Maria went to her trailer, and I went to mine. Forty minutes later, we were back together, watching my stunt double having it out with the other double playing Sven. Anyone with even a few years of Hollywood experience could see this entire fight scene was rushed and hastily choreographed. I never saw him, but Dak had made his way behind Maria and I, and was suddenly hollering at the director to cut.

"What kind of amateurish bullshit is this?" he blurted out in dissatisfaction. "You call that a fight, for fuck sake?" He wasn't wrong. But then he made what became the mistake of a lifetime.

"Why don't you let Chase and I get in there?" he told anyone who could hear. "The script said 'pummel.' I'll show you what a damn good pummeling looks like."

Then he looked directly at me and smirked. I'd met Dak for the first time one week before we started reading lines for the show. While he would never be considered a good friend, Dak and I were friendly. Maria and I had been out to drinks with him and his then girlfriend, before Maria's pregnancy. I'd helped him, after his car was totaled by a friend he loaned it to, by picking him up two weeks straight and driving him with us to the studio. Dak bought Maria and me a weekend package on Catalina Island for that. He was surely a self-centered and burly Scandinavian, but he had a kind side that shown occasionally. He was a bull in a china shop, and he was proud of it.

If it wasn't for that smirk, all of the strange feelings I'd recently had, would never have coalesced - not the behavior of my wife, not all the whispers and halted conversations by my fellow actors when Maria was home with our newborn. Suddenly, her odd looks the previous day were directly in line with Dak's smirk. I tried with every fiber of my being to dismiss it - to cast it aside just like Desperation Island. But I couldn't. I turned away from him, casting my gaze in the opposite direction. Maria looked at me worriedly - perhaps frantically was a better description - and then she shot Dak a filthy look.

The rest of that day, I barely remember. Several times, my scene atop the mountain was cut and restarted. I wasn't sharp or focused. Of course, I'd had less than twelve hours to memorize my lines, for what was to be a series finale. My final scene occurred at sunset, on top of that island clifftop, which in reality for me, was a green screen atop a plastic mountain about six feet tall, with a soft bouncy thing surrounding the base. I didn't do a swan dive. The execs decided I should just feel sorry for myself, and then simply roll over off the side. I found the ending to this show so distasteful that I could barely say my good-byes to cast and crew. And just fuck the execs.

Maria kept poking me in the ribs and whispering, "Dammit, Chase, you're embarrassing me. What the hell is wrong?" as the rest of the crew were wishing each other well, and hugging. I was making a beeline for the taxi service beyond the set.

Dak came up to me as I was heading off, after filming the final scene. He reached for my hand. "Chase," he said in an apologetic tone, "Hey man, nice work there. I'm sorry about what I said earlier, you know? Just my big mouth and mojo getting in the way. No hard feelings, I didn't mean nothing by it. Why don't you and Maria catch me later in the week, and we'll do dinner?"

"Nah," I answered sarcastically. "I think we're good. We have a baby at home to spend time with, now that this bag of shit show is done. Good luck to you."

I never shook his hand, and Maria looked perplexed until the shuttle got us back to our car at the hotel. Then I guess she decided that anything she said was going to go all wrong, so I was given the silent treatment the rest of the way to the airport.

Once we arrived home seven hours later, I spoke with our nanny and discussed changes to the following few weeks' scheduling. I then walked into the nursery, and Maria was breastfeeding Matthew. It's amazing how much a baby's looks change in the first few months. His mother had spent his first three weeks with him. I hadn't seen him, except for a few minutes here and there on Facetime for five-and-a-half weeks. I studied that little face. He certainly had his mother's good looks, defined cheekbones, and blue eyes. But I had brown eyes. So what were the odds?

Matthew's hair was blondish, but so was Maria's. Another person who was blond-haired and blue-eyed was Dak. I wanted to walk away. I wanted to go get myself a double Maker's Mark and forget this whole shitty week. I wanted to but I couldn't. I slowly looked down at little Matthew's feet.

They were absolute paddles - just amazingly huge for a newborn - and he had stubby toes. My feet were thin, and I wore a size ten-and-a-half. Not even good enough to get any 'big dick' comments in high school. I did, however, have long thin toes. You know the kind - with the extra knuckles. So did Maria. We'd been barefoot on location for over two years now. I'm not big on feet, but when you're sitting around eating lunch, or on a tech break, it's hard not to notice when everyone's working in swimsuits.

Maria was in bed long before me that night. She was exhausted, or so she said. I was getting drunk. My wife wanted to talk the next morning, not even giving me a chance to nurse my hangover. She wanted to help me get over my grieving about the shock of the show and all that had happened. I told her I was fine and didn't need her help. She got a little pissed with my attitude and decided to go on offense, saying she was just trying to help, and I didn't have to be so insensitive. That is until I walked out on her. She followed me to my Maserati and demanded I come back inside and spend time with her and Matthew. For the first time in our marriage, I did not comply.

"Fuck off and leave me alone!" I raged.

Instead, I went to breakfast and ate lots of bacon. Thinking about my Hollywood figure was not on the agenda that day. I started making some important notes on my phone, before emailing them to my private account and erasing the phone.

There was no sense, in my mind, to get ahead of myself until just one very important thing was proven. That one thing was Matthew's lineage, and that would require a swab test, no, two tests each for him and me. The proof had to be irrefutable either way - meaning, he was my son or not. Just one day after my wake-up call, I was already opening my mind to the fact that Maria could have gotten pregnant by just about anyone.

If I was the father, then at the very least, Maria would have to come clean about her involvement with Dak Bronson. Depending on how bad it was, I'd have to make my own decisions from there. Maybe we'd go to counseling, or maybe something far more permanent.

If I wasn't the father though, I needed to start protecting myself now. My career depended on the Hollywood moguls. Scandal in this business could sometimes be good for one's career, but after the way Desperation Island had ended, I'd be a laughing stock. However, contracts were also a big part of Hollywood. My marriage to Maria was indeed a contract. I made a note to use that word to death, in any of my dealings. That also meant I would need to find a good attorney.

The second and possibly bigger problem was Maria's family; moreover the wealth and power of her father, Charles Wilmington. That guy had always had a hard-on for me. Part of that was, he despised the idea of his daughter becoming an actor or an artist of any kind. He saw the fine arts as completely useless to society. He saw me that way too. In short, he made zero effort to disguise his utter disdain for me, and often tried to control my words and actions. What he got in response was my middle finger and an equal challenge. He had a commanding presence, but I had a quick wit, he simply couldn't match, which irrevocably put us at a constant stalemate.

So, I determined, he would do anything to mitigate any public embarrassment for Maria while using his power to publicly destroy me. But, he too was a consideration for further down the road. I'd start to prepare an anti-smear campaign of my own, and name him specifically if necessary.

My phone rang, and I saw it was Sal. I thought about letting it go to voicemail, but maybe...

"Hey, Sal," I said stoically, "what can I do for you?"

"I think it's more along the lines of what I can do for you, my boy," he said with a deep chuckle. "Stop by the studio, will you? There's a package on my desk for you. Just announce who you are to my administrative assistant, and she'll get it for you. I don't think the contents need any explanation, but you know how to reach me if you have questions or want to talk. Toodles."

That was Sal - so quirky. Still, that was quite an ominous conversation, and my curiosity peaked, so I was off to the studio.

Forty-five minutes later, I had my studio bonus, per my early opt-out clause, in contract. There was an eleven by fourteen poster of the cast and crew from Desperation Island, signed, of course. Then there seemed to be one additional item, which I dumped into my lap.

Two DNA swab tests lay there, as I gasped. Did he have control of my smartphone? I wondered. My quick return call to Sal went straight to voicemail, which was par for the course. I headed to the bank and spent an hour setting up a new account and moving a good deal of our money into it. We weren't hurting, in fact, the opposite, so she'd never notice. Well, she wouldn't notice right away.

Then I headed home to face the shit-storm. Maria's condescending attitude had evaporated, and she was being all-loving during dinner. I spent time with both her and Matthew after dinner, and the conversation was light, with her only trying to broach the subject of my behavior a few times. I just told her I felt better and apologized for being upset. I wasn't sure if she caught that I didn't say 'sorry' for my treatment of her.

I was able to put Matthew to bed, citing that I had only been able to do it once since he was born. I again checked all his features before swiping his cheek with two cotton swabs. I did the same for myself, and put them in the correct vials, sealing them as I finished. I realized I'd be sad if he wasn't mine, even though he was just born.

Maria was watching one of our competing shows on another network, and motioned for me to come and sit by her. She quickly cuddled up into my chest. At a commercial break, Maria looked into my eyes.

"Chase," she said sweetly, "please don't shut me out. I know this has to be hard on you. I'm supposed to be here for you - I'm your wife, remember?"

I did remember, and I also found it odd that her offer, lacked any term of endearment. That made me start thinking back on the immediate past. How long had that been happening, I wondered.

"And you love me," I stated, instead of asking, effectively ending the sentence for her.

"Yes," she replied, quizzically, perplexed perhaps at how I'd responded. "Of course I love you. Are you worried about that - my love for you, I mean? Well, don't be. Don't you dare. Being an employed actor or an unemployed one has nothing to do with my love."

"For me." I did it again.

The questioning look was gone, replaced by a tense, worried one. "What do you mean by that?" she asked, getting defensive. "I just said that - my love for you. Geez, Chase, what's gotten into you? I mean I know what's going on, but I've never seen you like this - these past two days. Talk to me, please!"

I didn't want to overplay my hand. Things had to occur in order. I took a deep breath.

