In less than a week the family was gathered around a newly bought television set. It was Gomez's idea to buy this one in color, an ode to the momentous occasion.

"Oh boy, our very own Morticia on television," Mama said between bites of popcorn.

"Mother," Wednesday asked, "how are you able to be here and there at the same time?"

"It's pre-recorded, darling. It was taped a couple days ago."

"Hey! You ate all the crickets!" Uncle Fester peered into Mama's popcorn bowl.

"Well get your own bowl," she scolded.

"I wish this mundane football game would go to commercial," grumbled Gomez.

"Here it comes!" Pugsley announced.

A table lamp covered the television screen and was accompanied by hyperbolic praises from an unknown voice. During the praises a familiar pair of hands caressed the lamp. With the pull of a dainty chain, it was turned on, off, and on again. By the end of the thirty second commercial, everyone was showering Morticia with compliments.

"A true star!" Gomez declared.

"When do you leave for Hollywood?" Mama asked.

"Aaphxsrkeeyii!" Cousin Itt exclaimed.

Morticia tried to wave everyone's extols away. "The director helped me greatly. It wasn't much."

"Nonsense! You're sensational, Tish! Sensational!"

"Thank you, dear," she bashfully beamed as they held each other's gaze.

"What'd they pay you?" Uncle Fester eagerly asked.

"Well, they haven't yet…"

"Money isn't everything, Fester." Then looking back at Morticia, Gomez added, "they haven't paid anything?"

"Not yet. I have some more photoshoots to do and such…" She could see Gomez's countenance begin to dwindle. "Don't worry, darling. I enjoy it, truly." She placed her hand on his knee and gave a reassuring smile.

"Cara mia," he replied as he sat up, "as long as you're happy, that's all that matters."

Gomez stared at the wreckage. Bits and pieces were everywhere, a cloud of smoke consumed the library, and half the track was on fire. It was his finest one yet. His chest heaved with pride.

"Did you see that, Tish!" He turned to an empty room. "Oh. No, of course you didn't, querida."

A photo of a hand wearing a ring caught his attention. He picked it up, quietly admiring it. It was from one of Morticia's earliest photoshoots and to Gomez's secret relief, it was her right hand they wanted to adorn with new jewels. He was studying it when Uncle Fester came rushing into the library.

"Fester," his face lit up, "what do you think of this one?" Uncle Fester paused just long enough to survey the debris.

"That's a real beaut, Gomez." Then getting back to business he said, "something's not right with Morticia's plant." He followed Gomez over to the hanging noose and kept talking as the house trembled. "It always tries to maim me, but it didn't do anything today – not a thing!"

"Cleopatra?"

"Yeah that's the one!"

"You rang?"

"Clean up my mess, will you Lurch. Hmm… Morticia hasn't said anything."

"That's because she's too busy for us," he smugly replied. "I knew this is how it would be. This is how it goes in all the books."

"You read?"

"Gomez, please," Uncle Fester held up his hand. "This is no time for jokes. It's been two months since Morticia's been modeling. This is getting out of control! Did you know she wouldn't even catch scorpions with me and the kids? She said she needed to protect her hands."

"We should be supportive of her, Uncle Fester," he stated matter-of-factly.

"But everyone knows that scorpion venom is good for the pores! Gomez, I'm saying this for your sake. Before you know it, she'll be off in Hollywood and you'll be Mr. Morticia Addams – with no Morticia!"

Gomez started laughing, to Fester's disappointment. "That imagination of yours."

"Sure, laugh away. But where was she the other night when you had to use Lurch as a tango partner?"

"She was working late. It wasn't her fault the camera crew was having technical difficulties." Gomez unconcernedly arranged the papers on his desk.

"Uh-huh. And what about last week when all you wanted was to take a casual romp in the swamp with her, but couldn't because that Mr. Loafer –"

"Luffman."

"Luffa, showed up. And what's with those gloves she's always wearing?"

"He showed up to let her know about a new commercial. As for the gloves - Shhh," Gomez moved near the door. "Do you hear something?"

"Probably Cousin Cackle playing in the quicksand."

"Gomez?" A faint feminine voice drifted towards them.

"It's Tish!" He jumped in jubilation and dashed downstairs. Against the dark of the night, and the dim room lighting, her pale face was virtually the only visible part of her.

"Oh darling," Morticia breathed a sigh of relief as soon as he was by her side. "I was beginning to wonder where everyone was."

"Wonder no more, querida." When he swooped down to kiss her hand his lips met velvet gloves. She nimbly tugged them off.

"My agent says I should protect my assets."

"Good thinking!"

"How'd you get home without Lurch?" Uncle Fester yelled over the banister.

"A gentleman offered. He was most kind." She gaily removed her lace scarf and let down her parasol. "Oh Gomez, you should've heard him! He believes I have a real future in hand modeling."

"Gentleman?" Gomez blinked.

Morticia nodded, picked up a flimsy pile of paper, then sat in her chair. Gomez promptly pulled his beside hers. "It sounds like you had a good day then."

"Superb," she smiled as she opened the loose book.

"What's that?" Gomez asked, trying to get a glimpse himself. Morticia looked at him; she was nearly squirming with excitement, which only resulted in greater curiosity.

"Darling, you'll never believe it. It's a script for a small B film. Here, look." She handed it to him.

"Night of the… Lobster?" He read aloud.

"They need a double for the leading lady."

Gomez thumbed through the pages. Small highlighted sections were scattered about. Most called for close-up shots of the leading lady's hands performing menial tasks. In one scene, she was writing a letter. Another had her pouring juice into a cup. A more gruesome scene involved her scooping a fish eye from its socket - with her bare finger. He inwardly shuttered at that one.

"Cliff said I'm nearly identical to her." Morticia held her head high. "The actress, that is. Auditions are Thursday."

Gomez slowly nodded. He was happy for her. He wanted to be happy for her. He should be happy for her. But for some dreadful reason, Uncle Fester's words were the only thoughts that ran through his mind. With no Morticia. He had been the supporting husband for the past couple months. He thought surely this was nothing more than a new adventure to be had. A simple thing out of boredom. But not a full-blown career, especially not Hollywood.

"Well, what do you think?" She bit her lip.

For one of the few times in Gomez Addams' life, he scrambled for words. "It's, it's, it's… it's a script."

"And all because of you. If you hadn't been so supportive, I would've never gotten this far." She stroked his cheek. While she was talking, Lurch surreptitiously entered the room. "Oh Lurch, I believe I'd like to take a bath. Would you get the taps started?" The butler growled then took his leave.

"Excellent idea, cara mia," Gomez helped her get up, but instead of letting her go he pressed her to him. "Always the creative one," he huskily whispered. "I'll get the torches!"

"Darling," with cat like reflexes she grabbed his arm before he tore away, "I'm terribly exhausted. Do you mind if I take this one alone?"

"Alone?" His heart sank. "No, course not. I uh, I think I'm a bit cramped anyway." He rubbed his lower back for effect. "I might go lay on the rack for a while. You enjoy your bath."

"Are you sure?" she cocked her head, looking him up and down. Worry was slightly etched on her face.

"Absolutely!"

"Darling." She gave him one last smile before parting ways. He stood at the foot of the stairs until she was out of view.

"So long… arrivederci… aloha… chou…" He was beginning to think Uncle Fester wasn't as imaginative as he had hoped.