“Tired.” The word didn't even begin to encompass what she felt, and he didn't want to intrude on her. But he wanted to help her. She looked too wiped out to even drive herself home, and he offered her a lift back to the complex.
“Why don't you let me take you home? You can always take a cab back here tomorrow. Just leave your car here. Or I can drive it for you if you want.” But he didn't trust her on the road. She was so exhausted, she looked as though she might fall asleep at the wheel, and she didn't have the energy to argue with him.
“I'll leave my car here. And thank you for dinner, by the way.” He seemed to think of everything, no matter how late he worked himself. They both signed out, and she groaned as she slid across the seat in the comfortable old woody. “Oh, God … I feel like I'm going to die.”
“You might if you don't get some sleep.” He slid behind the wheel, and she was too tired to even talk to him as they drove home on the Santa Monica Freeway. And when they got to the complex, he parked his car and walked her to her door without saying a word. And as soon as she opened the door, he looked at her earnestly as she turned toward him in the doorway. “Are you gonna be okay?”
She nodded, but she didn't look convincing. “I think so.” But she had never felt sadder or lonelier in her life. She felt as though Steven had walked out on her all over again.
“Call if you need me. I'm not very far away.” He touched her arm then and she smiled and then closed the door, feeling drained. She walked slowly upstairs without even turning on the light. She didn't want to see the bare walls and the empty rooms. And she walked across her bedroom and threw herself across the bed, and then she lay there sobbing, until she fell asleep, with all her clothes on, and Steven's baby inside her.
FOR THE NEXT TWO WEEKS, ADRIAN FELT AS THOUGH she were in a dream. The papers Lawrence Allman had promised arrived. And she signed them in all the appropriate places. She checked the box that said she wanted no spousal support, and she agreed to put the town house on the market by the first of October. She said very little about it to Bill and he dropped by to see her at her office almost every day, but he didn't press her about going out. He sensed correctly that she was still too upset by the shock of the dissolution. A lot had been happening to her. Things had been wildly hectic at work, and he had his own hands full with changes in the scripts, and the fact that he was trying to clear his desk for his annual four-week vacation.
But he had nonetheless found the time to bring her to the set early one afternoon, and she had watched with fascination as they aired the show. It brought back memories of when she had worked on other shows. And afterward, he introduced her to everyone, and when they went back to his office, she admired his Emmys, and he showed her the program's current bible. In it, he had outlined the show's plot for the next several months, with alternate solutions to problems that might come up, and in a stack on his desk were tentative scripts that he still had to approve. He explained it all to her, and she found herself wishing she could work on a show like this, instead of the news, and as she read some of his notes, she made some very interesting comments.
“Why don't you help me with the bible sometime? … or some ideas for scripts? The writers would love a little help, they can always use fresh ideas. It's not easy coming up with five shows a week.”
“I can imagine. …” And then she looked at him with excitement in her eyes. “Do you mean that, Bill? I mean about doing up some notes for ideas for the show?”
“Sure I do. Why not? You and I can kick some stuff around over dinner one night if you want. I'll give you some of the background material on the characters. You could have a ball.” He looked as though he thought it was a great idea, and so did she, and they talked about it all the way back to the newsroom, and they talked about it again the next night when finally, two weeks after the Fourth of July barbecue, she agreed to go out to dinner.
It was a Saturday night, and they had run into each other at the pool early that morning. She looked better than she had in days, and she finally seemed to have absorbed the shock of everything that had happened. And she was still excited about seeing his show the day before. And as she talked about it, she looked prettier than ever.
“Can I interest you in a famous Thigpen steak tonight? Or how about something a little more glamorous, like dinner at Spago?” It was the favorite local hangout of anyone who was anyone in television and the movies. Wolfgang Puck had made it everyone's favorite place to eat, with delicious pasta and pizza and the miracles of nouvelle cuisine that he created.
Adrian had started to come to terms with the realities of her life in the last two weeks, and the prospect of an evening out sounded very appealing. And he had been incredibly patient with her. He had quietly kept an eye on her, without ever intruding. He had dropped by at work, sent food over late at night, offered her a ride once or twice, but never pressed the issue of a date or an evening that she obviously couldn't have coped with. And he had even recommended a lawyer who had taken her affairs in hand and already spoken several times with Lawrence All-man. But after two weeks of mourning and agonizing, she finally felt slightly more alive, and both of Bill's suggestions sounded delightful.
“Whichever you like.” She smiled gratefully at him. He had become a good friend in such a short time.
“How about Spago?”
“That sounds great.” She smiled, and they both went back to their own places to do the things they had to db, like laundry and paying bills again, a never-ending task, particularly now that Steven was no longer there to do it. Her salary covered everything, but lately she was trying to save as much money as she could for when she'd need it for the baby. Now that Steven wouldn't be contributing anything, she wanted to be a little more careful.
Bill picked her up at eight, and he was wearing khaki slacks, a white shirt, and a blue blazer, and she was wearing a dress that she'd had for years. It was a soft peachy-pink silk that flowed easily from the shoulders. They drove to Sunset chatting about work, and how hectic it had been for both of them in the past few weeks, and it was obvious how excited he was about the boys coming out on the following Wednesday. They were going to spend two days with him in town, and then they were embarking on their big adventure.
Bill ordered pizza made with warm duck, and she had cappelletti with fresh tomato and basil. And for dessert, they shared an enormous piece of chocolate cake, which came to the table drowning in delicious homemade whipped cream. As usual, she ate everything, and Bill teased her again about how well she ate, without apparently gaining weight, but as he said it, she looked a little nervous.
“I should be watching it more than I have been lately.” He noticed that she was not pencil thin, but she was not overweight either. The only thing he did notice was that her chest seemed to be enlarging almost daily, but he still wasn't sure if that was due to inaccurate previous observation on his part. “I'm going to start eating nothing but salads.”
“How depressing.” He took a breath, pretending to suck in his own waistline, and he was solidly built, but he wasn't heavy either. “I'm going to be eating hamburgers and french fries at roadside fast-food places for the next two weeks, it'll be a miracle if I don't regress and wind up with teenage acne.” They both laughed at the thought, and he looked at her strangely then. He had been wanting to ask her for weeks, ever since he had found out about Steven filing papers, but he didn't want to ask her too soon. And he wondered now if she was ready to hear it. “I have a funny question to ask you, Adrian.” And as he said it, she looked suddenly panicked. “Don't get nervous. It's nothing intensely personal, and my feelings won't be hurt if you say no. I just thought I'd ask in case there's a chance I could talk you into it.” He paused as though waiting for a drumroll. “What are the chances of your getting a week or two off from work?”