Wolf stopped. His broad shoulders nearly filled the door frame, casting a long, dark shadow behind him. “I don’t know.”
She pressed a hand to her chest, her heart beating so hard it hurt. “Do you want a divorce?”
He said nothing, choosing to remain silent, and his silence was worse than any words. Rage and pain and heartbreak filled her.
“Wolf?” she demanded, even though she already knew the answer. But she wanted to hear it from him, wanted him to finally speak the truth.
Slowly his head turned. She could just glimpse the hard line of his cheekbone, the curve of his ear. “I don’t know. I need time. I need to think.”
The words broke what was left of her heart. Hot, furious emotion rushed through her. The emotions were wild, the pain extreme. He’d made her feel safe. He’d made her feel loved. He’d made her believe he’d be there for her and with her and that it was okay to love him. It was okay to fall in love with him. It was okay to imagine a life together. But it was all a lie. He’d lied. He’d pretended. He’d acted.
“You tricked me,” she choked out, taking a step toward him. “You deceived me.”
He said nothing.
Her hands balled convulsively. Tears blinded her. Hysteria, rage, grief bubbled, boiled. “If you go and leave me, Wolf, I won’t be here when you return.”
And still he said nothing.
The pain and his silence whipped at her, tormenting her. “Wolf.”
“I hear you, Alexandra. You don’t have to shout.”
She was wiping the tears away, one after the other. “If you go to Venice now, I won’t be here when you come back,” she repeated in a whisper. “I won’t.”
He nodded. And then he left.
Alexandra crawled into bed after he left, carrying the house phone and the mobile phone with her, just in case Wolf changed his mind. Just in case he called.
She didn’t leave the house in case he changed his mind.
But night came, and the Europe flights were all gone. And when she turned on the television the next morning there was a story about the Venice Film Festival and the glittering guest list, with Wolf Kerrick and Joy Hughes making their first appearance together since the dramatic plane crash and rescue in Zambia.
And then suddenly there they were, Wolf and Joy, arriving at the Venice airport, filmed amid a blinding strobe of flashes. Joy wore an enormous mink coat over her jeans and turtleneck sweater, while Wolf was in his favorite jeans and a T-shirt topped with a wool coat. They looked gorgeous together, Alexandra thought, the way a celebrity couple should look.
Turning off the television, Alexandra knew it was time to pack, find a place of her own, return to work and move on.
In the first month after separating from Wolf, Alexandra was so overwhelmed trying to adjust to a different life, settling into her new home—a condo close to downtown Los Angeles in a new development filled with artists, writers and trendy business executives—and learning the ropes of her new job that she didn’t really let herself think about the end of their relationship.
But later, as the newness wore off and the pattern of her days emerged, her work became more routine and she grew comfortable reading scripts, meeting with studio heads and acting as the intermediary between directors, actors and producers. People took her seriously. Her opinions were respected. And before long her name was added to the credits of her first film as an assistant director. It was a huge personal moment for Alexandra. She wasn’t just a coffee girl anymore but a valuable member of a studio making major motion pictures.
That night she took Kristie and some of the other girls from the studio’s front office out to dinner at the Ivy and they celebrated. Alexandra promised Kristie and the others that if they wanted to get out of copy-room hell, she’d do everything she could to help them, and she meant it.
It was a lovely dinner, warm, happy, full of laughter and enthusiasm. After four and a half years in Los Angeles, Alexandra finally felt as though she belonged. She’d made it. She could live here, survive here and be happy here.
Even without Wolf.
But back home later that night, after Alexandra entered her dimly lit condo, she walked to the enormous plate-glass window in the living room with its view of downtown. The skyscrapers were lit and the streets below were dotted with yellow lights. She felt a pang of such sorrow and loss it nearly doubled her.
She realized she’d never really accepted that the relationship was over. In the back of her mind she’d secretly thought that maybe, just maybe, it could be saved. But it hadn’t worked out that way.
After Wolf’s Venice trip, he went to London for six weeks, where he filled in for an actor in a West End play. When the play closed, he engaged in a series of meetings with the producers of The Burning Shore and eventually, by promising to put up his own money and coming onto the picture as a coproducer, he got the studio to agree to finish the film. Wolf had gone back to Africa.
Alexandra sank down on the arm of her sofa, her stomach falling along with her heart.
Until now she’d hoped, secretly hoped, it would just be a matter of time before Wolf returned to her. She’d thought that after he finished in Zambia he’d call or come see her. She’d imagined that being in Zambia would remind him of her, of the experiences they’d shared, and he’d realize he missed her. Loved her. And wanted her.