"I'm sorry," I said more calmly. "I just never expected any of this. Not the show, or Sal, or that fucker Dak..." her eyebrows raised, even as she tried to conceal it. "That fucking ending was the worst thing ever. My chances at any future Tom Cruise-type roles just went down exponentially, while my opportunities at future Danny DeVito-type roles went way up. In one damned day, they effectively made a fucking wimpy cuckold out of my character, and then I had to act it out. I really think you should call the realtor tomorrow and put a full stop on the house in Malibu."

That also got Maria's attention and gave me a perfect parachute to exit the first part of my tirade.

She considered my suggestion and became sad. "I know," she said dejectedly. "Do you have any lines on something new? Did you call your agent today?"

"No, Maria," I replied coarsely. "I needed a day, okay? Just one day to myself to process. Of course, I'll call him. Probably tomorrow."

The rest of our night was at least civil, but neither made a move for intimacy.

Sal sent me a text the next morning as I was getting out of the shower. I'd need to change the passcode on my phone today. He simply said 'you rang?'

Maria was nursing, so I told her I had to go to the studio, maybe talk to Sal, but pick up a package there. Then I was off to see my agent. I hated lying like that, but I had to.

"Hey, Sal, what's news?" I used one of his semi-famous euphemisms.

"Oh, I think you know already," Sal was chuckling again. "Listen, I'm no Good Samaritan, just so we're clear. I have you pegged for a new role if you're interested. Right now it's on the drawing board. Haven't even hired a full team of writers yet - but the idea is solid. For me to bring you on board, we'll have to shed the skin of this fucking island debacle. Erase your chump status, understand?"

I did. "So, how did you find out?" I asked abruptly. More laughter over the phone.

"I never said I found anything out, my boy," he said jovially. "In fact, I didn't - not directly. What I think you're really asking is 'when.'"

I didn't respond, so he continued, "I found out through the rumor mill. You should already know that. If George fucking Burns rolls over in his grave, I know. My boy, I've been working this town since Sydney Poitier and John Wayne were box office hits. What I can tell you is I didn't hear anything until after Maria was pregnant - two, maybe, three months. I couldn't say if it's Dak not being able to keep his mouth shut, or your wife having the same problem with her legs. Hell, I can't say for sure if they ever did the horizontal mambo. But I need my boy, Chase, back on his game for this new role, so it's up to you to find out and take care of biz. You know what I always say: 'a boid in the fist, is like two in the tree.'"

Sal was really, really good with all those timeless sayings. He was near 'prophet' status in our industry - at least that's what he told everyone and anyone who'd listen.

"So, you heard it was him..." I said, as Sal cut me off.

"Of course it was him," he was getting pompous or angry now. "Who the fuck do you think it was. Look you dumb fuck, that girl loves you. But a prick like Bronson is going to keep working and working on a woman - any woman until he gets what he wants. God, I fucking hate that Danish motherfucker. If I have my way, the only two lines in his future are going to be using that stupid fucking accent to say 'Kitchen? Sorted.' on a booking dot fucking com commercial."

I envisioned the redness seeping in, starting on the sides of Sal's face. The man was a blood pressure nightmare. He just kept on.

"Did you do the test?" he eagerly asked. "How long will it take to get the results?"

I told Sal a week or two. He got pissed again when I told him I used my home address to send the results. He told me to call his admin and give her the name of the lab, and she'd have it changed to the studio.

Then he elaborated on the new show. Family Matters was based on a real-life good-guy family law attorney, who had a history of going the extra mile to ensure justice was served in family court. He did it all out of the kindness of his big heart, and of course for his self-respect. I would play the lead, Dalton Roberts, J.D., Esq. I was already working in my head on how to convince him to tone those letters down for the sake of the audience. Maybe just CLS would be more appropriate.

Sal was right - he usually was, I'd come to learn. I needed to climb out from under that disgusting Desperation shit. I asked if he knew a good divorce lawyer, and of course, he did. I told him I was making the call as soon as we'd hung up - to start researching the role. He wasn't buying it.

Sal must have been on the phone with Stoney Myer, while I was talking to the receptionist. Partway through making an appointment, I was transferred to Mr. Myer and told to come over at two that afternoon.

Stoney was good, despite his ridiculous name. He covered all the bases and asked me what I wanted to do either way the testing turned out.

He mentioned being familiar with Maria's father, Charles Wilmington. He also told me that Charles could cause a lot more problems than I thought. But he would bury Dak Bronson, making him out to be a slimy Hollywood misogynist and predatory womanizer. The bigger question was Maria herself.

"I don't have any desire to destroy her," I stated with surprisingly little emotion. "If she had a one-off thing with him, resulting in getting pregnant, then she can just move on, with Dak, if that's what she wants. If she's been seeing him all along, or she wants to fight this, then you can go for the jugular."

"Okay, we got this," he said, smiling. The wheels were spinning in his head. "A celebrity divorce gets three-and-a-half minutes - once - on TMZ. If they want to fuck with us, then we spoon-feed them a celebrity affair, then who it was, on the same set, and a baby out of wedlock. That's a fucking gift that keeps on giving."

He was reticent then. "What I truly hope is that the boy is yours, and the rumors are just that. In any event, leave a retainer check for sixteen-hundred and fifty dollars with my receptionist on the way out."

Maria and I settled into an uncomfortable relationship over the next week. She was quiet - no, guarded - and that made me uneasy. We were still doing the things that always made us strong as a couple, but it was superficial at best. We played with the baby. We discussed our day. I talked about my agent and a few leads, but never discussed the role Sal wanted for me.

We also had sex, three times that week, to be precise. It was as forced and uptight as everything else we were doing. We both got off, but then again, we are both damned good actors, so...

Eight days later, as I was leaving a strategy meeting with my agent, I got a call from Sal. I could hear his assistant there, nearby.

"Chase," he began quickly, "your results are here." I could hear the woman frantically talking in the background, perhaps on another call. She was very animated.

"Are you alone in your office?" I asked. I heard shuffling and a door close.

"I am." He replied soberly. "Can I open it?"

"I'd prefer..." he cut me off.

"No time," he said urgently. "Fuck, Chase we have a bigger problem here. My assistant, or the lab, fucked up. The written report was mailed here, but another copy was also sent to your home. Maria's called here three times today, looking for you. I think I need to open it before you walk into a pile of shit at home."

"Do it."

There was the sound of paper being ripped - then a long pause. Come on you old bastard, I thought.

A sigh confirmed what I'd dreaded before he ever said a word. "Matthew - he's not your son. I'm sorry, my boy."

I don't remember if I even said thanks. I don't remember getting home. I certainly didn't notice the two extra fancy cars in our big driveway, at least until I was out of my car, walking past them. One of the cars belonged to Dak Bronson. The other was a town car. Seeing it there was unnerving because that probably meant that Maria's parents were also inside.

They were there, all gathered in the living room. Maria's mother wasn't among them. They stood as I entered, looking apprehensive. Maria did not move to engage me. I stopped in the vestibule and took it all in. Then I laughed a half-fake and half-knowing chuckle, as I moved into my own domicile.

"' They have their exits and their entrances,'" I continued, looking him in the eye. "' And one man in his time plays many parts.'"

He rolled his eyes at me. Dak looked dumbfounded. I thought Shakespeare was from his continent. I saw in Maria's eyes, only pain, so I focused on her next.

"' Is this a dagger I see before me,"' I asked her in my regular tone, "' the handle toward my hand?'"

Maria knew the line well. Tears began to fall down her puffy cheeks.

"Sit down... actor!" Charles demanded.

"Ah," I said sarcastically, "A point emerges. Is 'daddy' here to take control of the situation? Damage control, is it? Tread carefully, Chuck. I'm not one of your employees or stoolies." He didn't respond.

The seating arrangements hadn't been thought out very well. Charles realized he'd been in my chair, so he motioned at it, then crossed the room and pulled a finely upholstered accent chair - dragged, was more like it - and imposed himself, and the chair, between me and the two lovers. We all just waited for him to start.

"Right there," he said pointing to an envelope on the coffee table. "Is a post-nuptial agreement - an amendment clause to your marriage vows - more precisely. It's heavily weighted in your favor. If you're smart you'll listen to what Mr. Bronson, here, and Maria have to say, and then you'll sign it. There's a very short expiration involved in you deciding - like before I leave here. If you'd prefer not to listen to reason, though I'm prepared to take Maria and my grandson out that door, and my media campaign begins immediately. The highlights include, you being lost, confused, angry - at the sudden end of your job - at the sudden revelation about Maria and Mr. Bronson, and of course about Matthew. That you've become unstable, threatened to hurt Maria, have been hurting her since the final taping - started up on the drugs again."

He saw the defensive pained expression on my face. "I know, well I think I know, you're not into that, but I will use any means necessary to protect my little girl and our family's reputation. You may get in a few insignificant licks if you fight me on this, in the court of public opinion, but I guarantee; I will destroy you. Do you understand me?"

Somehow, they'd gotten the jump on me, was my first thought, oddly. Still, I was confident about the truth, and I had good people on my side. It couldn't hurt to listen to this little soirée. But how had they done that?

"Fine," I shrugged. "Let's get on with it - whatever 'it' is."

Charles looked at his daughter and Bronson, waving his open palm for them to start.

Dak started to talk, and I immediately interrupted. "Shut. The. Fuck. Up, and let my wife tell me. You'll get your chance - maybe."

Maria looked as frazzled as I'd ever seen her, even on our wedding day. She kept rolling her closed hands nervously. Finally, she stopped and looked at me.

"Chase," she began, "I'm so, so sorry about this. It was never supposed to happen." I rolled my eyes, and she realized she was already failing miserably. My wife took a deep breath and tried again.

