Dating Game

by Danielle Steel

  Bix introduced her to Steven Ward, and Steven greeted her warmly. He looked to be in his early sixties.

  “I hear you two had quite an evening last night, and you almost delivered Jane's baby.”

  “It was very close,” Paris said with a grin, as Bix handed her a Bellini. It was champagne with a splash of peach juice, and when she tasted it, it was delicious. “I didn't think we'd make it.”

  “Neither did I,” Bix said honestly. “I figured if I didn't kill us in the car, we might all live through it. Pretty hairy.”

  “Very,” Paris agreed, taking another sip of the Bellini, and turning to Bix's partner. “Bix tells me you're a doctor,” she said easily, and he nodded.

  “I'm an internist,” he said discreetly.

  “Specializing in HIV and AIDS,” Bix corrected, looking obviously proud of Steven. “The best in the city.”

  “That must be hard,” Paris said sympathetically.

  “It is, but we're doing much better these days with medications.”

  Paris learned as she talked to him that he had come to San Francisco from the Midwest, to work with AIDS patients in the early eighties, and he'd been there ever since. And as Bix made omelettes for them, Steven told her that his previous partner had died of AIDS ten years before, and he and Bix had been together for seven. He was sixty-two years old, and it was obvious that he admired Bix greatly, and they were very happy.

  They sat in the dining room, eating omelettes and croissants, as Bix poured them each a cappuccino. He was a fabulous cook, and informed her that it was a good thing, because Steven couldn't boil water. He could save lives, or make people more comfortable, but he was hopeless in the kitchen.

  “He tried to cook for me once, when I was sick, and he damn near killed me. I had stomach flu, and he made me tomato soup, out of a can thank you very much, and a can of chili. I do the cooking,” Bix said firmly. Their relationship appeared to be interesting and lively, based on mutual respect and deep affection. Steven talked openly about how traumatic it had been for him when his previous partner died. They had been together for twenty-seven years before that.

  “Learning to live without him was a tremendous adjustment. I didn't even go out for two years. All I did was work, read, and sleep. And then I met Bix, we dated for a year, and we've been living together for six. I've been very lucky,” he said with a grateful look at Bix.

  “Yes, you are,” Paris said quietly. “I was married for twenty-four, and I never thought we'd get divorced. I'm still reeling from the shock. Sometimes I think about it, and I just can't believe it happened. He's married to someone else now.”

  “How long has it been since he left you?” Steven asked sympathetically. He could see easily why Bix liked her. She was a very nice woman, bright, interesting, fun to be with, it was hard to imagine why her husband had left her. She seemed to him like everything a man could want.

  “It's been nine months,” Paris said sadly.

  “And he's already remarried?” Bix looked shocked, and was more inquisitive than his partner. “Is that why he left you?” She nodded, but managed not to cry for once, which was at least something. Things were looking up. She was feeling better.

  “She's thirty-one years old. I guess that's hard to compete with.”

  “You shouldn't have to,” Bix said bluntly. “I hope she was worth it. What a rotten thing to do to you, Paris. Have you dated yet?” he asked with interest.

  “No, and I don't intend to. I'm too old for that. I'm not going to make a fool of myself competing with girls my daughter's age. And there's no one I want anyway. I really loved him.” This time her eyes did fill with tears, and Steven touched her shoulder.

  “I felt that way too. I swore I'd never date again. And you're a lot younger than I was when John died.”

  “I'm forty-six years old, and I'm too old for dating.”

  “No one is too old to date,” Steven said sensibly. “I have survivors of patients I see who are seventy-five years old and fall in love, and get married.”

  “Not all his patients are gay,” Bix said by way of explanation.

  “I'm serious, Paris. You have a lifetime ahead of you. You just need time. Nine months is nothing. For some anyway. Others seem to find someone in weeks or months. But no matter how you do it, grieving the loss of a loved one or a relationship is never easy. It took me three years to find Bix, and I never thought I'd feel this way again. We're very happy,” he said, and Paris was touched by their honesty and compassion. What they were sharing with her was valuable information. It made no difference to her if they were gay or straight. The feelings about relationships were the same.

