Island of Despair

A half-hour later there was a knock at the door of my suite. I looked through the peephole, and there stood an attractive, thin woman. She was tastefully dressed, but with a hint of slutty. I asked what she wanted through the door.

"Your wife sent me," she said seemingly confused by my reaction.

"Sent you for what?" I posed. "I just spoke with her and she didn't mention anyone coming to my room. What do you want?"

"Want?" she was looking down one end of the hallway and up the other as if she was looking for someone, or maybe at someone who was just out of my sight. "I came at her request, to... have some fun?" that last word was formed as a question.

"I don't believe you," I stated adamantly. "I'm working tonight. Go away and take Charles' goons with you."

She was bewildered, and stood there for a full minute longer trying to figure out if she should leave, I guessed. Finally, she turned towards the elevator, and that was the end of that.

Forty minutes later, Maria texted, Why did you send her away?

I called her directly. "What are you talking about, Maria?" I asked sourly. "How did you know about it?"

"Because," she sighed, "I sent her. I told you, well sort of, earlier. She's an expensive escort. I know daddy broke up your fun last night. I told you I was going to start making it up to you."

"First," I fumed, "I don't believe you or your father. "She was looking left and right nervously while waiting for me to open the door. I'm sure it was a ploy so your father's goons could get another shot at me."

"No," she replied sadly, "there was no one but her. Daddy doesn't know I hired her."

"Bullshit," I half-screamed, "second, I don't need a pity fuck from you or anyone else. Did you forget who I am? Anywhere in America, I can just walk up to a woman, show my million-dollar smile and simply ask. You remember who you married, right?"

"Yeah, I remember," she said even quieter than before. "I'm sorry this is so fucked up. When are you coming home?"

"Probably another week to ten days," I told her. "Do me a favor, move my stuff to the spare bedroom downstairs. And make sure the other two guest rooms upstairs are clean and ready for use."

"Why?" she asked.

"Not your business," I said starkly. "Just do what I ask. You'll see soon enough."

The next day I paid a visit to Sal's trailer for the second time in as many days. I tossed a check down on his desk. Call me old-fashioned, but I always carried just two with me in case the need arose.

"What's this?" Sal asked perplexed.

"Payment for my security detail," I stated frankly. "You can deposit it, or you can advance it like all of our other expenses, but either way, I want to make sure that Charles doesn't have any ability to shut it down, even for a short time."

Sal was a smart man. Besides being a wealthy movie mogul exec, he was likely connected with the Jewish mafia in Hollywood. I knew his cousin partially owned one of the larger porn studios in the valley. It didn't take him more than a few seconds to reach an understanding of what I'd said. He just nodded and put the check in his drawer.

I threw myself into my work. Many on the set who'd worked with me, previously, quickly noticed that I wasn't the 'Chase' they were used to. They saw a dark, angry side of me that last week in Atlanta. I tried to persuade a few that I was just in character, hoping it would stick. By the wrap-up, and our crews' time to pack up and head back for studio work, people had nicknamed me 'Tom Cruise Jr.' that assignation hurt. Tom was a motherfucker on set and made everyone miserable and anxious.

I walked into my house nine days after my last conversation with Maria. With me, were, Mark Templeton and Davis Reggiano. Both were huge men, but, they assured me, very agile. The list of celebs they'd done security for was impressive, to say the least.

Maria looked shocked as I introduced them to her. I asked if she'd made supper or was ordering in, and to get my two 'friends' orders before calling out. I showed the men to their rooms so they could get settled.

After dinner - it ended up being take-out - and putting Matthew down, she asked to speak privately.

"What is this?" she asked in an upset tone. "Why are they here?"

"You know why, Maria," I said ambivalently, "or at least you should. Daddy's muscle better not fuck with me anymore. You tell him, alright? You care about me as you claim, then you tell him. I'll use any and all resources to end his ass." That was melodramatic, but I was feeling a lot better with the protection.

"Chase," she looked demoralized. "Just stop all this, please. We can move forward. I know you hate him, and probably me, but challenging him will only make things worse. He doesn't lose - ever."