"Okay, no clichés," she said. "I fucked up. Dak and I had started becoming familiar, and then friendly, and then... well, then you were out of town. Remember that week when you had to go to the island and reshoot those two scenes? I was home, and Dak invited me to dinner. He said he didn't want me to be all by myself..."

She caught her dad shaking his head and rolling his eyes.

"This is hard enough daddy!" she admonished him. "I know I was stupid. Just let me talk to Chase."

"Anyway," she continued, completely off her game now. "We had wine, we danced... god. I know how fucking ridiculous it sounds, especially now that I'm saying it out loud. Chase, I love you. That never changed. I was drunk. I barely remember it. It's not your fault. To be honest, it isn't even his fault, although he had a hand in it."

That brought up a mental image, and I nearly lost my noon meal on our expensive carpet. Charles, with all his prick-status bravado, at least had the good sense as a man, to excuse himself and return with a wet cool towel. I accepted.

"Alright, skip all the bullshit," I said in disgust. "Did he breed you here, in our bed?"

Maria stifled a heavy sob, being slapped harder by my words than my hand ever could.

"No," she answered dejectedly. "We got a hotel room across the street from the dance club in Santa Monica."

"Ah," I laughed out loud. "He didn't want to miss out on easy pussy, by getting in an accident, or you getting sober enough to get cold feet."

Charles lashed out then. "Enough Chase! She fucked up, no one's denying that!"

I raised an eyebrow, and he simply turned back toward his daughter.

"It was just the once, Chase." She slurred, crying hard now. "I was so excited when I found out we... I was pregnant. At my first appointment, when Dr. Felding said I was three months pregnant - not two - I lost it. I started doing the math in the car, and I was devastated. I knew that was during the time I'd been with Dak. You were gone for four days, and you got in so late on the fifth, that you went straight to bed. It was horrible. I hoped and prayed that Matthew would be ours, so I could put the nightmare behind me."

"It doesn't sound like that at all," I said coldly. "It sounds like you'd have never told me about your little indiscretion and you certainly didn't come clean when Matthew was born. You must have known. I've heard women have a sense of those things. You were just going to let me raise this bastard's kid?"

No one had anything to say for a moment. Getting myself together, I realized Dak was chomping at the bit to say something, and honestly, I could barely look at Maria, the woman who'd broken my heart in so many ways.

"Go ahead, numb-nuts," I said looking at the bastard. "You've got something to say, I can see."

But Dak wasn't used to any of this. He had all the chutzpah and hubris of a stereotypical Scotsman. Big, bold, and ego-driven was his normal demeanor, on and off stage.

"She's being too kind," he said. "Of course, it's partly her fault. She was a little drunk, after all. But I started working on her long before that night - on set, off set - and I always get my..."

I was out of my seat like a shot. That damned old man Wilmington was a gazelle for his age, as he tried to stop my fist from slamming into Bronson's face. Between my flailing anger, and the two of them, I never landed the punch, but I'm sure I made the highlight reel on our home security system.

I immediately found out where Charles' goons were hiding out. I didn't find that out, just that they were fast as lightning getting from there to here. A bone crippling hand firmly held my shoulder. Dak got the worst of it, as goon number two slammed him down in his chair, and then bitch-slapped his face to get him settled.

Bronson looked shell-shocked. His gaze drifted from the goon to Maria, to Charles, and then to me.

"Chase!" he said emotionally, and then he began to cry. "I'm sorry! I never wanted any of this shit!"

"This!" he motioned at Charles, "or a baby - none of it. Okay, I was thinking with my small head - I never thought about the consequences. I'm sorry! But Chase, listen, man, I want to make it right."

How's that?" I asked, amused.

"I'll pay!" he wailed. "This is all of our fucking lives on the line. You know what scandal does to celebs. I'll pay child support until Matthew is eighteen. I'll pay for anything you think he needs that you don't want to pay for. Hell, I'll even pitch in for college. Just take her back, man. I know it's asking a lot, one man raising another man's kid, but you know you already love the little tike. You're already attached. He'll never know who I am unless you two decide to tell him. I won't even speak to him. You'll be his dad in his eyes. Whatever else you two want, too. If we fuck up our images, then our careers are out the window. I don't know about you two, but I love - no, I need - this lifestyle and money."

He was pathetic.

Charles had him backed up so badly, in whatever amount of time before I'd arrived, and the big loser had already broken down. I looked at Maria, with a raised eyebrow. She knew instantly, what I was saying non-verbally.

I allowed Bronson to wallow and looked directly at my wife. "You know," I said and then restarted, "you know, all of this... it isn't going to bring back my love for you, right? You explained that to 'daddy' already, I hope. You're proposing that we raise this child in a home without love and affection, just to save face. You get that, right?"

To my surprise, Maria nodded in affirmation. "I do," she responded, sadly and quietly. "It's only until we're established in our careers. Look, Chase, divorce in Hollywood is like sprinkles in an ice cream shop - it's always there, and people expect it. You need a new gig. I need one too, but not while Matthew is an infant.

"I don't expect anything from you in private, only in public - the performance of a lifetime, if you like. It's all in Daddy's postnup. You can discreetly see who you want, and so can I, you know, for sexual relief. I won't hold it against you. I'll treat you exactly the same way at home that I always have. That won't be acting, by the way. I do love you, and I'm remorseful that I did fuck up our lives - both things. I won't obsess about it, or keep holding out false hopes, but there will always be a part of me that fantasizes about a day when instead of handing me divorce papers, you'll tell me you forgive me."

The worst part of this farce was that Maria looked sincere. Too bad, I thought. I realized I might even forgive her someday, but I'd never stay with her. I picked up the envelope and started gazing over the documents inside. If Maria went with a man - any man - for sex, without informing me first, I could begin the divorce process. If she got caught by the paparazzi, or her indiscretion was brought into the public light, the same applied. In either case, the finances appeared to be heavily in my favor.

I looked at Maria, then Charles. "Why so many sections about her infidelity?" I asked feeling amused.

"Why not something legal telling her to keep her legs closed?" That angered Charles, but he was in business mode.

"That's exactly what all those clauses are about," he replied determinedly. "The same for you. Whether you and she ever reconcile is of no concern to me. I don't give a shit, and really, I hope you don't. This is about reputation - mostly mine, but all of yours, too. This is a chance as well. A chance to work through the consequences of her actions. A chance to learn how to raise a kid properly, and believe me, if either of you fuck that up, I'll step in with some favors from one of my judge friends, and I'll take Matthew. Otherwise, the kid hits age twelve, and you can both go your separate ways. Either way, this guy," he motioned at Dak, "pays for Matthew. He already knows what happens if he misses even one month."

Maria," I said suddenly, "how did you all pull this together? It surely wasn't done in a few hours after the lab results were delivered."

"I could tell, Chase." She said it with finality. "You suspected even that last day on the island. Every day after that, you just kept moving farther away from me. God, I literally felt the love melting off of you."

I didn't have much time to think. I didn't have much to think about. I kept thinking of the moves I'd already made, and which of those Charles had pre-empted.

I didn't have much choice. If I was going to mount a counter-offensive - and I would - it would need to be a new battle. I'd already lost this one.

Maria's story:

After our meeting broke up, I went and spent the rest of the day with my son. I needed that for myself, but I also couldn't bear to face my husband. Chase was an incredible man - the only man I could ever see myself being with long-term - and I'd destroyed what we had.

Conversely, I knew that I'd have to see this through for Matthew. I had no fantasies about reconciliation with Chase. No ditzy plans to wow him, and by no means was I about to grovel either.

I had no ill-conceived notions whatsoever. I wasn't stupid. I grew up in high society with some of the smartest people in America. Daddy owned twenty-seven factories between western Ohio and eastern Pennsylvania. He owned seven high-rise buildings in Manhattan. He owned property or brick-and-mortar in almost every country on both American continents.

He owned a lot of people too. Once I suspected Chase might know something, I called my father. Within hours, he had an entire team of people, loyal to him of course, working on solutions. They were likely his trusted legal and PR teams. By the end of that day, with dozens of text messages going back and forth, he'd helped me out of a potentially disastrous situation. Damage control at its finest, and certainly what I'd come to expect from my dad. He deserved it, after all. He'd built an empire for his family. I'd always counted on daddy, from as early on as I could remember.

It was back in my early college days, that I realized that most of the rich assholes were overly snobby - pretentious and ridiculously egotistical - to be precise. When Chase Burroughs made a surprise visit to our freshmen film class at USC, I was beside myself with excitement, and well, lust. After class, he stayed and signed a few autographs. When his eyes met mine, he seemed smitten as well. I almost fainted when he asked me out for coffee.

That was the beginning for us. Learning that Chase was only three years older than me was a surprise and a plus in my mind. The romance was hot and heavy, and I was in star-struck heaven.

My dad - not so much. Like he planned everything else, dad also had a plan for me and my life. He never counted on me being so intractable. Perhaps, it was my very DNA that contributed to my stubbornness in living my life the way I wanted to. I was the one who steered the marriage train, dropping subtle hints at every turn. I was the one who overdramatized my interest in the Desperation Island script, and how much I'd love to be part of a show like that. The baby was Chase's idea and I reluctantly went along.

As much as I loved Chase, and wanted with every fiber of my being to grow old with him and give him more children at some future point, I had to admit, there was a character flaw within me. I loved the attention - plain and simple - from both men and women. I thrived on it. For the women, it was always the envy that got me off. It's why I always tried to out-dress every other woman at a party. For the men, it was far more about sexual attention. The tense, thick air, while standing in a group talking, knowing a good-looking guy was fantasizing in great detail about what he'd be doing to and with me at that moment if we were alone. And of course, the occasional soft, quick brush of an arm or hand, from some guy, and then me trying to discern if it was intentional or not.

