Living in a Foreign Language Read Online Free

night at ten o’clock.”
    But I didn’t say anything. Instead, I recalled the lesson that Jesus had taught us the night before—that our path would reveal itself in unexpected ways. Yeah, but
this
unexpected? Don Ohlmeyer as the angel of destiny? It’s enough to shake your faith.
    Jill and I walked out of the hotel, arm in arm, into the warm May evening. We weren’t TV stars anymore, just people. It would take some getting used to, but we could do it. We’d have fun with it. Maybe we’d find a seminar—a week at Esalen—“Re-Humbling,” or “Embracing Your Obscurity.” Hell, we started out as real people; it wouldn’t be so hard to get back to it.
    â€œOh my God!” A woman who was checking in to the hotel with her family recognized us.
    â€œCan you wait here one second? I’ll be right back!”
    She herded her husband and three small children over to where we were standing. She knelt by her children and admonished them sternly.
    â€œYou look very carefully at these two people, you hear me?”
    She pointed to us like we were a stop sign.
    â€œThey are on TV. And one day when you’re older you’llsee them on reruns and know who they are. These are real live stars.”
    She didn’t know we were already on reruns.
    â€œNow, give each one an autograph. I want you to sign, ‘You met me at the Beverly Hilton Hotel.’ Then sign one for Elizabeth, one for Peter James and one for little Jessica. Do you have a pen?”
    I told her I didn’t and she looked at me with contempt. I borrowed a pen and paper from the doorman and we signed the autographs. Then she had her husband take pictures of us with all of the children and then with each one separately. She thought she owned us.
    While they were snapping away I felt Jill squeeze my hand, which meant, “Let’s get out of here.” I looked over my shoulder and saw an empty taxi with its door hanging open. Thank you, Jesus! We jumped in and snuggled down into the cracked leather seats like two kids playing hide-and-seek. We held hands and I felt a sudden rush of relief mixed with euphoria mixed with an optimism I’d never felt before—I knew I could get through anything as long as I could hold her hand. After a while the driver turned around.
    â€œWhere ya headed?”
    Damned if we knew. The only thing clear to me—crystal clear—was that if I had a choice between spending an evening with Jesus Christ or with Don Ohlmeyer, I wouldn’t have to think for a second.
    We opened our windows to get rid of the old-taxi smell and gave him our address. It was no limo, but it would get us home.

Three
    W E FOUND OUR CIRCLE OF PINES —right outside the bedroom window of a rambling old house in Marin County, Northern California. We found a great school for our son, Max, and we got to know a whole new group of friends. The Bay Area is a food lover’s paradise, so we gave up nothing on that score. We would go back to L.A. for the occasional TV movie or guest shot; or do a play maybe once a year in San Francisco or Marin; but mostly we focused on things other than career. It was the first time since we’d been together that a job—or the promise of a job—didn’t dictate where and how we lived, which was liberating and frightening at the same time. While we were trying to figure out what was next, Jill reminded me that our life had always worked best when the two of us were good together, solidly in love. We knew if we could get that part right everything else would fall into place just fine. So we decided to use our newfound freedom and time to explore . . . well, each other.
    We took courses. Marin County is the world center ofself-improvement so we had no trouble finding courses, seminars and weekend retreats in which to delve into the more arcane aspects of the “man / woman paradigm.” We took lots of courses in communication;