Danielle Steel - Heartbeat

“That's funny.” She was amused by the coincidence, too, although less encouraged by it than he was. “Which show?”

“A Life Worth Living.” He said it noncommittally, trying not to give away the fact that A Life was his baby.

“That's a good one. I used to love watching it between jobs, before I went to work on the news.” x

“How long have you been there?” He was intrigued by her, and he loved standing there next to her. He could almost imagine that he smelled the shampoo in her hair. She looked so clean and bright and decent, and he suddenly found himself wondering stupid things, like whether or not she wore perfume, and if she did, what kind and if he'd like it.

“Three years,” she answered him about how long she'd worked on the news. “I used to do specials, and two-hour movies. I'm in production. But then I got this chance to work on the news …” Her voice drifted of as though she still wasn't sure of it, and he wondered why.

“Do you like it?”

“Sometimes. It's pretty grim sometimes, and it gets to me.” She shrugged as though apologizing for some intrinsic weakness.

“It would get to me too. I don't think I could do it. I'd much rather make it all up …murder and rape and incest. The good wholesome stuff America loves.” He grinned again and leaned on his bike as she laughed and for an instant, barely more than that, she looked carefree and happy, the way she had the first time he'd seen her.

“Are you a writer?” She wasn't sure why she was asking him, but it was easy to talk to him and she had nothing else to do early on this Sunday morning.

“Yes, I am,” he answered her. “But I don't write the show very often anymore. I just kibitz from the sidelines.” She hadn't figured out that he was the originator of the show and he didn't want to tell her.

“It must be fun. I used to want to write, a long time ago, but I'm better at the production end.” Or at least that was what Steven said, but as soon as she thought of him, her eyes got sad again, and as he watched her, Bill saw it.

“I'll bet you'd be fine at it, if you tried it. Most people think writing is a big mystery, like math, but it really isn't.” But as he talked to her, he could almost see her drift away, back into her initial sadness. And for an instant, neither of them spoke as he watched her, and then she shook her head, forcing herself to think about writing again, to keep her mind off Steven.

“I don't think I could write.” She looked at him so sadly then, he wanted to reach out to her and touch her.

“Maybe you should try it. It's a tremendous release sometimes …” for whatever all that is, roaming around inside you and making you sad. He sent all his good thoughts to her, but he couldn't say anything. They were strangers, after all, and he could hardly ask her what it was that was making her so unhappy.

She opened her car door then, and looked back up at him before she got into the MG. It was almost as though she was sorry to leave him, but she didn't know what else to say to him. The small talk was wearing thin, and she thought she should move on, but she didn't really want to. “See you again sometime …” she said quietly as he nodded.

“I hope so.” He smiled, defying her wedding band, which was rare for him, but she was a rare girl. Without even knowing her, he knew that.

And as she drove away, he stood holding his mountain bike and watched her.

STEVEN CALLED HER AT HOME FINALLY TWO DAYS later before she left for work. By then, she was desperate to hear from him, and her spirits soared when she heard his voice, and then plummeted when he told her he needed his other razor.

“If you bring it in to work today, I'll pick it up sometime before work tomorrow morning. My good one just broke.”

“I'm sorry to hear that.” She tried to sound up, so he wouldn't know how depressed she had been. “How's the rest of you?”

“Fine.” He sounded cool. “You?”

“I'm okay. I miss you.”

“Apparently not enough. Unless something's happened I don't know about.” He went right back to the same point. There was no compromise, no change, no sign of his relenting, and Adrian wondered suddenly if Zelda was wrong, and their marriage was actually over. It was difficult to believe, but so was his moving out because of the baby.

“I'm sorry you still feel that way, Steven. Do you want to come over this weekend and talk?”

“There's nothing to talk about, unless you've changed your mind.” It was almost childish the way he kept insisting that she get an abortion, “or else.”

“So now what? We live like this forever and I send you an announcement when the baby is born?” She was being facetious, but he wasn't.

“Maybe so. I thought we should wait awhile, to see if you feel any differently in the next few weeks. And if you decide to … to go ahead …then I'll start looking for an apartment.”

“You're serious, aren't you?” She still couldn't believe it.

“I am. And I think you know that. You know me well enough to know that I'm not going to play games for long, Adrian. Make up your mind and let me know so we can both get on with our lives. This isn't healthy for either of us.” She couldn't believe it. He wanted to be notified as soon as possible so he could start dating and look for an apartment. She just couldn't believe it.

“It certainly isn't healthy. And it will certainly be interesting to explain to your son or daughter.” But the barb didn't hit its mark. He didn't seem to care what she told them.

“Why don't we let it rest for a few weeks and you can let me know how you feel by then. I'm going to New York next week, and back to Chicago after that. In fact, I'm going to be traveling a lot in the next few weeks. Why don't we leave it until mid-June. That gives you a month to figure out what you want to do.” She wanted to kill herself, that was what she wanted to do … or kill him …she didn't want to wait until June while he decided whether or not he wanted to divorce her.

“You're really ready to throw away two and half years over a temper tantrum?”

“Is that all you think it is? Then you don't understand very much, do you, Adrian? It's a question of life's goals, and yours and mine are apparently very different.”

“You're right, I'm not willing to sell my soul, or my child, for a new stereo and a trip to Europe. This isn't a game show we're talking about. This is our lives, and our child. I keep saying that to you, but I don't really think you hear me.”

“I hear you, Adrian. But I don't agree with what you're saying. I'll talk to you in a few weeks.” And then, “Call me if you have a change of heart in the meantime.”

“How will I find you?” And what if there was an emergency or if she needed him? He was still her next of kin on all her papers. That made her feel panicky too. Everything did. She felt totally abandoned.

“Call my office, they'll know where I am.”

“Lucky them,” she said sarcastically.

“Don't forget my razor.”

“Yeah …sure …” He hung up then and she sat in her kitchen for a long time, thinking of what he had said, and wondering if she'd ever known him. She was beginning to doubt it.

She brought the razor to the office that day and the next day it was gone. He had picked it up that night and hadn't left so much as a note for her, but she didn't say anything about it to anyone. Not even Zelda. And she hadn't told anyone at work that Steven had left her. It was too embarrassing. And when they got back together in a few weeks, it would be less awkward if no one had known he'd been gone, except Zelda.