Lights Out Tonight (2 page)

“Hello?”

“Hey there, Sunshine. How’s my girl?”

“Nick.” Pleasure registered on Caroline’s face as she leaned back against the faux leather seat. “What are you doing up?”

“I haven’t gone to bed yet, my love. Remember, it’s only one-thirty here.”

“I couldn’t forget for a second where you are, Nick, when I’m wishing you were here with me instead. But you didn’t answer my question. What are you doing up?”

Caroline heard her husband sigh three thousand miles away. “The screenplay. The director wanted a change in that scene at the Laundromat, but I think I have it fixed now. It better be, anyway, because I’m not hanging around to do any more work on it. I’m determined to catch that flight out of LAX this afternoon. I can’t wait to get there.”

“Me, too.” Caroline lowered her voice. “It seems like it’s been forever.”

“That’s because it has been,” Nick answered. “These three weeks have been an eternity. I miss you.”

Caroline looked out the car window as the driver turned west on Sixty-third Street and then south on Columbus Avenue. “Well, when you’ve only been married for three months, three weeks is a long time. A fourth of our married life spent apart, Nick. What’s wrong with that picture?”

“I know, I know,” he said. “We are going to have to do something about that. But I couldn’t get out of this trip, Sunshine. You said you understood.”

“I do. But that doesn’t mean I have to like it.” Caroline watched as Lincoln Center passed by her window.

“Okay, it’s settled. We both hate being apart.” Nick laughed. “But it won’t be long before I’m staring into those beautiful blue eyes of yours. And by the way, what are you doing up so early? I tried your cell thinking I’d leave a message before I turned in. I didn’t expect you to answer.”

“I’ve got a review in the second hour of the show, and I haven’t even written it yet.”

“Naughty girl. That doesn’t sound like you. What happened?”

“At the last minute, Meg called from Warrenstown and asked if I could bring some things up when I came. That daughter of yours has very specific tastes, and I wanted to make sure I got her exactly what she wanted. It took some time.” Caroline omitted telling Nick about the pot she’d found in his daughter’s room. Nor did she mention the cutting criticism her boss had hurled her way yesterday. She knew she would tell him all about that when they were together. But she didn’t want to get into a discussion about Linus over the phone.

“That was good of you, Caroline. I know how hard you’re trying with Meg, and I so appreciate it, honey. She’s bound to come around, sweetheart. But …” His voice trailed off.

“But I’m not her mother.” Caroline finished the sentence for him.
And I never will be,
she thought as the sedan stopped across the street from the Broadcast Center.

Caroline knew that she could never take Meg’s mother’s place. She had lost her own mother at just about Meg’s age from the same horrible disease. Caroline had started college
with two parents and graduated an orphan. Pancreatic cancer took her mother when Caroline was a sophomore. A heart attack claimed her father eighteen months later. There still wasn’t a day that went by that she didn’t miss them. Caroline knew she always would.

So, in the months Caroline and Nick had dated and then married, she had understood the resentment Meg felt toward the woman who had taken her mother’s place in her father’s affections. She had been trying to be sensitive to Meg’s emotions, excusing her moodiness and sarcasm, but she was becoming resentful herself. Dealing with a hostile stepchild was energy-sapping, and Caroline had found herself relieved when Meg left for Warrenstown for the summer. Now, having found the pot in Meg’s closet, Caroline felt a new tension. It only compounded her anxiety about the possibility of losing her job.

 C H A P T E R 
2

Nick scanned the well-stocked minibar and selected a tiny bottle of vodka from the refrigerator shelf. He poured the clear liquid over a few ice cubes and brought the glass to his lips. Walking across the hotel room, he took a seat in the comfortable armchair, kicked off his shoes, and picked up the carefully
stacked pages he had placed on the coffee table. Even in the age of the computer, he made hard copies of everything he wrote. He’d learned his lesson the hard way. Hitting a key by mistake could wipe out a day’s work.

Nick read through the pages again and was satisfied. He got up, walked over to the computer on the desk, and with a few clicks of the mouse, sent the reworked screenplay scene to the director. Then he returned to the minibar and took out another bottle of vodka. Going back to the armchair, Nick sat and stared at the images on the television screen.

