Danielle Steel: Bungalow 2

“I'd have to live in L.A. while they're filming. I could commute on weekends. I'm just not going to do that, we'd all be miserable, and I'm not going to be down there, while you and the girls are here. Besides, this is their last year at home.”

“And it could be your last chance to do something you've wanted to do all your life.” They both knew he was right.

“Even if it is, it's still the wrong one. I'm not going to sacrifice my family to work on a movie. It's not worth it.”

“Why couldn't you commute on weekends? The girls are never here anyway. They're either out with their friends, or at sports after school. I can manage. We'll take turns doing the cooking, and you could come home on Friday nights. Maybe you could go back down early Monday morning. How bad would that be? And it would only be for a few months, right?” He was more than willing to do it, and listening to him brought tears to her eyes. He was always so good to her, and such a decent person. It would have been hard on all of them, and she didn't feel right doing it, even if he was generous enough to offer.

“Five months to shoot the film. Two for preproduction, and one or two for post. That's eight or nine months. The whole school year. That's too much to ask. Peter, I love you even more for offering to let me do it, but I can't.”

“Maybe you can,” he said slowly, thinking about it. He didn't want to deprive her of what she had always wanted most.

“How? It's not fair to you, I would miss you horrifically, and the girls would kill me. This is their senior year. I should be here, and I want to be.”

“I would miss you, too,” he said honestly, “but maybe the girls would have to suck it up for once. You're always here for them, ready to do everything they want. It might do them good to be a little more independent for a change, and me, too. Tanya, I don't want you to miss this. It might never come again. You can't pass it up.” He looked so earnest and loving as he said it that she nearly cried.

“Yes, I can pass it up. I'm going to call Walt as soon as you leave for the office and turn it down.” She said it quietly and firmly, convinced it was the right choice.

“I don't want you to. Tell him to wait. Let's talk to the girls first.” He wanted to be sensible about it and make it a family decision, in her favor, if that was at all possible and the girls were willing to be magnanimous about it. He hoped they would be, for their mother's sake.

“They'll feel totally abandoned, and they'd be right. I'd basically be gone for their whole senior year, except on weekends. And once they start shooting the picture, who knows if I could get away every weekend? You hear horror stories about that. Nights, days, weekends, shooting schedules that get totally out of hand, and pictures that go off the charts on budget and time. It could take longer than they say.”

“The budget's their problem, you're mine. I want us to work this out.” She smiled as she looked at him, and then got up and came around the table to hug him. She put her arms around him and kissed him.

“You're wonderful and I love you … but trust me, it won't work.”

“Don't be such a defeatist about it. Let's at least try to make it work. We'll talk to the girls tonight when we come home from dinner. Now I'm not just taking you out to dinner, we're going to celebrate.” And then he thought of something. “How much did they offer?”

She smiled for a minute, still shocked herself by the offer, and then she told him. There was dead silence in the room for a minute, and then he whistled. “You'd better take it. We have three college tuitions to pay next year, and those are peanuts compared to that. That's pretty heady stuff. And you were going to turn that down?” She nodded. “For us?” She nodded again, her arms still around him. “Sweetheart, you're nuts. I'm sending you down there to work your ass off. Hell, maybe I should retire if you wind up with a booming career writing movies.” She had made a decent living at writing so far, although the literary publications never paid much. But the soap operas had always been nice money. Douglas Wayne's feature film was better than nice, it was fantastic, and Peter was duly impressed by their offer.

“That and a bungalow at the Beverly Hills Hotel for the duration, or a house or an apartment, whatever I want. And all expenses paid while I'm there.” She told him the names of the director and the stars, and he whistled again. It was more than a golden opportunity, it was a once-in-a-lifetime shot at the stars, and they both knew it. He didn't see how she could turn it down. He was afraid that if she did, she would regret it forever, and resent him and the children for it. It was too much to give up.

“You have to do it,” he said, still holding her in his arms. “I won't let you turn this down. Maybe we should all move to L.A. for a year.” He was kidding of course, but she wished they could. The fact was they couldn't, he had a solid career as a partner in his law firm, and the girls had a right to finish school where they'd grown up. If anyone went to L.A., it had to be Tanya, alone. And that was everything she didn't want, except for the excitement of doing it, having a dream come true, and the money, which seemed totally incredible to them both. She had never sacrificed her family for her career, and she wasn't about to start now.

“Don't be silly,” she said, smiling wistfully at him. “It's just nice to know they wanted me to do the script.”

“Let's see what the girls say tonight. Tell Walt you're thinking about it, and Tanya”—he looked down at her with loving eyes as he held her tight—“just so you know, I'm proud of you.”

“Thank you for being so nice about it. I still can't believe they wanted me … Douglas Wayne …I have to admit, that's pretty cool.”

“Very cool,” he said, glancing at his watch. He was an hour late for work, but it had been important news. “Where do you want to go to dinner tonight?”

“Somewhere quiet where we can talk.”

“How about Quince?” he suggested.

“Perfect.” It was a small romantic restaurant in Pacific Heights, with terrific food.

“Take a cab in. I'll drive you home. We have a date.”

He kissed her goodbye a few minutes later, and after he was gone, she sighed, stared at the phone, picked it up, and called Walt. She wasn't sure what to say to him. She thought the decision had been made the night before, but apparently it hadn't. She still couldn't see herself doing it, and when she told her agent that, he groaned.

“What can I do to convince you that you have no other choice?”

“Tell them to make the movie up here,” she said, feeling pulled. Even Peter made it sound so feasible, but in her heart of hearts she knew it wasn't, no matter how good a sport Peter was. She had a feeling her daughters would see it the same way she did. This was hardly the year they wanted their mother leaving home.

“I hope Peter convinces you, Tanya. Hell, if your husband is okay with it, what are you worried about? He's not going to divorce you for going to L.A. for nine months.”

“You never know,” she said, laughing at him. She knew that wouldn't happen, but absence was never a good thing for a marriage. Besides, she loved being with him. She could only imagine how miserable she'd be without him all week long for all those months.

“Call me tomorrow. I'll tell Doug I still haven't gotten hold of you. When I told him that yesterday, he said you were worth waiting for. He's got his heart set on your writing this script.”

Tanya caught herself before she said “me too.” She couldn't allow herself to get caught up in it, she knew. This was just a dream. A lifelong dream, admittedly. But not one she could indulge.