Talia Parker tapped on the door to her husband’s den. He had been in there for the last three hours, supposedly watching screeners of the ever-growing number of films campaigning for Academy Award nominations. Getting no response, she slowly pushed the door open.
There he was, reclined on the Eames sofa, his stockinged feet crossed at the ankles, his hands clasped just beneath the remote control resting on his barrel chest. On the wide-screen television, an A-list actress had been paused midsentence. A low, steady snore was the only sound in the room.
She gently lifted the remote control, turned off the entertainment system, and draped a light blanket over him. He slept better when he was warm.
Back in their bedroom, she reviewed the wardrobe choices she had made for tomorrow’s meeting with the TV people: an open-collar dress shirt, gray slacks, and navy blazer for him; a white sheath dress and neutral pumps for her. Casual, but put-together and respectable. Frank was known for being a demanding and meticulous filmmaker, but she knew him to be a solid person. A good, caring man. To her, he looked most like himself in conservative clothing.
When she had first overheard Frank agree to do this show, she’d worried it could be trouble. And now, as production was approaching, she knew she had been right. For days, Frank had seemed distracted and nervous. It wasn’t like him. She was used to seeing her husband confident and decisive.
He had been staying up late and then mumbling through the night once he finally fell asleep. And he wasn’t murmuring about negotiations with production companies or screenwriters, as he sometimes did. She’d heard the words “police” and “Madison” more than once.
She had finally mustered up the courage to ask him about it this morning. He insisted he had no recollection of whatever dream had provoked the mysterious words, but in the Parker marriage, she was the actor, not him.
Their marriage had lasted ten years in a town where Botox outlasted the length of the average relationship, and that was because they always fought for what was best for each other. And sometimes that meant Frank doing things she didn’t immediately agree with. It was Frank, after all, who’d killed Talia’s first and only offer of a starring role in a feature film. He had said the director was “frighteningly unscrupulous, even by Hollywood standards.” She had been so tempted to leave, accusing him of not wanting to share the spotlight with her. But then, sure enough, when the film was released, it barely earned an R rating because of explicit nudity that the lead actress insisted was unauthorized. Frank was too decent to say I told you so, but Talia had learned a valuable lesson about the give-and-take of a marriage.
Ever since they met—she had a bit part in Frank’s seventh movie—he had taken such good care of her, even when it meant upsetting her.
Now it was time for her to return the favor.