Temptation by Douglas Kennedy Read Free Book Online Page B

cent.’
    He laughed. ‘It’s always the bottom line, isn’t it?’
    ‘You’re asking me that?’
    Bobby was shrewd enough to never again mention the subject of that disastrous dinner, though he always asked after Sally whenever we spoke. And once a month, I had dinner with him. Twenty-nine per cent
is
twenty-nine per cent, after all. But I genuinely liked Bobby, and saw that behind all the gimcrack salesmanship, the slick bravura, he was just another guy travelling hopefully, trying to make his own mark in a deeply indifferent world. Like the rest of us, he filled the time with his own turbo-charged ambitions and worries, in an attempt to believe that, somehow, what we do during that momentary spasm called life actually counts for something.
    Anyway, I was so damn busy with the second series that, aside from our monthly dinner, I was out of touch with Bobby. By the time
Selling You
Season Two went into production, I’d reached the conclusion that my life was one bigtime-and-motion study: fourteen-hour work days, seven days a week. The few hours left over in the day were dedicated entirely to Sally. But she wasn’t exactly complaining about our lack of quality time together. For Sally anything less than a seventeen-hour day was lazy.
    The only real highlights in this breakneck schedule were the two weekends a month I’d spend in Sausalito with Caitlin. The breach between us didn’t take long to heal. On my first visit to her new home, she was distant with me. But we had a terrific day out in San Francisco, and her initial aloofness melted a bit. Early that evening, as we were having dinner in a restaurant on Fisherman’s Wharf, she said, ‘I have to ask you a question, Daddy.’
    ‘Shoot,’ I said.
    ‘Do you miss me and Mommy?’
    I felt an immense sadness come over me.
    ‘Only every hour of every day,’ I said, taking her hand. She didn’t pull away, but instead squeezed mine back.
    ‘Can’t you live with us again?’ she asked.
    ‘I wish that was possible, but . . . ’
    ‘Is it because you don’t love Mommy any more?’
    ‘I’ll always love your mother . . . but sometimes people who love each other find it difficult to live together. Or they grow apart. Or . . . ’
    ‘You could grow back together again,’ she said.
    I smiled at the great turn of phrase.
    ‘It’s never that simple, Caitlin. People can do things that others find hard to forgive. Or they realize that they need to lead a different kind of life now.’
    She withdrew her hand and stared down at the table.
    ‘I don’t like not having you around.’
    ‘And I don’t like not having
you
around,’ I said. ‘And I wish I could wave a magic wand and make it all better. But I can’t. Still, we will be together two weekends a month. During all your vacations you can spend as much time as you like with me . . . ’
    ‘You’ll be working during my vacations.’
    ‘I’ll make certain I’m not.’
    ‘You promise?’
    ‘I promise.’
    ‘And you’ll visit me every two weeks?’
    ‘Without fail.’
    And I never missed a visit. On the contrary, there was no damn way that anything was going to get in the way of my twice-monthly trip to see my daughter.
    Another six months shot by. The second series was in the can. Early reaction within FRT was tremendous. Alison had already started taking calls from Brad Bruce and Ted Lipton about the third series – and we were still two months away from the launch of our second season. Life was chaotic, but good. My career was cruising. My ardour for Sally hadn’t dimmed . . . and she still seemed entranced by me. My money was making money. And though Lucy still cold-shouldered me whenever I visited Sausalito, at least Caitlin seemed delighted to see her daddy, and had even started spending one weekend a month with us in LA.
    ‘What’s wrong with you?’ Alison asked me over lunch one day. ‘You seem happy.’
    ‘I am.’
    ‘Should I alert the media?’
    ‘Is there anything