Free Love in Vogue by Eve Bourton

of her success. On nights like these she wanted to be young again, running barefoot along the shore at La Jolla with suntanned Californian kids who never went home, always laughing, having fun, making love, dreaming of impossibly gilded futures and never thinking the life they already had outdid all their dreams.
    Althea had realised her dream. It enclosed her, locking her tight in its opulent embrace. If she felt like it she could go anywhere she wanted – right then. The limousine was waiting, a private jet was always at her command. She could exchange her Malibu cage for one in London or New York. Or she could roam around, staying with friends whose activities fuelled the gossip columns. Her husband indulged her every whim, but he wasn’t there to share this beautiful night. He was almost never there. Big blond Hank, with his unromantic corporate mind; he would call soon and say how sorry he was to have missed the party, and she’d answer, ‘Oh, that’s OK’. Then they would talk awhile before she went to bed. Alone.
    Juanita appeared at the French windows. ‘Mr Pedersen’s on the line, ma’am.’
    Althea sauntered back into the house, by-passing the Art Deco telephone in the lounge for the more functional white extension in her bedroom. She lay back on the bed.
    ‘Hey, Althea, what kept you?’
    ‘The sea and the stars, darling.’
    ‘Had a good time?’
    ‘Divine.’
    ‘Sorry I missed the party, but you know how these guys tie me up here. If I didn’t keep an eye on them – you know how it is. …’
    ‘It’s OK, Hank. So how rotten is the Big Apple today – tonight, rather? And what are you doing up so late?’
    ‘I got caught up with paperwork.’
    ‘Bad boy. Did you take your ginseng and that new vitamin supplement?’
    ‘Sure. Who came, then? Did Brett Gallway show?’
    ‘Yes – and with Mrs Gallway too. She’s a real cutie. He’s not so bad either, considering he earned ten million bucks for his last picture. By the way, I think I’ve found Vic Bernitz the lead for his next movie. There’s a business tie-in which might interest you.’
    ‘Really?’
    ‘It might just add Paris as a province to your perfumery empire.’
    Hank whistled.
    ‘I told you, I’m keeping it on ice for now.’
    ‘You’re so mean.’
    She laughed. ‘I knew that would wake you up.’ Then a pause. ‘I went to the clinic this morning.’
    ‘Yes?’ he said eagerly. ‘You got the results? What did they say?’
    ‘There is positively no reason why I shouldn’t be able to conceive a child.’
    He didn’t answer for some moments, but a sigh indicated how deeply the news had affected him. ‘So it’s me, then?’
    ‘Looks like it, Hank. They’ll have your results through next week.’ Suddenly she longed to hold him, to comfort him, to tell him it didn’t make any difference to the way they felt for each other. ‘Don’t beat yourself up over it. You can’t help it.’
    ‘Surely we could do something?’
    ‘If you were home more often, didn't work so hard. We’re never together at the right time.’
    ‘It must be more than that, Althea. Damn it, we’ve been married six years. I thought it would work out. I’m sorry. I always wanted kids.’
    ‘Me too.’ She tried to rally, sound optimistic. ‘There’s treatment available. You could …’
    ‘Let’s talk about it some other time, hey, honey? I don’t feel like it right now.’
    ‘Tired?’
    ‘Very.’
    ‘Goodnight, sweetheart. I love you. I love you very much.’
    ‘I love you too.’ He was about to ring off, then thought better of it. ‘Althea?’
    ‘Hmm?’
    ‘Will you fly over here tomorrow? I really miss you, and it doesn’t look as though I’ll be able to get away.’
    ‘OK. Send a car to the airport.’
    ‘See you tomorrow.’
    She put down the receiver, then told Juanita to prepare for the journey. The house seemed horribly empty. Time for bed. Althea was tired, but she hated that bed. A big, plush, springy bed, just for