My Life in Black and White Read Free Page B

tell me you were coming tonight,” Dean said without warmth. “You know my wife, Clara?” He knew full well the producer knew who I was. I was never certain if Dean thought these types of awkward moments were funny or fodder for his next reality show idea: pitting a celebrity journalist and a furious star against each other, fight to the death!
    “Clara,” the man croaked my name.
    “George,” I said and forced a smile.
    “George was just telling me about his show.” Here it comes. I braced myself. “The ratings have gone up despite the negative press,” Dean said, making it clear to George whose side he was on. I wanted to disappear.
    “Yes, some stars are impervious to the
media
,” George said pointedly. I wanted to point out how the
media
helped boost those ratings, but he kept talking. “So when do you go to London?” he asked Dean.
    “I leave on the weekend,” he answered and stood straighter, chest puffed up. “You know the Brits, they always want to push the envelope. And that’s hard in reality TV.”
    Ah, London. Dean was flying to England to produce a new show called
Come to Daddy
, which brought reality TV to new heights oflow. The premise was this: a houseful of buxom beauties vie for the attention of a super-rich sugar daddy who is at least forty years older than all of them. Dean insisted it was a stepping stone in his quest to direct films. Just how that worked was a mystery to me, but it paid the bills.
    “They’ve come to the right man,” George said and thumped him on the back.
    “I’ll be gone at least six weeks. They’re putting me up in a suite at The Savoy, so I’m going to be well taken care of,” Dean continued.
    George turned to me and looked as if he might choke when he said, “You’re going to miss your wife.” Dean nodded slightly.
    I had a secret. I’d bought a plane ticket to London to surprise Dean. Armed with romantic visions of moonlit walks along the Thames, inspiring nights at the theatre and afternoons spent in galleries when he wasn’t shooting, he would find me irresistible all over again. Time away was all we needed. But there was another reason to go; I wanted to get pregnant. I had a miscarriage when we were first married; in fact, the pregnancy was why we got married. Not that we’re old-fashioned, but we were both from broken homes and so it just felt right. Besides, I was crazy about Dean. So I was devastated when early in the second trimester it was all over. I’d never felt such loss before, never felt so incomplete. Dean was distraught too. We decided to postpone trying again until our careers were more established. I’d agreed, in part because emotionally I couldn’t handle losing another baby. And at the time, I still held the ambition of being a working screenwriter, not a celebrity writer. Nearly six years had passed, and at thirty-five I didn’t want to wait anymore, but all attempts had failed and my period still arrived jarring and unwelcome like an alarm clock that’s been set too early.
    Dean wasn’t convinced that we should have a baby until he’d directed his first film. It seemed like an excuse, a reason to say no,which made me lie awake at night wondering if I hadn’t gotten pregnant the first time would the man I loved be lying in bed with me. Of course, as a writer I had a vivid imagination and that wasn’t always helpful. Dean was still my husband, no need to be paranoid.
    But as I stood there in the midst of a party celebrating his latest achievement, it didn’t seem to matter that Dean wasn’t thrilled to see me. Once I became pregnant it would be different. He would be a proud father and he would realize what he had: a wife who adored him and would give him everything he wanted. I smiled and touched my husband’s arm. He looked down at my hand on his sleeve and went back to talking to George. What Dean didn’t know was that tonight was prime time for making a baby. Tonight would be perfect, and if not tonight, then