Bungalow 2

Also by Danielle Steel

SISTERS LIGHTNING H.R.H. WINGS COMING OUT THE GIFT THE HOUSE ACCIDENT TOXIC BACHELORS VANISHED MIRACLE MIXED BLESSINGS IMPOSSIBLE JEWELS ECHOES NO GREATER LOVE SECOND CHANCE HEARTBEAT RANSOM MESSAGE FROM NAM SAFE HARBOUR DADDY JOHNNY ANGEL STAR DATING GAME ZOYA ANSWERED PRAYERS KALEIDOSCOPE SUNSET IN ST. TROPEZ FINE THINGS THE COTTAGE WANDERLUST THE KISS SECRETS LEAP OF FAITH FAMILY ALBUM LONE EAGLE FULL CIRCLE JOURNEY CHANGES THE HOUSE ON HOPE STREET THURSTON HOUSE THE WEDDING CROSSINGS IRRESISTIBLE FORCES ONCE IN A LIFETIME GRANNY DAN A PERFECT STRANGER BITTERSWEET REMEMBRANCE MIRROR IMAGE PALOMINO HIS BRIGHT LIGHT: LOVE: POEMS The Story of Nick Traina THE RING THE KLONE AND I LOVING THE LONG ROAD HOME TO LOVE AGAIN THE GHOST SUMMER'S END SPECIAL DELIVERY SEASON OF PASSION THE RANCH THE PROMISE SILENT HONOR NOW AND FOREVER MALICE PASSION'S PROMISE FIVE DAYS IN PARIS GOING HOME

To Beatie, Trevor, Todd, Nick, Sam,

Victoria, Vanessa, Maxx, Zara,

my very wonderful children,

for years of putting up with my writing,

celebrating the victories,

and supporting me through life's challenges,

and defeats.

I am but a piece in the tapestry of our family,

You are my reason for being,

and together we form a precious whole,

complete because of, and thanks to, YOU.

I love you with all my heart,

Mom / d.s.

a cognizant original v5 release october 15 2010

And when the movie ends,

life begins.

Chapter 1

It was a beautiful hot July day in Marin County, just across the Golden Gate Bridge from San Francisco, as Tanya Harris bustled around her kitchen, organizing her life. Her style was one of supreme order. She loved having everything tidy, in its proper place, and in control. She loved to plan, and therefore she rarely ran out of anything, or forgot to do anything. She enjoyed a predictably efficient life. She was small, lithe, in good shape, and didn't look her age, which was forty-two years old. Her husband, Peter, was forty-six. He was a litigator with a respected San Francisco law firm, and didn't mind the commute to Ross, across the bridge. Ross was a prosperous, safe, highly desirable suburban community. They had moved there from the city sixteen years before because the school system was excellent. It was said to be the best in Marin.

Tanya and Peter had three children. Jason was eighteen and was leaving for college at the end of August. He was going to UC Santa Barbara, and although he couldn't wait to go, Tanya was going to miss him terribly. And they had twin daughters, Megan and Molly, who had just turned seventeen.

Tanya had loved every moment of the last eighteen years, being a full-time mom to her kids. It suited her perfectly. She never found it burdensome or boring. The tedium of driving car pools had never seemed intolerable to her. Unlike mothers who complained of it, she loved being with her children, dropping them off, picking them up, taking them to Cub Scouts and Brownies, and she had been head of the parents' association of their school for several years. She took pride in doing things for them, and loved going to Jason's Little League and basketball games, and whatever the girls did as well. Jason had been varsity in high school, and was hoping to make either the basketball or tennis team at UCSB.

His two younger sisters, Megan and Molly, were fraternal twins, and were as different as night and day. Megan was small and blond like her mother. She had been an Olympic-caliber gymnast in her early teens, and only gave up national competitions when she found it was interfering with her work at school. Molly was tall, thin, and looked like Peter, with dark brown hair and endless legs. She was the only member of the family who had never played competitive sports. She was musical, artistic, loved taking photographs, and was a whimsical, independent soul. At seventeen, the twins were going into their senior year. Megan wanted to go to UC Berkeley like her mother, or maybe UCSB. Molly was thinking about going east, or to a college in California where she could follow artistic pursuits. She had been thinking seriously about USC in L.A., if she stayed out west. Although the twins were very close, they were both adamant about not going to the same school. They had been in the same school and class all through elementary and high school, and now they were both ready to go their own ways. Their parents thought it was a healthy attitude, and Peter was encouraging Molly to consider the Ivy League schools. Her grades were good enough, and he thought she'd do well in a high-powered academic atmosphere. She was considering Brown, where she could design her own curriculum in photography, or maybe film school at USC. All three of the Harris children had done exceptionally well in school.

Tanya was proud of her children, loved her husband, enjoyed her life, and had thrived in their twenty-year marriage. The years had flown by like minutes since she'd married Peter as soon as she'd graduated from college. He had just graduated from Stanford Law School, and joined the law firm where he still worked. And just about everything in their life had gone according to plan. There had been no major shocks or surprises, no disappointments in their marriage, no traumas with their kids as Jason, Megan, and Molly navigated through their teens. Tanya and Peter enjoyed spending a lot of time with all three of their children. They had no regrets, and were well aware of how fortunate they were. Tanya worked in a family homeless shelter in the city one day a week, and she took the girls with her whenever she could and their schedules allowed. They both had extracurricular pursuits, and did community service through school. Peter liked to tease Tanya about how boring they all were, and how predictable in their routines. Tanya took great pride in keeping it that way, for all of them. Everything about their life felt comfortable and safe.

Her childhood had not been quite as neat and clean, which was why she liked keeping their life so tidy. Some might have called her life with Peter overly sterile and controlled, but Tanya loved it that way, and so did he. Peter's own youth and adolescence had been very similar to the life he and Tanya had created for their children, a seemingly perfect world. In contrast, Tanya's childhood had been difficult and lonely, and frightening at times. Her father had been an alcoholic, and her parents had gotten divorced when she was three. She had only seen her father a few times after the divorce, and he died when she was fourteen. Her mother had worked hard as a paralegal to keep her in the best schools. She had died shortly after the twins were born, and Tanya had no siblings. An only child of only children, her family consisted of Peter, Jason, and the twins. They were the hub of her world. She cherished every moment that she spent with them. Even after twenty years of marriage, she couldn't wait for Peter to come home at night. She loved telling him what she'd done that day, sharing stories about the children, and hearing about his day. She still found his cases and courtroom experiences fascinating after twenty years, and she liked sharing her own work with him as well. He was always enthusiastic and encouraging about what she did.

Tanya had been a freelance writer ever since she'd graduated from college, and through all the years of their marriage. She loved doing it because it fulfilled her, added to their income, and she worked at home, without interfering with their children. She led something of a double life as a result. Devoted mother, wife, and caregiver by day, and singularly determined freelance writer at night. Tanya always said that to her, writing was as essential as the air she breathed. Freelance writing had proven to be the perfect occupation for her, and the articles and stories she'd written had been well reviewed and warmly received over the years. Peter always said he was immensely proud of her, and appeared to be supportive of her work, although from time to time, he complained about her long work nights, and the late hours when she came to bed. But he appreciated the fact that it never interfered with her mothering or devotion to him. She was one of those rare, talented women who still put her family first, and always had.

Tanya's first book had been a series of essays, mostly about women's issues. It had been published by a small publisher in Marin in the late 1980s, and reviewed mostly by obscure feminist reviewers, who approved of her theories, topics, and ideas. Her book hadn't been rabidly feminist, but was aware and independent, and the sort of thing one would expect a young woman to write. Her second book, published on her fortieth birthday, two years earlier, and eighteen years after her first book, had been an anthology of short stories, published by a major publisher, and had had an exceptionally good review in The New York Times Book Review. She had been thrilled.

In between, she had been frequently published in literary magazines, and often in The New Yorker. She had published essays, articles, and short stories in a variety of magazines over the years. Her volume of work was consistent and prolific. When necessary, she slept little, and some nights not at all. Judging by the sales of her recent book of short stories, she had a loyal following both among average readers who enjoyed her work and among the literary elite. Several well-known and highly respected writers had written her letters of warm praise, and had commented favorably about her book in the press. As she was in all else, Tanya was meticulously conscientious about her work. She had managed to have a family, and still keep abreast of her work. For twenty years, she had set time aside every day to write. She was diligent and highly disciplined and the only time she took days off from her writing mornings was during school vacations, or when the children were home sick from school. In that case, they came first. Otherwise, nothing kept her from her work. In her hours away from Peter and the children, she was fanatical about her work. She let the phone go to voice mail, turned off her cell phone, and sat down to write every morning after her second cup of tea, once the kids had gone off to school.

She also enjoyed writing in a more commercial vein, which was the profitable side of it for them, something Peter respected as well. She did occasional articles for the local Marin papers, now and then for the Chronicle, on an editorial basis. She liked writing funny pieces, and had a knack with comedic work, in a wry, witty tone, and now and then she wrote pure slapstick when describing the life of a housewife and mother, and scenes with her kids. Peter thought it was what she did best, and she enjoyed doing it. She liked writing funny stuff.

The real money she'd made, compared to what she made on her articles and essays, was writing occasional scripts for soap operas on national TV. She had done quite a number of them over the years. They weren't high literary endeavors, and she had no pretensions about what she did. But they paid extremely well, and the shows she wrote for liked her work, and called her often. It wasn't work she was proud of, but she liked the money she made, and so did Peter. She usually wrote a dozen or so scripts a year. They had paid for her new Mercedes station wagon and a house they rented for a month at Lake Tahoe every year. Peter was always grateful for her help with tuition for their children. She had saved a nice little nest egg from her commercial writing work. She had cowritten a few miniseries, too, mostly before the market for miniseries and television movies had been impacted by reality TV. These days no one wanted miniseries or TV movies, and the only regular work she got for TV was on her soaps. Her agent called her about a script for a soap at least once a month, and sometimes more often. She knocked them out in a few days, working late at night while the rest of the family slept. Tanya was lucky that she needed very little sleep, much to her agent's delight. She had never made gigantic money for her work, but she had produced steadily for many years. She was in effect a housewife and writer with stamina and talent. It was a combination that worked well.

Over the years Tanya's freelance writing had been a steady, satisfying, and lucrative career, and as the kids got older, she had plans to write more. The only dream she had that hadn't been fulfilled yet was to write the screenplay for a feature film. She had persisted in pushing her agent about it, but to some extent her work in TV made her ineligible. There was very little, if any, crossover between television and feature films. It irritated her because she knew she had the skills to do movies, but so far nothing in that vein had come her way, and she was no longer sure it ever would. It was an opportunity she'd been waiting for, for twenty years. In the meantime, she was happy with the writing she did. And the system and schedule she juggled so successfully worked well for all of them. She'd had a steady flow of work during her entire career. It was something she did with her left hand, while she tended to her family with her right and met all their needs. Peter always said that she was an amazing woman, and a wonderful mother and wife. That meant far more to her than favorable literary reviews. Her family had been her first priority during all her years of marriage and motherhood. And as far as Tanya was concerned, she had done the right thing, even if it meant turning down an assignment now and then, although that was rare for her. Most of the time, she found a way to fit it in, and was proud of having done that for twenty years. She had never let Peter or her kids down, nor her work, or the people who paid her to do it.

She had just sat down at her computer with a cup of tea, and was looking over the draft for a short story she'd started the day before, when the phone rang, and she heard the answering machine pick it up. Jason had spent the night in San Francisco, the girls were out with friends, and Peter had long since left for work. He was preparing for a trial the following week. So she had a nice, peaceful morning to work, which was rare when the kids were out of school. She wrote far less in the summer than she did in the winter months. It was too distracting trying to write when the children were home on vacation, and around all the time. But she'd had an idea for a new short story that had been bugging her for days. She was wrestling with it, when she heard her agent leave a message on the phone, and strode rapidly across the kitchen to pick it up. She knew that all the soaps she wrote for were on hiatus, so it wasn't likely to be a request for a script for a soap. Maybe an article for a magazine, or a request from The New Yorker.

She answered the phone just before her agent hung up. The message he'd left was a request for her to call him. He was a longestablished literary agent in New York, who had represented her for the past fifteen years. The agency also had an office in Hollywood, where they generated a very respectable amount of work for her, as much as in New York, sometimes more. She loved all the different aspects of her work, and had been dogged and persistent about pursuing her career through all the kids' years of growing up. They were proud of her, and once in a while watched her soaps, although they teased her a lot, and told her how “cheesy” they were. But they bragged about her to their friends. It was immensely important to her that Peter and her children respected what she did. And she liked knowing she did it well, without sacrificing her time with them. There was a sign on her office wall that said “What hath night to do with sleep?”

“I thought you might be writing,” her agent said as she picked up. His name was Walter Drucker, and he went by Walt.

“I was,” she said, hopping onto a high stool near the phone. The kitchen was the nerve center of the house, and she used it as an office. Her computer was set up in the corner, next to two file cabinets bulging with her work. “What's up? I'm working on a new short story. I think it may turn out to be part of a trilogy when it grows up.” He admired her, and the fact that she was unfailingly professional and conscientious about everything she did. He knew how important her children were to her, but she still stayed on track with everything she wrote. She was very serious about her work, and everything she touched. It was a pleasure to deal with her. He never had to apologize for her missing a deadline, forgetting a story, going into rehab, or blowing a script. She was a writer to her core, and a good one. Tanya was a true professional. She had talent, energy, and drive. He liked her work, although usually he wasn't a short-story fan, but hers were good. They always had an interesting twist, a surprise. There was something very quirky and unusual about her work. Just when the reader expected it least, she came up with a stunning twist, turn, or ending. And he liked her funny stuff best. Sometimes she made him laugh till he cried.

“I've got work,” he said, sounding vague and somewhat cryptic. She was still thinking about her story, and not entirely focused on what he'd said.

“Hmm … can't be a soap. They're on hiatus till next month, thank God. I haven't had a decent idea all month, till yesterday. I've been too busy with the kids, and we leave for Tahoe next week, where I am head chef, chauffeur, social secretary, and maid.” Somehow she always ended up doing all the domestic work when they went to Tahoe, while everyone else swam, water-skied, and played. She had finally just accepted that it worked that way. The kids all brought friends, and no matter how much she begged, pleaded, or threatened them, no one ever helped. She was used to it by now. The older they got, the fewer chores they did. Peter wasn't much better. When he went to Tahoe, he liked to take it easy and relax, not do dishes, laundry, or make beds. She accepted it as one of the few downsides of her life. And she knew that if that was as bad as it got, she was lucky. Very, very lucky. And she took pride in taking care of them herself, and not hiring help. She was a perfectionist to her core, and taking care of her family, in every aspect, was a source of great pride to her. “What kind of work?” she asked, focusing finally on what he'd said.

“A script. Based on a book. It was a best-seller last year by Jane Barney. You know the one. Mantra. It was number one for about nine million weeks. Douglas Wayne just bought the book. They need a script.”

“They do? Why me? Isn't she going to write the script?”

“Apparently not. She's never done one before, and she doesn't want to screw this up. She's got consultation rights, but she says she really doesn't want to write the screenplay. She's got too many commitments to her publisher, a new book coming out in the fall, and a book tour in September. She's not available, or interested in doing the script. And Douglas likes your work. Apparently he's addicted to one of your soaps. He says he wants to talk to you about it, he claims you've ruined many an afternoon while he got stuck in front of the TV. He thinks you made the show what it is. Whatever that is. I didn't tell him you write that stuff between car pools, or while your kids are asleep.”

“Is this for TV?” she asked, assuming it was, though it seemed odd to her that Douglas Wayne was now producing for television. He was a movie producer, and she couldn't see him doing a TV movie, or even getting one on the air. In spite of how well known he was, the market for TV movies was nearly down to zero. They were a lot more interested these days in leaving random people on deserted islands, or having hidden cameras observe people cheating on each other. Or celebrity reality shows, like The Osbournes, which was the créme de la créme of TV fare. On another show, a friend's nephew had won fifty thousand dollars for having the lowest blood pressure when a live alligator was held squirming over his head. It was one way of making a living, but not hers. And reality TV had no need for scripts. “Since when is Douglas Wayne in television?” He was one of the biggest producers in Hollywood, and the woman who had written the book was a world-class writer. Mantra had been an extremely powerful and depressing novel, and had won the National Book Award for fiction.

“He's not in TV,” Walt went on somewhat lackadaisically. The bigger the project, the more laid-back he appeared, not that he really was. But he sounded half asleep at the moment. At noon in New York. He was leaving for lunch any minute. He had a short work schedule in the office, and did a lot of his business over meals. Most of the time, he was at a restaurant when she called him, and always with the biggest names in the business—publishers, authors, producers, or stars. “This isn't television. It's a feature. A big one. They were looking for a big-name writer,” which she wasn't. Respected, yes. Big name, no. Just solid and reliable and steady, as far as she was concerned. “He wants you instead. He loves your segments on the soaps, he says they're the best ones, and a cut way above the other writers who write for them. And he loves your funny stuff. Apparently he reads everything you publish in The New Yorker. He seems to be a big fan.”

“I'm a big fan of his, too,” Tanya said honestly. She had seen every movie he'd ever made. How could this be happening to her? she wondered. Douglas Wayne liked her work, and wanted her to do a screenplay for him? Holy shit! It was too good to be true.

“Well, now that we've established that you two love each other's work, let me tell you about his picture. Eighty-to-one-hundredmillion-dollar budget. Three major stars. Academy Awardâ€winning direction. No crazy location shots. The whole picture is being shot in L.A. Screen credit for you, obviously. They go into preproduction in September. The film starts shooting November fifth, and they're figuring on a five-month shooting schedule, barring unexpected disasters. And six or eight weeks postproduction after. With luck, and a decent script, which I know you're capable of, working for Douglas Wayne, you walk away with an Academy Award.” He made it sound like her dream come true, or that of anyone who wrote for Hollywood. It didn't get better than this and they both knew it. It was what she had dreamed of all her life, and not yet achieved.

“And I just sit here, write my little script, and send it off to them? How sweet is that?” She was smiling from ear to ear. It was what she did with her screenplays for the soaps, and they adlibbed them fairly liberally after that, but a lot of her material got used. She wrote scripts that worked for them, which made the producers she worked for constantly greedy for more. And the ratings ate up what she wrote, and skyrocketed. She was a sure thing.

“It's not quite as sweet as that.” Walt laughed at her. “I forget you've never done a feature before. No, my love, you don't get to sit there and crank it out between car pools and taking your dog to the vet.” He knew her life for the past fifteen years. He always found it amazing that she led such a normal life, and prided herself on being a housewife in Marin, while turning out some truly excellent work, on a surprisingly regular basis. He had a steady income stream from her, and she had stuck with it over the years. Hers was a very solid middle-of-the-road career, and she had better reviews than most, which was why Douglas Wayne had asked for her. Wayne had said that he wanted her at any price, which was incredible, considering she'd never written a screenplay before. But the quality of her work was top-notch. And never having written a screenplay for a feature film before, it was an amazing vote of confidence from Douglas Wayne to seek her out, and Tanya was immensely flattered.

