Читать книгу Coldwater - Diana Gould - Страница 10

Jonathan flew home the next day. His plane got in at five. The plan was that he’d go to the house, shower, and change, and we’d all go out for dinner when I got home. I managed to leave the office just after seven. But I stopped in at La Fonda del Sol for a drink first. I wasn’t sure what I was going to say to Jonathan about what had happened or whether or not I’d tell him. In any case, I felt the need to fortify myself, and I always enjoyed the camaraderie among the grips and gaffers who mingled there after work. By the time I got home, it was after nine. Afraid I’d appear drunk, I snorted a line in the car.

Jonathan was hungry and angry. I arranged my face into what I hoped was a smile. His face fell when he saw my inebriated state.

“Julia was hungry; I ordered take-out. Have you eaten?”

I managed to kiss him, apologize, and mumble something about needing to address the network notes, which were predictably stupid but had to be done.

Our large kitchen was the primary family room. At its center was a full size work station with stools around it for kibitzing with the cook; more often than not we ate there rather than at the dining room table. Large copper pots and pans hung from a circular rack above it. Jonathan took out the containers of Thai food he’d already put back in the refrigerator and set them out for me. He took two plates from the cupboard—hand-painted ceramic plates we’d bought on our last family vacation in Italy. As he served me he told me his ideas. The pickup gave us a platform. The studio and network were solidly behind us, willing to spend money on guest stars, promotions, tie-ins. Now that it was an integrated media universe, we could cross-pollinate.

“Sounds sexy.”

He laughed, giddy with excitement at the fulfillment of our dreams. I got a beer from the fridge and picked at my food with chopsticks, pretending to eat. Jonathan was too excited to notice. He said that Marty had promised to open the Poseidon purse for us. Kate McKenzie, the actress who played Jinx Magruder, would be featured on every talk show on all the Poseidon networks and channels. There would be stories about her in every Poseidon magazine and fan book compilations in the bookstores. He even talked about a cartoon spin-off for Poseidon’s kid network. With Poseidon behind us, there was no limit to the saturation we could achieve.

When Jonathan and I had first begun developing the show, he’d been working for Trident, a small independent studio. By the time we sold the pilot, the studio had been bought by Poseidon, a conglomerate that was quickly becoming an entertainment behemoth. Last year, Poseidon had bought the network as well, so both studio and network were under the same ownership. Marty Nussbaum, Poseidon’s driving force and CEO, held power over a vast entertainment universe, and liked to keep, as the saying about him went, “a finger in every eye.”

Poseidon owned publishing companies, radio networks, cable channels, theme parks, hotels, newspapers, magazines, Internet portals, and a satellite and distribution service that allowed it to broadcast its product into every reach of the globe. All entertainment short of daydreams. If they could figure out a way to sell ads during REM sleep, they would. Once they decided to publicize us, there was little chance of any person in the world not being aware of our show.

As I listened to Jonathan, I imagined telling him that while he was away, I had killed someone in a hit and run accident and not (yet) gotten caught. I pictured his expression. Horror, shock, revulsion. Anger, disappointment, helplessness. Would he remember that he loved me? Or only feel the loathing I now felt for myself?

“Marty has ideas about a new direction for the show. Just a few changes, a slightly different slant, which I assured him would be fine with you.”

“What kind of changes?”

I knew that once I came forward, our show would forever be branded with my crime. Even with Poseidon money behind us, I would go to jail. I should go to jail. It would be the end of everything Jonathan had worked towards. Telling him would break his heart. And if I told him and didn’t come forward? I’d burden him with a secret whose weight I was only beginning to fathom.

“Now, don’t get defensive. Just some ways to broaden the appeal. Bring up the ratings. I’d rather you hear it from him directly.”

How could I live with him and not tell him?

“Let me guess. He wants to find more ways of getting Jinx Magruder into a wet t-shirt.”

How could I live with him once he knew?

I could see Jonathan’s annoyance with me for not getting on board with his excitement.

“I wish you wouldn’t dismiss his ideas before you’ve even heard them. It’s just possible they might be good. You can’t deny his track record.”

Our conversation was interrupted by Julia bursting into the kitchen.

“You got the pick-up! That’s so awesome!” She sat on one of the stools and picked a peanut from a Styrofoam container of Pad Thai. “What are we going to do to celebrate?”

“What do you think we should do?” Jonathan’s face flushed with pleasure at our triumph and at the sight of his daughter, who, since his wife had died, had been the love center of his life.

“Whatever you guys decide. You’re the ones who sold the show.”

Jonathan went to a calendar we kept in the kitchen, which showed, in addition to play dates, doctor’s appointments, and family obligations, our production schedule, around which everything else needed to be arranged.

“Let’s see...we’re finished with post on the twenty-third, and we don’t have to start shooting until...” He flipped over two pages. “The fifteenth of July. Of course, it would be good to have two or three scripts ready before we start prepping...” He turned to me. “Could you write in Hawaii?”

A few months after Jonathan and I had begun working together, we’d all gone to Hawaii. Julia was eight. The two weeks we’d spent there as a family were among the happiest any of us had ever known. Julia’s delight at the Oz-like underwater wonders she saw while snorkeling was contagious; the world seemed wondrous through her eyes. I loved to tell her bedtime stories, her body snuggled next to mine as she thrilled to the adventures of Susie-Q, a character I made up. We ate meals together, saw sights together, played and ate and laughed together. After Julia fell asleep, Jonathan and I made long languorous love on crisp hotel sheets that were rumpled in the morning by the tumult of our desire. When we got back from that vacation, I’d moved in. In Hawaii, we’d become a family.

“Sure.” Julia squealed with delight. She high-fived Jonathan then me, while Jonathan’s eyes twinkled.

I knew I was never going to say a word.

* * *

In bed that night, Jonathan pulled me close.

One thing that had gotten Jonathan and me through everything and anything was sex. From the first day we met, it was as if we were pulled together by some cellular magnet, a tug of longing, for connection, possession. Hurt feelings, misunderstandings, all could be subsumed in our body’s need for one another. We could always turn to each other in bed and find something that made everything else less important.

Now, I recoiled from his touch. I felt dead inside; worse, detached and removed. I did not want to be reached at my deepest recess; I needed to keep that place hidden from now on. Even having a secret had to be kept a secret.

“What is it, babe?”

I reached for him, clasping him in my arms and legs, and tried to will myself to respond with the passion he’d come to expect. I tried to use the heat from our bodies to quell the images that came whenever I closed my eyes: a woman changing her tire by the side of the road as I struck her and careened past. I tried to respond as if there were only the two of us in bed, but Rosa Aguilar was there between us.

I wanted to go to the funeral but didn’t dare. I sent flowers instead and included some cash, in small bills.

Honestly, I didn’t think I’d get away with it. Every time the phone rang, every time a door opened, I thought it would be the police. But it never was. I was the only one who knew that there was an uncrossable barrier between me and the rest of the world; that everyone else was on one side, and I on the other.