Just last week the town's favorite gossip column had once again turned the media spotlight on her:


Heiress Molly Somerville, the estranged wife of Stars Quarterback Kevin Tucker, has been keeping a low profile in the Windy City. Has it been boredom or a broken heart over her failed marriage to Mr. Football? No one has seen her at any of the city's nightspots, where Tucker still shows up with his foreign lovelies in tow.


At least the column hadn't said Molly "dabbled at writing children's books." That had stung, although lately she hadn't even been able to dabble. Every morning she told herself this would be the day she'd come up with an idea for a new Daphne book or even an article for Chik, and every morning she'd find herself staring at a blank piece of paper. In the meantime her financial situation was deteriorating. She desperately needed the second part of the advance payment she was due to receive for Daphne Takes a Tumble, but Helen still hadn't approved it.

The restaurant's colorful décor suddenly seemed too bright, and the lively chatter jangled her nerves. She'd told no one about her block, especially not the woman sitting across from her. Now she spoke carefully. "I want this next book to be really special. I've been tossing around a number of ideas, but-"

"No, no." Helen held up her hand. "Take your time. We understand. You've been through a lot lately."

If her editor wasn't concerned about not getting a manuscript, why had she invited her to lunch? Molly rearranged one of the tiny corn masa boats on her plate. She'd always loved them, but she'd been having trouble eating since the miscarriage.

Helen touched the rim of her margarita glass. "You should know that we've had some inquiries from SKIFSA about the Daphne books."

Helen mistook Molly's stunned expression. "Straight Kids for a Straight America. They're an antigay organization."

"I know what SKIFSA is. But why are they interested in the Daphne books?"

"I don't think they would have looked at them if there hadn't been so much press about you. The news reports apparently caught their attention, and they called me several weeks ago with some concerns."

"How could they have concerns? Daphne doesn't have a sex life!"

"Yes, well, that didn't stop Jerry Falwell from outing Tinky Winky on the Teletubbies for being purple and carrying a purse."

"Daphne's allowed to carry a purse. She's a girl."

Helen's smile seemed forced. "I don't think the purse is the issue. They're… concerned about possible homosexual overtones."

It was a good thing Molly hadn't been eating, because she would have choked. "In my books?"

"I'm afraid so, although there haven't been any accusations yet. As I said, I think your marriage caught their attention, and they saw a chance for publicity. They asked for an advance look at Daphne Takes a Tumble, and since we didn't foresee any problems, we sent them a copy of the mock-up. Unfortunately, that was a mistake."

Molly's head was beginning to ache. "What possible concerns could they have?"

"Well…they mentioned that you use a lot of rainbows in all of your books. Since that's a symbol for gay pride…"

"It's become a crime to use rainbows?"

"These days it seems to be," Helen said dryly. "There are a few other things. They're all ridiculous, of course. For example, you've drawn Daphne giving Melissa a kiss in at least three different books, including Tumble."

"They're best friends!"

"Yes, well…" Like Molly, Helen had given up any pretense of eating, and she crossed her arms on the edge of the table. "Also, Daphne and Melissa are holding hands and skipping down Periwinkle Path. There's some dialogue."

"A song. They're singing a song."

"That's right. The lyrics are 'It's spring! It's spring! We're gay! We're gay!'"

Molly laughed for what seemed the first time in two months, but her editor's tight-lipped smile sobered her. "Helen, you're not seriously telling me they think Daphne and Melissa are getting it on?"

"It's not just Daphne and Melissa. Benny-"

"Hold it right there! Even the most paranoid person couldn't accuse Benny of being gay. He's so macho that he-"

"They've pointed out that he borrows a lipstick in Daphne Plants a Pumpkin Patch."

"He uses it to make his face scary so he can frighten Daphne! This is so ludicrous it doesn't even deserve a response."

"We agree. On the other hand, I'd be less than truthful if I didn't admit we're a little edgy about this. We think SKIFSA wants to use you to raise their profile, and they're going to do it by zeroing in on Daphne Takes a Tumble."

"So what? When the fringe groups started accusing J. K. Rowling of Satanism in the Harry Potter books, her publisher ignored it."

"Forgive me, Molly, but Daphne isn't quite as well known as Harry Potter."

And Molly didn't have either J. K. Rowling's clout or her money. The possibility of Helen's authorizing the rest of her advance seemed to be growing more remote by the minute.

"Look, Molly, I know this is ridiculous, and Birdcage is standing behind the Daphne books one hundred percent-there's no question about that. But we're a small company, and I thought it was only fair to tell you that we're getting a fair amount of pressure about Daphne Takes a Tumble."

"I'm sure it'll disappear as soon as the press lets go of the story about… about my marriage."

"That may take a while. There's been so much speculation…" She let her words trail off, subtly hinting for details.

Molly knew it was the air of mystery around her marriage that was keeping the press interested, but she refused to comment on it, and so did Kevin. His courteous, formal calls to check up on her had finally stopped at her insistence. From the time he'd learned of her pregnancy right through her miscarriage, his behavior had been faultless, and the resentment she felt whenever she thought of him made her ashamed, so she stopped thinking about him.

"We think it's a good idea to be cautious now." Her editor slipped an envelope from the folder she had at her side and passed it across the table. Unfortunately, it was too large to contain a check.

