It was dark. That was what she remembered most, the darkness. It was like a cell, a dungeon straight out of the Middle Ages.

It was cold, too. It was June, and it was cold. She wondered why he would have bothered to leave the air conditioning on for her, why he cared, why he was wasting so much of it. Why didn't he just turn it down, or even off altogether? He obviously wasn't all that concerned for her welfare. Granted, there was a very modern toilet discreetly hidden behind a wooden door, and sure, there was a relatively soft cot, but the room's sole source of light was what little sunlight beamed down through the bars of the window seven or eight feet above her head. The floors were concrete and dirty. Even she, who had had little experience with basements and cellars, knew the room was underground because she could see the grass growing, some of it poking through the window, if it could even be called a window. She was under no illusions: she was a prisoner here; she would not be the one who made the decisions. Her fate, for the moment at least, was not in her hands.

The door creaked open. She tensed, afraid. But it was only her captor, come to make sure she was still there, presumably; not that there was any way to escape. She stared up at him, hatred in her gaze. He returned the look, with the same feeling.

His eyes were so blue. Before she knew him, it was what she liked best about him: those eyes. They were what made him so cute. Clear and sky-blue and serious, they were. But now, the harsh shadows throwing half of his face into sharp relief with the other half remaining in darkness, his eyes didn't look so blue. They looked black and cold, an unwelcoming abyss of loathing.

He didn't look so cute with those eyes.

He spoke to her, in a deep, gravelly voice. She wasn't sure what he said, timidly asked him to repeat it. "Are you happy now?" he asked.

"Why do you care?" she retorted roughly, determined to cover up her fear.

He smirked and left, the door slamming shut ominously behind him. She collapsed into the corner and cried.

Nothing happened for an hour or more. She lost all sense of time as she waited to learn what would happen to her. But when the door finally creaked open again, she cringed.

It was like everything tale of kidnap and captivity she'd ever heard. He'd had someone bring her a plate of food: cold chicken that she nevertheless bolted down, lukewarm water that she gulped thirstily. She waited for something to happen.

Nothing did. The man who'd brought her food tossed her a pair of jeans and a T-shirt. Confused but grateful, she changed out of her ruined wedding dress. Guess I can always buy another-, she thought, then stopped herself. Would there be another time? Would she ever see the person she loved, or her best friends, again? Stop, she tried to tell herself. You've only been here a few hours; anything can happen. Your friends care about you; they won't let anything happen to you. But it was hard not to despair.

When the door creaked open again, she wanted to run and hide in the little bathroom. She didn't want to see those blue eyes gone dark. What had made them turn so sinister? Why was she here, really? What could he possibly want with her?

Where was her soon-to-be husband?

The fear was so thick she could almost taste it. It was choking her, making her gasp for air.

The door opened all the way.

It wasn't him

Someone had found her, somehow; someone was going to rescue her. She should have been happy, should have been laughing with relief. But instead she began to cry in earnest.

Jen woke up with a gasp, blinking in the darkness. She felt sweat running down her face, tasted salty tears in her mouth. It was the old nightmare that had plagued her on and off for a month. She hadn't told anyone; didn't want to bother them. She rarely, if ever, talked about the helpless feelings she'd had when she had been kidnapped by Tobey Maguire. She didn't want to burden anyone with her troubles.

But this time, she had woken her husband.

"Whassamatter?" Orli asked her groggily.

"Nothing," Jen muttered. "Nightmare. I'm fine now."

Orlando Bloom knew his wife wasn't being completely honest, but he shrugged and let it go at that. Jen might think nobody knew she still suffered from when she'd been kidnapped, but all three of her best friends had figured it out; even though they never spoke to each other about it, they all knew, and they knew the others knew too. Orlando remembered how he had been kidnapped, too, and even though it was the stuff of nightmares, he'd been more comfortable, held out hope, and at the end of the day realized that he was sure of what he was doing when he married Jen. It made him appreciate her all the more.

He wished she could see the same thing but knew that on this topic, she was beyond even his reach. He wanted to reach out and stroke her silky cheek, salty with her tears. He wanted to brush away those dried tears. It was the first time since he had proposed that he felt she was closed off from him, that there was a part of her life she didn't want him to be a part of. It hurt. He was worried about her, worried about what had happened to her, what she still felt from it. He wanted to shake her, beg her to talk, if not to him, at least to Michelle. He wanted to enfold her in his arms, let her break down and tell him what was wrong. He wanted to demand to know what was wrong. Talk to me, he wanted to cry out, tell me what's hurting you!

"What time is it?" he questioned instead, tactfully changing the subject.

Jen, with effort, refocused her eyes and glanced at the bedside clock. "Six in the morning. Sorry I woke you up so early."

"I had to get up in half an hour anyway," he reassured her. "Gotta be on the set early today."