“Douglas Wayne said he wanted someone fresh, who understood the book, and hadn't been a Hollywood hack for the last twenty years.” Walt nearly fell out of his chair when he got the call, and she was about to now. “You've got to be in L.A. for this. You can probably go home on weekends most of the time, during pre and post anyway. They're offering to pay all your living expenses for the run of the film. A house or apartment if you want, or a bungalow at the Beverly Hills Hotel, and all expenses paid.” He told her what they were offering to pay her for the screenplay then, and there was dead silence at her end.

“Is this a joke?” she asked, suspicious suddenly. He couldn't mean what he had just said. She hadn't made that much money in her entire career. It was more than Peter made in two years as a litigator, and he was a partner in a very important firm.

“It's not a joke,” Walt said, smiling at his end. He was happy for her. She was a hell of a good writer, and he thought she could pull it off, even if it was new to her. She was talented and professional. The big question was going to be if she was willing to go to L.A. for nine months. But no one, in his opinion, could be so devoted to her husband and kids that she would turn down an offer like this one. It was a once-in-a-lifetime chance, and Tanya knew that, too. Never in her wildest dreams had she thought this could happen to her, and she had no idea what to do. She had given up the dream of writing a feature film, and contented herself with soaps, articles, short stories, and editorials, and now here it was, her dream was being handed to her on a silver platter. She nearly cried. “This is what you've been telling me you wanted for the last fifteen years. This is your chance to show your stuff. I know you can do it. Go for it, baby—you'll never get another offer like this. Wayne was considering three other screenwriters, one of them with two Academy Awards to his credit. But he wants someone new. He wants an answer this week, Tanya. If you don't take it, he wants to lock in one of the others pretty soon. I don't think you can afford to turn this down. If you're serious about what you've been doing for all these years, it will put you on the map forever. A deal like this turns a hobby into a major career.”

“I don't write as a hobby,” she said, sounding insulted.

“I know you don't. But I could never have dreamed up a better deal for you, or anyone for that matter. Tanya, this is it. It's the brass ring. Grab it, and run like hell.” She wanted to say yes, who wouldn't, but there was no way she could. A year from now maybe, after the girls went off to college, but even then she couldn't just leave Peter and go to L.A. for nine months because she'd had an offer to do a screenplay. They were married, she loved him, she had responsibilities to him, and a life she shared with him. And she had the twins at home for another year. She couldn't just dump everything and go to L.A. for all of their senior year. A month maybe, two at a stretch. But nine months—there was just no way.

“I can't do it,” she said in a hoarse voice, raw with feeling and regret. “I can't, Walt. I still have kids at home.” She sounded near tears. It was a lot to give up, but she knew she had to. There was no other choice, not for her. She had never taken her eye off the ball. And the ball for her was Peter and her kids.

“They're not kids,” he said tersely. “They're grown-ups, for chrissake. Jason's leaving for college, and Megan and Molly are women. They can take care of themselves during the week. You'll come home for weekends.” He sounded determined not to let her pass this up.

“Can you guarantee that I'll get home every weekend?” She knew he couldn't. Not the way features worked, and he knew it, too. He'd be lying if he said he could. She didn't see how she could do it. Her kids needed her during the week. Who was going to cook for them, help with school projects, make sure they were managing their homework and schedules decently, and take care of them when they got sick? Not to mention boyfriends, social issues, applications to college, and their senior prom in the spring. After being with them constantly all their lives, now she would miss this final important year. And what about Peter? Who would take care of him? They were all used to having her around full-time, not pursuing her own life in L.A. It just wasn't her. She couldn't even imagine doing that to Peter after the girls left. That had never been their deal. Their deal was that she was a full-time wife and mom, and she did her work quietly on the side, in a way that didn't interfere with any of them, or her role as the person who took care of them.

There was a long pause at Walt's end. “No, I can't guarantee it,” he said, sounding unhappy. “But you probably can get home most weekends.”

“And if I can't? You'll come out and take care of my kids?”

“Tanya, for that kind of money you can hire a babysitter. Ten of them, if you want. They don't pay the big bucks for you to sit on your ass in Marin and mail them the scripts. They want you on deck while they make the film. It makes sense.”

“I know it does. I just don't know how to make it work with my real life.”

“This is your real life, too. It's real money. Real work. And one of the most important pictures made in Hollywood in the last ten years, and maybe the next ten, working with some of the biggest names in the business. If you want features, this is the one. Something like this won't come your way again.”

“I know. I know.” She sounded utterly miserable. It was a choice she never thought she'd have to make. And one that was unthinkable given the values she lived by. Family first, writing second. Way, way, way second, no matter how much she loved to write, or the money she made. Her first priority had always been Peter and their kids. Her work life was organized around them.

“Why don't you think about it, and talk to Peter? We can talk about it again tomorrow,” Walt said calmly. He couldn't imagine that any sensible man was going to tell her to turn down that kind of money, and he was hoping her husband would tell her to grab the chance. How could he not? In Walt's world you just didn't turn down that kind of opportunity or money. He was an agent, not a shrink, after all. Tanya wasn't even sure she was going to tell Peter. She was feeling as though she should make the decision on her own, and turn it down. It was certainly flattering though, and exciting to think about. The offer was incredibly enticing.

“I'll call you tomorrow,” she said sadly.

“Don't sound so depressed. This is the best thing that ever happened to you, Tanya.”

“I know it is … I'm sorry …I just wasn't expecting something like this to come along, and it's a tough decision. My work has never interfered with my family before.” And she didn't want it to start now. This was Molly and Megan's last year at home, and she didn't want to miss it. She would never forgive herself if she did. And they probably wouldn't either, not to mention Peter. It just wasn't fair to ask him to take care of the girls on his own, given the workload he was carrying himself at the office.

“I think you can manage it if you work it right. And think of the fun you'll have working on this movie,” Walt encouraged her, to no avail.

“Yeah,” she said wistfully, “it would be fun.” And a beautiful piece of writing. Part of her was dying to do it. The other part knew she had to turn it down.

“Just think calmly about it, and don't make any rash decisions. Talk it over with Peter.”

“I will,” she said, hopping off the stool in her kitchen. She had a million errands to do that day. “I'll call you in the morning.”

“I'll tell them I couldn't reach you, that you're out of town till tomorrow. And Tanya,” he said kindly, “go easy on yourself. You're a hell of a writer, and the best wife and mother I know. The two jobs aren't mutually exclusive. Others do it. And your kids aren't babies anymore.”

“I know.” She smiled. “I just like to think they are sometimes. They'd probably manage fine without me. I'm almost obsolete now as it is.” All three of her children had gotten very independent in their final years of high school. But she knew this was going to be an important year for the twins, and for her. It was the last of her full-time mothering before they left for college. She still needed to be around, or at least she thought she did, and she was sure Peter would agree. She couldn't imagine his being okay with her going to Hollywood, to work for an entire school year, the twins' last one at home. Going to Hollywood to write a screenplay was certainly a startling idea, and not what any of them had expected she'd ever do, least of all Tanya herself.

“Relax, and enjoy it. This is a real feather in your cap, the fact that a guy like Douglas Wayne wants you. Most writers would sell their kids for that in a hot minute.” But Walt knew she wasn't like that. It was one of the things he liked about her. She was a nice woman, with good, wholesome family values. But now he was hoping she'd park them for a few months. “I'll wait to hear from you tomorrow. Good luck with Peter.”

“Thanks,” she said ruefully. But for Tanya, it wasn't just about what Peter expected of her, it was about the high standard she set for herself. A minute after she hung up, she was standing in her kitchen, looking thunderstuck. It was a lot for her to absorb, and a lot for her family to swallow.

She was standing still in the middle of the room, staring into space as she pondered it, as Jason walked into the kitchen, with two friends he'd brought back from the city.

“Are you okay, Mom?” He was a tall, handsome boy who had slipped unnoticed into manhood, with broad shoulders, a deep voice, her green eyes, and his father's dark hair. He was not only a gorgeous kid but even more important, he was a nice one. He had never given them any trouble. He was a good student and a star athlete. He was thinking of going to law school, like his father. “You looked kind of weird just standing there and staring out the window. Something wrong?”

“No. I was just thinking of everything I have to do today. What are you up to?” she asked with interest, while trying to force the movie offer out of her head.

“We were going to go over to Sally's house and hang out at the pool. Hard work for a summer morning, but someone has to do it.” He laughed at his mother, and she stood on tiptoe to kiss him. She was going to miss him like crazy after September. She hated the fact that he was leaving. She had loved all those years when the children were little. The house was going to seem empty without him, and worse yet, the following year when all three of the kids were gone. She was clinging to their last moments together, which made it all the more impossible to consider Douglas Wayne's offer. How could she miss these last precious days with her children? She couldn't. She knew she'd never forgive herself if she missed them.

Jason and his friends left half an hour later, as Tanya bustled around her kitchen. She was so confused and distracted, she didn't know what she was doing. After they left, she sat down at her computer and answered a few e-mails. She couldn't think straight. She was staring blindly at the keyboard when the girls came home an hour later. They were chatting animatedly as they walked in and glanced over at their mother.

“Hi, Mom. What are you doing? You look like you're falling asleep at the computer. Writing?”

Tanya laughed at the question, and awoke out of her reverie, as she looked at them. The two girls looked so different, they didn't even seem related. It made it easier for them to be twins than if people had easily confused them.

“No, I usually try to stay awake while I'm writing.” Her plans to work on the short story that morning had gone right out the window. “It's not easy, but I manage.” She laughed, as they sat down at the kitchen table. Megan wanted to know if she could bring her boyfriend to Tahoe in August, which was a sensitive question. Tanya discouraged her children from bringing their romances on holiday vacations. There had been a few exceptions but as a rule she and Peter thought it was a bad idea.

“I think it might be nice if we just keep it family this time. Jason's not bringing anyone, and Molly isn't either,” Tanya said sensibly.

“They don't mind. I asked them.” Megan's eyes looked straight into her mother's. She was fearless. Molly was much shyer. And Tanya always preferred that they bring friends of the same sex on trips, instead of the boys and girls they were involved with. It was a lot simpler, and Tanya was conservative in a number of ways.

“I'll talk to your father about it.” She was stalling for time on everything. All of a sudden she had too much to think of. Way too much. Walt had turned her whole morning upside down with his phone call. Her whole life, in fact. In a nice way, but it was upsetting.

“Is something wrong, Mom?” Molly asked. “You look weirded out about something.” She had noticed the same thing as Jason. And Tanya was feeling weird. Walt's call had completely thrown her. He had put a lifelong dream in her hands, and she knew she had no choice but to turn it away. In her book, good mothers didn't leave their kids for senior year or any time. It was okay for kids to grow up and leave parents, but never the reverse. It reminded her too much of her father abandoning her.

“No, sweetheart, nothing's wrong. I was just working on a story.”

“That's nice.” She knew they were proud of her. It meant a lot to Tanya. The respect of her husband and children was important to her. She couldn't even imagine what they would think of the offer Walt had just made her on behalf of Douglas Wayne.

“Do you guys want lunch?”

“No, we're going out.” The kids were meeting friends for lunch in Mill Valley.

Half an hour later they were gone, and Tanya sat staring into space in her kitchen again. For the first time, she felt as though she were being torn between two worlds, two lives, the people she loved and the work she had always enjoyed doing. She almost wished Walt had never called her. She felt stupid, but as she turned off her computer, she wiped away a tear that crept out of her eye. And then she went out to do errands. She was on her way home when Peter called her to say he'd be home late and not to make dinner for him. He was going to grab a sandwich at the office and eat at his desk.

“How has your day been?” he said, sounding affectionate but busy. “Mine's been crazy.”

“Mine's been a little crazy, too,” she said vaguely, upset that he wasn't coming home for dinner. She wanted to talk to him, and she knew he'd be exhausted after preparing for his trial. “How late do you think you'll be home?”

“I'll try to make it by ten. Sorry about dinner. I'm going to do as much work as I can with the other guys.” She knew he was deep in preparation for a trial.

“That's fine.”

“You okay? You sound distracted.”

“Just busy. The usual. Nothing special.”

“Kids okay?”

“They're all out. Megan wants to bring Ian to Tahoe. I told her I'd talk to you about it. I don't think it's such a great idea. They'll start fighting on the second day, and drive us all crazy.” He laughed at the accurate description of his earlier trips with them. They had taken him skiing with them the previous winter, and he had left two days early after breaking up with Megan. They patched it up as soon as she got back to the city. She was known in the family for her turbulent love life. Molly hadn't had a serious romance yet. And Jason had dated the same girl all through high school and had just broken up with her during the early days of summer. Neither of them wanted a long distance romance when he was away at school.

“I'm okay either way about Ian,” Peter commented. “But I don't care if you want to make me the heavy.” He was always a good sport about it, and they presented a united front to their children, although like all kids, they made the usual efforts to divide and conquer in order to get what they wanted. Their attempts were almost always unsuccessful. Peter and Tanya had a powerful bond and usually shared the same opinions. It was rare for them to disagree about their children or anything else.

He had another call then, and told her he'd see her that night. It was always comforting talking to him. She loved their exchanges, their time together, the way they still cuddled up to each other at night. Nothing about their relationship to each other had become commonplace or was taken for granted. They had one of those rare marriages that had never been seriously challenged. And after twenty years, they were still in love with each other. As Tanya thought about it, she couldn't even imagine being without him. The idea of living in L.A. for nine months, alone five nights a week, was inconceivable. Just thinking about it now, she felt lonely. It didn't matter how much they offered her, or how important the movie was, her husband and children were more important to her. And as she pulled into their driveway, she knew she had made the decision. She wasn't even sad about it. Maybe a little disappointed, but there was no question in her mind, this was the life she wanted. She wasn't even sure she'd tell Peter about it. All she had to do now was call Walt in the morning and tell him to turn it down. It was flattering to have been asked, but she didn't want it. She already had everything she wanted. All she needed was Peter and their kids and the life they had.

Chapter 2

As it turned out, despite the best of intentions, it was after eleven o'clock that night when Peter came home. He looked absolutely exhausted, and all he wanted to do was take a shower and get into bed. It didn't really matter to Tanya that they hadn't had a chance to talk that night. She had decided late that afternoon not to even tell him about the movie offer she'd had from Douglas Wayne. She had made up her mind to turn it down. She was already half asleep when Peter slipped into bed after his shower, and put his arms around her. She murmured contentedly with her eyes closed and smiled.

“… long day …” she murmured sleepily, leaning back against him, and he pulled her closer. He smelled of soap and shampoo from his shower. He always smelled delicious to her, even when he woke up in the morning. She turned around in his arms then and kissed him, and he held her tight for a long moment. “… bad day?” she asked him softly.

“No, just long,” he said, admiring her in the moonlight that was filtering into their room. “Sorry I was so late. Everything okay here?”

“Fine,” she said sleepily, nestling happily in his arms. It was the place she liked best to be. She loved ending her days next to him, and waking up next to him in the morning. That had never changed over twenty years. “The kids are all out.” It was summertime, and they spent every waking moment with their pals. She knew the girls were spending the night at a friend's again, and she knew Jason was responsible and a good driver. He rarely stayed out very late, and she felt comfortable going to bed and not waiting up for him. He had his cell phone on him at all times, and she knew she could always reach him. All three of their children were reasonable, and even in their teenage years they hadn't given their parents any serious problems.

Peter and Tanya cuddled close to each other, and five minutes later they were both asleep. Peter got up before she did the next day. She brushed her teeth while he was in the shower, and went downstairs in her nightgown to make him breakfast. She peeked into Jason's bedroom on the way, and saw that he was sleeping soundly. He wouldn't be up for several hours. She had breakfast on the table for Peter when he came downstairs, looking handsome in a gray summer suit, white shirt, and dark tie. She knew from what he was wearing that he must have a court appearance at some point that day. Otherwise he would have worn a sport shirt and khaki slacks, and sometimes even jeans, particularly on Fridays. He had a nice, clean, preppy look, similar to his style when he had met her. They made a handsome couple. She smiled at him as he walked in and sat down to cereal, poached eggs, coffee, toast, and a bowl of fruit. He liked eating a good breakfast, and she always got up to cook it for him, and for the children during the school year. She took pride in taking care of them. She liked to say it was her day job. Her writing career took a backseat to them.

“You must be going to court today,” she commented as he glanced at the paper and nodded.

“Just a quick appearance to request a continuance on a minor matter. What are you up to today? Any interest in meeting me in town for dinner? We got most of our prep work done yesterday.”

“Sounds good to me.” She met him in the city for dinner at least once a week. Sometimes they went to the ballet or the symphony, but most of all she enjoyed spending quiet evenings with him at little restaurants they liked, or going away somewhere for a weekend together. It was an art form they had studied carefully, keeping romance alive in a twenty-year-old marriage with three kids. So far they had done well.

He glanced across the table at her as he finished his breakfast and studied her carefully. He knew her better than she knew herself.

“What are you not telling me?” As always, he stunned her with his unfailingly accurate perception. It would have amazed her except that he had been doing it for all the years they'd been together. He always seemed to know what she was thinking.

“That's a funny thing to say.” She smiled at him, impressed by what he had just said. “What makes you think I'm not telling you something?” She never understood how he did it. But he always did.

“I don't know. I can just feel it. Something about the way you were looking at me, as though you had something to say and didn't want to say it. So what is it?”

“Nothing.” He laughed as she said it, and so did she. She had just given herself away. It was just a matter of time before she told him. And she had told herself she wouldn't. She could never keep secrets from him, nor he from her. She knew him just as well as he knew her. “Oh shit …I wasn't going to tell you,” she confessed, and then poured him a second cup of coffee, and herself another cup of tea. She rarely ate breakfast, just tea, and nibbled the leftovers on their plates. It was enough. “It's not that important.”

“It must be, if you were going to keep it a secret. So what's up? Something about the kids?” It was usually that, some confession one of them had made to her in confidence. But she always told him anyway. He was good about keeping secrets, and she trusted his judgment, on all subjects. He was smart, and wise, and kind. And he almost never let her down.

She took a deep breath and a sip of her tea. For some reason, it was hard to tell him. It was easier telling him things about the kids. This was harder because it was about her. “I got a call from Walt yesterday.” She stopped and waited for a moment before she went on, as he looked at her expectantly.

“And? Am I supposed to guess what he said?” He sat there patiently, and she laughed.

“Yeah, maybe you should.” She looked nervous and felt strange telling him. The idea of her living in L.A. for nine months was so horrifying to her that she felt guilty even telling him about it, as though she had done something wrong, which she hadn't. She was planning to call Walt to decline as soon as Peter left for the office. She wanted to do it quickly and get it behind her. She felt threatened just knowing that the offer was still open, as though, just by making the proposal, Douglas Wayne had the power to kidnap her from her family and the life she loved. She knew it was silly, but that was how she felt. Maybe because she was afraid a part of her would want it, and that part of her had to be controlled. She knew it was up to her to do it. No one else could do it for her, not even Walt. Or Peter. “He called me with an offer,” she finally went on. “It was very flattering, but not something I want to do.” Peter wasn't sure he believed her when he looked into her eyes. There was nothing she could write that she'd want to turn down. He knew after twenty years with her that Tanya needed to write as much as she needed air. She was very discreet about it, but it was a deep fundamental need, and something she did well. He was very proud of her, and had a deep respect for her work.

“Another book of short stories?” She shook her head, and took another deep breath.

