serenading her with classic rock. Today it was a full-on Joe Cocker–style rendition of “You Are So Beautiful.”
Sofie was cooing with delight.
Ali was nearby. Glowing and contented.
When he finished singing to Sofie, Ali leaned close and kissed the spot on Matt’s cheek where Sofie’s hand had been. “Thank you,” she said.
There was lump in his throat, gratitude and wonder, as he told her, “We’re becoming a family, Al.”
The joy, this feeling of connection, was more powerful than anything Matt had ever experienced.
He was already looking forward to tonight, to the three of them being together.
The demands of the television show didn’t make it easy to do, but Matt had started coming home for dinner. Every night. He always had to head back to work the minute their meal was over—a forty-minute drive each way—but it was worth it.
Matt was winning his wife back—and falling in love with his daughter.
• • •
Every now and then, there were rare nights when Matt didn’t have to put in late hours at the studio. He cherished them.
Tonight was one of those quiet, peaceful nights.
Matt was in his study. With Sofie in his lap, drowsy against his chest, her eyes heavy, her breathing soft and content. He was reading aloud to her from a script he was editing.
Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed that Ali had slipped into the room and was curled up in her favorite chair. Matt put down the script.
Sofie sighed and tucked her thumb into her mouth, drifting off to sleep.
Ali studied the two of them for a while.
Then she said, “I love you.” Words Matt thought he’d never hear again.
It was salvation from a living death.
And he didn’t want to disappoint Ali—couldn’t risk losing her.
Which was why, although he was rapidly running out of time, Matt didn’t tell Ali about the large ax that was waiting to fall.
• • •
Matt’s television show, the source of his income, was about to be c
anceled. Each passing day had become a deathwatch—everyone hoping for a last-minute reprieve, while bracing for catastrophe.
Only two more episodes of Darling were in production, and Seth Kates had still refused to renew his contract. Matt was about to be unemployed. The money he’d been making was impressive, compared to a teacher’s salary. But by Hollywood standards it wasn’t much. And Matt had been living by Hollywood standards.
The monthly expenses drained every penny. He was on a collision course with disaster.
The dialogue in Matt’s head was relentless: I’m finished in television. I’ve got no track record. No power. The network thinks I’m Aidan Blake’s charity case, an egghead who got lucky. And I can’t go back to teaching. I only had the assistant professorship for a year before I ran off to Hollywood. On paper, I look like a flake. A failure. How will I ever find another job?
There were times, during those weeks of waiting, that Matt’s heart hammered so hard he thought it might actually tear him to pieces.
Searching for a way to calm down, he started going to the empty soundstage after shooting had wrapped for the day. He went onto the darkened set and stretched out on one of the leather lounge chairs in Jake Darling’s private jet, always the same one. Its plush leather molded itself to his body like a gloved hand and made him feel protected. But it was protection that came with a touch of mockery. The luxury of a Gulfstream jet was the ultimate symbol of money, the thing Matt was desperate for.
And then the day came when, in less than a week, Matt would be out of work. A failure as a husband and provider, and as a father. It wasn’t just Ali depending on him; Sofie was depending on him, too.
As Matt lay in the dark in that plush leather chair—for what he suspected was the last time—he let out a wailing moan.
Matt had made promises to women he loved, important promises. He was tormented by how many of those promises he hadn’t been able to keep—and how many women he had harmed.
He was remembering something that happened years ago… Lying in the dark, surrounded by the smell of garbage—with a girl who had trusted him. Whispering to her that it was okay, she was safe. Seeing her fear when she realized she wasn’t.
Suddenly, Matt was back in the present—startled by a whisper: “I’ve been looking all over for you.” It was his assistant, Danielle, the girl with the piercing green eyes. The elf with the rosebud lips.
Before he understood what was happening, she was stretched out beside him—settling into the lounge chair as lightly as a perfumed feather. “I know why you come out here all the time,” she told him. “You’re afraid. We all are.”
Matt started to sit up. She put her hand on his chest and murmured, “Don’t worry. I just want to be with you. I want to take care of you.”
He had too much trouble already, with too many women. There wasn’t room for one more. Matt pushed her away. “I’m married.”
“I know you’re married.” She gave a wry shrug. “I overheard what you said to Aidan a while ago…about your wife and some mistake you made. And how she wanted you to pay for it for the rest of your life.”
“I don’t care what you heard. My wife and I are fine.” Matt lifted Danielle out of the chair and stood her on the floor beside it. She weighed no more than a doll might have. But she left a fragrance in the air that was dense—and heady—like flowers in a jungle.
“You won’t be fine. Not for a while.” Danielle looked around the darkened soundstage. “We’re all hoping for a miracle, but it’s not gonna come. Next week, when this ends, you’ll be shredded. So will I.” She put her hands on either side of Matt’s face and held them there; they were cool, incredibly soft. “I don’t want to be alone when the whole thing implodes. Do you?”
Matt was in an alternate sliver of reality, one that hadn’t happened yet—the reality of telling Ali he’d lost his job and didn’t know how they would survive.