"Luckily, Daphne Takes a Tumble hasn't gone into final production yet, and that gives us a chance to make a few of the changes they're suggesting. Just to avoid any misunderstanding."

"I don't want to make changes." The muscles tightened in a painful band around Molly's shoulders.

"I understand, but we think-"

"You told me you loved the book."

"And we're totally committed. The changes I'm suggesting are very minor. Just look through them and think about it. We can talk more next week."

Molly was furious when she left the restaurant. By the time she got home, however, her anger had faded, and the bleak sense of emptiness she couldn't shake off settled over her once again. She tossed aside the envelope with Helen's suggestions and went to bed.

Lilly wore the shawl Mallory had given her to the J. Paul Getty Museum. She stood on one of the curved balconies that made the museum so wonderful and gazed out over the hills of Los Angeles. The May day was sunny, and if she turned her head a bit, she could see Brentwood. She could even make out the tile roof of her house. She'd loved the house when she and Craig first found it, but now all the walls seemed to be closing in on her. Like so much else in her life, it was more Craig's than hers.

She slipped back inside the museum, but she paid little attention to the old masters on the wall. It was the Getty itself she loved. The cluster of ultramodern buildings with their wonderful balconies and unpredictable angles formed a work of art that pleased her far more than the precious objects inside. A dozen times since Craig's death she'd ridden the sleek white tram that carried visitors to the hilltop museum. The way the buildings enfolded her made her feel as if she'd become part of the art-frozen in time at the moment of perfection.

People magazine had showed up on the stands today with a two-page story about Kevin and his mystery marriage. She'd fled here to escape a nearly overwhelming urge to pick up the phone and call Charlotte Long, the woman who was her only inside source of information about Kevin. It was May, and the marriage and separation had taken place three months ago, but she didn't know anything more now than she had then. If only she could call Charlotte Long without worrying that she'd tell Kevin.

As she headed down the staircase and into the courtyard, she tried to figure out how to keep herself busy for the rest of the day. No one was banging on her door begging her to star in a new film. She didn't want to start another quilting project because it would give her too much time to think, and she'd had more than enough of that lately. The breeze loosened a lock of hair and whipped it against her cheek. Maybe she should stop worrying about the consequences and just give in to the urge to call Charlotte Long. But how much pain did she want to put herself through when she couldn't see any possibility of a happy ending?

If only she could see him.

Chapter 7

Should I overdose on pills? Daphne asked herself. Or jump from the top of a very tall tree? Oh, where was that handy carbon monoxide leak when a girl needed it? Daphne's Nervous Breakdown (notes for a never-to-be-published manuscript)

"I'm fine", Molly told her sister every time they talked.

"Why don't you come out to the house this weekend? I promise, you won't find a single copy of People around. The irises are beautiful, and I know how much you love May."

"This weekend's not good. Maybe next."

"That's what you said the last time we talked."

"Soon, I promise. It's just that I've got so many things going right now."

It was true. Molly had painted her closets, pasted photos in albums, cleaned out files, and groomed her sleepy poodle. She did everything but work on the revisions she'd finally been forced to agree to do because she needed the rest of her advance money.

Helen wanted some dialogue changed in Daphne Takes a Tumble as well as three new drawings. Two would show Daphne and Melissa standing farther apart, and in the third, Benny and his friends were to be eating cheese sandwiches instead of hot dogs. Everyone had scoured Daphne with the most lascivious of adult minds. Helen had also asked Molly to make changes in the text of two older Daphne books that were going back to press. But Molly had done none of it, not out of principle, although she wished that were the case, but because she couldn't concentrate.

Her friend Janine, who was still stung over SKIFSA'S condemnation of her own book, was upset that Molly hadn't told Birdcage to go to hell, but Janine had a husband who made their mortgage payment every month.

"The kids miss you," Phoebe said.

"I'll call them tonight. I promise."

She did call them, and she managed to do all right with the twins and Andrew. But Hannah broke her heart.

"It's because of me, isn't it, Aunt Molly?" she whispered. "That's why you don't want to come over anymore. It's because the last time you were here, I said I was sad that your baby died."

"Oh, sweetheart…"

"I didn't know I wasn't supposed to talk about the baby. I promise, I won't ever, ever say anything again."

"You didn't do anything wrong, love. I'll come over this weekend. We'll have a great time."

But the trip only made her feel worse. She hated being responsible for the worry that clouded Phoebe's face, and she couldn't bear the soft, considerate way Dan spoke to her, as if he were afraid she would shatter. Being with the children was even more painful. As they looped their arms around her waist and demanded she come with them to see their newest projects, she could barely breathe.

The family was tearing her apart with their love. She left as soon as she could.

May slid into June. Molly sat down a dozen times to work on the drawings, but her normally agile pen refused to move. She tried to come up with an idea for a Chik article, but her mind was as empty as her bank account. She could make her mortgage payments through July, but that was all.

As one June day slipped into the next, little things began to get away from her. One of her neighbors set a sack of mail he'd pulled from her overflowing mailbox outside her door. Her laundry piled up, and dust settled over her normally tidy condo. She got a cold and had trouble shaking it off.