“Film. A feature. The producer likes my work. I guess he's addicted to soaps. Anyway, he called Walt. He was inquiring about having me do the script.” She tried to be offhand about it, but Peter looked across the table at her with a look of amazement.

“He offered you the script of a feature film?” He looked as stunned as she had when she first heard it. “And you don't want it? What is it, a porno?” He couldn't imagine Tanya turning down any film but that. Writing the screenplay for a feature film had been her lifetime dream. She had been talking about it for years. There was no way she could decline.

“No,” she laughed, “at least I don't think so. Maybe it was,” she teased, and then grew serious again as she met his eyes. “I just can't.”

“Why not? I can't think of a single reason for you to turn it down. What happened?” He knew there had to be more to it than she was saying.

“It doesn't work,” she said sadly, trying not to be a brat about it. She didn't want him to feel badly that she was going to say no. It was a sacrifice she was more than willing to make. In fact, it would have been a sacrifice for her to stay in L.A. She didn't want to leave him or the girls.

“Why doesn't it work? Explain this to me.” He was going nowhere until she told him, as he sat across the kitchen table from her and explored her with his eyes.

“I'd have to live in L.A. while they're filming. I could commute on weekends. I'm just not going to do that, we'd all be miserable, and I'm not going to be down there, while you and the girls are here. Besides, this is their last year at home.”

“And it could be your last chance to do something you've wanted to do all your life.” They both knew he was right.

“Even if it is, it's still the wrong one. I'm not going to sacrifice my family to work on a movie. It's not worth it.”

“Why couldn't you commute on weekends? The girls are never here anyway. They're either out with their friends, or at sports after school. I can manage. We'll take turns doing the cooking, and you could come home on Friday nights. Maybe you could go back down early Monday morning. How bad would that be? And it would only be for a few months, right?” He was more than willing to do it, and listening to him brought tears to her eyes. He was always so good to her, and such a decent person. It would have been hard on all of them, and she didn't feel right doing it, even if he was generous enough to offer.

“Five months to shoot the film. Two for preproduction, and one or two for post. That's eight or nine months. The whole school year. That's too much to ask. Peter, I love you even more for offering to let me do it, but I can't.”

“Maybe you can,” he said slowly, thinking about it. He didn't want to deprive her of what she had always wanted most.

“How? It's not fair to you, I would miss you horrifically, and the girls would kill me. This is their senior year. I should be here, and I want to be.”

“I would miss you, too,” he said honestly, “but maybe the girls would have to suck it up for once. You're always here for them, ready to do everything they want. It might do them good to be a little more independent for a change, and me, too. Tanya, I don't want you to miss this. It might never come again. You can't pass it up.” He looked so earnest and loving as he said it that she nearly cried.

“Yes, I can pass it up. I'm going to call Walt as soon as you leave for the office and turn it down.” She said it quietly and firmly, convinced it was the right choice.

“I don't want you to. Tell him to wait. Let's talk to the girls first.” He wanted to be sensible about it and make it a family decision, in her favor, if that was at all possible and the girls were willing to be magnanimous about it. He hoped they would be, for their mother's sake.

“They'll feel totally abandoned, and they'd be right. I'd basically be gone for their whole senior year, except on weekends. And once they start shooting the picture, who knows if I could get away every weekend? You hear horror stories about that. Nights, days, weekends, shooting schedules that get totally out of hand, and pictures that go off the charts on budget and time. It could take longer than they say.”

“The budget's their problem, you're mine. I want us to work this out.” She smiled as she looked at him, and then got up and came around the table to hug him. She put her arms around him and kissed him.

“You're wonderful and I love you … but trust me, it won't work.”

“Don't be such a defeatist about it. Let's at least try to make it work. We'll talk to the girls tonight when we come home from dinner. Now I'm not just taking you out to dinner, we're going to celebrate.” And then he thought of something. “How much did they offer?”

She smiled for a minute, still shocked herself by the offer, and then she told him. There was dead silence in the room for a minute, and then he whistled. “You'd better take it. We have three college tuitions to pay next year, and those are peanuts compared to that. That's pretty heady stuff. And you were going to turn that down?” She nodded. “For us?” She nodded again, her arms still around him. “Sweetheart, you're nuts. I'm sending you down there to work your ass off. Hell, maybe I should retire if you wind up with a booming career writing movies.” She had made a decent living at writing so far, although the literary publications never paid much. But the soap operas had always been nice money. Douglas Wayne's feature film was better than nice, it was fantastic, and Peter was duly impressed by their offer.

“That and a bungalow at the Beverly Hills Hotel for the duration, or a house or an apartment, whatever I want. And all expenses paid while I'm there.” She told him the names of the director and the stars, and he whistled again. It was more than a golden opportunity, it was a once-in-a-lifetime shot at the stars, and they both knew it. He didn't see how she could turn it down. He was afraid that if she did, she would regret it forever, and resent him and the children for it. It was too much to give up.

“You have to do it,” he said, still holding her in his arms. “I won't let you turn this down. Maybe we should all move to L.A. for a year.” He was kidding of course, but she wished they could. The fact was they couldn't, he had a solid career as a partner in his law firm, and the girls had a right to finish school where they'd grown up. If anyone went to L.A., it had to be Tanya, alone. And that was everything she didn't want, except for the excitement of doing it, having a dream come true, and the money, which seemed totally incredible to them both. She had never sacrificed her family for her career, and she wasn't about to start now.

“Don't be silly,” she said, smiling wistfully at him. “It's just nice to know they wanted me to do the script.”

“Let's see what the girls say tonight. Tell Walt you're thinking about it, and Tanya”—he looked down at her with loving eyes as he held her tight—“just so you know, I'm proud of you.”

“Thank you for being so nice about it. I still can't believe they wanted me … Douglas Wayne …I have to admit, that's pretty cool.”

“Very cool,” he said, glancing at his watch. He was an hour late for work, but it had been important news. “Where do you want to go to dinner tonight?”

“Somewhere quiet where we can talk.”

“How about Quince?” he suggested.

“Perfect.” It was a small romantic restaurant in Pacific Heights, with terrific food.

“Take a cab in. I'll drive you home. We have a date.”

He kissed her goodbye a few minutes later, and after he was gone, she sighed, stared at the phone, picked it up, and called Walt. She wasn't sure what to say to him. She thought the decision had been made the night before, but apparently it hadn't. She still couldn't see herself doing it, and when she told her agent that, he groaned.

“What can I do to convince you that you have no other choice?”

“Tell them to make the movie up here,” she said, feeling pulled. Even Peter made it sound so feasible, but in her heart of hearts she knew it wasn't, no matter how good a sport Peter was. She had a feeling her daughters would see it the same way she did. This was hardly the year they wanted their mother leaving home.

“I hope Peter convinces you, Tanya. Hell, if your husband is okay with it, what are you worried about? He's not going to divorce you for going to L.A. for nine months.”

“You never know,” she said, laughing at him. She knew that wouldn't happen, but absence was never a good thing for a marriage. Besides, she loved being with him. She could only imagine how miserable she'd be without him all week long for all those months.

“Call me tomorrow. I'll tell Doug I still haven't gotten hold of you. When I told him that yesterday, he said you were worth waiting for. He's got his heart set on your writing this script.”

Tanya caught herself before she said “me too.” She couldn't allow herself to get caught up in it, she knew. This was just a dream. A lifelong dream, admittedly. But not one she could indulge.

She went to work on her short story after she hung up. Jason wandered into the kitchen at noon, and she made breakfast for him. They sat and chatted for a while, and the girls came home in the late afternoon. She didn't say anything to them about the offer. She wanted to discuss it further with their father first.

At six o'clock she dressed for dinner, and an hour later she took a cab into the city, thinking about the movie again. Suddenly, she felt sad at the idea of leaving home. She felt as though she were drifting downstream in a boat without oars, out of control. Peter was waiting at the restaurant when she got there, and they had a lovely dinner together. They both stayed off the subject of the movie offer until dessert. Peter said he'd been thinking about it, and he wanted her to do it. It was Friday night, and he wanted to have a family meeting about it the following morning.

“You have to make the decision, Tan. Even I can't tell you what to do. And you can't let them make it for you. They don't have that right. But you can ask them what they think.”

“And what do you think?” She looked sorrowfully at him, feeling as though she were about to lose everyone and everything she loved. She knew that was silly, but it felt that way. There were tears in her eyes when she looked at her husband, and he reached across the table and took her hand in his.

“You know what I think, sweetheart. I know it's hard, but I think you have to do it. Not for the money, although God knows it's tempting and that would be reason enough to do it. But I think you have to because it's always been your dream. You have a shot at it. The girls will get used to it, even if it's an adjustment at first, and so will I. It's not forever, just a few months. You can't give up your dreams, Tanya. Not when they walk right through the front door and throw themselves into your lap. Something tells me this was meant to be. We can do it …You can do it. You have to do it. Never give up your dreams, Tan,” he said softly, “not even for us.”

“You're my dream,” she said gently. “You have been since the day I met you.” She held tightly to his hand. “I don't ever want to do anything to spoil that. Besides, I don't think I could stand being away from you five nights a week.” They had an active sex life and were unusually close to each other, their lives interdependent and entwined for twenty years. She couldn't even imagine what a weekend marriage would be like. She just didn't think that a major Hollywood movie was worth sacrificing what they shared, even for nine months. Peter was far more open to the idea than she.

“You're not going to spoil anything, silly,” he said, smiling at her, as the waiter put the check down next to him. They'd had a great dinner and an excellent bottle of wine. And as they left the restaurant, Tanya looked distracted. She was thinking about L.A., and how much she would miss him if he actually talked her into accepting. She couldn't imagine doing it. How could she leave a man like Peter, even five days a week? No movie script was worth it.

They dropped the bomb on the children the next day. Their reactions were not entirely what Peter and Tanya had expected, though some of it was predictable. Molly thought it was wonderful for her mom, and a major opportunity not to be missed. She promised to help take care of their dad if Tanya went. Jason thought it was totally cool and asked if he could stay with her and meet some of the actresses. Tanya pointed out that he was supposed to be going to college, studying during the week, and she would be home in Marin on weekends. But he wasn't in the least disturbed that she would be leaving his sisters alone with their dad for their senior year. Although Tanya was certain he would have had a total fit if she had done it for his senior year. He said their dad could take care of them. And Megan was livid. Really livid.

“How can you even think of doing something like that?” she shouted at her mother, with eyes blazing. The fierceness of her reaction took even Tanya by surprise.

“I'm not actually, Megan. I was planning to turn it down, but your father thought I should tell you, just to hear your reaction.” They had certainly heard it in Megan's case, loud and clear.

“Are you both crazy? This is our last year home! What are we supposed to do for a mother, while you go hang out with movie stars in Hollywood?” She said it as though Tanya had suggested working for nine months in a brothel in Tijuana.

“I wouldn't be hanging out,” Tanya said quietly, “I'd be working. It would have been a nice opportunity, if it had come a year later. But even then, I wouldn't want to leave your father.”

“Don't you care about us at all? We need you here. Molly and I are applying to college this year. Who's supposed to help us with that if you're gone? Or don't you care, Mom?” There were tears in her eyes as Megan said it, and in Tanya's as she listened. It was a painful exchange, and Peter was quick to intervene.

“I'm not sure any of you know what an honor this is. Douglas Wayne is one of the biggest producers in the business.” He listed all the stars then. Jason whistled, and reminded his mother he'd like to meet them all.

“I don't know them,” his mother said somberly. “I don't know why we're doing this.” There was no point upsetting the children with a family meeting. All it could do was worry them, in her opinion. And for what? Her decision had been made. She was staying home with them. In spite of that, Peter thought it was important that they know about the offer. But why? Megan had just said everything Tanya was afraid of hearing, and thought herself. If she accepted the offer, at least one of her children would hate her, and in time, maybe they all would. Jason certainly didn't seem upset. And Molly was always generous of heart and thought. Megan said in no uncertain terms that she would never forgive her mother if she went. Tanya believed her. Peter said she would get over it, and he would be there to help and take care of them while Tanya was out of town.

“I can't disrupt our family to this extent,” she said grimly after their children left the room. “They'll never forgive me, and maybe after a while, you'll hate me, too,” she said, looking worried. Jason had wished her luck and said he hoped she went. Molly had given her a big hug and said she was proud of her, and Megan stormed out and slammed the door. She slammed three more doors on the way to her room.

“No one's going to hate you, sweetheart,” Peter said as he put an arm around her shoulders. “You may hate yourself though if you pass it up. I don't think you can count on this ever happening again, particularly if you turn this one down.”

“I'm sure it won't,” Tanya said calmly. “I don't need to do a feature. That was just a pipe dream years ago. I'm happy with my short stories and soaps.” She made enough money to help Peter, and loved her work. She didn't need or want more than that. And Megan's reaction had told her all she needed to know.

“You're capable of better than soaps, Tan. Why not do it while you have the chance?”

“You heard Megan. I can't sacrifice her for a film. That's so wrong.”

“She doesn't have a right to keep you from something that's important to you. And she'll be here with me. She'll get over it. She's not even going to notice if you're here. She's with her friends all the time. And you can help her with her college applications on weekends.”

“Peter …” Tanya looked at him with wide eyes. “No. Don't push me. I appreciate what you tried to do, but even if they all thought it was wonderful, I couldn't do it. I can't leave them, and I won't leave you. I love you. Thank you,” she said, as she stood up and put her arms around him, and he hugged her.

“You're going to hate being a Marin housewife after this. Every day you're going to think that you could have been there, working on a movie that will probably win an Academy Award. You can't let the kids make this decision, Tanya. You have to make it.”

“I already did. I vote for staying home, and doing what I do now, with the people I love.”

“We'll still love you if you go to L.A. I will. And even Megan will forgive you. She'll be very proud. We all will.”

“No,” Tanya said again, and meant it, as she and Peter looked at each other for a long time. “Sometimes you have to give up something you want, because it's the right thing to do for the people you love.”

“I want you to do this,” he said gently. “I know how important it could be for you. I don't want you to give that up, for me or the kids. It would be wrong. Very wrong. I'd never forgive myself if I kept you from this.”

Tanya looked at him with frightened eyes. “What if it screws up our marriage? It might be even harder than we think,” and she expected it to be very hard.

“Unless you fall in love with some handsome movie star, I can't see it screwing anything up between us, Tan. Can you? I'll just be sitting here waiting for you.”

“I would miss you unbearably,” she said, as a tear slid down her cheek. She felt like a kid being sent away to school, for their own good. She didn't want to leave him. She loved the idea of writing the script, but she was scared. She hadn't been out in the world on her own in twenty years.

“I'd miss you, too,” Peter said honestly. “But sometimes, Tan, you have to be brave enough to grow. You have a right to do something like this, without it costing you anything. I wouldn't love you less for doing this. I would be very, very proud of you, and I'd love you more.”

“I'm scared,” she whispered, as she clung to him, and tears began to pour down her face. “And what if I can't do it? This isn't some silly daytime soap, this is the big leagues. What if I'm only a minor league player?”

“You're not, baby. I know that. And so do you, I hope. That's why I want you to do it. You need to spread your wings and fly. You've been preparing for this for so many years. Don't deprive yourself of it, for me or the kids. Go for it,” he said, and kissed her hard. It was the greatest gift he could give to her, and as Tanya looked at him through her tears, she could see that there were tears in his eyes.

“I love you,” she whispered to him as he held her, “so much …oh Peter … I'm so afraid …”

“Don't be, sweetheart. I'll be here waiting for you, and so will the kids … even Megan … we'll come down and visit you, and you'll be home on weekends. If you get stuck there, we'll come down. Or at least I will for sure. It'll be over before you know it, and you'll be glad you did it.” It was the most generous gesture she had ever known.

“You're the most remarkable man in the world, Peter Harris. I love you so much …”

“Just remember that when movie stars start knocking on your door.”

“They won't,” she said, continuing to cry, “and I don't care if they do. I could never love anyone in the whole world as I do you.”

“Me too,” he said, holding her so tightly she could hardly breathe. “Will you do it, Tan? Hit a home run for the team.” He pulled away so he could look into her eyes. Her eyes were terrified when they met his. She didn't say a word to him. All she did was nod, cry harder, and cling to him like a frightened child, afraid of leaving home.

Chapter 3

They broke the news to the children at Lake Tahoe in August. The reactions were similar to what they had been previously. Molly was supportive and proud of her, Jason couldn't wait to visit her. And Megan didn't speak to her for the next three weeks. She told her in a venomous tone that she would never forgive her, and every time Tanya saw her, she was crying. Megan said it was the worst thing that had ever happened to her in her life. Her mother was abandoning her. A hundred times in the four weeks they were there, Tanya said she was going to call Walt and tell him she was backing out. But Peter wouldn't let her. He said that Megan would get over it, and it was good that she was venting. Tanya felt like a child abuser every time she looked at her, and cried nearly as often as Megan did.

It was a bittersweet time, Jason's last summer before college. His friends came and went, driving up from the city to stay with them. And every moment Tanya spent with him and his father seemed precious now. She had some wonderful long talks with Molly as they went on hikes. Megan avoided them, whenever their mother was around. She only started speaking to her again, and only out of dire necessity, in the last few days before they went home. They had a big family barbecue and invited friends on the last night.

Afterward she and Peter chatted as they cleaned up. She only had ten days left before she had to leave for L.A. Tanya had told Douglas Wayne that she couldn't come to L.A. until after she dropped her son off at school. She wanted to be there with Peter to settle him into his dorm. The girls were coming, too, and after that Peter would drive them home. Tanya was being met by a limo at the Santa Barbara Biltmore, and driven to L.A. Their tearful goodbyes would be there, if Megan didn't kill her first.

The last days before Tanya and Jason left were tough. She helped him pack his bags, and got everything ready for him for school. Laptop, bicycle, sound system, sheets, blankets, pillows, bedspread, photographs of the family, sports equipment, some things to hang on his walls, a desk lamp, and rug. She wasn't sure if she was more upset about dropping Jason off, or leaving them after that herself. She was taking far fewer things than she packed for him. She had no plans to do anything but work. She packed one hanging bag and a small suitcase, mostly with running shoes, sweatshirts, and jeans. She thought about it long and hard and finally took one pair of decent slacks, two cashmere sweaters, and a black cocktail dress, in case she had to go to some formal event with the cast. And she packed a million pictures of the kids in frames to put all over her bungalow at the Beverly Hills Hotel. She already knew she was going to be staying in Bungalow 2, her home for the next many months. It had two bedrooms so the kids could visit her, a small office, a living room, and a dining room, with a little pantry kitchen set up, although she couldn't imagine cooking for herself while she was there. It was going to be the first time she lived alone in twenty years. She couldn't even imagine it, and Peter teased that both of them were going off to school.

