Locklear's petition for a divorce "was a very, very painful decision," a friend says of the couple (with daughter Ava in San Diego in '05). "But it was one they both agreed to."
In the batting cage at Baseball City in Agoura Hills, Calif., on Feb. 5, Heather Locklear was looking fine: her jeans tight, her white tank top showing off her L.A. tan, and – in defiance of house rules – her trademark blonde mane flowing unencumbered by a helmet. And she was hitting hard: swing, crack, swoosh . . . swing, crack, swoosh. There in the cage, with her daughter Ava, 8 – who had been first up to bat – at her side, she was the picture of suburban bliss.
"They were having a lot of fun," says a witness of the girls' afternoon out. "She was laughing and cheering on Ava and having a great time." But after about 15 minutes, Ava said she was tired. So her mother put down her bat, climbed into her town car with Ava and called it a day. "Heather really did look good," says the witness. "All things considered."