"Stop, Maria," I said in a more subdued tone. "Just stop. Fuck your dad, if just for a minute. You did this. You fucked Dak and got pregnant. You fucked up a lot of people's lives, including your son's. You made a fool of me, and dear ole' dad is just putting the finishing touches on that. Stop acting like anything between us is ever going to be okay again. It isn't. You've never once apologized to me, and now after all this time has passed, I won't ever care if you do. You've got a man, not a husband, by contract. By threats and intimidation. You've got a bastard son I won't ever bond with.

"You won't ever work in this town again if I have anything to say about it. At best, you'll be doing smutty talk shows, playing the victim, and that will be your source of income unless daddy takes you in at some point. Once in a great while, I'll probably fuck you to get my rocks off, just like any other groupie. Eventually, your sweet daddy and I will have a showdown. I'll play the long game, plotting and scheming how to eventually destroy him.

"So stop hiring hookers and trying to make it up to me," I finished. "We aren't a thing anymore, and we never will be again. I'll skirt right up to the line of your father's agreement, but whatever love we had is already dead."

Maria's head drooped, her shoulders slumped, and she slunk away. Good. Finally, I was getting through. Maybe she'd get it now. Maybe, she'd call dad and tell him to go ahead and kill me.

>

Work was good for me. People eventually forget about gossip and old news, especially in Tinsel Town. Sal was treating me better, feeling more secure in his investment. Playing a lawyer was good for me too. My character was the proverbial good-guy family law attorney, complete with a conscience and a set of morals. Most of our episodes were loosely based on some Dateline saga, or weird internet stories about jilted spouses, mostly husbands.

I would come home at night, usually eat with my security guys, play some cards, or watch a ballgame afterward. Maria had tried those two weeks after I'd laid it all out for her, to remain in my good graces. She'd tell me about her day, or something Matthew did. I would listen, but I'd usually respond with very few words.

There was no affection, and really no friendship. Maria then became increasingly despondent. As we moved into the fourth month after the big reveal, Maria barely spoke at all.

A few weeks later, on the set, I was pulled aside for an emergency phone call. Maria had been taken to the hospital. A neighbor was looking after the baby.

I left, making a hurried exit, mostly for how it would be perceived on the set. Most of what I was doing these days centered almost wholly on my image. The doctor came to the nurses' station and pulled me aside.

"Mr. Burroughs," he began, "Your wife has had a nervous breakdown, in layman's terms. She's suffering from severe depression, most likely attributed to post-partum. The onset rarely begins this long after the child is born. Are there any other things happening in your lives that could be considered traumatic?"

I had to think twice about how to address his question. I wasn't about to be put in a bad light, or have someone at the hospital leak something that might start a scandal. I simply told the doctor that I'd started a new drama series, and that might have caused a big strain on our marriage. I lied when I told him that Maria seemed to feel morose for being tied down to the child, and unable to remain in the limelight.

I said that I thought it was a very difficult adjustment. I didn't know what else to say, or if he even believed me.

When he finally said that I could see my wife, I hesitated a few moments. I'm sure he picked up on that based on the scowl he wore. He led me into Maria's room. She looked peaceful sleeping. Medically sedated, it struck me she looked more peaceful than I'd seen her in months. It was hard not to feel for her. I'd been shoving all my love away; hiding it like a squirrel hides nuts. Some of it bubbled over, and a deep sob rose suddenly from my gut.

Sitting there next to her, I slowly nodded off. Sometime later, I heard her softly calling my name.

"Chase," she asked, as I stammered awake. "What are you doing here? Where's Matthew?"

"Matthew is fine, and he's with the nanny," I said. "Me? Well, I'm still your emergency contact. What happened to you?"

"I dunno," she answered with trepidation. "I'm just tired, I think. I've always dreamed of raising our child with my husband, kind of as a team, even before I met you. Now, I think I need to adjust to doing it on my own. Did you talk to the doctor?"

I told her what he'd said and the answers I gave. We discussed what and how much she should say. I also reminded her that Matthew wasn't our child, and that was the only problem that got us to where we were. I asked her to be careful not to slip while being asked questions. Strangely, the more we talked, the more we settled into some sort of truce.

"Chase," she finally said, "I don't want to fight with you. I know what I've done to us - first, by hooking up with Dak, and then by involving my father. I'm sorry for all of it. What I think would help both of us, is to just try to be civil to each other, as difficult as that may be."

