A Perfect Day (15 page)

While they talked on the phone, I undressed and lay back on the bed, surfing through channels on the television. When Allyson hung up the phone, I turned off the TV. “Finally we’re alone. Come here, Al.”

“Just a minute,” she said, smiling. She went into the bathroom and took out her contacts and undressed. When she emerged, she was wearing one of the hotel’s robes. She ran her hands down the sides of it. “These are comfortable.”

“Come here, gorgeous.” She kneeled over me on the bed, and I slipped the robe down over her shoulders. We began to kiss. Then she lay on her back and sighed.

“Tell me I can do this, Rob.”

“Do what?”

“Champagne toasts,
Time
magazine, the
Today
show
.
” She let out a small gasp of exasperation. “Your world is so big.”

“We’re just us. That will never change.”

Suddenly her eyes moistened and she turned away. I didn’t understand.

“Honey, what’s wrong?”

“Promise me that no matter what happens, no matter how big your world gets, you’ll never leave me.”

I lifted slightly up from her. “Why did you say that?” I asked gently.

“It’s what always happens when someone gets famous. They move on.”

“I’m not famous. And nothing’s going to happen.”

“I already feel like something is happening—like there are forces trying to pull us apart.”

“I’ll never leave you, Al. I don’t think I could.”

“Why not?”

I put my hand on her chin and gently turned her face toward me. Her cheeks were streaked with tears. I brushed them back then said, “Because losing you would be like cutting off my air supply.”

She smiled at this.

“My world would be nothing without you, Al. You’re everything.”

She looked into my eyes. “Promise?”

“Yes.” I gently caressed her face with my hand. She closed her eyes and I softly drew my finger across her eyelids then down the bridge of her nose to her full lips. I circled her lips with my finger then leaned over and kissed her. We kissed for a long while. Then I said, “I’ll get the lights.”

I got up and turned off the lights then crawled back into bed. I pulled Allyson to me and she sighed with pleasure.

“When was the last time I told you how much I love you?” I asked.

“About thirty seconds ago,” she replied happily.

“Then I—”

She stopped me by putting her finger on my lips. “Enough words,” she whispered. “Just love me.”

I fell into her embrace, dissolving into her warmth and softness, until nothing else in the world existed or mattered but my beautiful wife and the sweetness of her love.

T
he next morning I woke Allyson with a kiss and a rose, holding the flower inches from her nose until she woke. She smiled sleepily. “Where did you get that?”

“From the breakfast tray. I ordered room service.”

She looked around. “What time is it?”

“Ten something.”

“Oh my goodness. I don’t remember the last time I slept in this late.”

“It’s only eight in Salt Lake.”

She sighed. “Last night was wonderful.”

I smiled. “Oh yes.” I kissed her then took her hand. “Come eat before your breakfast gets cold.”

She climbed out of bed. We sat at a linen-covered table that had been wheeled in. I lifted the silver plate warmers from the food.

“One Denver omelet, hash browns and English muffins. Your favorites.”

“Everything looks delicious.” She lifted a knife and spread orange marmalade across her bread. “Did I hear the phone ring?”

“An hour ago. I got some exciting news,” I said.

“You get more exciting news than anyone I know.”

“There’s a literary club in Orange County called Roundtable West. They’ve had everyone from Walter Cronkite to Richard Nixon speak to them. They just invited me to come out and speak. And guess who’s on the program with me?”

“I can’t.”

“Senator Dole and Bob Hope.”

She shook her head. “I can’t believe your life. When is it?”

“The day after tomorrow.”

Her smile fell. “Then you won’t be coming home with me today?”

“No, I’ll fly direct from here.”

“And then you’ll be home?”

“I have that speaking engagement for the National Society of Readers in Sacramento on Friday, so Arcadia plans to just keep me in California.”

Her frown grew. “And then you’re home?”

I didn’t answer, and Allyson immediately knew that I was hedging. “What’s up, Rob?”

“They want me to go back out on the road.”