"Why do you have to go right back to filming Ned Kelly?" Jen sighed. "We just got back from our honeymoon!"

Orli smiled affectionately down at her. "You'll be a famous star someday soon, with that beautiful voice of yours, and I will be the one begging you to stay home more."

Jen couldn't help smiling. "That's not likely."

Orlando returned the smile. "Just wait."

"Can I come and take pictures again?" Jen begged. She had carried a camera along to the set the past two times she had gone. Even though Michelle was more into photography, Jen wanted to capture Orlando in action and behind the scenes. Maybe someday I'll be famous for my photography, she thought amusedly, not serious.

"You know I would love you there, but I don't think they want anyone this time. Nobody told me why," Orli explained apologetically, explaining nothing.

"That's all right, I have a meeting at two anyway," Jen said, disappointed.

"What?" Orli asked, puzzled.

"Oh… nothing. I'm not really supposed to be talking about it yet, until I know for sure what's happening."

"And will that be today?"

"I hope so!" Jen cried.

Orlando scrutinized his wife. She looked nervous, face slightly flushed, hands twisted tightly together in her lap. He wondered why.

Jen felt badly about not being able to tell her husband what was on her mind, but she was too afraid of the rejection she felt sure she was going to face. She hadn't even told Michelle, and she told her best friend everything.

Orli shrugged and turned away slightly. "I better go get ready."

"You're not mad, are you?" Jen asked anxiously. "I promise I will tell you everything at dinner tonight, but I don't know what's going to happen yet."

"It's fine," he assured her. "Whatever it is, I wish you luck. I'm sure you'll be fine; you always are."

"Yeah," Jen muttered as he left. "Always fine…" She remembered again the nightmare, and shuddered.

"Well, you don't have any references, really, but I heard the tape you sent in and I was delighted with it. I sent it to my boss. He's a very demanding man, but he's also very intelligent and recognizes something great when he hears it. I think he should find that you have exceptional talent. He informed me that he was running just a bit late today, so we'll have a few minutes to wait, and then he'll give us his decision." The lady smiled warmly at her. She looked to be in her early or mid-thirties. Her short blond hair curled under and gleamed in the light. Perfectly manicured fingernails drummed a polished wooden desk; her business suit had not a speck of dust on it. Jen looked at her nameplate: Barbara. In a pale green pantsuit she had just bought the week before, Jen felt intimidated despite the obvious friendliness emanating from the woman before her. She could barely breathe, she was so nervous. In just a few minutes she was about to find out what would make or break her dreams.

Barbara seemed to notice this and added, "There's a Starbucks downstairs, or if you would like to get something out of the vending machine up here, it might help you to relax a bit. I know it's hard, sweetie, waiting for someone else to decide your future."

Jen smiled weakly. "Thanks." She got up and ordered her favorite from Starbucks: a chocolate brownie Frappucino. She sipped it slowly as she rode the elevator back to the fourth floor. When she returned to Barbara's desk, there was a man standing next to her. Both were smiling.

Jen hardly dared believe that she had been accepted. Maybe they were smiling because they were sadists who were glad to make people unhappy… Her wild imagination raced as she struggled to breathe normally, to show these people she wasn't nervous.

They waited a moment, looking at her expectantly, then the man cleared his throat. Jen glanced at his nametag: John Walters. He began, slightly awkwardly as though he wasn't used to dealing with people much, and certainly not young, pretty women in their mid-twenties, "We receive many tapes every day. Most are disregarded when they are first listened to. Very few make it to the managers and founders of this company. I would like to begin by saying that the fact that I even heard your tape makes it exceptionally high quality with great promise. I can only accept a certain amount of people and we have very high standards for doing so.

"It can take over a year of hard work to make a compact disc of your own, Mrs. Bloom. It's a very demanding job and while few people have the strength of voice to be able to sound good on CD, even fewer have the strength of patience and determination to actually create the CD. I do not wish to take you on- (here it comes, Jen thought)- if you are not willing to devote yourself wholeheartedly to making an album. Do you think you have what it will take to produce your own CD?"

"I think I do, sir," Jen answered, breathless, afraid. He couldn't possibly mean what she thought he meant…

"Then I would be delighted to take you on," John Walters announced, creating the last bit of perfection that Jen needed in her life.

Orli was still out when she got home. She wasn't surprised; she didn't expect him until dark, although they were still going out to dinner. Still, she was disappointed. She wanted someone to share her good news with. So she picked up the phone and speed-dialed Michelle.

Michelle was sprawled comfortably on the couch in Josh's arms, contentedly watching a movie, when the phone rang.

"Stupid people," she muttered. "Don't they know better than the interrupt the Sacred Movie Night?" She glared at the phone on the end table as though to make it stop ringing.

