Saturday, September 8
SEATTLE, WASHINGTON
DR. ANTONIA HANSLEY-DAWSON
“Are you panicking? Don’t panic.”
Antonia rolled her eyes at the suggestion, glad that her PR agent, Enid Stoll, was on the phone instead of in person to see her doing something so juvenile. Putting her cell phone on speaker, she tossed it on her king-sized bed and resumed filling her suitcase. “Psychiatrists don’t panic.”
“Sure they do. They just have a fancy name for it like…a situation-induced freak-out,” Enid told her.
She glanced out the wall of windows at the Pacific Ocean shimmering in the afternoon sun, her stomach clenching at the thought of what that view was actually costing her. “I feel fairly confident the term freak-out isn’t in the DSM.”
“Well, it should be,” Enid answered. “Because I know you like I know Harrison Ford’s tush, and you, madame, are freaking out.”
Enid had been part of Antonia and her husband, Ted’s, management team from the start of their television career eight years earlier.
She was well-known in Hollywood and the music industry as the PR agent to have.
She’d been putting out fires since the late eighties and could make any problem go away.
Enid was blunt. She was cagey. She knew where the bodies were buried.
Seven years before their television debut, Ted, a psychologist, had convinced his wife to write a relationship book together (to which she wished she had said a hard no).
The book, The Marriage Whisperers, took off, holding the number one spot on the New York Times Bestseller list for nine weeks.
Their publisher immediately wanted a second book, The Marriage Reboot, which held on in the top ten for close to three months.
Then came the cross-country book tour, complete with appearances on every late-night and daytime talk show, and, eventually twelve repeat guest spots on Oprah.
So now, instead of spending her days in the quiet dignity of a psychiatric practice, helping patients before going home to cook simple, yet satisfying meals then putting her feet up, her life was a chaotic vortex of obligations.
They had a staff of over two hundred people, and together, they taped a grueling one-hundred-eighty episodes per year.
During their summer breaks, they wrote more books, often handing the final manuscript over to their editor one day before they started their next season.
The pressure was insane. The pace, relentless.
Antonia was the smartest hamster on the wheel, and if she stopped running, hundreds of people who were relying on her would lose their jobs.
Sighing heavily, Antonia said, “I’m not panicking. I’m…extremely concerned. And rightfully so. We just started filming the new season, and all of a sudden Ted and I are being yanked away by our evil overlord.”
“Let’s be careful about what we say about the head of the network, especially when it’s contract negotiation time. Besides, you should be honored because the evil overlord doesn’t invite just anyone to luxuriate on his megayacht.”
“But why now?” Antonia asked, digging around in her bathing suit drawer for her swim skirt. “Why not during the last three months when we were on hiatus?”
“Because of the heatwave.”
“Yeah, I’m not buying it, Enid. There’s got to be some other reason than unseasonably hot weather in Europe. He knows how this will disrupt filming.”
“He also knows you can handle it. It’s a gift, Antonia. Take it and enjoy.”
“Enjoy? Ha! You know what my life is like. I barely have time to sleep, let alone enjoy anything, and now I have to hop on a plane and go halfway around the world for a week?!”
“Technically it’s five days.”
“Plus two days of travel.”
“Which you can spend going over guest files,” Enid said. “Listen, you’ve got one of the best teams in the business, and they all know how important this is.”
“And that team is going to hate us because when we get back, we’re forcing them to film two shows instead of one every Tuesday and Friday for three weeks! Do you know how exhausted they’re going to be? All so Ted and I can spend a week being pampered on a yacht?”
“If you get the contract signed, they’ll all be employed for another five years. Just tell them that.”
Five more years. The thought made her nauseous.
But she had no choice. She and Ted had been living far beyond their means.
They’d bought three acres in Medina overlooking Lake Washington on which they bulldozed the quaint Tudor-style house that was sitting proudly on the top of the hill to build a compound with a twelve-thousand square-foot house, and a cozy two-bedroom, two-bath guest house where their son, Xavier, lived and worked.
(Although ‘worked’ was such a strong word for losing copious amounts of money day-trading.) They also bought a sprawling oceanfront home on Kauai, and an airy three-bedroom apartment in Paris, where their daughter, Quinn, spent most of the year pretending she was writing a novel, when in actual fact, she was partying with friends all night and sitting at sidewalk cafes sipping coffee and vaping all day.
