The crisp sound of pages snapping echoed in the room as Maxwell flipped through the manuscript the network sent him express mail. Shoving the script aside, he pulled off his glasses and massaged his temple.
Why did I tell David my plans for the holiday? I was just asking for trouble. A few days after Christmas and I'm already being burdened by my job. He tapped the button on the intercom and waited for Robert to answer.
"Bring me a pot of tea." "Yes sir."
He leaned back in the leather chair and reminisced about his time in the theatre. Part of him missed producing plays for Broadway. Thoughts of returning to New York crowded his mind. Before he was able to shut those thoughts out but now he wasn't sure he wanted to. A gentle tapping on the door pulled him into consciousness.
"Come in." When the door opened, he was surprised to see Fran bringing him his afternoon tea. "Hello sweetheart."
She leaned down for a kiss. "I ran into Robert in the hall and decided I'd bring you your tea instead."
"I'm glad. Robert's a good man but I prefer looking at you."
"Max, are you all right? You seem a little tense."
Maxwell sighed. "I'm – I'll be all right. So what have you been doing today? Hit any of the after Christmas sales yet?"
"Max! Sometimes you make me sound so shallow. Like shopping is my main existence."
"I didn't mean to imply that darling but I know how much you love a good sale. Forgive me?"
"Okay. But I do need to talk to you. If you're busy, I can wait until later."
"Please, I welcome the break. Anything to take my mind off of this damn show."
Fran settled on the sofa, unsure of how to start. Drawing a deep breath, she said, "Remember when I told you Joanna thought I was ready to submit some of my writing?"
"Yes. Have you made a decision on what you're going to submit and where?"
"Well before we left California, Joanna gave me a magazine for first time writers. They take submissions for poetry and short stories. Of course just because you submit something doesn't necessarily mean that you'll be published."
"I think you should do it. You'll never know what you can achieve if you don't take the risk."
"I'm glad you think so."
"What did I tell you in Sacramento?"
"That you'd support whatever endeavor I wished to pursue."
"Exactly. I think it's time for you to test the waters. Now, what were you planning on sending to – what's the name of the magazine?"
"The Virgin Chronicles."
"Interesting. The title's a bit provocative but then again I suppose that's the point."
"Joanna suggested that I shouldn't limit myself to submitting a poem or story. That I should send in both. The poem I'm going to submit is entitled A Rose in Winter. It's the poem Eve and Grace read that time they were in my office."
"What story are you going to send them?"
Fran bit her lip. She didn't want to tell him but she didn't want it to be a surprise if it was selected. Picking up her cup, she murmured the name quickly and took a sip of tea.
"What did you say?"
Clearing her throat, she said, "I'm submitting my story Unrequited Love. But that's just the working title."
"What's the story about?"
"Basically it's about two people who are in love but are never in the right place and time to admit it to each other."
Maxwell leaned back in his chair. As he was about to take a sip of tea the premise of the story dawned on him.
"It's the one I read in Sacramento isn't it? The one loosely based on us."
"Yes."
Tea splattered across the calendar as he dropped the cup and saucer on the desk. Maxwell shot up, thrusting the chair against the wall.
"Absolutely not! I forbid it!"
"If you'd just read it, I know you'd change your mind."
"I'm not going to read it, end of discussion."
"What?"
"You are not submitting that story Fran."
She stood with her hands on her hips. "Excuse me, when did I need your permission for anything I want to do?"
"You don't. This, however, is the exception."
"Why, because I borrowed some things that happened in our past?"
"Yes."
"I can't believe this. I can't believe you have the nerve to stand there and tell me I can't send in my story just because it makes you uncomfortable."
"This has nothing to do with my comfort. This is about the right to privacy."
Fran threw her hands up in frustration. "You are unbelievable."
"You have to obtain a person's permission regarding their likeness and I refuse to grant it."
"Why are you being so stubborn?"