The differences between my flaw and my love were distinct. When Dak first came onto me, I brushed him off with the ease that had become familiar to me ever since growing boobs. But, he kept at it, and that in and of itself fueled my desire. The dance, at some point, became a sexual tension - an itch, really - that I desperately needed to be scratched.

Eventually, I allowed his seduction to happen, and I used him to quell my urgent need.

So, the question remained: could I ever be a good and faithful wife, to Chase or anyone else?

It was a big, but unanswered question - one I could not, with full certainty. So, I'd need to play the hand I'd been dealt. No, the hand that I'd dealt myself. I did this.

I was determined to be a good mom to my son and a good wife to my husband for as long as he'd have me. I didn't expect that would be very long, but hopefully, the sting would fade, and we'd all be in a better place when he finally decided to call it a day. If he played the victim after what we'd offered, or couldn't bring himself to have sex with me anymore, then I'd probably have a rendezvous with Dak from time to time. Hell, I'd probably have a few other hook-ups with hot actors I now knew.

Chase:

I signed the paperwork under duress - not because of Charles' goons, but my indecision.

Being able to 'one-up' or put Charles in his place, as well as punishing Maria and Dak, would have been the trifecta for me. I asked a few questions about covering nannies when we were both working and some other vague language. I'm sure I missed a lot too. Charles seemed quite proud of himself. He made no gesture of goodwill as he took the signed paperwork and stood to leave - tossing my unsigned copy on the table. He simply kissed Maria on the cheek and quietly told her not to fuck this up. His security detail followed him out and closed the door.

Now, left alone, Maria and Dak remained silent, finally turning to look at me.

"Get me a beer," I ordered Maria. "And you, fuck-nut, why are you still in my home?"

Dak rose and tried for a hug, which Maria refused by turning away. Bronson left without another word.

Maria returned after cleaning up her sad face and handed me my beverage. She looked like she had more to say, but thought better of it and turned away.

"Maria," I said softly, as she turned back around. "We're through, just so you know. I've already seen a divorce lawyer, so everything's already in the works. Obviously 'Daddy' forced that to be put on hold, but don't think that his silly maneuvering will make me a complacent cuckold."

"You can't," she said in an equally soft tone, "it's in the... daddy said..."

"It's on hold, for the moment," I corrected her. "Don't try to get me to bond with that bastard of yours. I won't watch him - I won't babysit while you're out fucking other guys. I'll do my best to treat him decently as a kid... as a human being. Otherwise, you and I are roommates at best. If I can figure out a way to fuck all of you over, I will. Make sure daddy knows that too. You'll have my schedule in advance. Per the contract, we'll be seen together in public twice per month, depending on our filming schedules."

She was wise to hold her tongue. The selfish bitch wasn't a moron. She and her father had won this round and bought a little time. I left shortly after, called Sal, and met him at a little dive bar near the studio, that celebrities go to when they don't want others snooping around.

"Man, this is fucked." He said it with compassion. "I'm sorry Chase. What are you thinking about for your next move?"

"I haven't thought," I replied a little spacey, "only reacting. I need to absorb all this for a day or so. I'm not even sure there's anything I can do. Charles has a lot of juice."

"Bullshit!" he exclaimed, his tone becoming more animated. "You are not giving up on this, you hear me? We need to start developing a plan for retaliation. I need Chase Burroughs at his best, for the new project. We start with Bronson. That would make any red-blooded man feel better right out of the chute. Tell your attorney about what happened - that you were coerced. Ask about other scenarios too. Learn from him for your new role. See if he thinks you should put a PI on Maria for a while. Start making a list of her habits, you know, like her time away from the home. See if you can get tracking software on her phone."

"Okay, okay, Sal!" I replied with a laugh. "I get it. Play hard ball - and I will. The postnup is actually beyond fair to me. Wilmington hates me, but it was almost like he was trying to teach his daughter a lesson."

We sat there quietly nursing our drinks. I knew what Sal was thinking. Moreover, I knew what he was thinking with - his wallet. He had his sights set on another hit show. For some reason, he'd also decided I was a key to that success. The last thing he wanted was to have to go on the hunt for a new lead actor. Yet, I wondered if he'd had some heartache in his past that endeared him to me in this horrible situation. Sal was a friend and a good guy to have on your side in this town.

My visit the next day to my attorney didn't go as planned - or I should say, how I wanted it to go. He read through the postnup and set it down shaking his head.

"He's covered all the bases, that's for sure," he said in admiration. "That's why he's Charles fucking Wilmington."

"So, what's your advice?" I asked not sure I wanted to know. "What's our next move?"

"Next move?" he answered in a stunned tone. "Nothing - that I can think of anyway. He's put himself in a position of advantage, by putting you in a position of advantage. All you have to do is work, party, fuck around, get laid - discreetly - and when you're finished doing everything and anything you want, go home. There's no clause for breaking any of your wedding vows.

There's no clause for treating her like shit, inside the boundaries of the law, that is. On the other hand, if she fucks up, you get everything - everything in your marriage. I doubt she'd starve with a family like that."

"You're saying that I just have to sit back and take it?" I asked incredulously. My temper was rising by the second.

"I'm not saying that at all," he replied. "I'm saying that he totally overplayed his hand. Mr. Wilmington isn't the kind of man who does that as a mistake. He's pinned you into a marriage. In a house with someone you probably want to strangle at the moment. In effect, he's forcing both you and Maria to coexist - possibly to mature - at whatever level of torment you both choose. All of the guardrails are on her. She can't take the kid, or the money, and run. She can't get caught in the public's eye in any kind of scandal, sexual or not. She wants to get laid, she even has to give you advance notice, or she risks losing her son.

"You're not even a main character here, Chase," he said leaning forward.

"What?" I asked, my voice wandering.

"You're a prop, an instrument." He carried on, his face showing how he reveled in Charles' mastery.

"He's using you to make her see her bad behaviors. When my mother was seventeen, she and the guy she loved, had taken a break from each other for the summer. She got drunk at a party and had sex with some sweet-talking guy, and that guy happens to be my father. When it was confirmed she was pregnant, her parents forced her to marry my dad. They were not compatible. They had zero shared goals, plus my mother was heartbroken about what she'd done to that other guy she loved, and loved her. But my parents made it work. Dozens and dozens of horror stories where they almost didn't make it. They're only two years from their fortieth anniversary. They worked hard and made it. I'm not saying you should, just that it's possible."

I had to think about it. I didn't want to make it work. I wanted to kill them all, but I needed to get my head on straight. If Maria was truly at a disadvantage, then she'd find out quickly, and she'd be running to daddy, whining. But that wasn't accurate, I realized. Daddy had already laid down the law for her.

I finally decided that Sal's advice was best. I needed to get even with dickhead Bronson first. I needed to get my man card back by dealing with Dak and then probably by getting laid. Charles threatened him concerning child support. Knowing Charles, he'd probably bankroll Bronson if he ended up an unemployed actor, or worse. And, he would, if I had anything to say about it.

That first month on the home front was stressful. An icy hue had transcended a once happy marriage. Maria tried, but I was of the mind that she was simply practicing her acting skills. If she asked me to do something I had no intention of doing, I yelled at her. If she asked me to do something that had once been a given in our marriage without asking, I yelled at her. She became quite frazzled, and I became miserable.

As a result, I spent much of my time at the local watering hole.

That put me in a position of being around some very attractive southern California women, who clearly wanted a celebrity notch to describe in their diaries. The three times I took advantage, I was already pretty drunk, and the sex was not memorable. Being careful, I'd meet them at the hotel a few blocks away. I actually felt guilty after the first time. Perhaps it was my conscience, telling me not to behave like Maria.

I began to spend more time at home after that first month. Maria was kind but also gave me a wide berth on days when I was especially angry. It was like we were both learning and practicing a new dance. Matthew needed plenty of his mother's attention, and those multiple interruptions kept Maria and me from even having a meaningful conversation.

Near the end of month two, I got the call from Sal and went straight to the studio. That night, I sat in the living room reading the pilot. Maria nonchalantly asked what I was reading. She knew it was a script. I put down the booklet and looked at her.

"My new part," I told her.

"Sal has a new bit for me. It's the lead in a new TV drama, and no one else is in the mix."

Maria perked up and asked a few more questions about the role. Finally, she wanted to know when shooting began and where.

"The urban scenes," I said, "are being filmed in Atlanta. If all goes well, I'll be leaving in three or four weeks. We'll make sure we've got a reliable nanny situated by then. That should give you... some time to find... you know, some relief."

It took a minute for Maria to understand what I was referring to. When she finally did, she flew out of her chair and ran to her room, sobbing.

Of course, Maria's father called me the following day, to chew me out.

"Chase," he got straight to the point when I answered, "I was very kind in my proposal - much more than I wanted to be. Stop treating my daughter like shit. I'm only telling you once. Next time you'll be introduced to a few new guys on my security team. They'll help you 'understand.'"

"Fuck off, Charles," I spat into the phone. "I went along with your bullshit scheme. That doesn't mean I have to like it - or her."

"That's exactly where you're wrong," he stated emphatically. "Don't test me, young man." I heard the phone slam down disconnecting the call. The old bastard still had a rotary phone, I guess.

Dak's first several payments had been made - in my name no less. I heard through Sal that he'd been offered a small part in a new reality show, but somehow, he didn't make the cut. That was code for 'Sal took care of it.'

On the home front, I didn't apologize to Maria, but I did try to treat her better. That proved very difficult for me, considering she was constantly trying to make conversation, and often would ask when I was going to be... done being mad at her, done shutting her out, and done sleeping separately. On the last night before I left for Atlanta, Maria came into the spare room where I was sorting out my clothes and finishing my packing. I looked up at her, only to find a stark naked beauty hanging onto the door frame like it was a brass pole.