But it’d been months since the filming had wrapped, and instead of returning to California, Wolf had sold his Malibu home and bought a house in the outskirts of Dublin.
Sitting on the arm of her sofa, Alexandra was forced to confront the reality that Wolf was never coming back. At least not for her. And despite her best efforts to put on a brave face, focus on her career and begin to move forward, she’d only managed to do the above because she’d thought soon she and Wolf would be together again and everything would eventually be fine.
But Wolf wasn’t coming back and they weren’t going to be together again and somehow, she thought, reaching up to catch a tear before it fell, she had to believe that everything would still be fine.
But to make everything truly finished, she had to take the next step, the step she dreaded, the one that would legally separate them. Neither had taken any action to dissolve their marriage, and Alexandra had thought it was because Wolf still loved her. But maybe it wasn’t love that kept them legally bound but public relations.
Maybe he was waiting for her to be the one to file, to initiate the divorce proceedings, to preserve his image. His precious reputation.
If she filed, she’d be the bad girl and he’d remain the hero.
Eyes hot and gritty, Alexandra moved to the computer at the desk in her kitchen nook. She pulled the keyboard out on the granite counter and clicked on her e-mail account and then Wolf’s e-mail address.
Wolf, she typed quickly, I wanted you to be the first to know that I’m filing for divorce tomorrow. I’m not asking for spousal support or a settlement. I wish you well always. Alexandra
She read and reread her brief message, hoping it sounded relatively cordial. She wanted to be fair and calm and nonemotional. Twice she went to add another line, something more personal and then less personal, but eventually she just gave up and pressed send, whisking the message from her out-box to his in-box.
The next day she used her lunch break to drive to the county courthouse, where she filled out the necessary paperwork. After signing her name, she submitted the forms to the clerk. The clerk stamped her paperwork and gave her a receipt.
“If it’s uncontested,” the clerk said, “in six months you’ll receive a letter confirming the dissolution.”
Alexandra nodded, thanked the clerk and turned away.
And that, she said silently, a massive lump swelling in her throat, is the end of that.
Two weeks later, Alexandra had been invited to attend an industry party, one of those gala events she’d been so in awe of a year ago. After her brief marriage to Wolf and her new position at Paradise Pictures, industr
y parties felt normal.
As she stepped from the limo—the studio always sent a limo for her when she attended events and she’d wondered more than once if that was Wolf’s doing—camera flashes briefly blinded her. She stood next to the car for a moment in her snug deep blue satin evening gown and smiled, the deep plunging V neckline showing off the creamy skin between her breasts, the neckline accented with a romantic satin ruffle that caught the light and shimmered like midnight with a full moon.
She’d started to move on when photographers shouted out, pleading with her for just another picture, so Alexandra paused again, shoulders squared, stomach pulled in flat, and forced another smile, the firm, confident smile she’d seen countless celebrities do. As she held her position, she realized Wolf had been right. She’d become a celebrity by virtue of association. Once she’d married him, she’d earned an elite Hollywood status. And although they now lived on separate continents, she was still Mrs. Wolf Kerrick around town.
And there were nights like tonight when, despite the physical distance between them, Alexandra almost believed that Wolf was near. It was as though he were still part of her life, aware of her world and the things she was doing.
Or maybe that was just wishful thinking, she thought, clutching her black handbag—the same one she’d carried that very first night she and Wolf had gone out together for drinks at the Casa Del Mar—and headed in.
Inside the hotel’s ballroom doors, she was handed a flute of champagne. As she moved through the crowd, she heard bits and pieces of peoples’ conversations. It was mid-June and the big summer blockbusters were just starting to be released. Everyone had something to say about the summer films as well as the need to get box-office revenue up again. For the fourth year in a row attendance was down and industry insiders were worried. People just weren’t going to movies the way they used to despite the increasing number of choices. What would it take to get people back to theaters again?
Across the ballroom she spotted Daniel deVoors at the same time he saw her. He lifted his flute in acknowledgment. She smiled and planned to cross the enormous room in a little bit to visit with him.
Like Wolf, Daniel had returned to Africa to finish filming The Burning Shore. The film was in postproduction now, slated as a Christmas release. The heavyweight films, the ones considered to be Oscar contenders, were usually released in December and January in order to be fresh in Academy members’ minds at nomination time. Wolf, it was rumored, would be up for another Academy Award as best actor. Daniel would be up for best director, and it was said that Joy would probably earn her first nomination for best actress.