A bridge

Karen walked into the living room and overheard Gary speaking into the phone –

“I’m going to shoot her,” he said, his voice quiet and low. “As long as she doesn’t know it. She always makes a big scene out of things, carries on like you-know-what.”

Karen feigned to hear what the other end of the line was saying.

“No,” Gary said. “Karen doesn’t suspect a thing. And if the girl doesn’t cooperate, I’m going to redo the scene and have her cross the bridge. Watch that thing collapse …”

Karen shuddered and she felt an icicle stab her in the chest. But then she looked down and, no – no icicle.

“Buy, Charley. I’ll let you know how it goes. Course, you’ll hear about it in the trade papers. Her people always publicize the hell out of everything.”

Karen hid herself behind the high-backed chair and peeked out. Gary fiddled with the desk – something inside, she imagined. A gun! He would shoot her then. And if he didn’t, he’d take her for a walk across the Brooklyn Bridge, and that’d be the end of her, or –

“Karen, honey, what’re you doing behind that chair?”

Her throat froze up and she couldn’t say a word. What does a girl say when her husband’s trying to kill her? The old story, and this was Karen’s time.

“Anyway, I’m going to the studio. I have to shoot a scene with Carmina del Aranta. The diva’s been nothing but trouble in this movie. And tomorrow we’ve got to shoot that scene on the San Luis Rey bridge. She’s no Pollyanna, that one –“

Karen exploded in laughter.