His laughter rang out. “Never. First off, the meetings went well. George liked the play, and the studio is thinking about an option. I never would have gotten that far without Steve’s connection to George. The man has clout. He’s got a good eye for a story.”
“Maybe he’s a frustrated writer. Regardless, he’s smart. He loved your work, and I’m not surprised.” She beamed at him.
“Save that smile for later!” He kissed her quickly on the mouth. “The big thing is, Jen, if it happens—and this is the part you’ll really like—the money I’d earn
—well…with your investment savvy, you’d never worry about money again—
even while married to a writer.”
All humor faded. Her hands trembled, and she put her glass down. “But I’m not worried at all…”
He waved her words away. “There’s other good stuff—like seeing my script transformed onto the big screen. Going to an opening…”
“Stop, Doug. Just stop. All this—this ‘good stuff’ as you say, doesn’t match the expression on your face. You look worried. Unhappy. So I’ll put you out of your misery. I think it’s great. I’ll go. I won’t argue.”
He stared at her incredulously and emitted a bark of laughter. “You’ll go?”
“I said so.”
He came around to her where she sat, grabbed another chair and took her hands.
“Why?”
She felt the heat rise to her neck ad face. “I figured a few things out while you were gone.” Her voice caught. “I figured out that the kids don’t need me like they used to. More important, I discovered that home—our home—is wherever we are together.” She leaned forward, wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him with a renewed hunger. “You’ve always been the one.” She tilted her head back and saw him blink quickly, his eyes moist.
“I am the luckiest man in the world.” His voice was hoarse. “I love you, my Henny-Penny, from deep down in here.” He tapped the left side of his chest.
“I know,” she whispered, then sat up straight. “Now that we’ve got that resolved, let’s plan. Hmm…we’ll probably stay put until the end of the semester. When do you think I should give my notice?”
He kissed her palm, then each of her fingers. “You don’t.”
“What? Can you work from home? Or commute on the red-eye? That would be great.”
He rose and started pacing. “I didn’t say that, but I also figured a few things out during the last several days.” He sighed a deep sigh. “I-I guess it was a significant trip.”
She took another sip of wine and waited.
“They-they really liked my work. They knew about The Sanctuary, too.” He
paused and took her hands. “And they talked to me about emulating Neil Simon.”
She gulped, the wine almost choking her. “Plays and movies, New York and Los Angeles? That Neil Simon?”
He gave a sharp nod. “Yeah. The man who has a Broadway theater named for him.”
“What a compliment! You should have been flattered.”
“Frankly, I was overwhelmed. And a little uncomfortable. There are a thousand writers in L.A. who’d kill for a chance like that. Why me?”
“Because the other guys didn’t write your script.”
He was silent for a moment. “Yeah. The script. I need to tell you about the script.”
“Okay. I’m listening.”
He rubbed his hands together, started to explain, stopped, and started again. “The love story is based on us, Jen.”
Sucker punched. “What do you mean, based on us? On what happened to my family with Lisa and Mike and the Riders…?”
But he was shaking his head. “Of course not. I fictionalized the family and the background. The only part that’s true is the accident. If you don’t like it…then it goes in the closet. I wrote it in New York, before I moved back. But if it gets produced anywhere, I want to have control over it. And I won’t have that in Hollywood. A movie is truly a group effort.”
He cleared his throat. “So, in the end, Jen, I turned them down. And I hope you’re not upset about, you know… the money part.”
Drowning. In over her head. The only thing she could think to ask was, “What did you call the story?”
He coughed. Squirmed a bit. “I-I hope you’ll understand. The complete title is:
Straight from the Heart: A Love Story in Search of an Ending.”
“Oh-h...” Of course, it fell into place. She squeezed her eyes shut and pictured Doug, living in New York, writing, tending bar, thinking about her. Not knowing, just hoping. Praying.
Standing on shaky legs, she stepped forward and caressed his cheeks. “Our love story began and will continue right here. As for Hollywood? Maybe next time, everything will work out.”
His kiss was strong, sure and bold. “Raise your glass,” he said. “Here’s to our future—the Delany-Collins branch of the family.”
“To new beginnings,” she added, “and a never-boring, adventurous life—with the right person.”
A leap of faith. She nodded toward the portrait in the living room and smiled.
