Here’s my RPF about PM’s bday: Gillian’s publicist emails her just before noon. « It’s Peter’s birthday tomorrow, » she writes, « do you want to sign the card? » Gillian sighs as she reads it, lying in the sun poolside in LA. « Please sign it for me, » she taps in her reply. « I’m out of town right now. » Then she tucks her phone away and rolls onto her stomach so David can finish rubbing sunscreen onto her back, teasing her by pretending he’s going to untie her bikini top as he works, making her laugh.