The Ranch

“I wish it didn't bother me. I never thought it would. It all seems much more human scale until you step into it, and then it's very Alice-in-Wonderland. It's all very unreal as you begin to fall and fall and fall…” he said, and listening to him reminded her again that she loved him. He was a bright man, and despite their differences, they still had a lot in common.

“That's an interesting way to put it,” she said, smiling wistfully at him, knowing in her heart of hearts that for him anyway, it was probably already over. “What about the kids?” she asked, looking suddenly distraught. “If you leave, will you still let me see them?” There were tears in her eyes as she asked him. It had all been so bloodless so far and so reasonable. The first of many talks to begin the unraveling of their marriage. But he reached out and touched her hand when he saw the devastated look in her eyes. He felt terrible at what he was seeing. And he hated himself for doing this to her, but he had known for a while that he couldn't take it much longer. And the story in the morning paper had really gotten to him.

“I still love you, Tan,” he said in a whisper, and she hated him for looking so handsome as he said it. He still appealed to her a great deal, he was sexy, handsome, and smart, even if he wasn't there for her a lot of the time but she'd always been willing to forgive him. “I just wanted to tell you what I was feeling. And even if things don't work out for us, I would never stop you from seeing the kids. They love you,” he said, looking kindly at her in a way that tore her heart out. He was saying good-bye without saying the words, but she knew it wouldn't be long now. It was over for him, if not for her.

“And I love them.” She began to cry softly, and he went to sit next to her and put an arm around her shoulders.

“They love you too, and so do I, Tan, in my own crazy way,” he said, but she didn't believe him. If he really loved her, he wouldn't want to leave her.

“What about Wyoming? Will they still come? Will you?” she asked, feeling desperate and suddenly very frightened. She was losing him, and probably them too. Why would they want to see her if their father left her? Had she established enough of a relationship in the past three years for them to want to do that? And when she looked up, Tony was looking at her strangely.

“I think they ought to go with you. I think it would be a great experience for them,” he said, looking uncomfortable, and she understood immediately what he was saying.

“But you won't come. Is that it?”

“I don't think so. I think it would be a good time for us to take a break. I think I'm going to go to Europe.”

“When did that come up? Today on the golf course?” What was happening here? How long had he been planning this defection? She suddenly wondered as she listened. And as her eyes bored into his, he looked a little sheepish.

“I've been thinking about this for a while, Tan. It didn't just happen this morning over breakfast. I think that was kind of the catalyst. But it was the Enquirer last week. The Star the week before. It's been lawsuits and crises and death threats and tabloids ever since we got married.”

“I thought you were getting used to it,” she said, sounding startled.

“I don't see how anyone can. You're not used to it either.” He had worried at times about the incredible stress it all caused her, he knew that even people as young as she was sometimes keeled over and died from too much stress. Sometimes he seriously wondered how she didn't. “Anyway, Tanya, I'm sorry.”

“So what do we do now?” She wanted to know if she was supposed to go upstairs and pack his bags for him, or make wild passionate love to him and talk him out of it. What was the protocol, and what did he expect? And even more important than that, what was it she wanted? She didn't even know herself. She was still too hurt and too startled by what he was saying.

“I'm not sure what we do,” he said honestly. “I want to think about it for a while. But I wanted to warn you of the direction I'm going.”

“Kind of like a hurricane, or a flood, sort of a natural disaster,” she said, trying to smile, but tears kept springing to her eyes, and then Jean knocked on the door and stuck her head in.

“You're an hour late at the studio. The producer called, and he wanted to remind you the meter's running. The musicians want to know if they can take an early lunch and come back in an hour. And your agent called to remind you, he needs an answer from you today by four-thirty. Bennett Pearson called too. He needs you to call him as soon as you're finished.”