Uncharted (4 page)
He rolled his chair closer to the keyboard and skimmed the paragraphs on-screen. He’d mentioned how much he missed everyone, how he hoped they were doing well, and how he thought of them often. He described the work he’d be doing on the island of Kwajalein, gave his departure date, and asked once again if any of them would consider coming along.
The ghostly clatter of the keyboard filled the silence as he typed:
I realize this is asking a lot on short notice, but from experience I know these trips can make you feel like a new person. So please, if you’d like to go, clear your calendar, and let me know ASAP. I’d love to see you again.
BTW—if you come, bring pictures. Whether they’re new shots of your family or old shots of us in our glory days, I’d love to see ’em.
He signed the note, checked the delivery addresses once again, and clicked
send
. This would be the final invitation he’d issue this year; most of them would ignore it because they’d already e-mailed their regrets. But at least they’d know he’d be open to last-minute arrivals.
After he powered down the computer, David headed toward the locker room, stepping to the rhythm of the song playing in his brain: “Wake Me Up Before You Go-Go.”
Manhattan
Karyn opened the apartment door, then stepped aside as Sarah barreled past, her backpack dangling from her arm, her violin case jamming into Karyn’s thigh. “Hey! That hurt!”
“Sorry!”
Groaning, Karyn rubbed her leg and dropped her purse on the floor. As Sarah stomped up the stairs, Karyn shrugged her way out of her coat, tossed it and her sunglasses onto the foyer bench, then moved into her study.
She had checked her phone messages on the way home. Her agent had called with good news—the director of
My Brother Beau
, a new show for ABC television, wanted Karyn to audition for the lead. Balancing her role at
A Thousand Tomorrows
with rehearsals for the new sitcom would be tricky, but since ABC owned both shows, a deal, according to her agent, “was doable.” Best of all, both shows taped in New York, not California.
The news held exciting implications. Moving to nighttime television would more than double Karyn’s exposure as well as her salary. She’d need some time to focus her thoughts, clear her calendar, and read up on
My Brother Beau
. She wanted to go into this audition knowing as much as possible about the show’s development and the personalities involved behind the scenes. She could make some calls and take the weekend to do a little sleuthing . . .
But concentrating on her task wouldn’t be easy with an adolescent storming around the apartment.
Karyn moved to her desk, picked up the phone, and dialed Kevin’s cell number.
She bit back her irritation when a woman answered. “May I speak to Kevin, please?”
“Can I ask who’s calling?” The woman’s voice telegraphed her youth as readily as her question revealed her lack of manners.
“The mother of his child. Just hand him the phone, honey.”
The phone clunked to a hard surface, then Karyn heard the murmur of voices. To prevent her temper from spiking out of control, she sat and turned toward her computer, then clicked on her e-mail icon. Her account had five new posts. They were probably spam, but since she had nothing else to keep her mind from murderous thoughts—
She pressed
get mail
, then waited until the senders’ addresses appeared. Four of them were from strangers, but the fifth was from [email protected].
She smiled as she highlighted the familiar address; a moment later David’s note appeared on-screen. Her heart warmed as she read his last-minute plea, but she had to turn him down. She was grateful he took the time to stay in touch, but she wasn’t about to go off on one of his junkets. He didn’t seem to understand she wasn’t the missionary type. Even if she were, she would never go on
any
trip that might include Kevin.
Speak of the devil. Kevin came on the line, his voice as smooth as syrup. “Hello?”
“It’s Karyn. I need to send Sarah down this weekend.”
“
This
weekend? As in tomorrow?”
“Don’t argue with me, Kev. I let you cancel last time, and now you need to come through. She’s your daughter, and she needs to see you more than two days a month—”
“I’m sorry, K, but, I’m tied up. I’m in meetings all day tomorrow.”
“With the woman who answered the phone?”
He lowered his voice. “You know, cell phones have this adjustable volume feature. Right now anything
you
say can be heard by anyone standing near
me
—”
“I don’t care if your date hears that you’re a lousy father. If you can’t take Sarah this weekend, when can you have her down?”
“Hmm . . . I’ll have to check my calendar.”
“I can’t wait until Monday.”
“I’m still at the office, K. Just a minute; let me get to my desk.”
Karyn looked at the ceiling and inhaled a deep breath. “Who is she, Kevin? Who’s keeping you from our daughter?”
He laughed. “I might ask you the same question. Who’s keeping you so busy you want to get rid of Sarah?”
Karyn closed her eyes. She’d sworn she wouldn’t do this; she had moved beyond worrying about his business ventures, his women, and his golf game. He was no longer her husband, and she shouldn’t care what he did, but it was hard to let go of concerns that were once the hub of her life.
“Just clear your calendar for Sarah, okay?”
“With advance warning, I always do.” His voice was smooth, reasonable, charming. “Next weekend would be great for me. Or the weekend after that. You let me know what’s best for her.”
“I will.”
“Have a nice weekend, K.”
She drew a breath, then disconnected the call.
Heaven help her, she’d almost said, “You too.”
Karyn waited until Sarah had gone to her room with a bag of potato chips, then went into her study and dialed Edward Ferretti, her agent. His cell phone rang twice before he answered, but she could hear the excitement in his greeting: “Karyn!”
“Ed! Do you really have good news?”