This project had been a long, hard slog. He hoped these latest changes would be the last he’d have to make. At this point, he knew the movie that was being shot was far different from his original vision. Over the years, he’d gotten used to the reality that his screenplays could dramatically change at the whims of the director and the producers. He’d sold his screenplay and his talents, and in the end, though he tried to keep some artistic control, he had to accommodate changes if he wanted to see his work appear on the movie screen. That didn’t mean he had to like it, though.

Two summers ago, when they’d had that first reading on the Warrenstown stage, he’d had such high hopes for this screenplay. The actors had read the lines just as he’d written them, without throwing in any of their own improvisations. It had been an hour and twenty minutes of pure bliss as he watched his work come to life in the voices of the skilled professionals. At the end of the reading, when he came up to take his writer’s bow and answer questions from the audience, Nick had felt the deepest satisfaction. That was what he tried
to remember, not all the unpleasantness and upheaval that had followed.

Swallowing the last of his drink, Nick put the glass next to the sink and went into the bedroom, unbuttoning his shirt as he walked. Emptying his pockets and tossing his wallet and some coins on the dresser, he looked at himself in the mirror that hung on the wall.
Looking good for forty-six,
he thought, though he acknowledged the last few years had taken their toll. His face was more lined, and there was much more white in his black hair now. In fact, white was predominant.

He turned to the side to get a profile view. Those trips to the gym were keeping a lot of the softness at bay, and the golf games ensured he had a tan that accentuated his blue eyes and white teeth. All in all, it was about as good as you could expect at this stage of the game.

Nick figured he was more than halfway through his life. He’d never really planned ahead, just trusted that things would work out and that he would be able to handle whatever came along. That strategy had served him nicely. He’d married well, had a child, built a successful career. Maggie had died, but within a year he’d met Caroline Enright at a movie premiere party.

He had been attracted to Caroline the moment she walked over and introduced herself. She’d been working for the newspaper then and wanted to know if she could schedule an interview with him. Nick had had no real desire to be interviewed, but he did want the chance to spend some time with the first woman who had interested him since Maggie died. He’d suggested lunch at the Four Seasons. As they sat beside the reflecting
pool in the dining room, the conversation had quickly shifted from the movies to their personal lives. He’d told her about the amazingly short amount of time between Maggie’s cancer diagnosis and her death. He’d shared that his college-age daughter was having a tough time of it.

Caroline had reached out across the table. “You must be having a hard time, too,” she’d said, as she rested her hand on top of his. She had pulled her hand away, flustered, thinking that she might have made too forward a gesture. Nick supposed that was when he really fell for her.

Now, he had an accomplished and attractive new wife, twelve years his junior.

He got into bed, but sleep would not come.

In less than twenty-four hours, he’d be experiencing the rolling, green Berkshire Mountains with Caroline. He hadn’t thought it was a good idea to return to Warrenstown last summer. There were things he didn’t want to be reminded of. What had happened to Maggie after their summer there together, and what he’d done to her, weren’t things Nick let himself think about.

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3

As the stylist blew out her damp hair, Caroline held the ice pack against her swollen eyes. The makeup artist had begun to apply foundation to Caroline’s face when Constance Young appeared in the doorway. Instantly, Caroline got up from the chair, deferring to the
KEY to America
host. “It’s all yours, Constance,” she said. “Mine can be finished later.”

Wordlessly, Constance took her place in the chair. As Caroline left the room, she could feel the tension in the air. She knew the pressure was on Constance and Harry Granger. Ratings had slipped a bit lately, and while they were still strong, with millions of dollars at stake over each rating point, everybody on the
KTA
staff was feeling the heat, none more so than the hosts of the show and the executive producer.

Back in her small office, Caroline booted up her laptop and worked on the movie review. She was relieved, but not surprised, that she’d actually liked Belinda Winthrop’s latest movie. It would have been uncomfortable interviewing and following the actress in the days ahead at the Warrenstown Summer Playhouse if she had just delivered a negative review. But the fact was, Caroline had enjoyed and appreciated just about every
Belinda Winthrop film she had ever seen. And she had seen them all.

