“You’re serious?”
“Of course I’m serious. Have your secretary call Bill Campbell at Fox. He’ll send you a ticket. Then give my secretary your itinerary. I’ll pick you up at the airport.”
“I’ll get the first flight out. And thanks, Warren. I mean it.”
“It’s not a sure thing, Jacko. But I know we’ll knock ’em dead. See ya tomorrow.”
Jack hung up the phone and immediately called home. Elizabeth answered on the second ring.
“Hello?”
“Hey, honey, you won’t believe—” He stopped. What if he didn’t get the job? He’d disappointed his wife too often in the past. There was no point in building up her hopes for nothing. “I have to go to New York tomorrow. Can you pack me a suitcase?”
“New York? How come?”
He thought fast. “Some hotshot high school quarterback just signed a letter of intent with the Ducks. I gotta interview him.”
“Oh, that’s odd. How long will you be gone?”
“Two nights. Hey, let’s go out for dinner tonight. How about the Stephanie Inn? It’s romantic as hell out there.”
There was a pause on the other end. “What’s going on, Jack?”
“Nothing. We haven’t gone out for dinner in too long; that’s all,” he answered. It was true. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d called from the office and made a date with his own wife. But everything was going to be different from now on. He’d move Heaven and Earth to get this job; then he’d return home in triumph. Oh, she’d grumble about moving east, but in the end, she’d do the right thing. This job would finally—finally—offer them a second chance. “Everything’s great.”
And it was. For once, it was.
Elizabeth stood back, her arms crossed tightly.
Jack was by the front door, garment bag in hand. Even at this predawn hour, he looked bright and eager, almost boyish.
For a moment, he was so handsome he took her breath away. Strangely, she remembered the first time he’d kissed her. A lifetime ago. They’d been lying on the grass in the Quad, supposedly studying. She hadn’t seen the kiss coming, hadn’t braced for it, and when his lips touched hers, she’d started inexplicably to cry. She’d known with that one kiss that her life had been upended … that she’d love Jackson Shore until the day she died.
It was probably even still true.
But was it enough?
She looked up at him, wondering if he could see the longing in her, if it shone through her eyes. Or if he’d seen that look so often and so long that it had simply become Elizabeth. “Maybe I could go with you,” she said. It was what she should have said when he went on Larry King Live.
His smile faded as he dropped the garment bag and moved toward her. “Not this time, Birdie. I’ll be running full speed. I wouldn’t be able to spend any time with you.”
She nodded, swallowed the lump in her throat. He used to invite her on every business trip, but she’d never wanted to leave her children. It was only later—too late—that she realized what her decision said about the marriage. It was her own fault she’d missed her chance.
“Next time, then. I hate New York, anyway.”
He touched her face, gently forced her to lift her chin and meet his gaze.
She put her arms around him and held on tightly, afraid suddenly to let him go. “Be careful,” she whispered.
He stepped back. “I’ll call you from the Big Apple. I’ve got a room at the Carlyle. The phone number is on the fridge.”
“Okay. Have a good trip. Good luck.”
“Winners don’t need luck.”
She stood there, arms crossed, until long after he was gone.
Somewhere in the house a beam settled; wood creaked. In the living room, the mantel clock chimed five o’clock.
She tried not to think about the endless, narrow hallway of the day before her. It was early; she could go back to bed. But she wouldn’t sleep.
She walked into the kitchen, opened her daily calendar, and began to plan her day. She was halfway through her To Do list when she realized it was Thursday.
Passionless women night.
Maybe she’d go. It wasn’t as if she had anything better to do.
Jack liked everything about first class: the impossibly short line at check-in, the roomy, comfortable gray seats, the clean white trays that held edible food, the drinks that never stopped coming.
Hot towels, sir? Can I get you a brandy for after dinner, Mr. Shore? Can I take your coat for you?
Service was something he’d forgotten existed in air travel until recently. Their family vacations over the last few years had consisted of four people crammed into the el-cheapo package.