Would that be the moment for Ali when he’d let her down one too many times? Would it be when she would leave, and stay gone forever?
Something inside Matt snapped—plunging him toward oblivion.
What stopped his fall was Danielle. She put her rosebud lips on his and kissed him.
After the kiss, she said, “When it’s over, when we’ve both come out of this all right and we have our lives back, when you don’t need me anymore, I’ll go. I promise.”
• • •
Seth Kates’s attorneys announced their client was permanently leaving his role on Darling to pursue a film career. The fallout was instantaneous. Within minutes, an email arrived from the network: “Darling has been canceled and will not resume production.”
Matt no longer had a paycheck.
His reaction was a grunt and a glassy-eyed stare. For weeks, he’d been frozen with fear. Waiting for the oncoming train to hit him. Now he’d been hit. And to his surprise, the impact had brought a sense of relief.
The email from the network was still on Matt’s computer screen when Danielle walked in, telling him, “They’ll probably start packing our offices by the end of the day.”
He looked at her in disbelief. “That fast?”
“That fast. I come from show business people. I know how it works. They like to get rid of the bodies while they’re still warm.” She checked the room, taking inventory. “This is good. Looks like the only things here that belong to you are the books. They’ll get boxed and sent to your house.” She reached across the desk, picking up the photo of Ali. “But you better take this with you now. Otherwise, the packing morons will break the glass.”
Danielle tucked Ali’s picture under her arm. “Come on. We’re going to my place.”
Matt wasn’t in the mood for a tumble and some easy sex. “The only place I’m going is home to my wife.”
“That’s exactly where you should go.” Danielle came in close. “It’s where you should go…later. After you take a couple of hours to let your emotional dust settle.”
The expression in her eyes shocked him. It was fiercely personal, yet seemed completely unemotional.
“I don’t want to wreck your home,” she said. “I’m just offering you breathing space. For a little while.”
With her lips touching his ear, Danielle whispered, “Sometimes it helps to find strength before you try to be strong.”
And Matt gave in to his weakness.
Part Three
A WHOLE NEW WORLD
Morgan
“God, that was good.” Morgan sighed and pushed her dessert plate away.
“When I saw it on the menu, ‘Death by Chocolate,’ I knew we had to order it.” Morgan’s coworker from the museum spooned up a last bite of cake and a mouthful of whipped cream. Her name was Erin. She was the person who had introduced Morgan to sweet, thoughtful Ben Tennoff.
Most of Erin’s conversation during lunch had been about Ben and how much he hoped that Morgan was interested in him. Erin moved her dessert plate aside and told Morgan, “I don’t get it. He’s such a great guy, and for some reason you seem to be hanging back. Why?”
Morgan squirmed a little. “What do you mean, hanging back?”
“I don’t know. It’s like you’re weirdly shy about the whole thing. Most women, when they find the right guy, they’re talking about it nonstop, telling anybody who’ll listen.”
Morgan’s smile was uncertain. She was thinking about the last time she’d been with Ben.
• • •
It was their fifth date. Ben had taken her to a restaurant in San Marino, the tiny town that bordered South Pasadena. The restaurant was a little jewel box of a place that looked as if it belonged on a cobblestoned street in France. It was owned by a stunningly attractive silver-haired woman named Julie, who knew Ben and welcomed him with open arms.
When Ben told Julie, “This is my friend Morgan,” Julie’s smile got even brighter.
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sp; “I’m glad you’re here, Morgan. Welcome to our opera salon. We do it once a month. It’s so much fun.”
Julie moved away to talk to someone else, and Morgan whispered to Ben, “This is like a scene out of a movie.” The tables on the flagstone patio were filled with people, all of them laughing and chatting. The patio, which ran along the front of restaurant, had walls on three sides and a series of archways opening onto the sidewalk. The entire area was lit with flickering candles. And within minutes of their arrival, Morgan and Ben were at a table of their own, being served grilled filet mignon, thinly sliced, on a bed of fresh watercress—and a red wine that was exceptionally good.
Afterward, when the plates were being cleared away, Ben held Morgan’s hand and told her, “Now comes my favorite part. The music.”
A featured singer from the Los Angeles Opera was in the center of the covered patio, in the candlelight, singing the Queen of the Night aria from The Magic Flute—her voice clear and glorious.
Morgan had never heard anything so lovely.
When the music and the evening ended, slightly overweight, slightly geeky Ben Tennoff said, “I wanted tonight to be special. I really hope you liked it, Morgan.”
And she told him, “I loved it.”
Yet there was still a microscopic part of her that was hesitant about Ben. Because he wasn’t as smooth and cool as Ali’s boyfriends had been. Morgan had spent her entire life measuring herself against her sister, convinced that whatever Ali had was the benchmark and that anything less, anything different, wasn’t quite good enough.
• • •
“Ben adores you,” Erin was saying. “And isn’t that what we all dream of? A man with a good heart who actually sees who we are and loves us for it, unconditionally?”
Morgan nodded and scooped up some of the whipped cream from her dessert plate. Her hand was shaking, spilling the cream onto her shirt.
