I made one last promise to God. If I could just fall asleep, I’d find Nicole and apologize.

I sped down Ventura Boulevard on my way to the gym, chewing an energy bar and humming to Wilson Philips. Since the night with Roger, I’d sworn off coke and hard alcohol, largely due to the reaming Penny gave me for missing my auditions. Now, after almost a month of good sleep, diet, and exercise, I was feeling more like my old self again. Most importantly, I hadn’t called Peter once. Though that was the hardest of my withdrawals.

It was noon and I turned the dial to Dr. Dave, the radio shrink. He usually gave sage relationship advice. I’d even thought about calling in myself.

“This is Dr. Dave, who am I speaking with?”

“Margaret in Bakersfield.”

“Hello Margaret, what can I do you for?”

“My boyfriend broke up with me and I haven’t been able to get over him.”

“You and me both,” I commiserated.

“How long were you together?”

“Two years,” the caller said.

“How long since the breakup?”

“I’m ashamed to say it’s been a year. I just can’t stop thinking about him.”

“Have you talked to him about why you broke up?” the Doctor asked.

“He won’t see me. But I honestly feel like I just need some answers before I can move on.”

A car honked behind me. I’d been listening so intently I had slowed under the speed limit. I waved him past and pulled over to the side of the road. This woman was telling my story.

“Well Margaret, it sounds like you need closure. You can get closure on your own, but it often takes therapy. Does that sound like an option?”

“Mmm. I don’t know.”

“Perhaps you could ask the gentleman if he wouldn’t mind having one more conversation with you, to help you move on.”

One more conversation! That was exactly what I needed. Our hiatus would end in August and Circle of Life would soon be back in production. I had been anxious about what it would be like once we returned but Dr. Dave had nailed it. I needed to seek closure before we were back on set. I pulled back on the road, made a U-turn, and headed for Laurel Canyon. Twenty minutes later, I parked in Peter’s driveway.

As I approached the front door, I felt supremely calm, composed, and sure of my motives.

Velma, our housekeeper, the housekeeper I had hired, answered the door.

“Hi, Velma. Is Pete here?” I kept my voice steady and unemotional. Aware that the last time she’d seen me, I screamed while hurling dishes at the floor.

“Well now, Miss Gold! It’s so nice to see you.” Velma’s blue eyes darted around nervously. “Mr. Hamlet’s not at home.”

“His car is here,” I said, holding the door open.