Breach of Promise Read Free

things you don’t stop and analyze. I think
    God implants a certain instinct in fathers (who are somewhat slow on the uptake) that tells them to heed their children without extensive cross-examination.
    “Sure,” I said. I lifted her off the couch—she in her soft cotton PJs with rabbits and me in my cutoffs and Dodger T-shirt— and went to the kitchen to tell Paula we were going up on the roof of the building. Paula, phone at her ear, put her finger in the air, telling me to be quiet.
    I carried Maddie up to the roof.
The moon was almost full. It seemed huge. It cast a glow over the hills, where million-dollar homes gawked somewhat incredulously at the apartment buildings below. The kind of homes I dreamed of living in, with Paula and Maddie and a big, fat $20 million contract to star in the next Ridley Scott movie.
But tonight I did not care that I was on an apartment building roof. Maddie had her warm arms around my neck, and I held her and swayed, swayed, swayed. Time went completely away as we danced by the light of the moon.
B
AD THINGS
1
    I can pinpoint the start of the bad things.
The three of us were dining at Maddie’s favorite restaurant, Flookey’s. This was an establishment on Ventura Boulevard serving a selection of hot dogs and chips. It had an outdoor patio. Maddie liked to eat outside so she could say hi to all the people.
At five she was already networking. She’d make it in this town for sure.
Paula’s cell rang and she picked up. I half watched Paula and half did a hand game with Maddie.
After thirty seconds Paula looked as if her mother had died. She was silent, her face draining of color in the fashion of an old ghost movie. Just before I asked what was wrong, her face transformed into an incandescent smile. Then the tears came.
She said something and put the phone down.
“That was Phyl,” she said. Phyl was Paula’s agent.
“Good news?”
“Look at me, honey,” she said. How could I not? She was in the grip of something. She put her hand on my arm and with her other hand grabbed Maddie’s fingers.
“Antonio Troncatti wants me for his next film,” she said.
The name, the news, hit me like a rolled-up Variety across the face. Antonio Troncatti was the director of the moment, the new anointed one. A thirty-five-year-old Italian whose first movie had been nominated for Best Foreign Film. His next project had been for TriStar, a portrait of Napoleon starring Sean Penn. It was a huge international hit. That caught everyone by surprise because it did not contain the action elements usually required for big foreign box office.
The rumor now was he was in preproduction on a major thriller to be shot mostly in Europe. And every actor in Hollywood wanted to work with him.
“Wow,” I said in a half whisper.
“Wow!” Maddie screeched. She had no idea who Antonio Troncatti was, of course. She just wanted to be part of the fun.
“I can’t believe this,” Paula said, her voice and face otherworldly.
“How did he happen—”
“To pick me? Phyl says he wanted an unknown for the role, but a certain look. I guess I have it.”
“What about—” I nodded my head toward Maddie.
“What do you mean?” Paula said. I could tell I’d just deflated her a little.
“I mean, are you going to be in Europe, shooting?”
“I don’t know, Mark,” she said sharply. “I don’t know anything yet. Can’t you just be happy for me right now?”
I recovered quickly. “Yeah. Sure. Of course. You’re going to be a big star. You hear that, Maddie? Mommy’s going to be a big star!”
“My heart is beautiful!” Maddie said.
    But my heart was not beautiful. To be perfectly frank, I was envious. Acting couples are that way. It’s a competitive business, and when your spouse gets the big break you have been hoping for yourself, it’s one of those good news/bad news things.
    I have to admit that, when we got married, I thought I was the real actor in the family. Paula was on a soap. Not a bad thing. The