The Eyes of Darkness

long ago, she had loved him very much. Now she couldn't imagine how or why she had ever cared.
    "Michael, in case you haven't heard, Magyck! is a hit. A big hit. Huge."
    "Sure," he said. "I know that, baby. And I'm happy for you. I'm happy for you and me. Now that you've proved whatever you needed to prove, you can relax."
    "Michael, I intend to continue working as a producer. I'm not going to—"
    "Oh, I don't expect you to give it up," he said magnanimously.
    "You don't, huh?"
    "No, no. Of course not. It's good for you to have something to dabble in. I see that now. I get the message. But with Magyck! running successfully, you won't have all that much to do. It won't be like before."
    "Michael—" she began, intending to tell him that she was going to stage another show within the next year, that she didn't want to be represented by only one production at a time, and that she even had distant designs on New York and Broadway, where the return of Busby Berkeley-style musicals might be greeted with cheers.
    But he was so involved with his fantasy that he wasn't aware that she had no desire to be a part of it. He interrupted her before she'd said more than his name. "We can do it, Tina. It was good for us once, those early years. It can be good again. We're still young. We have time to start another family. Maybe even two boys and two girls. That's what I've always wanted."
    When he paused to lick his ice-cream cone, she said, "Michael, that's not the way it's going to be."
    "Well, maybe you're right. Maybe a large family isn't such a wise idea these days, what with the economy in trouble and all the turmoil in the world. But we can take care of two easily enough, and maybe we'll get lucky and have one boy and one girl. Of course we'll wait a year or so. I'm sure there's a lot of work to do on a show like Magyck! even after it opens. We'll wait until it's running smoothly, until it doesn't need much of your time. Then we can—"
    "Michael, stop it!" she said harshly.
    He flinched as if she'd slapped him.
    "I'm not feeling unfulfilled these days," she said. "I'm not pining for the domestic life. You don't understand me one bit better now than you did when we divorced."
    His expression of surprise slowly settled into a frown.
    She said, "I didn't make up that story about someone breaking into the house just so you could play the strong, reliable man to my weak, frightened female. Someone really did break in. I came to you because I thought . . . I believed . . . Well, that doesn't matter anymore."
    She turned away from him and started toward the rear entrance of the hotel, out of which they'd come a few minutes ago.
    "Wait!" Michael said. "Tina, wait!"
    She stopped and regarded him with contempt and sorrow.
    He hurried to her. "I'm sorry. It's my fault, Tina. I botched it. Jesus, I was babbling like an idiot, wasn't I? I didn't let you do it your way. I knew what you wanted to say, but I should have let you say it at your own speed. I was wrong. It's just—I was excited, Tina. That's all. I should've shut up and let you get around to it first. I'm sorry, baby." His ingratiating, boyish grin was back. "Don't get mad at me, okay? We both want the same thing—a home life, a good family life. Let's not throw away this chance."
    She glared at him. "Yes, you're right, I do want a home life, a satisfying family life. You're right about that. But you're wrong about everything else. I don't want to be a producer merely because I need a sideline to dabble in, Dabble! Michael, that's stupid. No one gets a show like Magyck! off the ground by dabbling. I can't believe you said that! It wasn't a fling. It was a mentally and physicaly debilitating experience—it was hard —and I loved every minute of it! God willing, I'm going to do it again. And again and again. I'm going to produce shows that'll make Magyck! look amateurish by comparison. Some day I may also be a mother again. And I'll be a damn good mother too. A good mother and a good producer. I have the intelligence and the talent to be more than just one thing. And I certainly can be more than just your trinket and your housekeeper."
    "Now, wait a minute," he said, beginning to get angry. "Wait just a damn minute. You don't—"
    She interrupted him. For years she had been filled with hurt and bitterness. She had never vented any of her black anger because, initially, she'd wanted to hide it from Danny; she hadn't wanted to turn him against his father. Later, after Danny was