"I'm not being stubborn. I just don't want my life published for someone else's entertainment. I mean really Fran, how could you even think of doing something so incredibly stupid and think I'd agree to it?"
Her mouth dropped open, still processing what he just said. "I'm going to leave before I say something I'll regret later."
"You're being childish."
"I'm being childish? You're the one that's acting like a big spoiled brat!" She threw open the door and stormed out of his office.
"Fran, don't you walk out on me!" he yelled following her into the living room. "We are in the middle of a discussion."
"No Max, I'm not walking out in the middle of a discussion. I'm walking out in the middle of an absurd argument by my insensitive, thoughtless, and unsupportive husband."
He stood in the living room, his arms flailing wildly. "I'm thoughtless? What about you? You didn't even consider my feelings before you told me you were submitting that story."
"Not everything is about you Max." She pulled her jacket from the closet. "You see and hear what you want. It's a good story but you're so caught up with how this will affect you, that you can't see pass it to discuss it objectively."
"Fran, we're not through here."
Narrowing her eyes, Fran replied, "Yes Max, I think we are," and slammed the door behind her.
Maxwell pushed his food around his plate, absently taking a bite from time to time. He swallowed, not really tasting the dish.
His anger subsided over the past few hours, slowly giving way to concern as time ticked away. Fran had been gone for nearly eight hours and there had been nothing to indicate that she would return anytime soon.
Shoving the plate aside, he paced the office, replaying the argument again in his mind. Her request wasn't unreasonable. She wasn't asking his permission, just his opinion. He had taken his anger at the network for interrupting their holiday out on her.
Their quarrel left a bitter taste in his mouth. What if she leaves me? Or worse, suppose something happens to her? I would never forgive myself if the last thing she heard from me were words of anger.
He ran into Robert as he entered the living room. "Have you seen or heard from Mrs. Sheffield since this afternoon?"
"No Mr. Sheffield, I haven't." He watched Maxwell peering out the door. "May I speak freely sir?"
"Yes, of course."
"I have been with the family long enough to know that this minor difficulty is just a bump in the road. I'm sure Mrs. Sheffield is all right and will be home soon."
"For my sake, I hope so. Good night Robert."
"Good night Mr. Sheffield."
He watched his butler walk up the staircase. "Robert?"
"Yes sir?"
"Thank you."
Maxwell waited in the living room a few more hours before finally retiring to their room. He stretched across the bed, taking her pillow in his arms.
Inhaling her perfume was detrimental to his being. His soul ached; he longed to hear her, speak to her, and touch her. He was lost without her. He closed his eyes, letting exhaustion and anxiety overtake him.
Maxwell jumped, startled by the phone's persistent ring. He glanced at the clock. Noting the late hour, he said a quick prayer and answered the phone.
"Max?"
"Oh my God, Fran, I've been so worried about you."
"That's why I'm calling. I wanted to let you know that I'm okay."
"Where are you?"
"I'm at a hotel. I think it's best that I stay here."
"It's not too late darling. I can come pick you up."
"No. I'm tired. All I want to do is sleep."
"I understand. I'll pick you up in the morning."
"Max, when I said that I think it's best that I stay here, I mean stay here for a couple of days."
"What? You can't mean that."
"I'm serious Max. I can't be around you right now. I think its best we spend a little time apart."
"Fran, I'm sorry I hurt your feelings but please come home tomorrow so we can discuss this like two rational adults."
"I can't. Not right now."
"Fran, you're being ridiculous." He bit his bottom lip, trying to control his tears. "Please come home. I need you."
"I'll talk to you later Maxwell. Good night."
"I love you." He paused, waiting for her reply. "Fran?"
"I – I love you too."
Fresh tears spilled down his face when he heard line disconnect. Placing the phone on the nightstand, he turned out the light and wrapped his arms around her pillow.
For the first time in more years than he cared to remember, Maxwell cried himself to sleep.