He hadn't wavered for a single second. He still insisted that it was going to be one of the greatest things that had ever happened to her. She wished she could agree. Right now all she could think about was how much she would miss her children and him. She would have backed out if she hadn't already signed the contract, and they hadn't sent the check. Her agent Walt had been ecstatic and couldn't believe she'd come to her senses. He had been sure she wouldn't do it, and he called Peter himself to tell him he was a hero for talking her into it and letting her go. Walt said he was a “mensch,” and Tanya agreed, a man of strength, dignity, and integrity. He had put her best interests ahead of his own, and even their family's, and he had no doubt whatsoever that he and the children could manage. He had told Megan and Molly that again and again. Molly had promised to do everything she could to help, although she seemed more tearful lately, and stayed close to her mother, offering to help her, pack for her, and do errands with her. She couldn't get enough of Tanya suddenly, and Tanya was reminded of when Molly was little and they had been inseparable. Megan had always been more independent, and she said not a word to her mother as they drove down to Santa Barbara. She just sat staring out the window, looking like someone had died, while Molly held her sister's hand.

It nearly broke Tanya's heart to look at her family as they packed the van they'd rented, with Jason's things and her two small bags. She didn't need to take a lot, she was planning to come home every weekend. Their neighbor, Alice Weinberg, came to say goodbye to Tanya and Jason. She put her arms around Tanya and told her how envious she was of her, going to live in Hollywood to work on a script. They had been friends for sixteen years. Alice's husband had died two years before, of a heart attack on the tennis court, but she was doing fine. Both her children were in college, and she had opened an art gallery in Mill Valley. She said it gave some purpose to her life, but it was nothing like what Tanya was doing. Alice was tall and thin and dark like Molly, and the two women embraced before they left.

“Now call me and tell me who you meet down there!” Alice said through the open window as Peter started the well-packed van. There was barely room for all of them, and Tanya waved at Alice as they drove away. They had had many cups of tea in her kitchen since July, talking about her plans. Alice had said she'd keep an eye on the kids, although she wasn't home as much as she used to be. She was always meeting with artists and going to exhibits and art fairs to look for emerging artists and new work. She looked ten years younger than she had before her husband died. She had lost a lot of weight, had her eyes done, and streaked her hair. She was terrified of being on the dating market, and Tanya knew she had dated two young artists. She still missed Jim horribly, and she said there would never be anyone like him. He had been one of Peter's partners and only forty-seven when he died. Alice was forty-eight, just two years older than Peter, and six years older than Tanya, but she looked youthful and sympathetic as she waved and they drove away.

“Take care, Jason!” she shouted after them. “Don't forget to call James!” Her son was at UCSB, too, and her daughter was at Pepperdine in Malibu. Watching them leave reminded Alice of when her own kids had left for school. Melissa was a senior, and James was a sophomore this year. She had told Jason that James would show him the ropes. Jason had already e-mailed him and made contact, as he had with his roommate, who was a boy named George Michael Hughes from Dallas, Texas. He had played lacrosse in high school, and was going to try out for the team at UCSB.

The drive to Santa Barbara was hot and crowded, with Jason's belongings piled up between them. The air-conditioning didn't work in the van, and Tanya didn't care, she was just happy to be with her kids. It took them eight hours to get there, with two stops for food. Jason had to be fed every few hours, but the girls didn't really care. Tanya couldn't eat. She was too upset about dropping Jason off at school, and knowing she was about to leave Peter and the girls. She felt as though she were losing all of them at once, although, as Megan pointed out to her when they got out in front of the Biltmore looking like Gypsies, they were losing her.

“I'll be home on weekends, Meg,” Tanya reminded her again.

“Yeah, right. Whatever,” Megan said to her mother, looking surly, and then walked away. She hadn't forgiven her yet, and maybe never would. Tanya was beginning to fear the next months would mark her for life, and her own guilt over it made her tolerate Megan's accusations to a degree she wouldn't have otherwise. It was a difficult weekend. Except for Jason. He was thrilled to be leaving for college.

They checked into the hotel, had dinner at a restaurant in town that night, and went to the Coral Casino across from the hotel the next morning for brunch. Jason didn't have to be at his dorm till two. And once they got him there, he instantly disappeared to look up friends, while Peter set up his computer and his sound system, and Tanya made his bed. She had to fight back tears while she did. Her little boy was leaving home … and worse yet, so was she.

It was a very strange feeling, not only for her but for the girls. They unpacked his duffel bag, and everything was set up for him by the time he turned up again, with James Weinberg in tow. As it turned out, James was living in the next dorm, and had already introduced Jason to half a dozen girls. He and his ex-girlfriend had had a tearful farewell before he left. It was the first time both of them would be free in four years, after dating all through high school. She was going to American University in Washington, D.C., and promised to stay in touch by e-mail. Jason was looking forward to his freedom after their long committed relationship, although he had missed her over the summer, but now everything was exciting and new. Tanya thought their break-up had been astonishingly mature for kids their age, and admired them both for how well they'd handled it, and how nice they'd been to each other even afterward.

“So how does it look?” Peter asked his son as they prepared to leave and looked around his dorm room. Tanya and the girls were prepared to hang around for a while, but it was obvious that Jason wanted them to leave. He had things to do, and orientation in twenty minutes, and a freshman barbecue to attend that night. He looked anything but heartbroken as they filed out of the dorm. He could hardly wait to embark on his new life.

He stood on the lawn outside his dorm and kissed them all goodbye. Both his sisters looked near tears. Peter gave him a powerful hug. And Tanya cried. She clung to Jason for a moment and told him to call her if he needed anything. She was only going to be an hour and a half away, five days of the week. She could run up to see him anytime, she reminded him, and he laughed.

“Don't worry, Mom, I'll be fine. I'll come down and see you soon.”

“You can spend the night if you want,” she said hopefully. She was going to miss him so much. He was the first of her babies to leave.

They lingered for a few minutes, and then he followed James and walked away. He was on his way. And then slowly Tanya walked Peter and the girls back to the van. Her limo had followed them from the hotel, and was waiting in the parking lot. Tanya didn't even know what to say. All she wanted to do was hold them, hug them, touch them. The emotions of seeing Jason go had almost been too much for her, and this was worse. She could hardly bear saying goodbye to the girls, and by the time Peter opened the door of the van, she was crying again.

“Come on, baby,” he said gently, “he's going to be fine, and so are we.” He put an arm around her and held her close to him, as both girls looked away. Their mother never cried, and she had done nothing but cry today, and for the past several weeks. The girls had contributed their share of tears, too.

“I hate this. I don't know why I let you talk me into it. I don't want to write a stupid script,” she said, crying like a child, as Molly handed her a wad of tissues to blow her nose. She smiled at the tall, darkhaired twin. Boys had been checking out both girls since they'd arrived, and had been disappointed to find they weren't arriving freshmen. Megan thought it looked like a great school. Molly's first choice was now USC.

“You're going to be fine,” Peter reassured her again. It was after four, and it was going to be at least midnight when they got home to Marin. Tanya had a much shorter drive to L.A., and all she wanted now was to go home with them. She was thinking about riding back with them, and flying down to L.A. early the next morning, but it would just prolong the agony, and she had an eight A.M. breakfast meeting with Douglas Wayne and the director the next day. She would have had to take a six A.M. flight, which seemed silly. She had no choice but to say goodbye to her husband and children now. Saying goodbye to Jason would have been more than enough. This was far too much. “Okay, girls,” Peter said, turning to his daughters. “Say goodbye to your mom. We'd better get going.” They walked her to her car, and the driver was waiting, looking bored. The limo sitting in the parking lot looked about a thousand feet long, and had colored lights and a couch inside.

“Erghk, that's awful,” Megan said with disgust as she glanced in, and then at her mother. She didn't relent for a moment and hadn't in two months. And when Tanya reached out to hug her, Megan looked at her with hard eyes, and took a step back, to avoid her. It nearly broke her mother's heart, as Peter looked at her and shook his head.

“Say goodbye to your mom, Meg. Nicely,” he said firmly. He wasn't going anywhere until she did. Reluctantly, she hugged her mother, as Tanya continued to cry. She was choking on small sobs as she hugged and kissed first Megan and then Molly. Molly held her tight, and started to cry herself.

“I'm going to miss you so much, Mom,” she said, as the two clung to each other, and Peter patted their backs.

“Come on, guys, you're going to see each other on Friday. Mom will be home on Friday night,” he reminded them both as Megan walked away. She had nothing to say to their mother. She had said it all during the course of the summer. Molly finally pulled away from her mother and wiped her eyes with a tearful smile.

“I'll see you Friday, Mommy,” she said, sounding like a little girl again, although she didn't look like one. She was a beautiful young woman.

“Take care of yourself, sweetheart, and of Dad and Meg.” Molly was the one who would, and she hoped Alice would look in on them. She was going to call her that night, and tell her she'd seen James, and remind her to check on Peter and the girls. Alice had promised to call Tanya the minute she thought anything was wrong with either of the girls, if they looked sick, or tired, or unhappy. She was a good mother, and had a nice way with kids, and Tanya knew that Molly and Megan trusted Alice and felt comfortable with her. They had practically grown up in her house, with Melissa and James, even though they were slightly older. Like Peter, Alice had reassured her the girls would be fine, and would adjust to her absence within days. Besides, she would be home on weekends—it wasn't like she was going away forever, or even very far. If anything happened, Alice had reminded her only the day before, she could hop on a plane and be home in less than two hours. Alice had promised to look in on them whenever she could, as much as they were willing to put up with. Once they got used to their mother being gone, she was sure the girls would be busy with their usual activities, and many friends. The girls shared a car so they could get to wherever they needed to go on their own. They were good, solid, sensible, wholesome kids. Alice had told her again and again that she didn't need to worry, but she knew Tanya would anyway.

Saying goodbye to the girls was hard, but it was worse saying goodbye to Peter. She clung to him like a motherless child, and he gently helped her into the limo, and teased her when he saw the colored lights inside that Megan had objected to. It was tacky, but he thought it was funny. “Maybe I should ride to L.A. with you, and let the girls drive home on their own,” he said, teasing her. She smiled, and then he kissed her.

“I'm going to miss you so much tonight,” she said softly. “Take care of yourself. I'll see you Friday.”

“You'll be so busy you won't even miss me.” he said, although in spite of himself, he looked sad, too, but he was glad she was doing this. He wanted it to be great for her, and had every intention of doing all he could to make it work for her.

“Call me when you get home,” Tanya said softly.

“It'll be late”—closer to one than midnight now. Their goodbyes had taken a long time. She could hardly bear to let them go.

“I don't care. I'll worry till I hear from you.” She wanted to know that they were home safe and sound. She didn't expect to get a lot of sleep that night without him. “I'll call you on your cell phone in the car.”

“Why don't you relax, go for a swim, get a massage. Order room service. Hell, take advantage of what you've got. Before you know it, you'll be home cooking for us again. You're never going to want to come home to Marin, after the high life in Beverly Hills.”

“You're my high life,” she said sadly, sorry that she had agreed to write the script. All she could think of now was who wouldn't be in L.A. and what she'd be missing—her husband and children and the good times they shared.

“We'd better go.” He could see that the girls were getting restless. Megan was fuming, and Molly looked sadder by the minute, and Tanya could see it, too. She kissed him one last time, and reached out to the girls. She and Molly kissed through the limo window, and Megan stared at her and turned away. There was sadness mixed with anger in her eyes, and a terrible look of betrayal, and then she got into the van. Molly climbed into the front seat next to her father, and all three of them waved as he started the van. Tanya sat watching them with tears rolling down her cheeks, and then with a wave, they rolled away. She kept waving to them from the window, and the limo followed Peter out of the parking lot. They drove toward the freeway side by side, and then Peter headed north, and the limo headed south. Tanya waved until they were out of sight, and then laid her head back against the seat and closed her eyes. She felt their absence like a physical pain, and then with a start she heard her cell phone ring. She found it in her handbag and answered it. She wondered if it was Jason, telling her he had forgotten something. She could turn back and get to the dorm in a few minutes if he needed help. She suddenly wondered if Peter had remembered to give him enough money, in case he needed cash. He had his first checking account, and a credit card. It was a first step into grown-up life. Responsibility had begun.

It wasn't Jason, it was Molly. “I love you, Mom,” she said with her characteristic sweetness. She didn't want her mother to be sad, or her sister to be angry, or her father to be lonely. She always wanted to make things right for everyone. She was always quick to sacrifice herself. Tanya always said she was a lot like her father, although she had a sweetness all her own.

“I love you too, sweetheart,” Tanya said softly. “Have a safe drive home.”

“You, too, Mom.” Tanya could hear the music blaring in the car and missed it. She would have felt foolish turning it on in the limo, particularly their kind of music, but she would have liked to. She was already lonely, traveling in solitary grandeur. She could no longer remember why she'd done this, or why it had seemed like a good idea to her, Walt, or Peter. It seemed stupid to her now. She was going to Hollywood to write a screenplay, where she would be alone and miserable for nearly a year, and at home in Ross she had the perfect life.

“I'll talk to you tomorrow,” Tanya promised. “Give Meg and Dad my love, and a big squishy hug to you.”

“You too, Mom,” Molly said, and hung up, as Tanya sat in the limo, heading south. Thinking about them, she just stared out the window, too sad to cry.

Chapter 4

It was nearly seven o'clock in the evening as Tanya's limo drove up to the Beverly Hills Hotel, and stopped at the covered entrance. A doorman immediately appeared to take her bags, and greeted her with decorum as she emerged. Her blue jeans, T-shirt, and sandals seemed underdressed here somehow. There were beautiful girls who looked like models drifting by in shorts and high-heeled sandals, with perfect pedicures and masses of blond hair. Tanya was wearing hers in a braid, which made her feel oddly out of place, and embarrassingly plain. Her Marin Mom look seemed far too understated here. Even half-dressed in halter tops or see-through shirts, everyone looked glamorous and like a star to her. She looked and felt as though she had just crawled out of her backyard in Ross. And after the emotions of saying goodbye to Peter and her children, she felt like she'd been hit by a bus, or dragged through a bush backward, as the English said. It was an expression she loved using in her scripts for the soaps. It seemed so apt, and just how she felt now. Mugged. Sad. Lonely. Lost. Alone.

A bellman whisked her bags away, and gave her a claim check to turn in at the desk. Once there, she stood cautiously behind a Japanese couple, and some people from New York, as what appeared to her to be Hollywood types wandered through the lobby. She was so distracted when it was her turn that she didn't even notice that the assistant manager at the front desk was waiting for her.

“Oh … sorry …” she apologized. She felt like a total tourist as she looked around. The lobby had been magnificently redone. She had had lunch here once or twice, when she came down for the day and met with the producers of her most lucrative soap.

“Will you be staying with us for long?” the young man asked, when she gave her name. She almost burst into tears when he asked.

“Nine months,” she said, looking grim, “or something like that.” He asked her for her name again, and then apologized instantly when he realized who she was.

“Of course, Miss Harris, I'm so sorry. I didn't realize it was you. We have Bungalow 2 waiting for you.”

“Mrs. Harris,” she corrected, looking bereft.

“Certainly. I'll make a note of that. Do you have a claim check for your bags?” She handed him the stub, and he came around the desk to take her to the bungalow. She didn't know why, but she dreaded seeing it. She didn't want to be there. All she wanted to do was go home. She felt like a kid who had been sent to camp. She wondered if Jason was feeling that way in his dorm room, but she suspected that he didn't. He was probably having a terrific time with the other kids. She felt like a new kid at school, too, probably far more than he did. She thought about him as she followed the assistant manager over a little walkway through a profusion of vegetation, and she found herself in front of the bungalow that was going to be her home until postproduction was over, whenever that was, at worst next June. Nine months away. An absolute eternity to her, without Peter and her children. Waiting nine months for her babies had been a lot more fun. Now she was going to have to give birth to a script.

She walked into the living room of the suite, and immediately noticed a vase of flowers nearly as tall as she was. She had never seen anything like it. There were roses, lilies, orchids, and gigantic flowers she didn't even recognize. It was the most beautiful arrangement she'd ever seen, and its exotic scent perfumed the room. The room itself looked newly done, in a soft blush pink, with comfortable furniture and an enormous TV. Beyond it she saw the dining room, and the little kitchen they'd promised her. And as soon as she saw her bedroom, she felt like a movie star, only to realize that the second one was bigger, with a gigantic king-size bed. It was done in the palest pink, with elegant furniture, and beyond it there was a spectacular pink-marble bathroom with a huge bathtub with Jacuzzi, and a stack of towels and a terrycloth robe with her initials on the pocket were waiting for her. There was a huge basket of lotions and cosmetics. A bottle of champagne was cooling in a silver bucket in the living room. There was a huge box of her favorite chocolates, as she wondered how they knew. And when she checked, the fridge was full of everything she loved to eat. It was as though her very own fairy godmother had been at work, and then she saw a letter on the desk. She opened it, and the handwriting was a strong male scrawl. It said, “Welcome home, Tanya. We've been waiting for you. See you at breakfast. Douglas.” He had obviously somehow found out everything she liked, and then she realized he had probably talked to Walt, or maybe even Peter, or his secretary had. It was perfectly done. In the master bedroom, there was a cashmere bathrobe for her from Pratesi, with matching cashmere slippers in the perfect size, also a gift from Douglas. And much to her amazement there were silver frames with photographs of her children, and she realized for sure that they had talked to Peter, and even had him send pictures for them to frame. He hadn't said a word to spoil the surprise. They had done absolutely everything they could to make her feel at home, including a huge bowl of M&;M's and Snickers bars, and a drawer full of pens and pencils and writing supplies, which was convenient. She'd been working on the script for two months, but she wanted to add some final touches to it that night before their meeting, assuming they'd want to discuss it. She was still looking around as her bags arrived and her cell phone rang at the same time. It was Peter, still on the drive home.

“So, how is it?” he asked with mischief in his voice.

“Did they call you? They must have.” Even Walt didn't know her tastes this well. Only her husband and children did.

“Call me? They sent me a questionnaire. You can give blood with fewer questions than that. They wanted to know everything right down to your shoe size.” He sounded pleased for her. He liked the idea that they were spoiling her. She deserved it, and he wanted this time to be special for her. He was handling it with love and grace.

“They gave me a cashmere robe and slippers, and M&M's, and all the makeup I use … holy shit!” She laughed. “They even got my perfume. And all the junk I like to eat.” It was like a treasure hunt finding all the things they'd left for her. There was a satin nightie on the bed, with another matching robe, even a stack of books on the nightstand, by all the authors that she liked best. “I wish you were here,” she said, sounding sad again, “and the kids. They would love it. I can't wait till you come down and see it.”

“Anytime you want, sweetheart. Do you think they'll want my shoe size, too?” he teased her.

“They should. You're the real hero here. I wouldn't be here if it weren't for you.”

“I'm glad they're treating you right. Life is going to seem very plebeian to you in Ross after all that. Maybe I'd better start buying you chocolates and perfume, too, or you won't want to come home anymore.” He sounded lonely. He missed her, even if he was happy for her that good things were happening. The separation was hard for him, too, even if he was a good sport about it, which he was.

“I wish I could come home right now,” she said, looking around, wandering from room to room with her cell phone in her hand. “I would trade all this for Ross in a minute. And you don't have to get me anything. All I ever need is you.”

“Me too, sweetheart. Enjoy it. It's like being Cinderella for a while.”

“Yeah, but it feels weird. I can see how people get spoiled by this though. It's all so unreal. All your favorite stuff all over the place, champagne, chocolates, flowers. I guess that's how they treat movie stars. My soaps never treated me like this. I was lucky they took me to lunch a couple of times.” She didn't need any of it, but it was kind of fun discovering what they'd done. “How's the drive going?”