Allyson calmly laid down her utensils. “When did you find this out?”

“Heather told me last night. She says she has a stack of media requests on her desk four inches high.”

“You’ve already toured.”

“I know, honey. But now is the time when it will really pay off.”

“It did pay off. You hit number one. What more do you want?”

“As much as I can get. Stopping now would be like running a marathon and quitting on the last mile.”

“But your book is already number one. There’s no place else to go.”

“Arcadia thinks I can double my sales.”

She stood and walked away from the table. “I can’t believe this. You told me that we’d go home and have a nice, calm holiday. You told me that I could go see Aunt Denise this week.”

“I also told you that I’m not in control of my life right now.”

“Then don’t promise things that you can’t deliver.” She went to the bathroom and locked the door behind her.

I walked to the door. “Come on, Ally. It comes with the territory. It’s just our life.”

“It’s not our life, it’s
your
life. This has nothing to do with me or Carson.”

“Well, it should. You should be excited about this. Any other wife would be.”

She opened the door. “Any other wife? Are you talking about someone in particular?”

“No,” I said angrily. “But the women I meet at my signings certainly would.”

“Then I guess you’d be better off with one of them, wouldn’t you?” She shut the door again.

I groaned. “You’re driving me crazy.” I grabbed some clothes from my suitcase and headed for the door. “I’m going to the gym.”

T
he universal weight set was cathartic. I couldn’t remember the last time I had lifted so much weight. When I returned, Allyson was lying on the bed staring at the ceiling. She had changed her clothes, and her suitcase was packed and sitting next to the door. She didn’t speak to me. I went in and showered and dressed. When I came out, she said, “Camille will be here in twenty minutes. You don’t have to go to the airport with me.”

I sat down on the bed next to her. “Are we going to make up before you go?”

“I’m too tired to do it again.”

I stood. “I’m going with you to the airport.” I left the room alone. I took our luggage downstairs and waited in the lobby. It was raining outside and the air felt damp. Camille arrived about the same time Allyson came down. I put Allyson’s bag in the trunk then climbed in the back of Camille’s car. Camille immediately sensed the tension between us, and on the way there she and Allyson spoke casually to defuse the awkwardness. I sat in the back quietly.

When we arrived at the airport, I checked Allyson’s bag at the curb then walked with her into the terminal. We stopped outside of Security. “When will I see you again?” she asked. Her voice had softened.

“I’m afraid to say.”

“When can I see Aunt Denise?”

“You can go now.”

“Who would watch Carson?”

“How about Nancy?”

“Nancy works during the day. Besides she’s been watching her the last two days already.”

“Why don’t you take Carson with you?”

“She has too much going on at school right now.”

“Then we’ll just have to wait.”

“I hope she can,” Allyson said. “She’s been really sick this last week.”

I frowned. “I’m really sorry, Al. I don’t mean to keep letting you down.”

She looked down for a moment then up into my eyes. “I know. It’s just hard.” We kissed. Then I waited until she had passed through Security. She smiled at me from the other side of the screening and blew me a kiss. But there was sadness behind it. There was distance between us that I had never felt before. I walked back to the car and slid into the front seat next to Camille. She pulled away from the curb.

“Want to talk about it?” she asked.

“Not really.”

“Don’t worry. She’ll get used to it.”

I looked over at Camille. “That’s what I’m afraid of.”

I
left New York at eight a.m. the next morning and changed planes at the Delta hub in Salt Lake City. I only had an hour between flights, and I didn’t really feel like I was home. Just another airport. My flight landed at John Wayne International shortly before noon. I felt dizzy. When I left New York, there had been freezing rain and turbulence, and the first half hour of the flight made me airsick. I had my laptop with me and finally caught up on my diary. I vowed not to get behind again.

It was warm when I got off the plane. I was overdressed for Southern California. I claimed my suitcase and walked out to the curb, where a gray stretch limousine was waiting for me. The chauffeur was wearing a uniform. He recognized me and walked out to get my bag. “Are you Mr. Harlan, sir?”