A triumphant laugh floated out of the phone. “It’s almost a done deal; we just have to go through the formalities. They want you to do a reading next week with the male lead—”
“Who is?”
“Guy Goldenberg.”
She caught her breath. Goldenberg had made a name for himself last season in
Rent.
She’d seen his work and been impressed.
“Wow.” She leaned back in her chair. “He’s good.”
“He’s excited about working with you. There are only a couple of things we’ll have to work out, but they shouldn’t be a problem.”
She frowned as a mental alarm buzzed. “What things?”
“Well . . . your work on
Tomorrows
. I don’t see why you can’t handle both jobs, but the producers of
My Brother Beau
haven’t agreed to it yet. I’ve heard them mention full-day rehearsals four days a week, and of course, that won’t work for you.”
Her frown deepened. “Anything else?”
“Um . . . they mentioned . . . well, I don’t agree with this; I think you look fantastic. But Lorinda Loving is supposed to be, what, in her early thirties? The Beatrice character is supposed to be twenty-eight.”
The desk lamp suddenly seemed too bright, so Karyn brought her hand up to cover her eyes. “Do they want me to have a face-lift?”
“What? Good grief, no.” He laughed, a quick ha-ha-ha. “They want you to lose five pounds, maybe eight. Well, ten. Ten pounds would make them very happy.”
Ten pounds?
“Ed, I’ll look like a skeleton if I lose ten pounds.”
“Don’t worry about it, Karyn; just work on losing five. Then they’ll see how great you look and know you’re willing to work with them. You can lose five pounds, can’t you?”
Karyn listened with a vague sense of unreality. Men had no idea how hard it was to lose weight. They could eat nothing but salads for one day and drop ten pounds; she could eat nothing but celery for a week and drop an ounce—if she wasn’t premenstrual, in which case she’d
gain
three pounds. “Oh, sure,” she said, her voice flat. “I can take off five pounds.”
Or die trying.
“I knew you could. I told them you’d be up to the challenge. There’s one more thing.”
She winced. “What?”
“They want you to go to Maine for a full week. The director is a touchy-feely kind of guy, so he wants the cast to bond—his word—up at his cabin in the woods. You’ll leave two weeks from Monday.”
A headache began to blaze a trail behind Karyn’s eyes. “A full week? I can’t take that much time off from
Tomorrows
.”
“We’ll work that out. Maybe Lorinda can go on a cruise or something—isn’t it about time for her to get married again?”
Karyn snorted. “She’s just started dating her dog’s psychotherapist.”
“Good, they can go on their honeymoon in three weeks. We’ll be giving the writers grist for their story line.”
Karyn pressed her lips together. Like any deal, this one might be tricky to work out, but the effort would be worth it. Moving from daytime drama to a prime-time sitcom would be
huge
for her career. She’d lose twenty pounds and tattoo her forehead if the director insisted.
“Thanks, Ed.” She forced a smile into her voice. “This is great news.”
“It’s gonna be amazing. The best thing that’s ever happened to you.”
“If I’ve got to give up chocolate and potatoes, it’d better be.”
Seattle
“You’re the best, Lisa, the absolute
best
. See you Monday.”
Lisa Melvin stretched her smile and twiddled her fingers at the last of her preschool students. “Have a nice weekend. Bye-bye, Jason.”
When the toddler and his mother pulled out of the driveway, she closed and locked the door, then allowed her mouth to settle into its customary descending curve. The care and feeding of six preschool children shouldn’t have taken so much of her energy, but combined with the other stresses in this house, six kids could bring on a nervous breakdown.
She shuffled to the window, lowered the blind with a snap of the cord, then moved to the sink and picked up a wet dish towel. She bent over the low table and groaned as she wiped; Bobby Wilson had spilled Kool-Aid during snack time, and the lacquered wood was still sticky.
She tossed the towel into the sink, lifted one hand to support her aching back, then trudged, shoulders bent, to the corner where toys lay scattered like autumn leaves. She crouched, tossing each into one of the sturdy plastic bins along the wall.
“Leeee-saaaaa?”
She closed her eyes as the querulous voice nipped at her nerves. She’d told them not to bother her until school was over, so they must have counted cars. Now they knew she was alone; now they’d demand her full attention . . .
“Leeee-saaaa?”
She glanced at her watch. Forty minutes past two and no sign of the Meals on Wheels guy; that was the problem. He was supposed to deliver two hot lunches between eleven forty-five and one o’clock, but sometimes Mr. Blond Beard stopped to visit with Mrs. Miniver, the old lady two doors down. Lisa thought he was trying to worm his way into the old woman’s will. He’d certainly never offered to stick around
her
house, never volunteered to talk to her parents so she could clean up the day-care room without interruption . . .
“Leeee-saaaa!”
She straightened and blew a hank of hair from her eyes, then marched to the door that separated her day-care room from the rest of the house.
She flung the door open. “What on earth do you want?”
From the depths of the sagging sofa, her mother blinked. “Why—what put a bee in
your
bonnet?”
Lisa took a deep breath. “Nothing. What’s wrong now?”
Her mother’s gnarled hand rose to the plastic buttons at the neckline of her housedress. “It’s lunchtime, isn’t it? Past lunchtime, I think. I’m hungry.”