Had I not been going without, I would have told her to fuck right off. As it was, getting laid in Atlanta was a main priority. I laughed a little sarcastically at her attempted seduction, and her smile turned to a frown.

I only nodded towards the bed, directing her with my eyes. As desperate as she was, the nonverbal hint was enough for her.

She moved to lie on her back and spread her flawless legs as I moved my suitcases. I looked down upon her for a moment. Maria watched expectantly, and I signaled for her to spin around on hands and knees. She seemed disappointed, but tough shit - I didn't want her to see my disinterested face. I fucked her with a great deal of force, sweat framing my brow. Maria took it, without protest, I'll give her that. As soon as I finished in her, I went into the bathroom to clean myself. When I came out, Maria was gone. I guess she'd had ideas we might cuddle afterward.

In the morning I had a quick bagel and OJ, before heading out. Maria never came downstairs. While waiting for my flight to board, I received a text from her. Couldn't even say goodbye?

I texted back that I didn't want to wake her. We both knew that was bullshit. My first day was a waste of time, as the crew hadn't had time to sort out the best angles to film the building that was supposed to be my law office. The end of the day more than made up for that, when Sal introduced me to my PA.

"Chase Burroughs," Sal said by way of introduction, "This is Jas, pronounced 'jazz.' Jas, Chase Burroughs." The shit-eating grin on her face, and his, told me she might already know what the job entailed exactly. Jas was an exquisite woman - classy in her dress and appearance, but dripping with outward sexuality. I'm no fan of gigantic breasts, and hers were large, but at least they were proportionate to her nearly six-foot frame. Her brunette hair was shoulder length and shined like a new penny, accentuating her dark brown eyes.

By the fourth day, we had the real sets ironed out, and we'd filmed the show intro - me driving a Porsche Carrera in the downtown area, walking an urban street, in my expensive suit, and carrying a briefcase - the weapon of any good attorney. At night, Jas and I would go out to dinner with other cast members and crew. But that night, it was just Jas and me. When I asked if she wanted to go to a club after dinner, she shocked me.

"How about we just go to your suite?" she asked with a sweet smile and a tilt of her head. She'd been given her marching orders and no doubt by Sal, himself.

As we stepped into the elevator back at our hotel, two large men came aboard with us. I didn't like the looks of them from the get-go. They said nothing until Jas and I both exited on my floor. Jas's room was two above mine.

"Mr. Burroughs," one of the large men said, "Mr. Wilmington would like a word with you, sir." The request wasn't framed as a question. Jas looked worried, but I knew what this was about, and I was furious. I should have at least considered that Atlanta was in Charles's home state.

"Jas," I said, turning towards her, "Go on up to your room, and I'll call you in a bit." She nodded, still looking concerned for my safety. I kissed her on the cheek and headed back down in the elevator. I thought about trying to rattle the two goons, but I just wanted this over so I could get back to Jas.

"This better be good," I said to either of them. They never flinched, maintaining their gaze on the elevator door. I followed them to the lounge, as they book-ended me, and they set us up at a booth near the rear of the bar. Goon One pulled out his phone and tapped his screen then laid the device on the table in front of me. Charles's face filled the screen. His tone was hushed but direct.

"Good evening, Chase," he began, without waiting for a response. "I'm sure you know why we're having this little chat."

"No idea," I cut him off. "But your timing couldn't have been worse."

"I'm sure," he cleared his throat. "Chase, do I need to remind you, perhaps have one of my associates reread the agreement we signed?"

"I don't think so," I snarled. "Are you implying I've somehow broken it?"

"No," he said leaning in closer to the camera. "But you were about to."

"I see," I mocked, "seems to me, I was about to do one of the things expressly laid out in our agreement. Why are your fucking clowns following me, Charles?"

"Language," he scolded. "You were about to break a clause. The agreement explicitly says 'discreet.'"

"I was being discreet, asshole." I was fuming now and I could not curtail my bitterness. I laid into him about watching me and told him he could jam his postnup up his gold-plated ass. Charles seemed unaffected, staring stoically as he let me vent.

"Discreet," he replied when I ran out of steam, "means discreet, Chase. If my guys feel like others can see and draw conclusions - you know paparazzi types - they let me know. Understand me, boy, your discretion is at my discretion. I don't like your PA, either. I've done a background check on her. Tell your boss to get you a new one, or I'll speak to him myself. I figured you for a smarter man, one who knows his limitations when it comes to me."

"And you're starting to piss me off, Charrr- els," I vehemently replied. "Go check up on your slut of a daughter and stop trying to run my life. I told you this wasn't going to go the way you wanted that day in my living room. I'm Chase fucking Burroughs, and I've got enough juice to hold you off. I signed your agreement, thinking you might play ball and be fair. Now I see, you just get off manipulating people.

"You want to learn some hard lessons, Charles? You think you're winning this game? You don't even know the rules, but I'll happily teach them to you."

I felt something being pressed into my chest, under my arm, and everything went black. At some point, later, I woke with a start, flailing about in the hotel pool just off the lounge, with all my clothes on. I tried to scream for help, but no sounds came. One of Charles's security guys pulled me up to the side, and then out of the pool. I was carry-walked to the hotel's delivery entrance and then whisked into the service elevator. I started to regain function as we reached my floor. That's when I began to struggle. Goon two held me in a bear hug from behind, as goon one used the keycard on my room door. I was tossed to the floor, as they entered and quickly closed the door behind us.

Fearing for my life, I stood, ready for a fight to the death. My first feeble swing was easily deflected and the return volley landed hard against my left kidney. I immediately went down. Then I felt a swift and sturdy kick to my right one. I rolled around in agony and took a shot to the balls as icing on the cake.

"Mr. Wilmington wanted you to know," goon one told me, "it's his game and his rules. Don't leave your room until morning." One of them tossed the keycard onto my prone body and they left. Eventually, I crawled to the bathroom and into the shower.

Looking in the steamy mirror afterward, I realized just what kind of beating I'd taken - one that left absolutely no marks. I still didn't know if they'd used a stun gun initially, or a Taser. There weren't any holes in the skin near my armpit, so it was probably the latter.

The next morning found my lower back quite sore. I made my way gingerly down to the studio's private breakfast buffet. When I didn't see Jas, I texted her but never heard back. I was starting to seriously worry about what Charles was capable of, beyond fucking me up, of course. Still, Jas could have just been mad that I didn't call her as promised. One of the admins came up to me while I was eating and told me to stop by Sal's trailer before going to the set.

As Sal saw me coming through the door, he motioned for his two assistants to leave. Once everyone was gone except the two of us, he offered me a coffee and sat me down. I did that with great discomfort too.

"Jesus, Chase," he asked shaking his head. "What happened to you last night?" I spent a few minutes telling him exactly what happened.

"Listen to me," he ordered. "Jas is finished. I had to let her go early this morning. I..."

"What the fuck Sal?" I stammered interrupting him. "Why would you do that?" I could tell by the look on his face that I didn't want to know the answer.

"This Wilmington," he continued, "he's so far up your ass, you're gonna need a colonoscopy to get him out. I was on the phone with the Governor... the fucking Governor of the great state of Georgia at six this morning. He let me know that it had come to his attention that quite a few of our permits were not in order and that he'd be sending some people to all the sites. I was about to defend our process when he took a breath and said, 'If you remove Chase Burroughs PA, don't hire another, and keep him on a short leash, I believe I can look the other way on this.'

"Fucking Wilmington golfs with this guy two or three times per month. They're interwoven into each other's jock straps. What's that saying - a stitch through the timeline? Like that."

"English, Sal," I raised my voice, "I don't know what the fuck you're talking about!"

"This guy," he retorted now with frustration flowing from his features. "He wants a piece of your ass - bad! He's got a shit ton more jizz than anyone I know. Connected in this state, in DC too. He's got the governor in his pocket.

"Here's what's happening now, Chase," he continued. "And don't get upset. I'm hiring you a security team, with the money I'm saving on a new Jas. You're my biggest asset on this project, so it's warranted. I don't want to see you on a stream or social media in the company of a woman. Understand? I'll have to cut you loose, and that will be you breaching your contract. You need to do your job, forget about your personal life - this fucker - and Maria too. Lay low for at least a few months and put everything into this show. I need you. I've got a lot riding on this. And whatever you do, don't piss off Wilmington."

After a ten-hour day, and a walk-through for a good portion of the pilot, I was beat. I'd borrowed some painkillers, and just before going back to the hotel, I'd borrowed more. After dinner with the crew, I went to my room. I decided to check in with Maria, realizing that I'd need to at least stay in touch if for no other reason than to possibly stay a step ahead of her father.

"Hello, Chase," she said jovially, "it's good to hear your voice. How's the show going?"

Funny, she didn't ask how I was doing. I ignored her stupid question.

"Oh, I'm just great, thanks for asking," I deadpanned. "Let's see, last night I was tased, then beaten by your dad's henchmen right here at our hotel. So, I'm doing just peachy."

There was a lingering silence on the other end, and then, "I'm sorry about that Chase." She said sadly. "I talked to daddy this morning and he told me all about it. I heard what you said to him as well because he recorded your conversation. Just so you know, I begged and pleaded with him not to do that again, even though I was irate with what you said about me. He promised me that he'd taken steps with the studio so that wouldn't have to happen anymore."

This fucking family, I thought. Damn, I was going to get my revenge on them, one way or another. I might even be prepared to die doing it.

