“I’m…in?”
“You’re in! Listen, I booked you on the ten o’clock American flight out to LaGuardia, and I’ll have a car there to pick you up in thirty minutes. Jack will meet your flight and take you right over to MGM. Elise, this is the big time, kid. Are you ready?”
“I’m—I’m ready,” she squeaked.
“Pack a bag. The car’ll be there soon,” he said. “And Elise? Congratulations. You did it.”
“I did it. Th-thank you, Donny.”
The line went dead and she clicked the end button on her phone, turning to Preston. “Oh, my God!”
“Is everything okay?”
She started laughing, almost hysterically, as the news settled in. “Pres! They want me in L.A! Donny set up a screen test!”
“Wait. What?”
“Hollywood!” she cried. “I’m going to be in a movie!”
***
“Elise…wait, wait, wait, wait. Sweetheart, what are you doing?” Preston asked, watching his wife jump out of bed, pull on a T-shirt she found on the floor, and run to his closet. She turned around a moment later with a duffel bag, unzipped it and plopped it on the bed.
“Packing!”
“Slow down a sec. What do you mean?”
She looked up at him, a beaming smile on her face. “Donny reserved me a ticket on the ten o’clock American fight to L.A. I have to pack. Oh my God, this is so exciting!”
She leaned forward and pressed her lips to his, then turned and beelined to the bathroom.
“Elise?” he called, sitting up in bed and pulling the sheet to his waist. “Can we talk about this?”
“Huh?”
“Sweetheart, can we talk about this?”
She peeked out of the bathroom. “Pres! There’s a part for me in Hollywood! For me!”
“Okay. I get that. But you picked up your phone, had a five minute conversation, screamed that Donny set up a screen test in L.A., and now you’re packing. My head’s spinning.”
“He’s sending a car in”—he peeked out again and glanced at the clock on his bedside table—“twenty-five minutes.”
Preston whipped the sheet off his body, pulled on some boxers and crossed the room to lean on the wall just outside of the bathroom. “Can you stop for a minute?”
“I have to pack,” she insisted, glancing at him before grabbing her toothbrush and squeezing it into her toiletry bag.
She was packing. She was leaving. The panic in his chest ratcheted up.
“You’ve never even mentioned an interest in movies.”
“Pres, the is The Awakening by Kate Chopin.” She zipped the small pouch closed and snapped her head up to look at him. “They called me the ‘American Kiera Knightly.’ Do you have any idea what this could mean for my career? I could pay off all my loans. I could—”
“Is that what this is about? Money?” He reached out and placed his palms on her shoulders, relief sluicing through his veins like Valium. “Oh, sweetheart, you don’t have to take this job if it’s about money. Listen, we haven’t talked a lot about finances yet, but I’m not just comfortable…I’m loaded. I mean, I can write you a check from my account today and we’ll pay off every cent of your loans.”
“You don’t even know how much I owe,” she murmured, pausing in her haste to stare up at him.
He shrugged. “Is it less than thirty million dollars?”
“Yes,” she squeaked.
“Then we’re good.”
Her blue eyes widened, searching his for a moment as if trying to figure out if he was telling the truth or not. Finally, she sucked her bottom lip into her mouth and ducked away from him, back into the bedroom, where she put the toiletry bag in the duffel bag on the bed.
“I can’t accept your money.”
“What?” He leaned against the bathroom doorway, that terrible, panicky feeling crashing over him like a wave. She’d been acting weird—a little off—since they’d returned to his apartment yesterday. Sexually, she’d blown his mind, but emotionally, she’d been a little distant. He’d chalked it up to a combination of new-bride jitters and losing her virginity, but now he was starting to worry. “Why not? I’m your husband.”
She looked up, clenching her jaw once before turning to the bureau that held her underwear and opening the top drawer.
“Because it’s not about the money, Pres. It’s about the job. The Awakening! My big chance. This is it.”
“I thought Ethan Frome was it. Plus, I was under the impression that you were a stage actress.” He licked his lips, recalling her very words. “The audience? The synergy? The—”
“I’m an actress,” she said, glancing at him before packing her lingerie then whirling back to the bureau. She opened the second drawer, pulling out a small pile of T-shirts and shorts before closing it. “Stage, screen, TV…whatever. I go where the work is. New York. LA. Wherever there’s a part that needs me.”