They’d need a big salary bump to pay it all off, and if they didn’t get it, that apartment in Paris would be the first thing to go. Quinn could damn well get popcorn lung here in Seattle.
Five more years. It would be hell, but, if they were smart about how they spent their money, they could retire the moment the contract was up.
And if they were really lucky, there would be something left of their marriage to salvage at the end of it.
If they were both alive, that is. The older they got, the bigger toll this lifestyle took on them.
Ted was on blood pressure medication and Antonia needed knock-you-out-cold sleeping pills every night.
The pressure was crushing, and Antonia had long ago placed the blame at Ted’s size-ten feet.
The entire thing had created cracks in their relationship that had widened to the size of a canyon.
Maybe not quite Grand Canyon-size, but still, a canyon.
The truth was, their unified front was just that—a front.
They were every bit as disconnected as the couples who appeared on their talk show weekdays at three p.m. central.
There was a knock on her bedroom door, and before she could say yes, it swung open and her son, Xavier, strolled in. Antonia held a ‘silence’ finger up to her pursed lips and watched as the scruffy twenty-four-year-old flopped onto an armchair in the sitting area of their West Coast-style bedroom.
“…available twenty-four hours a day, so call me if there’s even a whiff of trouble.” Enid’s voice drew her back into their conversation and away from the pressed linen pants her son was currently lounging on.
He took his phone from the pocket of his board shorts and started tapping away with his thumbs.
Antonia picked up her cell, took it off speaker, and crossed the room into the massive walk-in closet.
“Yes, thank you, I appreciate that. And I know you’re not a fan of Charlotte’s, but please pick up if she calls.
I may have to funnel messages through her. ”
Enid made a tsking sound. “You’re taking Charlotte the Harlot?”
“Wow, that was both offensive and lazy.”
“Yeah, it was, but I’m having a hot flash so you’re not going to get my best material.”
“Charlotte’s never done anything to earn that label,” Antonia answered. “And of course we’re bringing her. I don’t know which end is up without that girl.”
The truth was she invited their assistant on the trip as a peace-offering, after Charlotte had stopped making eye contact with her several months earlier.
Antonia had snapped at her for double booking them for two talk show appearances (then not noticing until the morning of).
Charlotte was part of that generation who never apologized for mistakes and couldn’t handle a little criticism, both of which irritated Antonia to no end.
And honestly, booking them on the Today Show without looking to see they were already on Good Morning America at that time?
That’s not an error they could afford to have her make twice.
“Trust me. She’s an opportunist. And she’s got a thing for your husband.”
“She does not. She’s got daddy issues, but Ted is not her type.”
“Yeah, well, she’s every middle-aged man’s type—young, firm, and adoring.”
“Oh my God, Enid, let’s give Ted a little more credit than that,” Antonia said, ignoring the fact that her chest suddenly felt heavy. When Enid didn’t immediately backtrack, she added, “Do you seriously think I wouldn’t notice if something was going on?”
“You’re obviously brilliant, Antonia, but your people smarts come from books. Mine come from the streets.”
“What is that supposed to mean?”
“I see people as they are. You see a diagnosis.”
“That is not true.”
“You can’t help but think that. You’re a product of your education.”
“Apparently we both are.”
“My point is this: Ted’s a man. Men are stupid, especially when some young thing bats her eyelashes and tosses her long glossy hair.”
Pulling a sundress down from the hanger, Antonia wrinkled up her nose. No way that one would fit anymore. “I really have to go. Xavier’s here and I need to go over some things with him before we leave.”
“Tell your stay-at-home son I said hi.”
“I don’t know why I don’t fire you.”
“Because I’m willing to do things for you no one else would. Have a terrific time, but more importantly, be ultra-charming so we can all get disgustingly rich.” Enid hung up without saying goodbye, which Antonia knew was one of her agent’s favorite power plays. Too busy for niceties. Too important.
“Finally,” Xavier said, drawing out the word the same way he had done since he was five. “Are you going somewhere?”
She tossed the sundress into a giveaway basket in the corner of her closet. “Croatia, remember? Your dad and I are going to spend a week with Travis Bishop and his wife.”
“What? You never told me that.”