"I see," I said sternly. "So, have you gotten into trouble yet? Let me guess, daddy is probably looking the other way. Have you been fucking Dak in my absence, or is it someone else?"

"No, Chase," Maria said in almost a whisper. "I've learned my lesson. I want you, and only you. Sure, that sounds like a script in a cheap Hallmark love story, but I'll keep reminding you for as long as it takes. I know you're still mad, and I know you well enough to know that you'll likely be that way for as long as it takes for you to either work through it or to get even. I'm going to help you, tonight at least, to start doing that. I'll wait for you to get home, and then you can pound me into the mattress like you did the night before you left. I'll take all the punishment you want to dole out, but please, stop playing games with daddy. We both know he doesn't like you at all, and if you give him an excuse, I'll... well, I don't know what I'd do without you."

God, she was delusional, among other things. Still, her cryptic warning about her father was probably right on the mark. I told her that I'd keep in touch briefly if I survived her father's wrath. I knew she was upset that her impassioned little speech hadn't softened me at all, but I'd already stopped caring.

A half-hour later there was a knock at the door of my suite. I looked through the peephole, and there stood an attractive, thin woman. She was tastefully dressed, but with a hint of slutty. I asked what she wanted through the door.

"Your wife sent me," she said seemingly confused by my reaction.

"Sent you for what?" I posed. "I just spoke with her and she didn't mention anyone coming to my room. What do you want?"

"Want?" she was looking down one end of the hallway and up the other as if she was looking for someone, or maybe at someone who was just out of my sight. "I came at her request, to... have some fun?" that last word was formed as a question.

"I don't believe you," I stated adamantly. "I'm working tonight. Go away and take Charles' goons with you."

She was bewildered, and stood there for a full minute longer trying to figure out if she should leave, I guessed. Finally, she turned towards the elevator, and that was the end of that.

Forty minutes later, Maria texted, Why did you send her away?

I called her directly. "What are you talking about, Maria?" I asked sourly. "How did you know about it?"

"Because," she sighed, "I sent her. I told you, well sort of, earlier. She's an expensive escort. I know daddy broke up your fun last night. I told you I was going to start making it up to you."

"First," I fumed, "I don't believe you or your father. "She was looking left and right nervously while waiting for me to open the door. I'm sure it was a ploy so your father's goons could get another shot at me."

"No," she replied sadly, "there was no one but her. Daddy doesn't know I hired her."

"Bullshit," I half-screamed, "second, I don't need a pity fuck from you or anyone else. Did you forget who I am? Anywhere in America, I can just walk up to a woman, show my million-dollar smile and simply ask. You remember who you married, right?"

"Yeah, I remember," she said even quieter than before. "I'm sorry this is so fucked up. When are you coming home?"

"Probably another week to ten days," I told her. "Do me a favor, move my stuff to the spare bedroom downstairs. And make sure the other two guest rooms upstairs are clean and ready for use."

"Why?" she asked.

"Not your business," I said starkly. "Just do what I ask. You'll see soon enough."

The next day I paid a visit to Sal's trailer for the second time in as many days. I tossed a check down on his desk. Call me old-fashioned, but I always carried just two with me in case the need arose.

"What's this?" Sal asked perplexed.

"Payment for my security detail," I stated frankly. "You can deposit it, or you can advance it like all of our other expenses, but either way, I want to make sure that Charles doesn't have any ability to shut it down, even for a short time."

Sal was a smart man. Besides being a wealthy movie mogul exec, he was likely connected with the Jewish mafia in Hollywood. I knew his cousin partially owned one of the larger porn studios in the valley. It didn't take him more than a few seconds to reach an understanding of what I'd said. He just nodded and put the check in his drawer.

I threw myself into my work. Many on the set who'd worked with me, previously, quickly noticed that I wasn't the 'Chase' they were used to. They saw a dark, angry side of me that last week in Atlanta. I tried to persuade a few that I was just in character, hoping it would stick. By the wrap-up, and our crews' time to pack up and head back for studio work, people had nicknamed me 'Tom Cruise Jr.' that assignation hurt. Tom was a motherfucker on set and made everyone miserable and anxious.

I walked into my house nine days after my last conversation with Maria. With me, were, Mark Templeton and Davis Reggiano. Both were huge men, but, they assured me, very agile. The list of celebs they'd done security for was impressive, to say the least.

Maria looked shocked as I introduced them to her. I asked if she'd made supper or was ordering in, and to get my two 'friends' orders before calling out. I showed the men to their rooms so they could get settled.

After dinner - it ended up being take-out - and putting Matthew down, she asked to speak privately.

"What is this?" she asked in an upset tone. "Why are they here?"

"You know why, Maria," I said ambivalently, "or at least you should. Daddy's muscle better not fuck with me anymore. You tell him, alright? You care about me as you claim, then you tell him. I'll use any and all resources to end his ass." That was melodramatic, but I was feeling a lot better with the protection.

"Chase," she looked demoralized. "Just stop all this, please. We can move forward. I know you hate him, and probably me, but challenging him will only make things worse. He doesn't lose - ever."

"Stop, Maria," I said in a more subdued tone. "Just stop. Fuck your dad, if just for a minute. You did this. You fucked Dak and got pregnant. You fucked up a lot of people's lives, including your son's. You made a fool of me, and dear ole' dad is just putting the finishing touches on that. Stop acting like anything between us is ever going to be okay again. It isn't. You've never once apologized to me, and now after all this time has passed, I won't ever care if you do. You've got a man, not a husband, by contract. By threats and intimidation. You've got a bastard son I won't ever bond with.

"You won't ever work in this town again if I have anything to say about it. At best, you'll be doing smutty talk shows, playing the victim, and that will be your source of income unless daddy takes you in at some point. Once in a great while, I'll probably fuck you to get my rocks off, just like any other groupie. Eventually, your sweet daddy and I will have a showdown. I'll play the long game, plotting and scheming how to eventually destroy him.

"So stop hiring hookers and trying to make it up to me," I finished. "We aren't a thing anymore, and we never will be again. I'll skirt right up to the line of your father's agreement, but whatever love we had is already dead."

Maria's head drooped, her shoulders slumped, and she slunk away. Good. Finally, I was getting through. Maybe she'd get it now. Maybe, she'd call dad and tell him to go ahead and kill me.

>

Work was good for me. People eventually forget about gossip and old news, especially in Tinsel Town. Sal was treating me better, feeling more secure in his investment. Playing a lawyer was good for me too. My character was the proverbial good-guy family law attorney, complete with a conscience and a set of morals. Most of our episodes were loosely based on some Dateline saga, or weird internet stories about jilted spouses, mostly husbands.

I would come home at night, usually eat with my security guys, play some cards, or watch a ballgame afterward. Maria had tried those two weeks after I'd laid it all out for her, to remain in my good graces. She'd tell me about her day, or something Matthew did. I would listen, but I'd usually respond with very few words.

There was no affection, and really no friendship. Maria then became increasingly despondent. As we moved into the fourth month after the big reveal, Maria barely spoke at all.

A few weeks later, on the set, I was pulled aside for an emergency phone call. Maria had been taken to the hospital. A neighbor was looking after the baby.

I left, making a hurried exit, mostly for how it would be perceived on the set. Most of what I was doing these days centered almost wholly on my image. The doctor came to the nurses' station and pulled me aside.

"Mr. Burroughs," he began, "Your wife has had a nervous breakdown, in layman's terms. She's suffering from severe depression, most likely attributed to post-partum. The onset rarely begins this long after the child is born. Are there any other things happening in your lives that could be considered traumatic?"

I had to think twice about how to address his question. I wasn't about to be put in a bad light, or have someone at the hospital leak something that might start a scandal. I simply told the doctor that I'd started a new drama series, and that might have caused a big strain on our marriage. I lied when I told him that Maria seemed to feel morose for being tied down to the child, and unable to remain in the limelight.

I said that I thought it was a very difficult adjustment. I didn't know what else to say, or if he even believed me.

When he finally said that I could see my wife, I hesitated a few moments. I'm sure he picked up on that based on the scowl he wore. He led me into Maria's room. She looked peaceful sleeping. Medically sedated, it struck me she looked more peaceful than I'd seen her in months. It was hard not to feel for her. I'd been shoving all my love away; hiding it like a squirrel hides nuts. Some of it bubbled over, and a deep sob rose suddenly from my gut.

Sitting there next to her, I slowly nodded off. Sometime later, I heard her softly calling my name.

"Chase," she asked, as I stammered awake. "What are you doing here? Where's Matthew?"

"Matthew is fine, and he's with the nanny," I said. "Me? Well, I'm still your emergency contact. What happened to you?"

"I dunno," she answered with trepidation. "I'm just tired, I think. I've always dreamed of raising our child with my husband, kind of as a team, even before I met you. Now, I think I need to adjust to doing it on my own. Did you talk to the doctor?"

I told her what he'd said and the answers I gave. We discussed what and how much she should say. I also reminded her that Matthew wasn't our child, and that was the only problem that got us to where we were. I asked her to be careful not to slip while being asked questions. Strangely, the more we talked, the more we settled into some sort of truce.

"Chase," she finally said, "I don't want to fight with you. I know what I've done to us - first, by hooking up with Dak, and then by involving my father. I'm sorry for all of it. What I think would help both of us, is to just try to be civil to each other, as difficult as that may be."

"I don't know if I have it in me, Maria." I was being honest. "I can't turn off the anger, just like trying to turn off the love." Her eyes shot open, and I put both hands up, palms out.