  “And it's a lot harder to find someone worth having in the gay world,” Bix said bluntly. “Everything is about looks and beauty and youth. There's nothing harder than getting old alone in gay life. If you're not young and beautiful, it's all over. I was back out in the dating world for two years after my last relationship, and I hated every minute of it. And I was only thirty, and I already felt then as though it was all over for me. I met Steven when I was thirty-two, and I couldn't wait to settle down with him. I'm not a dater,” Bix said honestly, but he could have been. At thirty-nine, he was still dazzlingly handsome. In his youth, after college, he had been a model. But his values were based on something far more solid.

  “I'm not a dater either,” Paris said with a sigh. “Can you imagine anything more ridiculous than being out there on dates at my age? It's so humiliating, and so depressing.” She told them about the night of the dinner party in Greenwich with the drunken stockbroker who had told dirty jokes and was wearing plaid pants. It had been the decisive moment in her moving to San Francisco, if only to escape evenings like that among her friends.

  “I think I dated his gay brother,” Bix said, laughing, and then told her some stories that made her laugh even more. “I have had some of the worst blind dates on the planet. My last partner dumped me for a younger guy, he was twenty-two, I think, and everyone felt sorry for me. So in order to prove it, they fixed me up with the worst people they could think of. Preferably multiaddicted, or better yet, psychotic. I dated one guy who'd been sleep deprived for two years, and he was so nuts, he kept hallucinating and thinking I was his mother. I came home and found him passed out on the couch in pink hot pants and a black bra one afternoon, ripped out of his mind on Quaaludes, and I told him he had to go. That was nothing compared to the nature lover, who must have been related to the Hillside Strangler. He had five snakes and let them loose in my house. He lost two, and it took him a month to find them, and I nearly gave up the apartment. I had some lulus! I promise you, Paris, I will never fix you up on a blind date. I like you too much. You'll have to do your own shopping. I have too much respect for you to even try.”

  “Thank you. How did you and Steven meet?” she asked, curious about them. She really liked them. And the breakfast Bix prepared had been delicious. He said Sydney had taught him how to make the omelettes.

  “It was pretty straightforward. I needed a new doctor. We liked each other. It took him about two months, and a lot of sinus problems and headaches and mysterious backaches I kept making up, but he finally got the message, and invited me to dinner.” Steven smiled at the memory, and Bix looked adoringly at him.

  “I was a little slow on the pick-up,” Steven apologized. “I thought he was looking for a father figure.”

  “Nothing that kinky,” Bix said simply. “Just a boyfriend.”

  They were far more than that now, they were more like a comfortable married couple, from what Paris could see, and she respected the relationship they shared. In a funny way, it reminded her of her closeness to Peter, and when she went home that afternoon, she found that it had made her feel lonely. They were so close and at ease with each other, and so comfortable. It reminded her of how nice it was to have someone to share your life with.

  She called Meg and she was out. And at six o'clock Wim showed up with one of his roommates. She had promised to fix
him dinner, and they had a lovely evening. It had been a nice day, and she was enjoying her California life. Even the weather had been cooperating since she arrived. She had been there for ten days, and although it was February, it was warm and sunny. According to reports from Virginia and Natalie, it was snowing in Greenwich. Paris was delighted that she'd left.

  “So how do you like your new job, Mom?” Wim asked with interest as he stretched his long legs out across the couch, and recovered from an enormous dinner. He and his roommate had thanked her profusely, and had eaten as though they were starving.

  “I love it,” she said, beaming.

  “What exactly do you do?” He couldn't remember. When she had first described it, it sounded confusing. It was some kind of wedding planner, he thought, which was close enough, as long as it made her happy.

  “We plan events and parties. Weddings, dinner parties, openings. The man who does the conceptual work is very creative.”

  “Sounds like fun,” he said, relaxing in her new home. And he loved the downstairs apartment. He and his friend had checked it out, and he said he was going to visit often. She hoped he would, but knew enough about kids his age not to count on it. He was going to be busy in college.

  They stayed until after ten o'clock, and then drove back to Berkeley. And by eleven o'clock, she had cleaned up, and gotten into bed in her nightgown. It had been a delightful Sunday. Weekends were what she feared most, and what she had most disliked in Greenwich. It felt as though everyone else in the world had someone to be with, and she didn't. But here it seemed easier somehow. She had enjoyed her morning with Steven and Bix, and her evening with Wim and his roommate. Meg called her just as she was about to fall asleep, and told her about the day she'd spent at Venice Beach, and she'd had a good time too. All was well in the world, at least in California, in Paris's new world.

