“You're a snob!” She laughed at him and he shook his head and a moment later he was gone in a roar from the Porsche's powerful engine, while Adrian tied a scarf around her head, put her beloved old car in gear, and listened happily as it sputtered to life and she headed it in the direction of her office. The freeway was bumper-to-bumper by then and a few minutes later she wound up sitting in the car at a dead standstill. She wondered how much better Steven had fared, and as she thought of him, she suddenly thought of something else, something that seldom happened to her. She was late. She should have had her period two days before, but she knew it didn't mean anything. With the odd hours she worked, and the constant stress, it wasn't unusual to be late, although admittedly it didn't happen to her very often. She made a mental note to think about it again in a few days, and with that, the traffic began moving again, and she stepped on the accelerator and headed for her office.
Everything was in total chaos when she arrived. The producer was out sick. Two of their prize cameramen had had a minor accident, and two of her least favorite reporters were having a heated argument two feet from her desk, and she finally wound up shouting at everyone, which took them all by surprise, since Adrian seldom lost her temper.
“For chrissake, how the hell is anyone supposed to get any work done around here? If you two want to beat on each other, go do it somewhere else.” A senator had just gone down on a commuter plane and reporters at the crash site had just called in to say that there were no survivors. A major movie star had committed suicide during the night. And two of Hollywood's favorites had just announced that they were getting married. And an earthquake in Mexico had claimed nearly a thousand lives. It was going to be the kind of day that usually tried to give Adrian ulcers. But at least life was interesting for her, or at least that was what Steven said when she complained. Did she really want to live in fantasyland, working on miniseries, and specials about Hollywood ladies? No, but she would have loved to work on a successful prime-time series, and she knew she had enough production experience by now to do that. But she also knew she would never convince Steven that a job like that was worthy of her attention.
“Adrian?”
“Yeah?” For a minute she had let her mind drift to what wasn't and what might have been, and she didn't have time for that, not today at least. And it was also easy to figure out by then that she wasn't going to be having dinner that night with her husband. She asked someone to call and let him know and turned to the assistant who was begging for her attention. There had been a flood on the set and they were going to have to use an alternate studio, but everything was already set up, so there was no need to panic.
It was four o'clock before she ate lunch, and six before she even thought of calling Steven. But by then she knew he had left to play squash with his friends from work, and he knew she was working late anyway. And as she settled down for a long evening at work, she was suddenly struck by an odd feeling of loneliness. It was Friday night, and everyone was out, or at home, or with friends, or getting ready to go on dates, or maybe just curled up with a good book, and she was at work, listening to police reports of local homicides and fatal accidents, and reading telexes of tragedies worldwide. It seemed like a sad way to spend a Friday night, and then she felt foolish for the feeling.
“You're looking awfully gloomy tonight.” Zelda, one of the production assistants, smiled at her as she brought Adrian a styrofoam cup of coffee. She was one of Adrian's favorites, she was always good for a laugh, and she was a character. She was older than Adrian, divorced frequently, and kind of a free spirit. She had bright red hair that sprang from her head like uncontrolled flames and an equally uncontrollable sense of humor.
“Just tired, I guess. Sometimes this place gets to me.”
“At least we know you're still sane.” Zelda smiled at her. She was a pretty woman, and Adrian guessed that she was about forty.
“Doesn't it ever get to you? Christ, the news is always so depressing.”
“I never listen to it.” She shrugged indifferently. “And most nights when I get out of here, I go dancing.”
“I think you've got the right idea.” Most nights, Adrian went home, and Steven was already sound asleep and snoring gently. But at least they had breakfast together in the morning, and there were always weekends.
Adrian struggled through her paperwork for the next four hours, and then she checked out the studio before the late news, chatted with the anchors, and read all the hottest stories. It was actually a pretty quiet night, and she could hardly wait to get home to Steven. She knew he was having dinner out with friends, but she was pretty sure he'd be home when she finished work. He seldom stayed out very late, unless there was something to be gained from it, like some important business with a client.
The late show went fine, predictably, and at eleven thirty-five she was on her way home on the Santa Monica Freeway. She walked in her front door at five minutes to midnight, and the bedroom lights were still on, and her heart leapt with glee as she took the stairs to their bedroom two at a time, and then she laughed when she saw him. Steven was sound asleep on his side of the bed, arms spread out like a boy, exhausted and relaxed after a hard day at the office followed by a lively game of squash and an early dinner. He was out for the count and no amount of rustling around the room would rouse him.
“Well, Prince Charming,” Adrian whispered with a grin as she sat down next to him in her nightgown, “looks like it's a wrap, as they say in my business.” She kissed him gently on the cheek and he never stirred as she turned off the light and curled up on her own side of the bed. And as she lay there, she thought about being late again, but she knew it was probably nothing.
WHEN ADRIAN WOKE UP AT NINE-FIFTEEN, SHE could smell bacon cooking downstairs, and she could hear Steven clattering around in the kitchen. She smiled to herself as she rolled over in bed. She loved Saturdays, loved having him around, loved it when he brought her breakfast in bed and they made love afterward.
She could hear him coming up the stairs as she thought of it, he was humming to himself, banging the tray against the door as he came through, and she could hear the stereo downstairs playing Bruce Springsteen.
“Wake up, sleepyhead.” He grinned down at her in their bed, and set the tray down beside her as she stretched and smiled in answer. He was a vision of handsome young manhood. His hair was still wet from the shower he'd taken before she woke up and he was wearing fresh white tennis clothes, his long, shapely legs were tanned, and from where she lay, Steven's shoulders looked enormous.
“You know, you're pretty cute, for a guy who can cook.” She smiled up at him and propped herself up on one elbow.
“So are you, lazybones.” He sat down next to her on the bed, and she laughed at him.
“You should have seen yourself passed out here last night.”
“I had a tough day, and I was beat after we played squash.” He looked faintly embarrassed and made it up to her by kissing her promisingly just as she took a bite of bacon.
“Are you playing tennis today?” she inquired. She knew him well. He loved competitive sports, especially squash and tennis.
“Yeah. But not until eleven-thirty.” He glanced at his watch and smiled at her, and she laughed again, but before she could say anything, he had peeled off his tennis clothes and slipped into bed beside her.
“Now what's this all about, Mr. Townsend? Won't this weaken your tennis game?” She loved to tease him about his intense seriousness about his tennis.
“It might.” He looked pensive and she laughed again. And then he turned to her with a sexy smile. “But it could just be that you're worth it.”