She felt as though she’d been following the career of the Academy Award-winning actress forever. Fifteen years ago, when Caroline was nineteen, Belinda, at only twenty-three, had won an Oscar for her performance as Leslie Crosbie in a remake of the Bette Davis film
The Letter.
Nominated for the role in 1940, Davis had lost the Oscar to Ginger Rogers in
Kitty Foyle.
But Belinda had stunned critics and audiences alike and carried home her first gold statuette. Caroline had gone to see the movie five times. She couldn’t begin to count how many hours she’d spent watching Belinda Winthrop’s films since.

When other kids her age were going to the mall on Saturday afternoons, Caroline loved nothing more than enveloping herself in the darkness of a movie theater. In college, she began reviewing movies for the student newspaper, and she had parlayed her writing skills and thoughtful insights into jobs at successively larger urban newspapers until landing this spot as
KEY to America’s
film and theater critic. It had been the dream job, at least until Linus had gotten on her case.

Her mailbox was always overflowing with DVDs and, less common now, videocassettes of the latest film releases. She actually got paid for doing the thing that was her passion, watching movies. The fact that her opinion influenced the box-office habits of millions of Americans ensured her a steady stream of invitations to movie premieres, parties, and junkets as producers tried to win her over. But Caroline had stuck to the promise she’d made to herself at the beginning of her career. She was always going to tell the truth. Because of that, she had
taken her fair share of irate phone calls, and even an occasional threat, from movie producers and agents angered over her reviews.

Caroline was being truthful in her review this morning, but even as she wrote it, she was aware that her boss probably wasn’t going to like it. Linus would likely say it wasn’t edgy enough. Translation: It wasn’t smug, and it wasn’t critical just for the sake of being critical.

“In this, Belinda Winthrop’s thirty-second film, she demonstrates once again why she is a superstar. She owns this role, just as she has owned almost every part she’s ever been cast to play.” Caroline continued reading the rest of the review out loud, knowing that how something reads silently isn’t always how it sounds aloud. The tone had to be conversational, as if she was talking directly to the viewer.

“Sounds good. I’m going to try to get Mike to take me to see that this weekend if I can get a sitter for the twins.” Annabelle Murphy, tall and suntanned, stood in the doorway. “I love Belinda Winthrop.”

“I wish you were coming with me instead of seeing a Belinda Winthrop movie in New York,” said Caroline as she tapped out a last line. “Then you could see her in person at the Warrenstown Summer Playhouse. And I would have an actual producer on this trip.”

Annabelle stepped into the office. “Yeah, that would have been fun. Instead, I can hang around here and finish a two-part series on digital mammography.” She frowned. “And the best part is, no one outside this building will ever know that I researched the subject, planned the shoot, screened the tapes, constructed
and wrote the piece. They’ll just hear and see Constance Young, and she’ll get all the glory. Ah, the life of a producer.”

“She may get all the glory, but she takes the heat as well, and I think it’s really getting to her,” Caroline observed. “I just was with her in makeup, and it doesn’t look like it’s going to be a good day. I know you two are good friends, so maybe I shouldn’t be saying this, but I think the word
frosty
would describe the reception I got.”

“May I?” Annabelle asked as she began to pull the door closed.

Caroline nodded.

Annabelle leaned with her back against the door. Her blue eyes glistened.

“Are you crying, Annabelle?”

“I guess so, but I don’t know if it’s out of hurt or anger. Except for Mike, Constance is my best friend. We’ve known each other for years. We met when I was a researcher and she was just starting as a reporter here.”

Annabelle wiped away a tear that trickled down her freckled cheek before continuing. “When I left KEY News to have the twins, Constance stayed on, working her way up, volunteering for the stories none of the more seasoned correspondents wanted to do. She paid her dues until, finally, after pretty much total concentration on her career, she got the cohost spot in the morning. We’ve stayed friends all these years. Constance paved the way with Nazareth when I wanted to come back to work. She supported me when I was going through the tough time with Mike. She’s been there for me, and now I want to be there for her when she needs help.”