"I knew you still loved me, even if just a little," she said softly. "I'll be nothing if not repentant if you'll let me. If you want to have sex with another woman, just bring her home. Take her to your room. I'll stay out of the way, and you've got your security guys, so daddy can't cause you problems. Once Matthew is old enough to remember things, we'll have to work something else out. I'm not asking for us to get back together, you made your feelings clear on that, and I get it. I just think if we can try to be friendly, we can get daddy to back out of our lives. I can't raise my son alone, with him breathing down my back, and you and me in constant conflict."

"Yeah," I replied. "Look, Maria, I'm just so damned mad about everything. I didn't mean to crush you, although you probably deserved it. We just hadn't ever talked about what happened without your father's interference. I can't promise we'll be friendly. Or at least I can't promise I'll be. But we can try. In the meantime, you need to be strong for Matthew, and I'll do my best."

I spoke to Sal the next morning. I wanted him to hear what I had planned, and to relay my conversation with Maria. We talked until the director came banging on his door.

"Listen," he coached, "I think you're doing the right thing for yourself and everyone else - certainly for the kid. Chase, I've been in this business a long time. Some of today's actors, as you well know, were sons and daughters of other famous people. Some, probably a disproportionate amount, find out later in life who their real father is. I'm not telling you to accept it, although many before you have. That's up to you. Right now, your biggest problem is that fucker, Charles Wilmington. You get him off your ass, and that gives you and Maria a second chance to figure this all out for yourselves - however it ends up."

So that's what I did. For most of the time up until Matthew's first birthday, I was still cool, and sometimes cold to Maria. She seemed to understand, or, maybe she just accepted it, like a punishment. I didn't feel comfortable bringing a woman to my home, so I was discreet in setting up the rendezvous online via email. The first time I met a woman named Rebecca at a hotel up the coast, Charles's goons showed up, but my guys caused a stand-off. I guess none of them were willing to lose their lives over a pissed-off father-in-law and a cheating actor.

Cheating actor - that's what I now was, if only because I was outplayed by Charles. I kept pushing that idea to the furthest recesses of my mind. It was Maria's fault anyway, I'd always tell myself. I was justified. Matthew's birthday party was the first I'd seen of Maria's family since her release from the hospital. It was the first time I'd seen Charles since the big reveal in my living room.

"I knew you'd see things my way," Charles's stupid voice said, coming up behind me while I was getting a beer from the cooler. "I see you and my daughter are getting on well, my boy."

I turned to see his face - something between an evil sneer and a smile of accomplishment. God, he was delusional, living in an alternate universe.

"Hello, Charles," I said, attempting an evil smirk of my own. "I haven't seen your henchmen in a while."

"No longer necessary, son," he replied, patting my shoulder. I felt soiled. "You've learned some valuable lessons since we last talked. Matching my muscle was wise, but learning to be more discreet was even wiser."

"You're a fucking idiot, you know that?" I spat. "You still think this is all going to end according to your plan, don't you? I can't wait to see the look on your face when you get tipped over. Believe me, I'll be there to see it."

"Now, now, Chase," Charles snickered. "I've been nothing but reasonable. First, I never expected you to forgive my daughter, did I? Hell, if her mother would have pulled something like that, she'd have been permanently missing pretty quickly. Second, I gave you the best way out of this situation. You have your life, she has hers, and my grandson doesn't grow up to be some twisted psycho. Nine or ten years, and you're free to get on with your life.

"They say everything a child needs to learn, they learn by age five. "I'm hedging my bet there. Time flies, Chase. You just keep being as reasonable as I am. You'll get your freedom, and I keep the family's integrity intact."

I wanted to go in the kitchen and get a knife and jam it through his damned throat. He knew, as I did, that things would cool, even normalize with time. He was counting on it. But I'd show them all. He changed the subject.

"One other thing, Chase," he said more seriously. "I've been keeping an eye on Mr. Bronson. I see he's having trouble getting any meaningful work. I suspect you have something to do with that, and I admire it. I'm sending over a revision to our agreement in the next few weeks, stating that in return for your continued cooperation, I'll cover his child support if he flies the coop, and I'll match those monthly payments in a college trust for Matthew."

"I don't care," I shrugged. "He's your family, not mine. I don't give a fuck what you pay for. Just do it, and skip the revised agreement. I don't need any money. Give it to Maria directly, and she can itemize what she buys for the kid, including food."

"Of course, young man," Charles chuckled at me and play-punched my arm. "Of course." He then walked away to rejoin the celebration.

One night, a few months later, as I returned late from a tryst with a fan, Maria was sitting in our living room with a glass of wine waiting for me. I told my guys I'd see them in the morning, grabbed a beer then sat down across from her.

"Why are you up so late?" I asked. "Trouble sleeping?"

"No," she sighed in response. "I have something to ask you." She hesitated for several moments as if trying to work out the right words. I just waited, sipping the beer.

"Do you think I could be one of your groupies?" she asked sweetly. "Just every once and a while?"

"What? You want to have sex with me?" I asked, laughing at her. Her poor sweet face fell.

"Maria," I said more seriously, "The problem isn't the physical thing. It's that I don't trust you. There's always some angle with you people."

She looked at me sadly, a single tear rolling down her right cheek. "I know," she whispered. "I'm just asking as a favor. I don't deserve it, but... I haven't had sex with anyone since... well the day before you went to Atlanta. That was the only time since the day daddy and I ambushed you right here in this room. I decided the following day that I would try celibacy. It was that, or sneaking around like you... sneaking around. I decided that I didn't want to be a woman, a wife, and a mother in a twisted, screwed-up marriage, which wasn't any kind of marriage at all, and still be a cheater. Even if I was discreet, I'd still know what I was doing. The therapist I've been seeing since my breakdown thinks I made a good choice. She calls it brave, but I don't know about all that. I just felt such horrible guilt over what I'd done to us, you know?"

The damned thing was she seemed sincere. Still, I didn't know. I'd clearly been wrong about her all along.

"When I've talked to her about my... issues, she told me that I had to learn how to deal with things by thinking them through. She told me since I was living with you and still loved you, that I should just ask you. She told me that if you said 'no,' then I'd be right where I am now, except that I'd have my answer and then could make other decisions based on that."

"See, Maria," I said leaning forward, "that's the thing about trust. I want to believe you, but I just can't. Sure I still find you attractive, but on the inside, well, I just don't see how we could."

"That's fair, Chase," she responded as if I'd thrown her a bone. "I'm only asking. I see you every day, and then I use my toy thinking about you at night. Maybe that sounds stupid to you, but I still think about you that way. Sometimes I'll watch one of your episodes. You look so damned hot in a suit. Anyway, if there's anything I can do to convince you, just name it."

I thought for a moment. "Well," I said, "no promises alright, but we'll need some condoms on hand if I ever decide it's okay."

"Oh," she said, defeated. "You don't believe I'm not seeing anyone."

"That's not it," I said quickly. "I'm seeing others, and I don't want Matthew's mother at risk."

Maria smiled, but it was with a forlornness and exacerbation of the 'catch twenty-two' she was in. Her expression showed her pain at even bringing it up in the first place. "I'm going to bed now, Chase," she stated flatly. "Thank you for listening to me."

Two weeks later, as we were shooting the season finale, I received a photo text.

It was Maria in a sexy negligée I'd gotten her for our first anniversary. Below the photo it said, Hoping you might want to celebrate the finale tonight. I know what you said, and I'm sorry if I'm being pushy. I just can't stand it anymore. Pleeease?

I had sex with Maria that night. I'd told Mark and Davis to take a night off, so we'd be alone in our home. There wasn't any love. I found it surprising and profoundly sad that I could screw my own wife like I did all those other women. Our love was truly dead, and I know she felt it too.

Maria and I had sex several nights over the next few months, and then it slowed to about once a month. As time passed, I poured myself into my work.

The show was doing very well. Maria attended Hollywood functions with me, as per my agreement with Charles. She stood on the red carpet next to me at the Emmys two years in a row. We'd go out to dinner a couple of times per month to be 'seen.'

All during this time - time spent on my own Desperation Island - I planned and plotted, trying to uncover a perfect way to get back at Charles. I admitted to myself that I wasn't having much luck. I couldn't figure out how to hurt him without committing a crime. I thought about committing one, believe me. I was just too afraid of going to prison. A pretty boy actor, who plays a lawyer on TV no less, behind bars in a meat factory. No thanks.

As normal as I was acting around Maria, she, and I'm sure, Matthew was hurting inside that I wouldn't bond with the boy. She did her best, and respectfully, I'll give her that. I just couldn't be anything to the kid but a surrogate, maybe like a distant stepdad, I suppose. I had no desire and every time I thought about Bronson's actions, his spawn made me sick.

One of the few bright spots, during these years, at least something to break the monotony, was striking up a friendship with July. Her real name was Rebecca, and she had occasional guest appearances on the show, as an opposing lawyer. Our onscreen courtroom banter was appreciated by the fans, but I appreciated her differently. We'd often take lunch together, and eventually, she opened up about her life.

What amazed me most about Rebecca was her strength. She'd had a particularly shitty life. She had been a step-daughter to an abusive stepfather, which evolved into an abusive relationship with husband number one. After finally finding a way out, she fled to Southern California and almost ended up as a prostitute. Wealthy and powerful men had been behind that, not some sleazy pimp. Such were the ways of this damned town.

After that, she became a recluse, and a patient to a very good therapist, to turn her life around. She impressed me in ways I didn't fully comprehend. She gave me the courage to open up about my predicament and the sad state of my life. We were fast becoming good friends, and I admit that she was very appealing in other ways, too. There'd hopefully be time for that to develop.

>

On the second week of filming season six, Sal called me into his office once again.

"Sit down, Chase," he told me with a wide smile. "I think I have some very good news."

I sat, as Sal lit one of his signature oversized cigars. "My boy," he continued, "have you been keeping tabs on Dak Bronson?"