“Yes, I am.”

“Pleasure to meet you, sir. I’m Barry, your driver.”

As we pulled away from the curb, he asked, “Have you done Roundtable before?”

“No. This is my first time.”

“They hold their meeting at the Balboa Beach Yacht Club. You’ll enjoy yourself. Nice folks.”

I didn’t respond. I still felt a little airsick from the ride, and I lay down across the seat and shut my eyes. A half hour later the limousine let me off in front of the yacht club. I had arrived ten minutes after the event was to begin, and while a few guests were still at the registration table, most of the people were already seated for lunch. A woman stopped me at the door.

“Excuse me, sir. Do you have a ticket?”

“No.” Just then a woman with striking red hair and Gucci-framed eyeglasses stepped up to me.

“It’s okay, Janice, Mr. Harlan is one of our celebrities.” She smiled warmly. “You’re so young to be so successful.”

“I guess luck can strike at any age.”

“And humble too. A rare virtue in these parts. I’m Margaret Burke. I run Roundtable. Thanks for coming at the last minute. I know you were cutting it close with your flight.”

“It wasn’t too bad. My flight was a little late. New York wasn’t quite as balmy as it is here.”

“It never is. We’ve already started serving lunch. We have a seat reserved for you up front with our other celebrities, if you’ll follow me.”

We walked into the dining room. The room was spacious and crowded. There were several hundred attendees, mostly women, all elegantly dressed. Margaret led me over to my table. I was seated directly across from Bob Hope, his publicist and his wife, Dolores. At the table next to us was Senator Bob Dole and several of his aides.

Margaret introduced me to the Hopes. Dolores smiled pleasantly, while Mr. Hope only looked up when Dolores told him to. I wasn’t offended. I couldn’t help but wonder how many thousands of times this had taken place for them and how old it must get. We shook hands. “Pleased to meet you,” I said.

Mr. Hope replied, “Do you know whose place you took on the program?”

“No, sir.”

“Raquel Welch. So I won’t say that I’m pleased you’re here.”

I chuckled. “My father is a very big fan of yours. You performed for his outfit during World War Two.”

“Then your father has my admiration. You give him my best.”

“I will, sir.”

I wondered what Chuck would think to see me here at the same table as one of his greatest heroes. It was one of his dreams to meet Bob Hope. Chuck hated celebrities—he considered them un-American leftist ingrates—but Bob Hope, Jimmy Stewart and John Wayne were exceptions. I remember at a young age sitting in my room and hearing “Thanks for the Memories” from the Bob Hope television special and Hope’s voice followed by Chuck’s laughter. These were magical moments in our home. Chuck didn’t often laugh. It was as if Mr. Hope had some strange authority to grant Chuck permission to chuckle: I think he felt that laughing at Hope was a patriotic duty of sorts.

Margaret introduced the speakers, pointing out that we were all “Bobs.” I was the first on the program, which was fine with me. I had little desire to follow Hope or Dole. I spoke about my book, and to my surprise, the emotion in the room ran strong. It was a generous audience and I noticed a few of the women taking Kleenex from their handbags. Our time was limited to fifteen minutes apiece, but I only took ten. Even though I had the number one book in the country, I was still relatively unknown and I had few delusions that anyone in the audience had come for me, especially since I had been invited only a few days previously.

When we had finished speaking, we stayed at the head table and the members of the club lined up in front of us to have their books signed. At the end of my line was one of the few men in the audience. He was what Allyson would call a
natty dresser
. He wore a dark, pin-striped suit with a bright red power tie. He was tall, maybe six-two with the large shoulders of a linebacker. He exuded confidence, a sort of inevitability that comes to those who become accustomed to getting what they want. He wore a broad, likable smile as he stepped up to me.

“Mr. Harlan, you handle yourself well with the ladies. You had them all in tears.”

“Thank you.”

“I have the same effect on women but for different reasons.” He extended his massive hand. “Darren Scott, the Summit Agency.”