By Alice Burton
Jeff hung up the phone. He had at least been able to hear Hilary's voice again. That was one of the things he missed the most. He had felt a fleeting joy when she spoke. True, she had only said, "Hello," but that was good enough. Then the second he said, "Hil," she had hung up. He was surprised that Gertie was on his side she had not told Hilary that he was the person calling. He leaned back in his chair at the BBC and contemplated his situation. He hadn't expected Hilary to react this way to his letter; she was supposed to understand. He had been fairly vague, but Pavla should have explained the situation a little to her. Unless...
He shook his head. He had honored his part of the deal, so she would too. He restlessly got up and walked over to the desk in the tiny room. He picked up Hilary's picture that was carefully placed in the middle and slowly studied it. It was taken after he had gotten back from London the first time, and they were still cooing over each other. She was so distracted by him he was standing next to the photographer and talking to her that she wouldn't look at the camera. She just couldn't keep her eyes off of him, so eventually the exasperated photographer gave up. He smiled as he remembered what the man had said to him as he was packing up his stuff, "Buddy, I'm glad that she loves you that much, but you should tell her to concentrate more on her career." He had never expected to come before Hilary's career, and that was when he knew he had finally achieved that. His smile soon disappeared though, when he had a flashback to two weeks after their first marriage.
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Hilary walked up and down the length of her dressing room, struggling to control her temper. Jeff was sitting on the chair near the door, watching her make a path in the carpet. She glared at him. "Jeffrey, I can't deal with this any longer!"
He glared back and seethed through his teeth, "What a shock! Neither can I."
She walked over to him and stood there, glowering. He almost cringed, but he knew she would most likely not inflict bodily harm on him. Despite their constant bickering, they cared enough for each other that they wouldn't physically hurt the other. 'Except for the time she threw that prop at you,' came the so-annoying voice at the back of his head. He pushed it back and concentrated on Hilary more. She was so mad, she couldn't speak. After a moment, he carefully asked, "So, what do you want to do about this?"
She then exploded. "What do I want to do? Oh, Pumpkin, I can't tell you what I want to do it's too gruesome. But I will tell you this: I-want-a-divorce!" She then opened the door with a bang, "Out! Get out of my dressing room now!"
His temper flared again. "Fine, Hilary! You know, I don't even know why I married you in the first place!" He spat out. He then turned and left the room at a fast gait. He was lying he knew that. He didn't think she did, though, which was why he said it. He was mad as hell at her. When they had gotten married, they were thrilled, they were both excited by the prospect of being together for quite some time. 'But when you were sober...' came that annoying voice again. He pushed it back again; they had woken up the next morning and well he was still happy, but Hilary was a little hesitant. 'I should've known then!' He chastised himself, 'I should've realized that this couldn't last.' He walked to his dressing room, slowing down a bit. He was less angry now he was just depressed. He lightened up when he stepped into his dressing room. Hilary would forget what she said she had been angry that was all. She had said things in the heat of the moment before that she took back later when she was level-headed. She would forget.
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He put the picture down on the desk roughly. She had not forgotten, and the next day she had given him the papers to sign. He was so mad that he had willingly, even gladly, signed them. But then their press agent had told them about how the public loved them being married and acting together. "Like the Lunts," he had said. So they kept their divorce a secret and and lived with each other when they had to.
Walking back over to the worn-out chair, he collapsed into it. He couldn't remember how he had enjoyed life without her. She always made things so interesting, so dramatic...so chaotic. She sustained him. He couldn't manage without her. She was the one who carefully woke him from his dreams. She helped him through all of his disappointments. What would he do if she didn't take him back?
He went back to his hotel room, locked the door, and fell onto his bed. He just wanted to sleep that night. Just sleep, then get up the next morning and broadcast. The same thing he did every morning. Then he would inevitably end up where he had been tonight -- in front of the desk, holding her picture and remembering. It was a routine that he could not wait to get out of, and that would be when he got home to Pittsburgh. The monotony wasn't really what disturbed him, it was more the dreams he had at night. He had had a few about the bomb, but lately he had been dreaming about coming back to WENN and finding everyone gone. His life had been taken from him while he was in London. Some nights, Pavla would appear and start laughing at him a taunting, smug laugh that haunted him when he was awake.
He wanted to go to sleep, but he didn't want to dream. After a few minutes of wrestling with drowsiness though, he lost and was soon sleeping somewhat peacefully.
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When he woke up, he was decidedly happy. He had had no nightmares that night, at least none that he could remember. But the main thing was that after his peaceful night, he had come to a decision: Hilary loved him. There could be no doubt of that. No matter how many times she hung up on him or how many letters she returned unopened, she loved him. He was then assured that everything would be all right, because he had to get her back. He had to.
THE END
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