"I don't know if I have it in me, Maria." I was being honest. "I can't turn off the anger, just like trying to turn off the love." Her eyes shot open, and I put both hands up, palms out.

"I knew you still loved me, even if just a little," she said softly. "I'll be nothing if not repentant if you'll let me. If you want to have sex with another woman, just bring her home. Take her to your room. I'll stay out of the way, and you've got your security guys, so daddy can't cause you problems. Once Matthew is old enough to remember things, we'll have to work something else out. I'm not asking for us to get back together, you made your feelings clear on that, and I get it. I just think if we can try to be friendly, we can get daddy to back out of our lives. I can't raise my son alone, with him breathing down my back, and you and me in constant conflict."

"Yeah," I replied. "Look, Maria, I'm just so damned mad about everything. I didn't mean to crush you, although you probably deserved it. We just hadn't ever talked about what happened without your father's interference. I can't promise we'll be friendly. Or at least I can't promise I'll be. But we can try. In the meantime, you need to be strong for Matthew, and I'll do my best."

I spoke to Sal the next morning. I wanted him to hear what I had planned, and to relay my conversation with Maria. We talked until the director came banging on his door.

"Listen," he coached, "I think you're doing the right thing for yourself and everyone else - certainly for the kid. Chase, I've been in this business a long time. Some of today's actors, as you well know, were sons and daughters of other famous people. Some, probably a disproportionate amount, find out later in life who their real father is. I'm not telling you to accept it, although many before you have. That's up to you. Right now, your biggest problem is that fucker, Charles Wilmington. You get him off your ass, and that gives you and Maria a second chance to figure this all out for yourselves - however it ends up."

So that's what I did. For most of the time up until Matthew's first birthday, I was still cool, and sometimes cold to Maria. She seemed to understand, or, maybe she just accepted it, like a punishment. I didn't feel comfortable bringing a woman to my home, so I was discreet in setting up the rendezvous online via email. The first time I met a woman named Rebecca at a hotel up the coast, Charles's goons showed up, but my guys caused a stand-off. I guess none of them were willing to lose their lives over a pissed-off father-in-law and a cheating actor.

Cheating actor - that's what I now was, if only because I was outplayed by Charles. I kept pushing that idea to the furthest recesses of my mind. It was Maria's fault anyway, I'd always tell myself. I was justified. Matthew's birthday party was the first I'd seen of Maria's family since her release from the hospital. It was the first time I'd seen Charles since the big reveal in my living room.

"I knew you'd see things my way," Charles's stupid voice said, coming up behind me while I was getting a beer from the cooler. "I see you and my daughter are getting on well, my boy."

I turned to see his face - something between an evil sneer and a smile of accomplishment. God, he was delusional, living in an alternate universe.

"Hello, Charles," I said, attempting an evil smirk of my own. "I haven't seen your henchmen in a while."

"No longer necessary, son," he replied, patting my shoulder. I felt soiled. "You've learned some valuable lessons since we last talked. Matching my muscle was wise, but learning to be more discreet was even wiser."

"You're a fucking idiot, you know that?" I spat. "You still think this is all going to end according to your plan, don't you? I can't wait to see the look on your face when you get tipped over. Believe me, I'll be there to see it."

"Now, now, Chase," Charles snickered. "I've been nothing but reasonable. First, I never expected you to forgive my daughter, did I? Hell, if her mother would have pulled something like that, she'd have been permanently missing pretty quickly. Second, I gave you the best way out of this situation. You have your life, she has hers, and my grandson doesn't grow up to be some twisted psycho. Nine or ten years, and you're free to get on with your life.

"They say everything a child needs to learn, they learn by age five. "I'm hedging my bet there. Time flies, Chase. You just keep being as reasonable as I am. You'll get your freedom, and I keep the family's integrity intact."

I wanted to go in the kitchen and get a knife and jam it through his damned throat. He knew, as I did, that things would cool, even normalize with time. He was counting on it. But I'd show them all. He changed the subject.

