“Michael—” she began, intending to tell him that she was going to stage another show within the next year, that she didn’t want to be represented by only one production at a time, and that she even had distant designs on New York and Broadway, where the return of Busby Berkeley — style musicals might be greeted with cheers.
But he was so involved with his fantasy that he wasn’t aware that she had no desire to be a part of it. He interrupted her before she’d said more than his name. “We can do it, Tina. It was good for us once, those early years. It can be good again. We’re still young. We have time to start another family. Maybe even two boys and two girls. That’s what I’ve always wanted.”
When he paused to lick his ice-cream cone, she said, “Michael, that’s not the way it’s going to be.”
“Well, maybe you’re right. Maybe a large family isn’t such a wise idea these days, what with the economy in trouble and all the turmoil in the world. But we can take care of two easily enough, and maybe we’ll get lucky and have one boy and one girl. Of course we’ll wait a year or so. I’m sure there’s a lot of work to do on a show like Magyck! even after it opens. We’ll wait until it’s running smoothly, until it doesn’t need much of your time. Then we can—”
“Michael, stop it!” she said harshly.
He flinched as if she’d slapped him.
“I’m not feeling unfulfilled these days,” she said. “I’m not pining for the domestic life. You don’t understand me one bit better now than you did when we divorced.”
His expression of surprise slowly settled into a frown.
She said, “I didn’t make up that story about someone breaking into the house just so you could play the strong, reliable man to my weak, frightened female. Someone really did break in. I came to you because I thought… I believed… Well, that doesn’t matter anymore.”
She turned away from him and started toward the rear entrance of the hotel, out of which they’d come a few minutes ago.
“Wait!” Michael said. “Tina, wait!”
She stopped and regarded him with contempt and sorrow.
He hurried to her. “I’m sorry. It’s my fault, Tina. I botched it. Jesus, I was babbling like an idiot, wasn’t I? I didn’t let you do it your way. I knew what you wanted to say, but I should have let you say it at your own speed. I was wrong. It’s just — I was excited, Tina. That’s all. I should’ve shut up and let you get around to it first. I’m sorry, baby.” His ingratiating, boyish grin was back. “Don’t get mad at me, okay? We both want the same thing — a home life, a good family life. Let’s not throw away this chance.”
She glared at him. “Yes, you’re right, I do want a home life, a satisfying family life. You’re right about that. But you’re wrong about everything else. I don’t want to be a producer merely because I need a sideline to dabble in. Dabble! Michael, that’s stupid. No one gets a show like Magyck! off the ground by dabbling. I can’t believe you said that! It wasn’t a fling. It was a mentally and physically debilitating experience — it was hard—and I loved every minute of it! God willing, I’m going to do it again. And again and again. I’m going to produce shows that’ll make Magyck! look amateurish by comparison. Someday I may also be a mother again. And I’ll be a damn good mother too. A good mother and a good producer. I have the intelligence and the talent to be more than just one thing. And I certainly can be more than just your trinket and your housekeeper.”
“Now, wait a minute,” he said, beginning to get angry. “Wait just a damn minute. You don’t—”
She interrupted him. For years she had been filled with hurt and bitterness. She had never vented any of her black anger because, initially, she’d wanted to hide it from Danny; she hadn’t wanted to turn him against his father. Later, after Danny was dead, she’d repressed her feelings because she’d known that Michael had been truly suffering from the loss of his child, and she hadn’t wanted to add to his misery. But now she vented some of the acid that had been eating at her for so long, cutting him off in midsentence.
“You were wrong to think I’d come crawling back. Why on earth would I? What do you have to give me that I can’t get elsewhere? You’ve never been much of a giver anyway, Michael. You only give when you’re sure of getting back twice as much. You’re basically a taker. And before you give me any more of that treacly talk about your great love of family, let me remind you that it wasn’t me who tore our family apart. It wasn’t me who jumped from bed to bed.”
“Now, wait—”
“You were the one who started fucking anything that breathed, and then you flaunted each cheap little affair to hurt me. It was you who didn’t come home at night. It was you who went away for weekends with your girlfriends. And those bed-hopping weekends broke my heart, Michael, broke my heart — which is what you hoped to do, so that was all right with you. But did you ever stop to realize what effect your absences had on Danny? If you loved family life so much, why didn’t you spend all those weekends with your son?”
His face was flushed, and there was a familiar meanness in his eyes. “So I’m not a giver, huh? Then who gave you the house you’re living in? Huh? Who was it had to move into an apartment when we separated, and who was it kept the house?”
He was trying desperately to deflect her and change the course of the argument. She could see what he was up to, and she was not going to be distracted from her main intention.
She said, “Don’t be pathetic, Michael. You know damn well the down payment for the house came out of my earnings. You always spent your money on fast cars, good clothes. I paid every loan installment. You know that. And I never asked for alimony. Anyway, all of that’s beside the point. We were talking about family life, about Danny.”
“Now, you listen to me—”
“No. It’s your turn to listen. After all these years it’s finally your turn to listen. If you know how. You could have taken Danny away for the weekend if you didn’t want to be near me. You could have gone camping with him. You could have taken him down to Disneyland for a couple days. Or to the Colorado River to do some fishing. But you were too busy using all those women to hurt me and to prove to yourself what a stud you were. You could have enjoyed that time with your son. He missed you. You could have had that precious time with him. But you didn’t want it. And as it turned out, Danny didn’t have much time left.”
Michael was milk-white, trembling. His eyes were dark with rage. “You’re the same goddamn bitch you always were.”
She sighed and sagged. She was exhausted. Finished telling him off, she felt pleasantly wrung out, as if some evil, nervous energy had been drained from her.
“You’re the same ball-breaking bitch,” Michael said.
“I don’t want to fight with you, Michael. I’m even sorry if some of what I said about Danny hurt you, although, God knows, you deserve to hear it. I don’t really want to hurt you. Oddly enough, I don’t really hate you anymore. I don’t feel anything for you. Not anything at all.”
Turning away, she left him in the sunshine, with the ice cream melting down the cone and onto his hand.
She walked back through the shopping arcade, rode the escalator up to the casino, and made her way through the noisy crowd to the front doors. One of the valet-parking attendants brought her car, and she drove down the hotel’s steeply slanted exit drive.