When that didn't work, she succumbed to the inevitable and glanced at the Caller ID.

"Jen," she sighed. "Jen, Jen, Jen. I would have thought you, at least, would know better than to be calling right now."

"She's probably lonely," Josh reminded his wife. "Orlando's off filming today, from what I hear."

"Yeah, yeah," Michelle muttered, and picked up the phone.

Josh watched her. He had known her for years and had been through many of her mood swings. He loved watching her get irritated because she said and did the funniest things, like glaring at the phone to make it shut up. They were still newlyweds; everyone would tell them they were in the easiest stage of their marriage and they would have many problems down the road. But they'd never gotten into any serious fights. Michelle had a stubborn streak in her but her heart was big and soft and welcoming. Josh knew this as well as he knew every one of her funny little quirks and he loved her for it.

"Jen!" Michelle cried. Josh laughed out loud at the exaggerated delight in her voice. Michelle gave him a look, but looked as though she were trying to smother a giggle too.

"Jen dear," Michelle continued, a sweetness in her voice that Josh had the foresight to recognize as dangerous, "do you realize what night it is?"

Jen wasn't listening. "I GOT HIRED!" she screamed.

Michelle forgot about the Sacred Movie Night. She blinked.

"Umm… that's great, Jen. What?"

"DID YOU NOT HEAR ME? I GOT HIRED!"

Michelle blinked again and pulled the phone a full foot away from her ear, not only for Josh's benefit but also because the loud noise was hurting her ear. She could still hear Jen screaming even when the handset was that far away and was fighting a mad desire to giggle endlessly. Michelle cautiously brought the phone in close to her and placed her mouth an inch from the receiver, to yell, "Stop yelling! We can both hear you just fine. Even with the stupid phone halfway across the room."

"She's only exaggerating slightly!" Josh called from somewhere in the background.

"Now, can you say that again?" Michelle asked, ignoring Josh but laughing silently.

"Oh, all right," Jen muttered, only slightly daunted, determined not to let even Michelle's irritation ruin her happiness. "I was talking to some people about hiring me…"

"I got that part," Michelle said evenly, voice still completely calm. "But, see, I could have sworn you just told me you got hired, when I wasn't even made aware that you were applying for any position, and that's what I'm having a little trouble taking in, here." Jen had known Michelle much longer than Josh and knew that she always got hyped over the little things, but rarely over anything of real importance, like, oh, say, this.

"Oh, it is IMPOSSIBLE to talk to you!" Jen cried. "I thought it would be impossible to annoy me today…"

"Alas, but the morning is a complete waste if I have not accomplished at least six impossible things before lunch," Michelle said dramatically. At this, Josh burst out laughing. Michelle gave him a rude look and walked out of the room, the Sacred Movie Night having already been interrupted, anyway (the movie was on pause).

"Okay, do you want to hear this or not?" Jen demanded. "Because if you don't, I could always just call someone else…"

"Oh, all right." Michelle sighed, like she was doing Jen some great favor. Then she smiled, even though she knew her friend couldn't see her. "What's the big news?"

"Well, you're always telling me I have such a wonderful voice…" Jen began, clearly trying to milk the suspense, but it wasn't working.

"Unless you're going off in some completely random direction, which I wouldn't put past you, are you trying to tell me you got a deal with a record company?" Michelle interrupted, voice going slightly shrill with belief and disbelief at the same time. Belief, because she had always known Jen would make it big if she wanted to; disbelief, because she was having a hard time taking it all in and still couldn't believe Jen hadn't even hinted at what she had been trying to do.

"YES!" Jen screamed.

"Jen, that's great!" Michelle cried. "I have always told you that you have a wonderful voice, I knew you could do it if you wanted to!"
"Gee, thanks," Jen laughed, flattered.

"But," Michelle continued, only deflating Jen's spirits slightly, "I do think you should have told me!"

"I didn't even tell Orli!" Jen objected.

At these words Michelle sat down heavily on the nearest object, which happened to be the dog, who yelped in protest and gave Michelle a hurt look before scampering off. "Sorry," she muttered to the dog, then sat down on a table instead. "It's happening," she announced dramatically to Jen.

"What?" Jen cried, alarmed.

"Our husbands are taking priority over ourselves," Michelle declared. "Orlando is more likely to hear your news than I am."

"Oh, get over it," Jen snorted. "I live with Orlando. You were always the first person to hear my news when we lived together."

Michelle laughed despite herself. "Right."

Jen had to smile too.

Michelle abruptly changed the topic. "Hey, so who's writing the songs?"

"Some I was going to try to write, others they're helping with, and I was hoping for a little help from old friends," Jen stated.

"I resent that. I am not old," Michelle declared.

"So you'll help?" Jen said, knowing she would.

"I could try," Michelle began.