“Fine. The girls are asleep. I turned the music off, and no one screamed.” She laughed, envisioning the scene, with an ache in her heart.

“Make sure you don't get sleepy, too. Maybe you should put the radio back on, or something.”

“Anything but that,” he groaned. “The silence is so nice. I swear they're all going to be deaf before they're twenty-one. I think I already am.”

“Stop if you get tired, or ask one of the girls to drive.”

“I'm fine, Tan. What are you going to do now?” He was trying to imagine her in her new life. But she knew that even he couldn't visualize this. It was like something in a movie. She felt very glamorous suddenly, even in her T-shirt and jeans, royally ensconced in the bungalow at the Beverly Hills Hotel.

“I don't know. Maybe take a bath, with a Jacuzzi, thank you very much.” She laughed, and sounded like a kid, as she told him all about it. It was far more luxurious than their house in Ross. Their bathroom there was looking tired after sixteen years, and they kept talking about redoing it, but didn't. This one was brand-new and far more lavish than anything they would have done. “And then I'll try out my new robe and slippers, and order room service.” She wasn't hungry, but some of this was fun, mostly the attention to detail, and the gifts were extravagant. She had just discovered a little silver box with her initials on it, with paper clips in her favorite sizes. They hadn't missed a thing. She loved the framed photographs of Peter and the children best. They made her feel at home. And she had brought half a dozen of her own. She arranged them in a group next to her bed, and on her desk, so she could see them in every room. “I can't wait till you come to visit. We can go to dinner at Spago or something, or just stay in bed here. Actually, that sounds like more fun.” There was also an excellent restaurant at the hotel. But most of all she wanted to be in bed with him. They had made love only that morning, and it had been tender and wonderful, as always. It had been since the beginning. It just got better over the years. She loved the familiar comfort of their lovemaking. They had been together for half her life, and nearly half of his. “It's going to be like a honeymoon when you come here,” she giggled.

“Sounds good to me. My life is definitely not going to be a honeymoon this week. Margarita is doing the girls' laundry, right?” Tanya had extended the housekeeper's hours once she knew she was leaving. And she was going to cook for them a few nights a week, too, when Peter couldn't, and leave them things in the freezer. The girls were good about organizing dinner, so she wasn't too worried, but sometimes they came home late from games and Peter came home too tired to eat most nights, let alone cook. The girls had promised to take care of him when that happened. Here she could have room service whenever she wanted. It suddenly made her feel spoiled and guilty. She really hadn't done anything to deserve this. It was an impressive way to start. “I'll call you when we get home,” Peter promised, and Tanya went to run a bath when she hung up. She felt better than she had before, and for a minute or two it was actually fun. She felt like a totally spoiled kid. She would have loved to show the girls, and to take a bath with Peter in the giant tub. They loved doing that at home sometimes, and this one was huge.

She sat in the bath for over an hour, using perfumed bath salts, steaming peacefully, and then she got out, and put on her satin nightie and the cashmere robe. It was a soft dusty pink, and the matching slippers were a perfect fit. It was nine o'clock when she called room service, and ordered tea, although all her favorite brands of tea were in the kitchen. She ordered an omelette and a green salad, and settled down to eat in front of the TV. The service had been incredibly quick. And she discovered that they'd had TiVo installed for her. She turned it off after she finished dinner, and plugged in her computer on the desk. She wanted to check some notes she'd made that week for changes she was going to make on the script. She wanted to refresh her memory before the meeting the next day. It was after midnight when she stopped working on it. The script she'd written was in pretty good shape, and she'd already sent Douglas and the director several drafts, which they seemed to like. They had been very reasonable so far about what they expected from her.

After Tanya turned off her computer, she lay down on the bed. It was odd to think that this was going to be her home now for many months, but they had certainly made it as pleasant as they could for her. They had done everything imaginable and more to make it seem like a fairy tale. She turned the TV on again, while she waited for Peter and the girls to get home. She didn't want to go to sleep until she knew they were safe. She called him on his cell phone, and he was on the Golden Gate Bridge at twelve-thirty, less than half an hour from home. They had made good time, and the girls were awake. They said they'd had dinner at a drive-through McDonald's, which made her feel guilty for the luxury she was living in. She was relaxed and comfortable on the giant bed, wearing her new pink cashmere robe. She felt like a queen, or at least a princess, and she told Molly all about it when she talked to her. She asked to speak to Megan, too, but she was on her cell phone talking to friends and didn't want to put them on hold.

Tanya wondered how long it would be until Megan was back to normal with her again. The last two months had been an agony with Megan so angry at her, and so far she showed no sign of relenting. Peter was certain she would soon. Tanya was not so sure. Megan was able to hold a grudge forever, and more than willing to do so. Once she felt betrayed, she never forgave it. She had her own code of ethics, and high expectations based on the immense amount of time her mother had always spent with her. This sudden, unexpected change had come as a huge shock, and she hadn't taken it well. Her twin sister had accused her of behaving like a brat. But Tanya knew that underneath the outward hostility, Megan was scared and sad, so she easily forgave the unkindness of her daughter's words. As far as Megan was concerned, their mother had betrayed them. That was no small thing to Megan, nor to Tanya. She suspected it would be a long time before she was back in her daughter's good graces, if ever.

Tanya talked to Peter on his cell phone until they got to the house, and then he had to get off so he could help the girls carry in their things, and once again she felt guilty for not being there to help them. Peter insisted they could manage. He kissed her goodnight and promised to call her in the morning. She told him she would report to him about the meeting. She was planning to get up at six-thirty, and asked the operator to wake her. She turned the light off at onethirty, and lay awake in the dark, wondering what her children were doing. She was sure the girls were in their bedrooms, and Peter was eating something before bedtime. She wished that she could be with them. It felt so strange to be in the room at the Beverly Hills Hotel, all by herself, in a brand-new satin nightgown. She felt as though she were shirking all her responsibilities and duties. She lay there for a long time that night, unable to fall asleep without Peter's arms around her. It had been ages since they'd spent a night without each other, it only happened very rarely when he traveled for the law firm. And even then, she occasionally went with him. This was a rare occurrence.

She fell asleep finally at three o'clock, with the TV on, and woke up with a start when the phone rang at six-thirty. It had been a short night, and she was tired. She had wanted some time to read parts of her script again, and to be wide awake before their breakfast meeting. She was meeting Douglas and the director in the Polo Lounge. She opted for a pair of black slacks and a T-shirt, sandals, and then put on a denim jacket before she left the room. She was dressed as one of her children would have, or as she would have in Marin, and she wondered if her girls would approve. She missed having them to consult with on what she was wearing. It was very basic. She wasn't an actress, she reminded herself. No one cared what she looked like. She was there to provide a script that sounded right, not for anyone to pay attention to her. What mattered was how good the script was, and she was confident that it was pretty good. She put her copy of it in an oversize Prada tote bag, and at the last minute put on a pair of tiny diamond earrings that Peter had given her for Christmas. She loved them and they seemed right to her in L.A., although she wouldn't have worn them to an eight A.M. meeting in Marin. And as soon as she walked into the dining room, she knew she had done the right thing, wearing the earrings. Without them, she would have felt even more out of place than she did. Looking around the room at the people dining there, she felt like a hick.

The room was full of important-looking men and beautiful women, several of them well known. There were dazzling-looking women having breakfast with each other, in pairs or small groups. Men dining with each other, and a few men with women, usually years younger. She noticed Sharon Osbourne having breakfast in a quiet corner with a younger woman. Both were expensively dressed, and wore large diamonds on their hands and ears. Barbara Walters was at a table having breakfast with three men. There were men and women from the entertainment industry scattered throughout the room, and at most of the tables, there were men conducting business and having meetings. For the most part, it looked like ideas, contracts, and money were being exchanged and changing hands. The smell of power hung heavy in the room. The Polo Lounge looked like a hotbed of success, and as soon as Tanya saw it, she felt noticeably underdressed. Barbara Walters was wearing a beige linen Chanel suit and pearls. Sharon Osbourne was wearing low-cut black. Most of the women had had face-lifts, the rest of them looked like ads for collagen and Botox. Tanya felt as though she had the only natural face in the room. She kept reminding herself that she was there because of the way she wrote, not how she looked. But it was daunting anyway to be in the midst of so many beautiful, exquisitely groomed women. Tanya felt unable to compete with that, or even try. All she could do was be herself.

Tanya told the maître d' whom she was meeting, and without pause, he walked her to a corner table. She recognized Douglas Wayne immediately, and as soon as she saw him, she recognized Max Blum, the director. He had five Academy Awards to his credit. Tanya nearly choked when he told her it would be an honor to be working with her, and that he loved her work. She discovered after she sat down that he had read everything she'd ever published in The New Yorker, right back to the beginning. He'd read most of her essays, and her book of short stories, and he'd been reviewing tapes of most of what she'd done on the soaps. He wanted to know everything he could about her work, her range, her style, her timing, her sense of humor and drama, and her point of view. And so far, he said, he liked everything he'd seen. There was no question in Max's mind, Douglas had been absolutely right in choosing her to do their script. As far as he was concerned, it was a stroke of genius to have made a deal with her. Douglas thought so, too.

Max and Douglas looked like opposites in every way, as they both stood up to greet Tanya as she approached their table. Max was small, round, and jolly, somewhere in his mid-sixties, and had had an illustrious career in Hollywood for forty years. He was hardly taller than Tanya, and he had a face like a friar, or an elf in a fairy tale. He was warm, friendly, and informal. He was wearing running shoes, with a T-shirt and jeans. The word one would have used to describe him was cozy. He was the kind of person you wanted to sit next to, hold hands with, and tell all your secrets to.

Douglas was an entirely different breed. What sprang to mind immediately when she saw him was that he looked like Gary Cooper in his middle years. Tanya knew from all she'd read of him that he was fifty-four years old. He was tall, lean, spare, had an angular face, piercing blue eyes, and gray hair, and the word that would have best described him was cold. He had eyes like steel. Max had warm brown eyes, a bald head, and a beard. Douglas had a thick well-cut mane of silvery-gray hair, and was impeccably neat. He was wearing perfectly pressed gray slacks and a blue shirt with a cashmere sweater over his shoulders, and when she happened to look down, Tanya noticed that he was wearing brown alligator loafers. Everything about Douglas spoke of style and money, but what one noticed most about him was that he exuded power. There was no question in anyone's mind, as one glanced at him, that he was a very important person. He looked as though he could have bought and sold the entire room. And as he looked her over, his eyes bored right through her. She was far more comfortable making idle chitchat with Max, who went out of his way to make her feel welcome. Douglas looked as though he were taking her apart and putting her back together piece by piece. It was an acutely uncomfortable feeling.

“You have very small feet” was the first thing Douglas said to her after she sat down, and she had no idea how he could see them, unless he had X-ray vision and was looking through the table. It never occurred to her that he had carefully studied the questionnaire that his secretary had had filled out by her husband and agent, in order to buy her welcome gifts. He had noticed her shoe size on the list, before they bought her the Pratesi robe and slippers. He was the one who had decided they should be pink. Douglas Wayne made all final decisions, even about the most minute details and trivial things. Nothing was trivial to Douglas. He had approved the satin nightgown and robe, too, also in pink. He had told them to get her something beautiful but not sexy. He knew from her agent and scuttlebutt around town that she was married and had kids, and Walt had finally admitted to him that she had nearly passed on this opportunity, in order to stay home and take care of her twin daughters. Walt had told him that Peter had helped her make the right decision, but it had been far from easy. She wasn't the kind of woman you sent a sexy nightgown to. She was the kind of woman you treated with respect and grace.

“Thank you for all the beautiful gifts,” Tanya said, feeling timid. Both of them were such important men that she felt cowed and insignificant in their midst. “Everything fit,” she said with a cautious smile.

“I'm glad to hear it.” Heads would have rolled if it hadn't. But there was no way for Tanya to know that. It was hard to believe looking at Douglas that he was addicted to soaps, particularly the ones she wrote. She could far more easily imagine him hooked on more challenging fare. And she wondered how often people had told him he looked like Gary Cooper. She didn't know him well enough to comment on his looks, but the resemblance was striking. Max on the other hand was looking more and more to her like Happy in the Seven Dwarfs. And she was aware during their early moments of conversation that Douglas hadn't taken his eyes off her since she sat down. She felt as though she were being examined under a microscope, and in fact she was. Nothing escaped his sharp gaze, and it was only when they started to talk about the script that he relaxed and warmed up a little.

He suddenly became animated and excited, and as Tanya made comments about the script, and the changes she'd made, he laughed.

“I love it when you do funny, Tanya. I can always tell when you wrote the script on my favorite soap. If I start to laugh my head off, I know it had to be you.” The script they were currently working on, and the movie they were about to shoot, didn't have a lot of leeway for funny, but she had slipped some in anyway, and they all agreed that it worked. She had done it in just the right doses, to add spice and warmth, which was the trademark of her work. Even when it was funny, it never failed to strike a poignant chord, and exude her natural warmth.

By the time they finished breakfast, she could see that Douglas had relaxed. She couldn't help wondering if he was shy. All the ice she had noticed when she joined them seemed to have melted. As Max said to a friend afterward, with a look of wonder, she had him eating out of the palm of her hand. Douglas looked totally entranced.

“You're a fascinating woman,” he said, studying her intently again. “Your agent said you nearly didn't do the picture, because you didn't want to leave your husband and kids, which seemed nuts to me, and I thought you'd show up here, looking like Mother Earth, in Birkenstocks and braids. Instead, you're a totally sensible person.” She was a pretty, youthful-looking woman, simply dressed. “You don't even look like you have kids, and you were smart enough to leave your husband and kids at home, and make the right decision for your career.”

“Actually, I didn't,” she confessed, slightly taken aback by his comments. Douglas didn't pull any punches, and said whatever he felt. Money and power allowed him to do that. “My agent told you the truth. I was going to turn it down. My husband made the decision before I did. He convinced me it was okay. He's at home, with our twins.”

“Oh God, that's too domestic for me,” Douglas said, and nearly winced, as Max smiled and nodded.

“How old are the twins?” Max asked with interest.

“Seventeen. They're girls. Fraternal twins. And I have a son who's eighteen and starting college today at UCSB.” She beamed proudly as she said it.

“Nice,” Max said, and approved visibly. “I have two daughters myself. They're thirty-two and thirty-five years old, and live in New York. One's an attorney and the other one is a shrink. They're both married, and I have three grandsons.” He looked immensely pleased.

“Very nice,” she returned the compliment to him, and then unconsciously they both turned to Douglas, who returned Tanya's questioning gaze. As he looked at her, he smiled.

“Don't look at me. I've never had kids. I've been married twice, no children. I don't even have a dog, and don't want one. I work too hard, and always have, to spend enough time with children. I suppose I admire whatever prompted you to almost stay home with your children instead of writing the screenplay. But I can't say I understand it. I think there's something noble about work. Think of all the people who are going to see our movie, how many lives you'll touch with what you put in the script, how many people will remember it one day.” Tanya thought he had an inflated sense of his own importance, and theirs. One child seemed far more important to her than a thousand movies. One life. One human being on the planet to reach out to others. She never had a sense of importance about her work. It was just something she enjoyed doing, and that meant a lot to her at times. But her children meant so much more, and Peter. She felt sorry for Douglas if he didn't understand that. He lived for his work. Tanya had a sense that there was something missing in him, some vital human piece that hadn't been included. And yet she found him interesting. He was brilliant, and his mind was sharply honed. But she much preferred Max's innate softness. They were both interesting men, and she suspected it would be exciting working with them, although she hadn't figured out yet what made Douglas tick, and maybe never would. He appeared to be completely driven, there was a fire that burned in him that she didn't understand. You could see it in his eyes.

The three of them talked about the script for the next two hours, and Douglas explained to her what lay ahead, the changes he wanted her to make, the subtleties he still wanted included in the script. He had a fine sense of what it took to make an extraordinary movie. As she listened to him, she began to glimpse the workings of his mind. Douglas was the fire, and Max was far gentler, and tempered the producer's sharpness. Max brought humanity to the movie, Douglas brought a brilliant mind. There was something utterly fascinating about him.

They sat in the Polo Lounge talking about the script until nearly noon, and after that she went back to the bungalow and worked on what they'd said. Douglas had inspired her to take it to a deeper level. She tried to explain it to Peter when he called her, and she couldn't. But whatever he and Max had said to her made sense. She added some wonderful scenes to the script that day. She was still sitting at her desk at six, pleased with a good day's work.

She was surprised that night, as she lay on her bed, mindlessly watching the TiVo, when Douglas called. She told him about the work she'd done all afternoon, and he sounded pleased that she had gotten the drift so quickly. She had sensed, as much as heard, what they were saying, and absorbed it readily.

“It was a good meeting this morning. I think you've taken just the right amount of inspiration from the book, without going overboard. I can't wait to see what you've done today.”

“I'll work on it some more tomorrow,” she promised. She had been thinking of going back to it that night, but knew she was too tired. “If it's not too rough, I'll send it to you on Wednesday morning.”

“Why don't you give it to me over lunch? How's Thursday?” She was startled by the invitation, but she had gotten the sense that morning that they were all going to be working closely. She felt totally at ease with Max, but she wasn't comfortable with Douglas yet. Max was easy. Douglas was as hard as steel, and cold as ice. And yet he was intriguing. Beneath the ice, she instinctively sensed something warmer, a human being behind the mind.

“Thursday would be fine,” Tanya said, feeling slightly awkward. It was easier seeing him with Max, with whom she had more in common. Max was a warm friendly guy, he liked kids, as she did, and everything about him seemed open. Douglas was closed and sealed tight. The temptation was to try and find a way in to discover who he was. But Tanya didn't think anyone had scaled those walls in a long time, maybe ever. Douglas was guarded, and watching for intruders at the gates. She had sensed him observing her closely that morning, as though to find the weak places in her. Douglas was all about power and control and owning people. Tanya was very clear on that. Douglas had bought her services, but he didn't own her. She sensed that he would be dangerous to get close to, unlike Max, who had welcomed her with open arms. Douglas gave away as little as possible of himself.

“I'm giving a dinner for the cast at my place on Wednesday night,” Douglas said then. She had the impression that he was feeling her out. She could sense him circling her, as though trying to assess her. “I'd like you to come. It's only for the major stars, of course, and the supporting cast.” They were a glittering assortment working on this movie. Tanya was anxious to meet them—it would make writing for them easier, if she developed a sense of their style and rhythm. She knew who most of them were, but seeing them in the flesh would be exciting and fun. This was a whole new world for her. She was suddenly glad she'd brought the one black cocktail dress. She had nothing else to wear other than the black pants she'd worn today, and jeans. And given the way Douglas had looked that day, she suspected that dinner at his house would be dressy. “I'll send my car for you. You don't have to get dressed up. They'll all come in jeans.”

“Thank you.” She smiled. “You just solved a major fashion dilemma for me. I didn't bring much of a wardrobe. I figured I'd be working most of the time, and I'm planning to go home on weekends.”

“I know,” he laughed at her, slightly scornful, “to your husband and kids.” He made it sound like something she should be embarrassed about, like a bad habit she had and ought to break. That's what it was to him, although he had admitted that he'd been married twice. But he clearly had an aversion to kids. He had looked nervous that morning when she and Max spoke of theirs.

