Feelings of Fear Read Free Page A

the weather and the passing centuries to wear the road away.

Lolicia
    H e came home from the studio just before eleven in the evening, his chinos crumpled, his hair sticking up, and the back of his shirt stained with sweat. He slung his coat over the back of the living-room couch, came straight into the kitchen, kissed Susan on the cheek and then went straight to the freezer and took out a frosted bottle of Stolichnaya.
    He poured himself a large glass and drank it as if it were water. Then he poured himself another, and drank half of that, too.
    â€œJesus, you don’t know what a day I’ve had.”
    â€œOh, yes?” Susan banged the pot sharply on the hob and he should have taken his cue from that.
    â€œWe didn’t finish shooting the last scene till gone nine.”
    â€œYou could have called,” said Susan. “The clam sauce is ruined.”
    â€œHey, I’m sorry. I had no idea it was going to go on so damned long. That scene when the girl gets strangled—”
    â€œYou still could have called.”
    â€œListen, I’ve said I’m sorry. If the meal’s ruined I’ll take you out to eat. I’ll take you anyplace you want to go.”
    â€œJeff, I don’t want to go out to eat. I’ve spent most of the afternoon making all of this. It was supposed to be special. I’ve made you
frittata.
I’ve made you
pinzimonio
salad. What do you want me to do with it? Throw it all away?”
    Jeff came over and peered into the saucepan. “Looks all right to me. Kind of gummy, maybe. But so what. We could call it
spaghettini alla gummy vongole.”
    â€œThat’s it!” she said. She picked up the pan and turned it upside-down over the sink.
    â€œFor Christ’s sake, Susan, what are you doing? Listen, that was a joke, okay? I’m sorry I’m late and I’m sorry I made a joke, but let’s forget it, okay? Let’s just have something to eat, okay? I could eat a horse. I could even eat a gummy
spaghettini.”
    She dropped the pan with a clatter, and turned on him. “You have been late every single night for the past three months – that’s when you’ve bothered to come home at all. Ever since you started this series I haven’t seen you from one week’s end to the next. You keep telling me you’ve come alive. ‘Oh, Susan, I feel twenty years younger.’ Haven’t you thought for one minute what it’s been doing to me? Haven’t you thought for one minute how
boring
it’s been?”
    â€œSusan, listen sweetheart, apart from post-production the series is finished. It’s wrapped. We can go away for a couple of weeks. Up to Napa, maybe. We’ll visit your mother, we’ll drink some wine. Well, maybe we’d better drink some wine
before
we visit your mother.”
    Susan pulled off her butcher’s apron and threw it across the floor. “Jeff, I don’t find you funny any more. You’ve turned into somebody I don’t even know and I don’t even like. Even when I’ve seen you, you’ve talked about nothing else but
Creatures
this and
Creatures
that and say, ‘honey, I’m so worried about
Creatures.’
You’re selfish and obsessive and totally one-dimensional.”
    Maybe it was sheer exhaustion after sixteen solid hours of shooting the last episode of
Creatures.
Maybe it was too much vodka on an empty stomach. Maybe it was simply the let-down of leaving the studio to whistles and cheers and coming back to someone who had no idea what he had managed to achieve. Whatever it was, he slapped her.
    There was an extraordinary moment in which he felt as if he had stepped through a mirror. Out of one life and into another.
    He said, “Shit, Susan. I’m sorry. I’m really sorry.”
    â€œYou—” she began, and she tried to slap him back, but he dropped his martini glass and caught hold of her wrists. The glass shattered