"No," I replied. "Not for a long time. Why?"

"Not sure you knew," he began, taking several puffs on that cigar of his.

"Since he was blacklisted, he's struggled along, and eventually took work with my cousin. That's Porno Albert, in case you're unaware. Bronson has a huge hunk of shmock hanging between his legs."

For once, I didn't need to pull out my Yiddish for Dummies handbook. Still, it pissed me off.

"Fuck you, Sal," I snarled. "What are you getting at?"

"Easy, dammit," he coughed on the exhale. "I think I have a wonderful gift to bestow. Bronson caught a little something-something and has been out of work for the past two months. Albert was telling me his sob story just last night. He's planning on moving back to Norway, to his family."

"And that affects me how?" I asked.

"Well," he stammered, "you know the dark... the bad side of Hollywood, that we deal in human, not narcotic trafficking. Well, if you could get Maria convinced, I think I can help her and the kid disappear with the boy's father. That is unless you've decided to keep her."

I was shocked. Not about Hollywood's dirty secret, but rather his ability to move two people like that. I admit I had to think twice about his final comment. It had been so long living this charade, I'd become accustomed to it. On the flip side, Rebecca and I had been seeing each other in a long-term affair, and she'd been discussing the 'what ifs' more often lately. I was in love with her - that much I knew. The more I thought about it, the more appealing it became. I told Sal to give me two days.

Maria was also shocked at my proposal. I told her to call Dak and discuss it. Her first inclination was that she wanted to stay with me, and finally, once and for all, settle our differences. I pointed out the obvious: I'd never treat the boy fairly, or lovingly. I knew she understood the reality of that. I told her, conciliatory of course, that had it been a one-off, that hadn't produced offspring, I may have forgiven her indiscretion.

"I don't know, Chase," she trailed off, thinking about it. "I don't even know if I could live with the man."

"That hurts, Maria," I replied. "You did choose him over me once. What made you do that?"

Maria seemed startled to hear that. I wondered what exactly she talked about with her therapist.

"I did," she finally had it worked out. "He was handsome, of course, but he was funny. He made me laugh. But other than that, I think it was partly me doing something so taboo."

"But it's not taboo in this town," I reminded her. "Listen, your father has you more boxed in than me. He's been trying to make you into a person he wants you to be - for six damned years. If you think you and Bronson could make a go of it, then why not?"

The next night, she told me that Dak wasn't only open to the idea, but that he'd never gotten over the fact that he had a son, and had no claim to him. He was afraid of Maria's father, and they talked at length about that, too. I asked her how she'd handle it with Charles.

She surprised me with her response.

"I love daddy, but fuck him," she said adamantly. "The more he tried to help me the more he screwed up my life. I now see his motivations for what they were... what they still are."

Things moved quickly. Sal told me to tell her that a meeting would be set up. He handed me a burner phone to give Maria. Dak was not to be involved in any way. If the two lovebirds wanted to be together, he'd need to go on his own and wait for Maria to contact him, once she arrived in Europe.

Matthew's seventh birthday party was fast approaching. As usual, it would be held at the Wilmington mansion. Games, clowns, and jumpy things were all the order of the day. I had zero remorse for what was about to happen. Karma, more than revenge, was going to have a field day, and as it played out, I'd be there to watch it unfold. Even paying for the flight was worth it.

Two nights before the party, I sat with Maria and had a glass of wine. Matthew had been put to bed early since they both had tickets for a five a.m. flight. That first leg was legit, but I'd been told not to ask about anything after her first destination.

I studied Maria carefully, taking her in. Her unfaithfulness with Dak still angered me occasionally, but now I had to admit, we'd come full circle. Here I was, losing her again, but this time I was offering her up so that we could both live a better life. She looked up at me, coming out of her daydream.

"What?" she asked teasingly.

"Just thinking is all," I said, a little sadder than I'd intended. "Will you really be happy, Maria?"

"I think so..." she trailed off for a moment. "Obviously, not as happy as I would be with you." She immediately waved me off, seeing I was about to jump on that. "I know, I know." She continued. "It's all my fault. I just think about us sometimes, you know... what it would have been like if I hadn't fucked it all up. I do love you, you know? I always will. You'll always have the top spot in my heart.

"But," she went on, "I lacked character. Maybe I still do. I was entitled, and I'd like to blame that on my rich parents too, although it seems juvenile to do so. I just hope I made you happy, for at least those early years. What I really want is for you to think fondly of me, whenever I cross your mind."

She was crying now, and for some strange reason, I was close too. I'd lived with this woman for eight-and-a-half years, most of them torture. I wondered why this was so emotional then. Maybe I felt for her - or did I just feel sorry for her?

"You think that you can make it work with him, then?" I asked, trying to change the subject.

"As I said," she shrugged, "He's not you, but he's something, or I wouldn't have cheated our lives away. I hope that having a family will mature him." She chuckled a bit through her tears. "I guess a girl has to work with what she has."

I nodded. I did feel sorry for her. The biggest mistake of her life had brought us here. I hoped for her sake that Dak Bronson did warm up to being a dad, maybe even a decent husband and they lived happily ever after. As for me, I was chomping at the bit to begin a more intimate relationship with Rebecca.

Epilogue:

I was standing in Charles Wilmington's elaborate study two days later, a Saturday, drinking a very expensive scotch with the old bastard. The booze felt good going down, as I got myself mentally prepared for the acting job of a lifetime. I held out my glass for another shot.

"Where the hell is she?" Charles stammered, looking at his watch. He was getting impatient. "Is that damned woman ever on time?"

We'd played it that I had to fly in from Boston, while she came on a later flight from LAX. Boston was the set of the show's new season, so Charles didn't think to question anything. He'd mostly been leaving Maria and me alone by then.

"Well," I grinned, "she is your daughter. And she often reminds me of your many character flaws."

"Yes, of course," he returned my grin, mocking me. "You should be so lucky to have learned some of those flaws yourself. I'd have to say; at least this has been a learning experience for you, in so many ways."

"You know I still have plans to fry your ass, right?" I told him with an edge in my voice. "And you'll never see it coming."

"Okay Chase," he laughed, "if you must. Consider this," he carried on with not a care in the world. "Everyone learned something in this debacle. Maria probably learned the most, but you, Bronson, and even Maria's mother did. I did what was required. Could or would you ever be the kind of man who could do what was required, even in the face of adversity? By now you know how insignificant you were in my planning. But you shocked me. I expected you to lose it that day. I expected I'd have had to deal with you in a far different manner. Instead, you kept your head about you.

"Very few people in my sphere of influence challenge me these days. It makes me sad, and it also makes me quite bored. It makes me feel like I'm losing my edge. If you want a shot, I'd welcome it, trust me. However, think about this: Maria is a different person. I saw to that, and in a way, how you handled my ultimatum also contributed. She'll never make such a foolish mistake again, and as cliché, as it sounds, she'd do almost anything to make up to you for the pain she's caused.

"You've grown too, son." He was pontificating now. "You're that boy's father, like it or not. And as much as I admit I once despised you, I have to say, you've been a good father and far better provider, even under the stress of it all, than I could have imagined."

The statement made me shiver slightly. He was so self-absorbed about his righteous edict; he never even noticed that I was anything but a father to Matthew. He never even asked his own daughter. I supposed she may have lied to him, but still. Another rich balloon full of hot air and excrement.

"What I'm saying is," he just wouldn't shut up. "I respect you - and you've earned that. Still, I knew even then, that very few men could put up with what Bronson and Maria heaped upon you, so I gave you the out. You want out, I'm moving that timetable up to next year, Matthew's eighth birthday. Per our agreement, this family will keep our comments to ourselves, until the divorce blows over."

"Splendid," I said in a rather good old English impression. "Charles gets what he wants again. Hooray, jolly old chap."

We both heard the doorbell and moved out towards the front of the house. Maria's mother was standing there with an envelope, white as a ghost. She closed the door as the delivery man retreated. Her eyes suddenly fixed on Charles, absolutely aghast.

"He said it's from Maria." She told the old man, barely above a whisper.

The look on Charles's face too was one that I'd wished I could have photographed. He frantically opened the envelope and began reading.

"What is it, Charles?" she almost begged. "What does it say?"

Charles was reading away.

I suddenly thought about his old heart. I didn't want the bastard to die, but I did want him to experience a deep, gouging pain.

"It's from Maria," he said, in the least commanding voice I'd ever heard. "She's left."

"Left where?" Mrs. Wilmington cried out.

"She says, she's overseas." He was trying to talk and make sense of the words at the same time. "She's not coming back. Says not to come after her. She says she hates Chase, and hates me too, for meddling in her life. Says, she's found the man of her dreams, and he's willing to be a stepfather. Oh my god, what is happening?"

Maria's mother was curled up on the floor of their foyer, bawling. Charles finished reading and dropped the paper. Actually, it just fell out of his hand as the ramifications hit him hard. Finally, he looked at me.

I also wore a sad face, as though sharing in his misery.

After about five minutes, as Charles's wife had gotten herself to her feet, I slowly allowed a wide smile to form across my recently crestfallen face. Charles looked at me like he never knew me.

"I do believe, old man," I said in my best jovial tone, "that you have broken our contract. Have your attorney call mine, and work out the settlement amount. Don't make me send my people to collect. Have a great day!" I didn't have any 'people' to send, but it was so much fun to say it.

Both of Maria's parents stood in the doorway, watching me leave them for the last time. Just before putting the car in reverse, I pulled out my phone, snapped a pic, and saved it for a time when Maria might reach out to let me know she was okay. The rescue boat had finally landed on the shore of my island of despair.