“Are you really as normal as you pretend to be?” he said, trying to provoke her, which was a favorite game of his. “You're so much deeper than that. The kind of things you write, the way your mind works. I just can't see you in the role of suburban housewife, feeding breakfast to your kids.” He was pressing her to see how she handled it, and what she did.

“That's what I do in real life,” she said without apology. “I love it. I've spent the last twenty years that way, and I wouldn't have given up a minute with them for the world.” She looked smug and happy as she said it. She knew she had done the right thing.

“Then why are you here?” he asked her bluntly, and waited to hear what she'd say. It was a reasonable question, and one she'd asked herself.

“This is a golden opportunity for me,” she said honestly. “I didn't think I'd ever get a chance like this again. I wanted to write this script.”

“And you left your husband and children to do it. So maybe you're not as bourgeois as you think.” He was almost like the serpent in the Garden of Eden, trying to lure her away.

“Can't I be all of the above? Wife, mother, and writer? None of them are mutually exclusive.” He pointedly ignored what she'd said.

“Do you feel guilty for being here, Tanya?” he asked with interest. He wanted to know more about her, and she was equally intrigued by him. Not in a sexual way, but he was an interesting person, a constant challenge. He darted forward and then moved away, sideways sometimes, almost like a snake.

“Sometimes I feel guilty,” she admitted to him. “I did before I came here. I feel better, now that I'm working. Being in L.A. is starting to make sense.”

“You'll feel even better once we start shooting. It's addictive, like a drug you'll have to have again. Once we finish the movie, you'll want more of it. We all do. That's what keeps us here. We can't stand it when the movie ends. I can feel it happening to you already, and we haven't even started.” He touched a nerve in her somewhere, and she was frightened by what he said. What if he was right, and it was addictive, even for her? “You won't want to go back, Tanya, after it's over. You'll want someone to find you another picture. I think we're going to enjoy working together.” He sounded like Rasputin, and she was sorry she had agreed to have lunch with him, or maybe he was just trying to test her, to find out how she was made.

“I'm expecting to enjoy it,” she said sanely, “but I hope it's not as addictive as you say. I'm planning to go back to real life when this is over. I'm only on loan here, not for sale.” She felt like she was sparring with a master, a dangerous sport for her. He was an Olympicclass manipulator, and she a rank amateur compared to him.

“We're all for sale,” he said simply, “and this is real life for us, even though it looks like tinsel to others. That's why they call it Tinseltown. It's intoxicating. You'll see. You won't want to go back to your old life again.” He sounded absolutely certain as he repeated it.

“Yes, I will. I have a husband and children waiting for me. This wouldn't be enough for me. But I know I'll learn a lot while I'm here. I'm grateful for the opportunity,” she said firmly, sounding stubborn to him.

“Don't be grateful, Tanya. I didn't do you a favor bringing you here. Your work is very good. I like the way you view the world, your twists and turns, the quirky way you write about things. I like what happens in your mind.” He had certainly understood her work, and done his homework. He had been reading her for years, and she felt as though he were trying to get inside her head. Scary stuff. Or maybe it was just a game he played to unnerve her. Perhaps life was a game to him, and nothing was real. She suspected that to Douglas, only movies were real, which was why he was so good at what he did. “I think we're going to enjoy working with each other,” he said thoughtfully, as though savoring that concept. “You're an interesting woman, Tanya. I have a feeling you've played a role for all these years, the little suburban housewife with a husband and kids. I don't believe that's who you are. I don't think you even know who you are yet. I think you'll discover it while you're here.” The way he said it sounded ominous to Tanya. It made her uneasy that he felt he could look right into her and assess her. It was none of his business to know what she was thinking, or even who she was.

“I think I have a good sense of who I am,” she said quietly.

They were complete opposites. She was aware of that, too. He was glamorous and alluring, a symbol of the lure of Hollywood at its best and most enticing. She was innocence and a visitor from a life she loved and which he would have found totally boring. She wanted to become part of his world now, but only for a while, and without giving up her values or her soul. When the movie was over, like Dorothy in The Wizard of Oz, she wanted to go home. She wasn't going to let the temptations of Hollywood seduce her. She knew who she was. Her children's mother. Peter's wife. Douglas Wayne belonged to another world, but he was offering her an extraordinary opportunity to share his world for a while. She wanted to write the script for him, but not give up her real life or her soul. She wanted to learn everything he could teach her, and then go back to Marin. She was glad she would be going home on weekends, to her familiar surroundings, to breathe the clean air of her existence there. She didn't want just one life or the other. Now she wanted both.

“You think you know who you are,” Douglas said, taunting her again. “I don't think you've even begun to discover who lives in your head. You'll find it out here, Tanya, in the months to come. This is a rite of passage for you, an initiation into the sacred rites and rituals of your new tribe. When you leave here,” he said carefully, “we will be as much your family as they are. The danger is that if you fall in love with your life here, it will be hard for you to go back there again.” What he said to her frightened her, and she didn't believe him. She knew where she belonged, and where her heart was. She was not confused about her allegiances to Peter and her children. And she was certain that she could work here without damaging her relationship to them. Douglas was not as convinced. He had seen Hollywood turn many heads before.

Tanya sensed, as she listened to him, that there was something faintly dangerous about him, and yet she knew he had no power over her. She was working for him. He didn't own her.

“Those are powerful words, Mr. Wayne,” she said quietly, trying to put up a mental shield against the lures he was describing.

“This is a powerful place,” he repeated quietly. She wondered if he was trying to frighten her. But in fact, he was only warning her of potential dangers and pitfalls, of which she was well aware.

“And you are a powerful man,” she conceded. But neither he nor Hollywood would be enough to sway her, Tanya reassured herself. He was brilliant certainly, and a genius at what he did. But she was a solid woman. She was not a star-struck kid.

“Something tells me that we're very much alike,” Douglas said, which seemed a strange thing to say to her.

“I don't think we are. In fact, I think we're night and day,” she said. He was worldly, and she wasn't. He had power, and she had none. The life she led, and which she loved, was anathema to him. There was a purity and clarity to Tanya which challenged him, and drew him to her.

“Perhaps you're right,” he said, pausing to think about it. “Maybe what I meant was complementary, not the same. Two halves of one whole. I've been fascinated by your writing for years, and I always knew we'd meet and work on something together one day. And now that time has come.” She felt as though she were being pulled toward unfamiliar territory with him. And she was nervous about it, but excited, too. “I think I had a premonition about your work,” he added. “I was drawn to it like a moth to flame.” And her light was shining brighter than ever, now that she was here. He could hardly wait to start working with her. “You know what complementary means, don't you, Tanya? Two halves of one whole. They fit together seamlessly. They add to one another, like spice. I think we could do that for each other in some way. I could add spice to your life, and you could add peace to mine. You strike me as a very peaceful person.” It was the strangest thing anyone had ever said to her, and she felt instantly ill at ease when he said it. What did he want from her? Why was he saying those things? All she wanted to do was get off the phone and call Peter.

“I am a peaceful person,” she said quietly. “What I want, and why I'm here, is to give you a seamless script. And all of us will work together to make this a very special movie,” she said calmly, with an air of confidence she didn't feel. But she wanted to do the best job she possibly could.

“I have no doubt that you will, Tanya,” he said confidently. “I knew it the moment you accepted my offer. But most important of all, with you writing the script, Tanya, I know it will be perfect.” It was high praise coming from him.

“Thank you,” she said seriously. “I hope the screenplay will live up to your expectations,” she said formally but sincerely. There was something about him that made her uneasy and drew her to him at the same time. What she sensed most about him was that he was a man who always got what he wanted. That was the most intriguing piece about him. That and his relentless determination had made him who he was. And whatever else he was, Tanya could already see that Douglas Wayne was all about power and control. He had to have both at all times. And more than anything, she sensed that he always had to win. He wouldn't tolerate anything less. Douglas Wayne had to have complete, total, and utter control over everything he touched. And the one thing she was certain of was that no matter how important, powerful, or talented he was, he would never control her.

Chapter 5

The evening Tanya spent at Douglas Wayne's Bel Air house was as interesting, glamorous, and mysterious as he was. The house itself was an extraordinarily beautiful mansion. He had bought it years before, after his first important film, and added onto it several times since then, until it had become a vast sprawling estate, filled with elegantly appointed rooms crammed with exquisite antiques and priceless paintings. Douglas had magnificent taste, and Tanya was momentarily breathless when she walked into the living room and found herself staring at a well-known Monet painting of water lilies. The scene outside mirrored it, as members of the cast sat around the enormous swimming pool filled with gardenias and water lilies. The entire scene was lit by candles. There was an even more impressive Renoir in the second living room, two Mary Cassatts, and an important Flemish painting. The furniture was rich and masculine, an interesting combination of English, French, and Russian, with an exquisite Chinese screen in one corner, and a Chinese upright secretary next to it that looked like it belonged in a museum.

Tanya felt ridiculously out of place in jeans, although the others were similarly dressed. She recognized two of the stars instantly, Jean Amber and Ned Bright. Jean had already been in a dozen important Hollywood films, and had been nominated for three Oscars at the tender age of twenty-five. Her face was so perfect, she looked like a painting herself. She was laughing at something Max had said, wearing a gauzy see-through pale blue top over her jeans, and silver sandals with ankle straps and towering heels. Her skin-tight jeans looked painted onto her long, thin body. She was spectacular looking, and as Max introduced them, she smiled at Tanya. For just an instant, she reminded her of Molly. She had the same sweet innocent look, and long, shining ebony hair. The warmth in her eyes suggested that fame hadn't spoiled her yet, and she shook Tanya's hand with a warm grip.

“I loved your book. I gave it to my mom for her birthday. She loves short stories.”

“Thank you.” Tanya smiled warmly, trying not to be too impressed by her, but it was hard not to be. It was exciting to meet such an important star, not to mention working with her, and writing dialogue that she would bring to life. Tanya was touched by the reference to her book, and surprised that anyone so young would be moved by her work. Most young people liked short stories less than novels. “That's nice of you to say. I love your movies, and so do my daughters.” She felt silly saying it, and Jean looked delighted. Everybody enjoyed praise.

“I'm excited to be working on a movie with you. I can't wait to see the script.” They would be having meetings on it shortly, with all of the actors adding their notes to those of Max and Douglas and even her own. It was always a combined effort.

“I'm working hard,” Tanya assured her. “It's an honor to write a script for you,” she said, feeling awed, as two of the supporting actors wandered over. Jean didn't know either of them, and Max introduced them to Tanya and the star. He treated them all like his children, of whom he was very proud. It was as though on each movie set a new family was formed. Relationships were born, bonds were established, romances came and went, lifelong friendships began from time to time. A whole microcosm of life occurred, some of which lasted, much of which didn't, but for the moments of the making of the film, it all felt as though it would last forever and was real life. It was similar to the careful architecture of a magical house of cards that looked very similar to the Taj Mahal. Beautiful, delicate, breathtaking, enticing, and then when the movie ended, it was all swept away like sand, as they all dispersed to build sand castles again somewhere else. There was an incredible magic to it that fascinated Tanya. It all seemed so real as they stood there. They would work so hard together, create so much, believe so hard in what they were building and creating. And then when it was all captured on film, it would disappear in the mists and vanish, never to be seen again. And yet now, for this one moment in time, it was real to each of them. And then afterward, on film, their magic would be long remembered.

Tanya found being part of it incredibly exciting, and as she thought about it, watching people move around her with champagne glasses in their hands, laughing and talking, she remembered what Douglas had said to her on the phone, that it was addictive, and after she had been there for a while and tasted its temptations, she would want more. He had said she would never be able to go back to her old life again, that this would become her home. She didn't want that to be true, and yet she felt the lure of it as she stood there and watched them. She felt separate from them at first, but as Max continued to introduce her to people, mostly beautiful young stars, handsome men, and a few older ones, she began to feel comfortable in their midst. She was surprised at how easy it was to talk to them. It was such a dizzying exciting dance, she couldn't tell if what she felt was the thrill of anticipation, or the champagne. And all around them was the intoxicating scent of the lilies and gardenias. There were white orchids throughout the house, and some rare yellow and brown ones with long stems and tiny flowers in magnificent Chinese urns. And there was the distant sound of sensual music. The entire scene, from the art to the people, and even the oysters and caviar they were eating, was a sensual explosion.

Tanya was dying to go home and write about it. It felt like some form of glamorous initiation rite, as she stood silently admiring the people around her. She didn't hear Doug come up to her, and suddenly she saw him smiling at her, standing only inches away. She was wearing a white silk sweater, jeans, and low-heeled gold sandals with a matching purse, that she had bought that afternoon on her way back to the hotel. She had taken him at his word and worn jeans, and was glad she had, since the entire cast was wearing them. Doug was once again wearing an impeccable pair of gray flannel slacks with a perfect crease, an exquisite starched white shirt he'd had custom made in Paris, and black alligator loafers from Hermés.

“It doesn't get better than this, does it?” he asked her in a velvet tone. She felt Douglas more than heard him. She didn't know why yet, but every time she heard him or was near him, she felt simultaneously drawn to him and shut out, both attracted and repulsed. It was a strange kind of push-me-pull-you kind of response, as though you wanted to be close to him, yet knew you couldn't. He was like an Egyptian tomb full of dazzling riches with an ancient curse that kept you away.

He looked into Tanya's eyes and smiled at her in silence for a moment, admiring her, but enjoying saying nothing. He didn't need to. The way his eyes caressed her said it all. He talked to her in the soft undertone of someone who knew her well, yet he didn't. He didn't know her at all, except through her writing, which had already told him so much about her. She felt naked as she stood before him, and then he looked away. And this time she had no urge to run screaming from him. She told herself that nothing about him could control her or invade her. He couldn't take more than she gave, or so she thought. He was a man, not a magician. A producer. A person who bought stories, and brought scripts like hers to life on screen.

“Are you meeting people?” he asked, looking concerned. It seemed to matter to him a great deal that everyone enjoyed the evening, particularly Tanya, since she was a newcomer in their midst. She had met most of the cast, thanks to Max's warm attention, except Ned Bright, who had been constantly surrounded by a group of very pretty young women, who had all come with other men but gravitated instantly to him. He was currently Hollywood's hottest young male star, and it was easy to see why. He was charming and utterly gorgeous. And the girls around him had been giggling and laughing all night.

“I am,” she said simply, looking into Douglas's eyes. She was determined not to be overly impressed by him, nor cowed. “I love your art, it's like visiting a museum,” she said, noticing yet another famous painting spectacularly lit in a small living room off the pool she hadn't previously noticed. It was the music room, where he played the piano. He had studied to be a concert pianist as a child and young man, and he still played for his own enjoyment, and that of his close friends. She had been told that in his youth he had been thought to have immense talent.

“I hope it doesn't look like a museum, that would be very sad, like seeing animals in the zoo instead of their natural habitat. I want people to feel comfortable with the art, and not afraid of it. One should enjoy living with it as part of their experience, like a good friend, not staring at it like a stranger. All my paintings are old friends.” It was an interesting way to view it, and as he said it, she found herself looking at the smaller Monet in the music room. The way it was lit brought it to life, and it almost seemed like a mirror image of the pool, with people chatting happily all around it. The champagne that was flowing lavishly was doing its job. People looked relaxed and happy, and so did he. He seemed far more comfortable here, in his own surroundings, than he had at the Polo Lounge at the hotel. He looked graceful and gracious here, and totally in control of his own world. Nothing escaped his notice, and he seemed to be keeping an eye on everyone, and all the details of the evening. Max joined them a few minutes later, as Douglas was telling Tanya about collecting antiques in Europe. He said he had found some real treasures a few months ago in Denmark and Holland, notably a fabulous Danish desk, which he pointed out.

“It's a good thing we don't give these get-togethers at my place,” Max said, laughing broadly. He still looked like an elf to Tanya, with his round belly, bald head, and beard. He looked like one of Santa's helpers, while Douglas looked like a movie star himself. Tanya had heard that at one time Douglas had wanted to be an actor, but had never tried it. He much preferred the powerful role of producer. He controlled so much more that way, like the puppet master who brought all the elements together. Max was more like the gentle Gepetto.

Douglas laughed too at Max's comment about doing these early cast parties at his house. “It would be a little different,” he conceded, as Max explained to Tanya.

“I live in the Hollywood Hills in a house that looks like a barn and should probably be one. I have horse blankets on my couches, twoweek-old fast food sitting around on the coffee table, and my ex-wife took my vacuum cleaner fourteen years ago when she left me. I haven't had time to get another one, I've been too busy. I've got my old movie posters on the walls. My finest antique is my TV. I've had it since nineteen-eighty. I paid a lot of money for it, the rest I got from Goodwill. It's a little different from Doug's house.” All three of them laughed at what Max had said without regret or apology. He loved his house. He would have been acutely uncomfortable with a house like Douglas's, although he loved the art. “I've got to get another cleaning woman one of these days. My last one got deported, which was too bad, I really liked her. She was a great cook, and played a mean game of gin rummy. The dust balls are getting bigger than my dog.” He went on to explain that he had a Great Dane named Harry who was his best friend. He promised Tanya she'd be meeting him on the set. He always came to work with him. He wore no collar or leash, so his tags wouldn't bother the sound man, and Max said he was perfectly trained. “He loves coming to work with me, the caterers always feed him. He gets depressed and loses a lot of weight between movies.” He went on to say that the dog weighed close to two hundred pounds.

As they chatted, she was struck again by the differences between Max and Douglas. One was soft and warm and cozy, the other all hard edges and sharp corners, despite the highly polished veneer. Max looked like he'd bought his wardrobe at Goodwill, when he bought the furniture for his house. Douglas looked like the cover of GQ. It was fascinating for Tanya talking to them, and being with them. She wondered how much Douglas would be on the set, while they were making the movie. His biggest job was raising the money to make it, and keeping an eye on the budget. Max's job was getting the best possible performance out of the actors. And they both loved what they did. Tanya could hardly wait to get started on the film.

The food was served at nine o'clock at the pool, at several long buffet tables. There was one table entirely covered with sushi, from a popular Japanese restaurant. There was another table laden with lobsters, crabs, and oysters. And the third table offered exotic salads and traditional Mexican food. There was something for each taste, and the young male stars were heaping plates with food. Douglas introduced her to Ned Bright as he cruised past them, followed by four women. She noticed instantly how much he looked like her son, Jason.

“Hi,” he said, looking happy and relaxed, apologizing for not shaking her hand. He was carrying two plates, one with sushi, the other with a ton of Mexican food on it. “Don't give me too many lines, I'm dyslexic,” he said, laughing. She wondered if he really was, and she asked Max about it afterward. It might help her to know that.

“No, just lazy. He tells all screenwriters that. He's a really nice kid.” He was the new face in Hollywood these days, and an absolute sensation. He was twenty-three and the male lead in the movie, opposite Jean Amber. He looked older than he was, closer to thirty, although he had played a blind sixteen-year-old boy in his last film, which had received lavish praise and had won him a Golden Globe. He also had a nice side career as a drummer and singer in a Hollywood band, made up of young stars. He was the lead singer. They'd just recently had a hit CD, and she knew all three of her kids would go crazy when she said she'd met him. Molly particularly nearly fainted when she heard it.