"One other thing, Chase," he said more seriously. "I've been keeping an eye on Mr. Bronson. I see he's having trouble getting any meaningful work. I suspect you have something to do with that, and I admire it. I'm sending over a revision to our agreement in the next few weeks, stating that in return for your continued cooperation, I'll cover his child support if he flies the coop, and I'll match those monthly payments in a college trust for Matthew."

"I don't care," I shrugged. "He's your family, not mine. I don't give a fuck what you pay for. Just do it, and skip the revised agreement. I don't need any money. Give it to Maria directly, and she can itemize what she buys for the kid, including food."

"Of course, young man," Charles chuckled at me and play-punched my arm. "Of course." He then walked away to rejoin the celebration.

One night, a few months later, as I returned late from a tryst with a fan, Maria was sitting in our living room with a glass of wine waiting for me. I told my guys I'd see them in the morning, grabbed a beer then sat down across from her.

"Why are you up so late?" I asked. "Trouble sleeping?"

"No," she sighed in response. "I have something to ask you." She hesitated for several moments as if trying to work out the right words. I just waited, sipping the beer.

"Do you think I could be one of your groupies?" she asked sweetly. "Just every once and a while?"

"What? You want to have sex with me?" I asked, laughing at her. Her poor sweet face fell.

"Maria," I said more seriously, "The problem isn't the physical thing. It's that I don't trust you. There's always some angle with you people."

She looked at me sadly, a single tear rolling down her right cheek. "I know," she whispered. "I'm just asking as a favor. I don't deserve it, but... I haven't had sex with anyone since... well the day before you went to Atlanta. That was the only time since the day daddy and I ambushed you right here in this room. I decided the following day that I would try celibacy. It was that, or sneaking around like you... sneaking around. I decided that I didn't want to be a woman, a wife, and a mother in a twisted, screwed-up marriage, which wasn't any kind of marriage at all, and still be a cheater. Even if I was discreet, I'd still know what I was doing. The therapist I've been seeing since my breakdown thinks I made a good choice. She calls it brave, but I don't know about all that. I just felt such horrible guilt over what I'd done to us, you know?"

The damned thing was she seemed sincere. Still, I didn't know. I'd clearly been wrong about her all along.

"When I've talked to her about my... issues, she told me that I had to learn how to deal with things by thinking them through. She told me since I was living with you and still loved you, that I should just ask you. She told me that if you said 'no,' then I'd be right where I am now, except that I'd have my answer and then could make other decisions based on that."

"See, Maria," I said leaning forward, "that's the thing about trust. I want to believe you, but I just can't. Sure I still find you attractive, but on the inside, well, I just don't see how we could."

"That's fair, Chase," she responded as if I'd thrown her a bone. "I'm only asking. I see you every day, and then I use my toy thinking about you at night. Maybe that sounds stupid to you, but I still think about you that way. Sometimes I'll watch one of your episodes. You look so damned hot in a suit. Anyway, if there's anything I can do to convince you, just name it."

I thought for a moment. "Well," I said, "no promises alright, but we'll need some condoms on hand if I ever decide it's okay."

"Oh," she said, defeated. "You don't believe I'm not seeing anyone."

"That's not it," I said quickly. "I'm seeing others, and I don't want Matthew's mother at risk."

Maria smiled, but it was with a forlornness and exacerbation of the 'catch twenty-two' she was in. Her expression showed her pain at even bringing it up in the first place. "I'm going to bed now, Chase," she stated flatly. "Thank you for listening to me."

Two weeks later, as we were shooting the season finale, I received a photo text.

It was Maria in a sexy negligée I'd gotten her for our first anniversary. Below the photo it said, Hoping you might want to celebrate the finale tonight. I know what you said, and I'm sorry if I'm being pushy. I just can't stand it anymore. Pleeease?

I had sex with Maria that night. I'd told Mark and Davis to take a night off, so we'd be alone in our home. There wasn't any love. I found it surprising and profoundly sad that I could screw my own wife like I did all those other women. Our love was truly dead, and I know she felt it too.

Maria and I had sex several nights over the next few months, and then it slowed to about once a month. As time passed, I poured myself into my work.

The show was doing very well. Maria attended Hollywood functions with me, as per my agreement with Charles. She stood on the red carpet next to me at the Emmys two years in a row. We'd go out to dinner a couple of times per month to be 'seen.'