"That would be enough," Jen interrupted. Then, obviously realizing something, she gasped. "I interrupted the Sacred Movie Night, didn't I? Oh, I'm sooo sorry! It's just that Orlando isn't home, and I wanted somebody to share my good news with…"

"Yes, you did, and I was going to yell at you, but that's all right. This is more important," Michelle said, barely able to stifle a laugh.

When Jen hung up the phone, Michelle didn't return to the movie right away. She hesitated as her hand hovered over a pen on the table she was sitting on. Then, making up her mind, she grabbed the pen and ran upstairs, to the guest room, where she and Josh went when they wanted to be alone for a while. It was quiet there, with a good view and a CD player. Michelle put in a CD with fast music, grabbed a few sheets of paper and began to write. The words flowed right off the pen; they were coming almost faster than she could write them down. A pleasant little ditty was ringing in her head; it came with the words.

Chorus:

Don't take my hand

If you don't want my heart

You need to know what I need

Right from the start

Baby are you ready

To give me a call?

Cuz I want your love

I want it all

You say you love me

Well I've heard that before

I've had plenty of boys

Come knocking at my door

I need to know you're different

That you won't just leave me

I've only got one heart

Show me I can give you the key

She hesitated there. Was it even the kind of song that would flatter Jen's voice? Oh well, she thought resignedly. That's for someone else to decide. I'm just doing the writing.

Orlando came in twenty minutes late. He looked tired but gamely agreed to having dinner out. Over a candlelit dinner of steak and potatoes, Jen told him her news. His reaction was almost identical to Michelle's.

"Why didn't you tell me?" he cried.

"I told you this morning," Jen reminded him, "I didn't want to tell anyone unless I got the deal."

"Did you tell anyone?" he wondered, thinking of Michelle.

"Nope," Jen responded. "Not even her."

"Bet she was happy," Orli murmured to himself.

Jen heard. "She was."

Orlando grinned and changed the topic. "So how are you getting songs to sing?" he asked.

"Some they're going to provide and sort of edit so it 'flatters' my voice, some I'm going to attempt to write, and I asked Michelle to see what she could come up with…"
"You didn't think I could come up with anything good?" Orli interjected, pretending to be hurt.

Jen laughed. "You're welcome to try, but I thought you were an actor."

"With 'amazing looks going for me,' right?" Orli joked, quoting something Jen had said on their honeymoon.

"Actually, what I said was, great looks," Jen teased.

"Whatever," Orli muttered, grinning despite himself. "I didn't know you liked writing."

"I don't, usually. But I'm going to try, for this," Jen declared.

"With plenty of help, right?"

Jen laughed. "But of course."

Later that night, happily in bed, Jen thought about what she was doing with her life, accepting this job. She thought she was ready for it. That wasn't what was bothering her. She was thinking about her married life… candlelit dinners and dates, children, the sheer joy that comes from being half of a perfect couple… She wasn't really losing any of that, she knew, but she would have to put her life on hold for a while if she was going to fully devote herself to singing. Children would have to wait. She sighed. How did Orlando and Josh, and even Michelle, handle life? They were all famous in their own ways, especially Josh and Orli. Everyone knew who they were.

"Everyone knows who you are too," Orli reminded her.

Jen started. She hadn't realized she'd been talking aloud. "What are you talking about?" she asked, confused.

"All four of us are famous, Jen. When you accepted my proposal, you became famous, in a sense. Remember the Entertainment Weekly story, with us all over the cover?"

"Yeah," Jen sighed dreamily. "That was funny, wasn't it?"

"Yes, it was." Jen could hear the smile in Orlando's voice. "You don't have to worry, Jen. I'm glad you got this job. It's something you've always wanted, isn't it?"

"Yes," Jen began, "but…"

"Your life does not have to be put on hold, Jen, just because you have something to devote yourself to. I will always be here. Children can wait. I didn't think we were ready for them anyway. I love you, Jen. I want you to be happy."

Jen felt herself drifting off to sleep. A thousand images flashed through her mind as she listened to the voice of the man she loved. She saw herself, dripping wet in that fountain in Las Vegas, Orli pulling her down with him. We'll always be together, for better or worse, she thought in remembrance. She saw Michelle as she was right before her wedding, nervous, fear evident on her face. She heard herself reassuring her; saw Josh's face as Michelle walked down the aisle. She saw herself as she had looked on her own wedding day; saw Orli waiting for her at the end of that long walk. She saw him walking over to her at the party where they had first met. She saw, as though from a distance, the two of them on their first date, with Josh and Michelle; remembered how envious she felt as she watched them chatting easily and wished she could think of something to say to Orlando. And right before she fell asleep, she saw a face, young, very young, with a small amount of fuzz for hair and brilliant hazel eyes that smiled up at her with love and trust.

She didn't have the nightmare that night.