“Nice boy,” Max reiterated, and Tanya agreed. You could see it. “His mother always visits him on the set, just to make sure we're treating him right and he's behaving. He just graduated from film school at USC. He says he wants to be a director, after he makes a few more movies. A lot of them think that but never do it. I have a feeling he will. I'd better watch my ass.” Douglas and Tanya laughed.

The three of them found a table and three chairs to eat dinner together. Everyone had found somewhere to sit around the pool. The music on the sound system was soft and sexy, and seemed just right for the setting. Douglas was very sensitive to the right music, the right dinner, the perfect atmosphere for people to open up and get to know each other. Tanya was sitting on a chaise longue, and lay back after she finished eating. When she looked up, she saw the stars as Douglas watched her.

“You look beautiful, Tanya, and so relaxed and happy.” She had pulled a pale blue cashmere shawl over her shoulders, and it was perfect with her eyes, draped softly around her. “You look like a Madonna,” Douglas said, admiring her like a painting. “I love these days, before we start a film, when everything is beginning, when we have no idea what we'll capture yet, what magic will enthrall us. Once we start, our days are full of surprises, all of which are unknown right now. I love watching it unfold. It's like life, only better, because we control it.” That was always an important element to him, Tanya could sense that. Control was essential to him.

Jean Amber walked over to talk to them, eating an ice cream sundae and a cookie. There had also been soufflés made to order, and baked Alaska. Max said the flames always made him want to toast marshmallows over it, but they didn't last long enough. He looked like the sort of person who would do that, unorthodox, funny, comfortable with himself. He was known to have a fondness for whoopee cushions, which he used on the set during breaks. He had an outrageous sense of humor, which Douglas didn't. Douglas was far more serious, and thought the sets should be kept quiet and in control, and lunch breaks spent with people studying their next scenes in the script. He was like the headmaster, and Max the funny, warm, outrageous teacher who had a profound affection for kids. To him, no matter how old they were, the actors were all his children, and they loved that about him. They treated him like a father, and respected him profoundly, both for his skill with his craft which was incomparable, and his kindness, which was equal to it. Douglas was far tougher and had to worry about insurance and budget. He kept his eye on the shooting schedule, and rode actors and directors when things were getting out of hand. His movies were so tightly run and meticulously budgeted, he never let them get out of control. Max did often. He loved spoiling his actors, and thought they deserved it for hard work and a job well done. He was all in favor of cast parties, particularly one like this. Douglas did a hell of a job on that score.

The party lasted till nearly one, as people who had worked together before found each other with delight and amazement at their good fortune to be working on the same film again. They were like kids at camp, happy to find camp friends from the previous summer. Or regulars on cruise ships, who were thrilled to find people they had sailed with before. It was all a matter of luck who you found working with you on a movie. Douglas and Max were particularly good at building casts with talented, compatible people who worked well together. They both felt this one would, and Tanya was a welcome addition. Everyone she had met that night was thrilled to have her among them, and several had read her book, which genuinely touched her. Several of them told her which were their favorite short stories in the anthology, so she knew they had really read it, and weren't just saying it to be polite.

The general atmosphere that evening was one of warmth and excitement. Everyone was happy about this film. It was a star-studded cast, and everyone knew Max's directing was flawless. They all agreed they were lucky to be there, on this cast, and luckier yet to have been invited to Douglas's house for dinner. Everything about Hollywood had a dream-come-true quality to it. It truly was the Magic Kingdom, and they were the chosen people, the luckiest of all to have risen to the top in Hollywood, and luckier still if they stayed there. But for now at least they were riding high. There were a handful of top Hollywood actors and actresses in the movie. And there were no important guest stars who'd be showing up later. Max liked a cohesive cast that worked together in harmony for the duration of the entire film. That created an atmosphere of benevolent cooperation, which only happened if the cast was together constantly and knew each other well. They really became a family then, and Tanya could already feel it. It was happening. Someone had sprinkled fairy dust on them. It was beginning. In fact, it had begun.

Max offered to drive her back to the Beverly Hills Hotel afterward. He didn't mind, and Tanya hadn't brought her limo. She had been given one for the duration of her stay, but she felt guilty keeping the driver sitting there all night, when all she was doing was going back and forth to the hotel. She had planned to take a cab, which she mentioned to Max, as he put a finger to his lips and silently scolded her.

“Don't say that. Douglas will take your car away. And why not keep it? You need it.”

She said goodnight to Douglas after that, and thanked him for dinner and a lovely evening. She felt like a schoolgirl saying goodnight to the headmaster. He was in an animated conversation with Jean Amber, who was disagreeing with him vehemently, although goodhumoredly, about something. She was telling him how wrong he was.

“Can I settle an argument for you two?” Max volunteered, always happy to help.

“Yes,” Jean said staunchly. “I think Venice is much more beautiful than Florence or Rome. It's much more romantic.”

“I don't go to Italy for romance,” Douglas said, teasing her and loving it. He had no problem at all being surrounded by beautiful women. He had made a career of it. “I go for the art. The Uffizi is my idea of heaven. Florence wins hands down.”

“The hotel we stayed in there was awful. I was stuck there for three weeks on location.” She said it with the broad experience of a twenty-five-year-old, although one who had traveled widely, more than most, while making movies, but she saw little of the towns and cities where she worked. She never had time. They came to work on a movie, and left immediately after to go to another location. It was a very narrow focus on the world, but better than none. Tanya would have loved her kids to meet her, and hoped they would in time. She seemed like a lovely young woman, and she knew her children would be wildly impressed to meet her.

“I prefer Rome myself,” Max offered, confusing the matter further. “Great coffeehouses, good pasta, lots of Japanese tourists, and nuns. You see more nuns in Rome, and I love the old habits. You don't see them anywhere else.” Tanya laughed at his comments.

“I think nuns are scary,” Jean commented. “I went to Catholic school when I was a kid, and hated it. I didn't see any nuns in Venice.”

“Then clearly that's a point in its favor for you. I kissed some girl under the Bridge of Sighs when I was about twenty-one,” Max added. “The gondolier scared the hell out of me when he said that meant we'd be together forever. She had bad skin and really bad buck teeth, I had just met her. I think that traumatized me for Venice. It's amazing what colors your feeling about a city. I had a gallbladder attack in New Orleans once, and I've never wanted to go back since.”

“I made a picture there, on location,” Jean nodded sympathetically. “It sucked. Really humid. It screwed up my hair the whole time.”

“I lost mine in Des Moines,” Max said, rubbing his bald head, and they all laughed.

Tanya thanked Douglas for the evening then, and a few minutes later she and Max left. He drove her back to the hotel. She had had a surprisingly good time.

“So how are you liking Hollywood?” Max asked her conversationally. He liked her a lot. If she hadn't been married, he'd have put the make on her. But he had too much respect for the sanctity of marriage, and she didn't look the type to screw around. She was a nice woman, and he was looking forward to working with her. Like Douglas, he had great respect for her work, and Max liked her as a person.

“It's a little crazy, judging by some of the people I talked to tonight, but it's fun,” Tanya answered him honestly. “I've been down here a lot for my soaps, but this is different.” It had impressed her to meet so many big stars that night. She'd never done that before, except for the regulars on the soaps, who were minor celebrities in their own right. Though very minor in most cases. She had met the big guns tonight.

“It's definitely its own special little world. It's a very incestuous community, in the movie business anyway. Making a picture is like taking a cruise, it's a tiny little microcosm of the world, and has nothing to do with real life. People meet, instantly become friends, fall in love, have affairs, the movie ends, it's all over, and they move on to something else. It feels like real life for about five minutes, but it isn't. You'll see when we start the movie. There'll be five hot romances starting in the first week. It's a crazy way to live, but at least it's not boring.” It certainly wasn't that. She had already noticed several of the young stars flirting that night, most noticeably Jean Amber and Ned Bright, who were the film's two leads. They had been eyeing each other all night, and chatted for a while. She had wondered about that.

“It must be hard to have a real relationship down here, given all that, if you're in the movie business,” she said, as they approached the hotel.

“It is. Most people don't want one. They'd rather play around and pretend they're having a real life. They're not, but most of them never figure that out. They think they are. Like Douglas. I don't think he's had a serious relationship since the Ice Age. He goes out with women for a while, usually fairly important women, but I don't think he ever lets anyone get close. It's not his style. He's all about power and big business, and buying art, I guess. I don't think he's interested in love. Some guys are just like that. Me, I'm still looking for the Holy Grail,” he said, smiling happily. Tanya really liked him. Everyone seemed to. He had a huge heart, and it showed. “I never go out with actresses. I want some nice woman who loves bald guys with beards, and wants to rub my back at night. I went out with the same woman for sixteen years, and we were perfect for each other. I don't think we ever had a fight.”

“So what happened?” Tanya asked, as they stopped under the awning of the Beverly Hills Hotel, which was home for her now, although it didn't feel that way yet. She wondered if it ever would. She still felt out of place here, and not fancy enough to be staying there. She felt like a fraud, and surely not a star.

“She died,” Max said quietly, still smiling. The memory of her still warmed his eyes. “Breast cancer. It was the shits. There'll never be anyone like her. She was the love of my life. I've gone out with some other women since. It's not the same. I'm okay. I get by.” He smiled. “She was a writer, too. She wrote miniseries in the days when they were a big deal. We used to talk about getting married, but we never needed to. We felt like we already were married in our hearts. I still go on vacation with her kids every year, between pictures. They're great people. Two boys, both married. They live in Chicago. My kids love them, too. They remind me of her.”

“She sounds like a nice woman,” Tanya said, sounding sympathetic as they sat in his car and talked. He drove a beat-up old Honda, in spite of the big fees he made for directing movies. He had no need to show off. It wasn't his style, unlike Douglas, with his fabulous house and incredible art. She had been impressed. Anyone would have been. She'd never seen paintings of that caliber outside a museum.

“She was nice,” Max said of his lost love. “So are you.” He smiled at her. He liked who and what she was. The kind of person Tanya was was written all over her. He had liked her the moment they met, and even better tonight. She was genuine and solid, which was rare in Hollywood. “Your husband is a lucky guy.”

“I'm a lucky woman,” she said, smiling wistfully. She missed Peter a lot. They had lost the comfort of daily physical contact, the warmth they shared at night. It was a lot to lose. She was anxious to call him as soon as she got back to the room, although it was late. She had promised she would, even if she woke him up. She had talked to him and the girls before she went out. They were doing fine so far, and she was going home in two days. She could hardly wait. “My husband is a great guy.”

“Good for you. I hope I meet him sometime. He should come down during the filming, and bring your kids.”

“He will.” She thanked Max for the ride and hopped out. And then she remembered her lunch with Douglas the following day. He was meeting her at the Polo Lounge, which was convenient for her. “Are you coming to lunch tomorrow?”

“No, I'm meeting with the cameramen, to discuss equipment with them.” Max used a lot of complicated, unusual lenses to achieve the effects he was famous for, and he wanted to be sure he had them all on hand. “Douglas likes getting to know people individually. I'll catch up with you next week, when our meetings start. Have a nice weekend with your kids.” He waved as she got out and he drove off, and she smiled on her way back to the bungalow. He was going to be great to work with. She wasn't as sure about Douglas. He still unnerved her, although she had liked him better tonight. He had seemed less scary to her, viewed in his natural habitat, where he was visibly more at ease.

She called Peter as soon as she got back to her bungalow. He was half-asleep, but waiting for her call. It was nearly one-thirty.

“I'm sorry it's so late. It went on forever,” she said, sounding breathless. She had run back to the room to call him.

“That's okay. How was it?” He yawned, and she could visualize him perfectly in their bed. It made her miss him even more.

“Fun. Weird. Interesting. Douglas Wayne has the most incredible art I've ever seen. Renoir, Monet. Amazing stuff. And the place was full of hot young stars. Jean Amber, Ned Bright.” She named some others. “They're nice young kids. Molly and Megan would have loved it. I missed you. The director, Max Blum, is really nice, too. You'll like him. I told him about you tonight.”

“God, you'll never want to come back to Ross after all that, Tanny … you're going to be way too glamorous for us.” She didn't think he meant it, but she didn't like hearing it anyway. It was what Douglas had predicted when he called her. And it was the last thing she wanted. She wanted no part of a Hollywood life. Just theirs, in Ross.

“Don't be a jerk. I couldn't care less about all that crap. They'd all die for a life like ours.”

“Yeah, right,” he laughed, sounding like their kids. “I don't think so. You're going to get spoiled down there, sweetheart.”

“No, I'm not,” she said, sounding sad. She had kicked off her sandals and was lying on the bed. “I miss you. I wish you were here.”

“You'll be home in two days. I miss you, too. It's dead around here without you. I burned dinner tonight.”

“I'll cook this weekend.” She still felt guilty being there, and couldn't wait to come home to him and the girls. She'd been there for three days and it already felt like several lifetimes. It was going to be a long nine months. Very, very long. It had felt really strange to go out that night without him, but she had to, to meet the cast. It was a command performance for all of them at Douglas's house, although a very pleasant one for sure. But she would have enjoyed it more if Peter had been there. She never went out without him when he was out of town, which was rare. She had no desire for a social life of her own, especially down here. She had nothing in common with any of them. Especially Douglas Wayne. She could imagine going out for a hamburger with Max Blum, though. He seemed like he'd be a good friend, if there was such a thing down here, which she wasn't sure about yet. “I can't wait to see you. It's so weird being alone down here. I miss you and the girls so much.” She hated sleeping without him, and had been restless and lonely for the past three nights. He was hating that part, too, and slept with a pillow in his arms for lack of her.

“We miss you, too,” Peter said, yawning again. “I'd better get to sleep. I have to get the girls up in the morning. Meg's got swim practice at seven-thirty.” He glanced at the clock. “I have to be up in four and a half hours.” He groaned at the thought, but he hadn't wanted to go to sleep without talking to his wife. “I'll talk to you tomorrow. Sleep tight, baby …I miss you …”

“Me too,” she said softly. “Night-night. Sweet dreams.”

“You too,” Peter said and hung up. Tanya lay on her bed in the bungalow, thinking about him and missing him. She went to brush her teeth then with a heavy heart. She could hardly wait to go home. And they were all wrong about her, she thought to herself. Peter, Douglas, predicting she was going to get spoiled down here and never want to go back to Ross. That was all she wanted. She missed her bed, she missed her husband, she missed her kids. She couldn't think of a single thing down here that could come close to that. She would have traded all the luxuries of her bungalow at that moment for a night in bed with Peter in Ross. For Tanya, then and always, there was no place like home.

Chapter 6

Tanya met Douglas at the Polo Lounge at one o'clock the next day for lunch. She was wearing jeans and a pink sweater, and he looked as glamorous as ever in a well-cut khaki suit, blue shirt, yellow Hermés tie, and impeccable brown shoes. He always looked immaculate, and he was waiting for her when she arrived. He was drinking a Bloody Mary and chatting with a friend who had walked by. He introduced Tanya to him, and she was startled to realize it was Robert De Niro. They chatted for a few minutes, and then De Niro left. It would have been hard not to be impressed. But this was standard fare now. She wanted to tell Peter about it afterward, but she didn't want to hear any more from him, or anyone else, about how glamorous she was becoming, and what a hard time she'd have going back. That was all she wanted. Everything down here was unreal, and she didn't feel part of it. She had no desire to be. She just wanted to do her work, and go home. They were all wrong about how sophisticated and spoiled she was going to get. Tanya knew better. She knew herself well, and had her feet firmly planted on solid ground.

“Thank you for a lovely evening last night,” she said to Douglas as she sat down. “It was fun meeting the cast. You have a beautiful house.”

“I enjoy it,” he said, smiling at her. “You have to come on my boat sometime. It's a lot of fun.” It was a two-hundred-foot yacht. She had seen photographs of it at his house the night before. It looked huge to her. Her kids would have gone insane. “What do you do in the summer, Tanya? What did you do this year?” he asked, and she smiled. It was like a homework assignment in first grade. My Summer Vacation, by Tanya Harris. Her life was so much quieter than his, in every way. She loved it that way. She didn't need a yacht.

“We go to Tahoe in August. We rent a house there every year. The kids love it, and we have a good time together. Peter and I were talking about taking the kids to Europe next summer. We haven't been in years. It was too hard when the kids were small.” She felt foolish saying things like that to him. He couldn't care less about what you did with kids when they were big or small. And a rented house in Tahoe must have sounded pathetic to him, compared to a two-hundred-foot yacht on the French Riviera. The absurdity of the comparison made her laugh, as she ordered an iced tea. She was planning to work that afternoon.

“I spend two months on the boat in the South of France every year,” he said as though it were commonplace, which it was to him. “I go to Sardinia, too. It's great. And Corsica. Capri sometimes, Ibiza, Mallorca, Greece. If you take your kids over next summer, you'll have to come on the boat for a few days.” He rarely extended invitations to people with children, although it was a long way off. But how much damage could they do in a few days? He suspected hers were probably civilized. She certainly was. He assumed her family was well behaved, and he knew they were college age. He never would have invited people with young children, he assumed they'd probably get seasick anyway if he had them on board for an extended time. A weekend would be fine.

“They'd love that. I can't wait to tell them I met Ned last night, and Jean. They're going to be very impressed with me.”

“They should be.” He smiled. “I am. A lot more than with Ned and Jean,” although Tanya thought he had appeared to enjoy his conversation with her. Admittedly, Jean was a kid. She was spectacular looking but seemed young for her age. Actors seemed to lead sheltered lives in some ways. They lived in a tiny little bubble while making a movie, out of touch with the real world.

“They seem like kids,” Tanya commented as he ordered another Bloody Mary.

“They are. All actors and actresses are children. They live in cocoons, protected from reality. It's always been that way. They play dress-up and have fun. Some of them work hard. But they have no idea how the rest of the world lives. They're used to having agents and producers baby them, and shield them, and cater to their every whim. They never really grow up. The bigger they are, the more unreal it is. You'll see when you work with them. They're incredibly immature.”

“They can't all be that way,” Tanya commented with interest. They were damning statements from him, but he knew the business well.

“No. But most are. They're narcissistic and spoiled, and all about themselves. That gets old very quickly. That's why I never go out with actresses. They're way too high maintenance for me.” He looked into Tanya's eyes as he said it, and she looked away. Something about him made her uncomfortable. He always crossed some invisible boundary between them. He kept himself just out of reach, yet was always just a hair too intimate with her. Or more than a hair. Without moving an inch, he invaded her space.

They ordered lunch after that, and she asked him a number of questions about the picture, and the meetings they were having next week. She was planning on doing a final polish on the script that weekend, and there were some changes he wanted her to make. It all sounded fine to her. He was finding her easy to work with and entirely reasonable. She seemed to have very little ego about her work.

They had finished lunch by the time the conversation got personal again. It was always Douglas who brought it there. He was hungry to know more about her. He asked her about her childhood, her parents, when she had started writing. He wanted to know everything about her early life, what her dreams and disappointments were. She was surprised by the intimacy of his questions, and he volunteered nothing about himself, which didn't surprise her. He was a man who gave nothing away.

“It's all pretty ordinary,” she said comfortably. “No tragedies, no dark secrets. No serious disappointments. I was sad when my parents died, of course. But Peter and I have been very happy for twenty years.”

“That sounds pretty remarkable,” Douglas said somewhat cynically.

“I guess it is these days,” Tanya said pensively.

“It is, if it's true,” he said, looking at her, and she was annoyed at the way he examined her, as though he didn't believe what she'd said, and would see the truth in her eyes.

“Is that so inconceivable to you, that people are happily married?” It seemed lucky but commonplace to her. They knew a lot of couples in Ross who had been happily married for twenty or thirty years. A lot of their friends were, although she and Peter seemed the most solid of all. And admittedly, some of their friends had gotten divorced over the years. But many of them had remarried, and were happily married again. She lived in a wholesome little world that seemed far from here. In Douglas's world, people rarely got married, and when they did, it was often for the wrong reasons, mostly for show, power, or material gain in some way. And he knew a lot of men married to trophy women. There were no trophy wives in Marin, certainly not among the people Tanya knew.

“Both of the women I married were huge mistakes,” Douglas said conversationally. “One was a well-known actress, thirty years ago when I married her. We were both ridiculously young. I was twentyfour, just a kid starting out in the business. I wanted to be an actor then, too. I got over that very quickly. And I got over her very quickly, too. We were married less than a year. Thank God we never had kids.”

“Is she a big star now?” Tanya asked out of idle curiosity. She wondered who it had been, but didn't dare ask. She knew he'd volunteer it if he wanted her to know.

“No.” He smiled. “She never was. Pretty girl, though. She gave up acting, and married a guy from North Carolina. After she married him, I never heard from her again. I heard from a mutual friend she had four kids. She never wanted much out of life except a husband, children, and a picket fence. I think she got all three, but not from me. That wasn't my thing even then.” Tanya believed that readily from everything he had said. And he still wasn't that type now. Tanya couldn't imagine him with children.

“The second one was more interesting. She was a rock star in the eighties. A huge talent, she could have had a hell of a career.” He sounded almost wistful as he said it, and Tanya watched his eyes. She couldn't interpret what she saw there. Regret, pain, maybe grief, disappointment. That had obviously come to an end, too, since he wasn't married anymore, nor wanted to be.

“What happened to her? Did she quit the business, too?”

“No, she died in a plane crash when she was on tour. She went down with her whole band. The drummer flew the plane, and he wasn't much of a pilot. He could have been stoned. We were already divorced when she died. But I was sorry anyway. She was a sweet kid. You've probably heard her name.” Tanya was impressed when he said it. She had loved listening to her music when she was in college, and still had some old tapes. She remembered when the plane went down. It made headlines at the time. She hadn't thought of her in years, and it was odd hearing of her now in such a personal way. She could see Douglas's sadness over her in his eyes. It humanized him to Tanya. There was a soft side to him after all.

“Why was she a mistake?” Tanya asked gently. She was turning the tables on him, asking him questions this time, curious about him, just as he was about her.

“We had nothing in common. And the music scene was crazy even then. She did a lot of drugs, although she said she wasn't hooked. She wasn't an addict, just a crazy, beautiful wild girl. She claimed she sang better when she was stoned. I'm not sure it was true. But she had one hell of a voice,” he said, with a dreamy, distant look that made him look like a different person, somewhat softer and more human than he was today. Tanya wondered if she had been the love of his life, or if there was such a thing in his world. “We got divorced because we never saw each other. She was on tour nine or ten months a year. It didn't make much sense, and I was producing by then. She was a handicap for me. She got too much bad press over the way she behaved. Coke was pretty fashionable back then, or pretty common at any rate. She got arrested a few times. It didn't sit well with me.” Nor had the men she cheated on him with, but he didn't say that to Tanya. “Those were crazy years, and she was a pretty outrageous girl. I never liked being around drugs, and I still don't. It went with the territory for her. She wanted kids, too. I couldn't see myself having babies with her. I figured they'd all be drug addicts by the time they were six. That's really not my thing,” he said again. “It never was. I was too busy trying to be successful, making a living. I produced my first movies then. Having a wife in rehab or jail wouldn't have done much for my career, although it happened to plenty of people back then. I was always scared to death she'd OD. But she never did.”

“So you divorced her?” It sounded like a calculated move to Tanya. She had been bad for his career, so out she went. It was obvious what his priorities were. It sounded as though there had been more to it than that, but she didn't want to pry. It was intriguing, though. She wondered if that was why he was so closed, or if his sealed-off quality predated all that. She didn't have the impression Douglas had ever been warm or close to anyone, or if so, not in a very long time since his youth.

“Actually”—he smiled at Tanya—“she divorced me. She said I was an uptight, pretentious, arrogant, opportunistic prick. And all I cared about was money. And that was a quote. She was right, too.” He said it without guilt or apology. He had said it many times about himself ever since. “Unfortunately, all those things she mentioned are a recipe for success. You have to be all of those things to get ahead in this business, and I was very determined to make some big films. She was a star in her own right. She didn't need help from me.”

“Did that bother you?” Tanya asked, curious about what made him tick. He was a complex man.

“Yes, it did,” he answered her question. “It bothered me that I had no control over anything she did. She didn't listen, she didn't ask for advice. She never told me what was happening with the band. Half of them had been in jail for drugs at the time. It didn't hurt her in her business, but it would have in mine. People who consort with druggies don't go far in any line of work, at least not in those days. Things were still a little more uptight twenty years ago. And in those days people still believed that coke wouldn't do you a lot of harm. We've learned a lot more about it since. I think sooner or later she would have either gotten badly addicted or wound up in jail. Maybe it's better that she died.” It seemed a hard thing to say.

“Were you in love with her?” Tanya asked sympathetically. It was a sad story either way, and a waste of a young woman's life, and all those who had died with her. Tanya remembered it perfectly.

“Probably not,” Douglas answered honestly. “I don't think I've ever been in love. It's not something that I missed. Most of the time”— he smiled ruefully—“I like deals better than girls. They're easier to manage.”

“But not nearly as much fun,” Tanya chided him.

“True. I have no idea why I married her, except I think I was impressed by her at the time. She was a knockout-looking girl with a hell of a voice. I still listen to her music sometimes,” he confessed, and Tanya smiled at him. She hoped they were becoming friends.

“So do I,” Tanya added. She knew she had put away tapes from her college days, and had kept a few out to listen to occasionally.

Douglas seemed depressed by the subject, by the end of lunch. He hadn't thought of his late second wife in a long time. It was kind of a tender memory to ponder now, except for all that had led up to the divorce. Afterward she had gone to jail twice for drugs, which was unthinkable for him. He was glad he was out of it then. He could still remember his feelings of outrage at the time. She had been a lost soul, though an extremely beautiful girl. He had loved showing her off when they were married. He said she had been the closest he had ever come to a trophy wife. He had never wanted another one since then. He was a man who functioned better on his own. And in later years he had little need for companionship, except for some entertainment in his bed now and then.

He never engaged in matters of the heart. His heart was never involved in his sexual endeavors. And when he wanted a woman on his arm, he chose carefully. He liked intelligent women who were interesting company, didn't outshine him, and looked well in the press with him. They were usually major, established stars, well-known writers, the occasional married politician, or even wives of his friends who were out of town. He was interested in companionship and suitable women, not fodder for the tabloids. His reputation was that of an important man who had made a mark on the world. His love life was of no interest, even and perhaps especially to him. He would have been content to take Tanya out with him, once he got to know her better, and had thought of it the other night at his dinner party. She was interesting, intelligent, and had a good sense of humor, and she was a pretty woman. She was the perfect profile of the kind of woman he liked having on his arm. And she sparred well with him, another plus to him. In a sense, he was auditioning her as a potential companion for social events, or even as a hostess at his dinner parties. He liked everything he had seen about her so far. And their working together for the next several months would make appearances in public together seem quite benign. He didn't like being gossiped about. And Tanya looked so respectable that that seemed completely unlikely. She was the kind of woman who drew praise, not criticism.

“What are you doing this weekend?” he asked casually as their lunch came to an end.

“Going home.” She beamed. Her total delight at the prospect was evident, even to him, although he thought it somewhat silly. He didn't have a sentimental bone in his body.

“You really like all that Marin County housewife stuff, don't you?” he said, trying to shame her into admitting she didn't.

“Yes, I do,” she said happily, “especially my husband and my kids. They're the best part. My whole life is about them.”

“You're so much bigger than that, Tanya. You deserve a more exciting life than that.” He looked sorry for her as he said it.

“I don't want excitement.”

She had always loved the mundanities of her life with Peter, the everyday ordinary things that made their life seem normal and solid. The Hollywood life seemed false and shallow to her. There was nothing about it that she wanted, except the experience of writing a screenplay for a movie. Other than that, she had no interest in it. It seemed totally empty to her. And she felt sorry for the people who lived in it and thought there was something to it, like Douglas. As far as she was concerned, it had absolutely no substance or merit whatsoever. She suspected Douglas would have violently disagreed with her if she'd said it. She knew he loved the art scene, and was on the board of the Los Angeles County Museum. He had said he went to the theater whenever possible, and occasionally went to San Francisco for the ballet and symphony. He loved cultural pursuits and social events of all kinds. He even flew to Washington, D.C., for openings at the Kennedy Center, or to Lincoln Center and the Met in New York. He was a major figure in all four cities, and in Europe when he went there, which he did often. A life like hers would have bored him to extinction. She, on the other hand, loved it. She wouldn't have traded lives with him for anything in the world.

“Maybe after you've been in L.A. for a while, you'll look to broader horizons. I hope so, for your sake,” he said, as they walked across the Polo Lounge, and all heads turned as they recognized him and wondered who he was with. No one knew her, and it caused interest but not comment. She was a pretty woman of a reasonable age in jeans and a pink sweater, nothing more. But if she went out publicly with him, they would know who she was. Some women in L.A. would have killed for the opportunity. He liked the fact that it meant nothing to her. She wasn't trying to use him, and didn't seem the type anyway. He had guessed right on that score. There was nothing opportunistic about Tanya, in any way. She was a woman of integrity and dignity, with a fine mind and a lot of talent. She didn't need to trade on anyone to get ahead, and wouldn't have in any case.

She thanked him for lunch, and he wished her a good weekend. It had been more pleasant than she'd expected. He was good company, and hadn't gone over the line as often as she'd feared he would. In fact, he had been completely proper, and not as critical of her home life as he had been at first. He thought she was worthy of more interesting pursuits than those she engaged in, in Marin, but if that was what she wanted and how she enjoyed spending her time, it seemed foolish to him, but she didn't offend anyone. He knew her life would get bigger and more interesting once she'd been in L.A. for a while. He had the feeling as they walked into the lobby together that in time they could be friends. He liked the idea, and although she wasn't as sure about it as he was, it was conceivable to her as well. She just wanted to be careful not to encourage him in any way. There was a side of him that made her uncomfortable, and she knew the kind of profound disregard he had for the life she led. Family values were of no interest to him, children made him nervous, and he thought marriage vows only got in the way. Douglas liked people he could push around, or had some control over in some way. As long as she was aware of it, and kept her boundaries firm and her head clear, she was sure that they would get along very well. He wasn't the sort of man she wanted to let her guard down with. He was a business associate for now, and nothing more, and she wanted to keep it that way. And maybe in time, after they knew each other better, they would be friends. He had to earn her friendship first.

She worked on her computer for the rest of the afternoon, and had room service that night. Max called her to ask how it was going, and she discussed what she perceived as a few potential problems with him. He helped her solve them, and she liked the solutions he offered. She tried them and was pleased to find they worked. She was absolutely certain they were going to enjoy working together. She would have liked to go home that night, but Douglas had intimated that she should be on call in case they called for any meetings on Friday morning, but when they hadn't by noon, she took a cab to the airport.

She had let her car and driver go, and all she took was hand luggage. She took a one-thirty flight to San Francisco, and at threetwenty she walked into the house in Ross. No one was home, but she wanted to dance around the living room and sing. She was so happy to be home she could hardly stand it. She checked the fridge and cupboards and found them nearly empty. She went to Safeway, and bought food for the weekend and the following week, and was putting it away when the girls walked in and gave a shout when they saw her there. Even Megan looked happy for a minute and then grew quickly somber and went upstairs, remembering that she was supposed to be angry at her mother. But for a moment she had let it show that she was glad to see her, which pleased Tanya, and Molly was all over her like a puppy, hugging, kissing, standing close to her, and hugging her again.

“I really missed you this week,” she admitted to her mother.

“So did I,” Tanya said, with an arm around Molly's shoulders.

“How was it?” Molly asked with interest, dying to hear about it all.

“It was fine. I had dinner with Ned Bright and Jean Amber one night. He's mighty cute.” She beamed at her daughter, so happy to see her.

“When can I meet him?” Molly looked excited at the prospect as her mother put the last of the groceries away.

“As soon as you come down to visit me. You can come watch them filming on the set. The director is really nice.”

Molly went upstairs to call a friend and tell her about it a few minutes later. And Tanya was still tidying up the kitchen when Peter walked in. He knew she was coming home and had left the office early. As soon as he saw her, he spun her around in his arms and kissed her hungrily on the mouth, and then held her close to him. They were so happy to see each other. They went upstairs for an hour before dinner, and locked their door discreetly. It was the perfect homecoming, in every way.

Tanya cooked dinner for her family that night. She made their favorite pasta, and a big green salad, while Peter cooked steaks on the barbecue, and afterward they all sat around talking animatedly. She told them about the dinner at Douglas Wayne's house, and all the stars that had been there. Afterward the girls went out with friends, and she and Peter went quietly upstairs.

It was a normal Friday night, and she and Peter talked for hours, and cuddled. They made love again before they went to sleep. They had all survived her first week in L.A., and all was well in their world.

Chapter 7

The weekend sped by too quickly for all of them. Tanya woke up depressed on Sunday morning, and Peter didn't look happy, either. She wasn't leaving till that night, but knowing she was going took the wind out of all of them all day. Megan's feelings finally erupted at lunchtime, and she got in an argument with her mother in the kitchen, over a T-shirt that had gotten ruined in the wash, which had nothing to do with anything. She was angry at her mother for going back to L.A. Knowing what was at the root of Megan's display of fury, Tanya tried not to lose her temper, and finally told her to behave.

“This isn't about the T-shirt, Meg,” she said bluntly. “I don't like leaving, either. I'm trying to do the best I can.”

“No, you're not,” Megan accused her. “What you're doing is selfish and stupid. You didn't have to write the script for this movie. Face it, you're a lousy mother, Mom. You walked out on all of us so you could do it. You don't care about Dad or us. You're just thinking of yourself.” Tanya stood dumbstruck for a long moment, and then tears came to her eyes as she looked at her daughter, and faced her accusations. It was hard to defend herself, and she wondered if Megan was right. Going to L.A. to write a screenplay was a very selfish thing to have done.

“I'm sorry you feel that way,” Tanya said sadly. “I know this was a lousy year to do it, but this is when I got the offer, and I might never have gotten the chance again.” She had hoped they'd understand it and forgive her, but maybe Megan wouldn't. She hadn't relented yet. They were standing there looking at each other, Megan glaring, and Tanya in dismay as Peter walked in. He had heard what Megan said, and had come in from the living room to tell Megan to apologize to her mother, and she wouldn't. She said she believed every word she had said. Without saying another word, she stomped upstairs. Tanya looked at Peter and started to cry, and he put his arms around her.

“She's just blowing off steam.”

“I don't blame her. I would feel the same way she does, if my mother left me for senior year.”

“You're home on the weekends. They're hardly here during the week anyway. They get home in time to eat, call their friends, and fall into bed. They don't really need you,” he said, trying to reassure her, but she cried anyway. And she hated leaving him alone, too.

“They like knowing I'm here,” she said, and blew her nose.

“So do I. But you're here on weekends. It's not forever. We did fine this week, and the movie will be over before you know it. Imagine if you win an Oscar, Tan …think about it. On a Douglas Wayne movie, it could happen.” He had won at least a dozen of them. “What's he like, by the way?” Peter had been curious about him. And he knew he was a good-looking guy. He wondered if he was going to hit on Tanya. He hoped not. As a rule, Peter wasn't jealous. But Hollywood was heady stuff. In spite of that, he trusted her.

“He's weird. Selfish. Very closed, kind of shut down. He hates kids. He has a yacht. He has great art and a nice house. That's about all I know about him. That, and he was married to a rock star who died in a plane crash, after they were divorced. He's not exactly warm and fuzzy, but very smart. The one I really like is the director, Max Blum. He looks like Santa Claus, and he's really sweet. His girlfriend died of breast cancer, and he has a Great Dane named Harry.”

“You really get the personal stuff, don't you?” Peter laughed. She had painted a very coherent portrait of them both. “It must be something about writers. People always tell you things they wouldn't tell me in a million years. And you don't even ask, they volunteer it.” He had seen it happen a thousand times over the years. People always confided their deepest secrets to her. It amazed him.

“I must have a sympathetic face. Besides, I'm a mother, although I seem to be flunking that subject at the moment.”

“No, you're not. Meg's tough.” They both knew that about her. She demanded a lot of those she cared about, and was quick to criticize if anyone she loved fell short, even a friend. Molly was far more forgiving, and warmer. Megan had higher standards for herself and everyone else. Tanya always said her own mother had been like that, it was in the genes.

Tanya made lunch for everyone, and Megan didn't come downstairs. She said goodbye to her mother and went out. Tanya suspected that Megan didn't want to see her leave. People had different ways of saying goodbye. Goodbyes had always been hard for Megan. It was easier for her to get mad and stomp off than to feel sad or cry. And Molly clung to her till the last minute. They dropped her off at a friend's on their way to the airport, and she hugged her mother tight before getting out of the car.

“I love you. Have fun … say hi to Ned Bright for me. Tell him I love him … and I love you more …” She shouted back over her shoulder as she got out of the car and ran into her friend's house.

After that Tanya and Peter had some quiet time together, driving to the airport. It gave them a chance to talk about a case he was working on, the changes she'd made to the script, and just to sit in comfortable silence for a few minutes, enjoying each other's presence. They had made love more than usual that weekend, and Peter laughed about it before he dropped her off.

“Maybe this L.A. thing is good for our sex life.” It was as though they were storing up each other's loving for the days they were apart. It helped. She was sad again when he kissed her at the airport. He couldn't come in past security, since he didn't have a boarding pass and wasn't traveling himself.

“I already miss you,” she said, looking miserable, and he kissed her again. He was being an incredibly good sport about it.

“Me, too. See you Friday. Call me when you get in.”

“I will. What are you doing for dinner?” Both girls were out, and she had forgotten to fix him something to put in the microwave.

“I told Alice I'd stop by. She checked on the girls this week a couple of times, and I told her I'd pick up some sushi and come over.”

“Say hi for me. I was going to call her all weekend, and I never got to it. Tell her I'm sorry, and thanks for keeping an eye on the girls.”

“She doesn't mind. I think she misses her own kids. It's less lonely for her if she drops by to see the girls on her way home. She only stays a few minutes. She's so busy with the gallery she's never there.” Tanya was glad for her that she had it. It had been a hell of a blow for her when Jim died. She had been amazingly strong about it, but Tanya knew better than anyone how unhappy she was. The first year had been just awful, and Tanya had helped drag her through it. Now she was doing what she could to give back. It was a fair exchange between best friends. They had always been there for each other, and she was grateful for Alice's presence now.