  Chapter 17

  Monday was a busy day. Paris no longer had Jane to counsel her, she was happily at home with her husband and her new baby. They had called him Alexander Mason Winslow, and she said he was an easy baby.

  Paris and Bix worked closely together. The following Saturday was Valentine's Day, and they had two events planned. As he had with Jane, he planned to be at one, and wanted Paris to be at the other. But neither was an enormous party. And it was late afternoon when the phone rang, and the secretary who had come in to clean up their paperwork for them told Paris it was for her, and it was a Mr. Freeman.

  “I don't know one,” she said briskly, and she was about to tell her to take a message for her, when she suddenly remembered. It was Prince Charming. “Hello?” she said cautiously, wondering if it was the man she had danced with at the Fleischmanns' anniversary. And as soon as she heard his voice, it sounded like him, as closely as she could remember.

  “I hope you don't mind my calling you,” he apologized smoothly. “I got your number from Marjorie Fleischmann, who got it from her mother-in-law. Rather a circuitous route, but apparently effective. How are you, Cinderella?”

  “Fine.” She laughed at him, impressed by the effort he'd put into locating her, and wondering why he had bothered. She hadn't been all that friendly, in spite of the dance they'd shared. “We've been busy. We had a lot of cleaning up to do today. And I nearly delivered a baby on the way home from the party the other night.” She told him about Jane, and he sounded amused. And then she waited to hear the reason why he had called her. Maybe he wanted to give a party himself.

  “I thought we might have lunch tomorrow. How does that sound to you, Paris?” Silly was the first word that came to mind, but she didn't say it. And why was the second. She was definitely not in the right mind-set for dating. It was the last thing she wanted.

  “That's very nice of you, Chandler.” She remembered his name. And she didn't want to have lunch with him. “I don't usually go to lunch. We're awfully busy.”

  “Your blood sugar will plummet if you don't. We'll make it a quick one.” He was not in the habit of taking no for an answer. And he didn't intend to in this case. He was so forthright that she didn't know what to say to him, other than to be rude, which didn't seem appropriate either. He was a perfectly nice man.

  “Well, very quick then,” she conceded, and then was annoyed at herself for being pushed into a lunch she didn't want to go to, with a man she didn't know. “Where shall I meet you?” She was going to make it in and out and businesslike, no matter what he had in mind.

  “I'll pick you up at your office at noon. And I promise I'll have you back in an hour.”

  “It'll be easier if I meet you,” she insisted stubbornly. “I don't know where I'll be in the morning.”

  “Don't worry about it. I'll pick you up. That way you don't need to worry if you're late. I can return calls from my car while I wait.” It was exactly what she didn't want, to drive off with a total stranger in his car. “See you at noon, Cinderella,” he said blithely, and hung up as she sat at her desk and stewed as Bix walked in.

  “Something wrong?” he asked as he saw the expression on her face.

  “I just did something really stupid,” she said, annoyed at herself. The man on the phone had been in complete control.

  “Did you hang up on a client?” he asked with a blank expression. He couldn't imagine what it was.

  “Nothing like that,” she reassured him. She had already thanked him for brunch the previous day, and told him how much she had enjoyed meeting Steven Ward, and what a nice man he was. Bix had been pleased. He wanted the three of them to be friends. “I let some guy talk me into having lunch with him, and I didn't even want to. But before I knew it, he had spun me around and told me he'd pick me up at noon.” Bix smiled.

  “Anyone I know? The guy at the Fleischmanns' anniversary party?”

  “How did you know?” She looked surprised.

  “I figured he'd call. That type usually does. What's his name again?”

  “Chandler Freeman. He's an associate of Oscar Fleischmann Jr. I don't know what he does.”

  “I've read about him here and there. Sounds like a professional dater to me. Buyer beware.”

  “What does that mean?” She was an innocent lost in the woods of a brave new world.

  “It's a particular breed. Some of them have never married, others have had ugly divorces that cost them a lot of money, from women they hated anyway. They have a chip on their shoulder as a rule. And for the rest of time, they date and they date and they date and they date, and tell everyone what a bitch their ex-wife was. And according to them, the reason they never remarried is because they haven't found 'the right woman' yet. And the key is they never will. They don't want to. They just want to date. To them, temps are more fun.”

  “Well, that certainly takes care of them,” Paris said with a broad smile. “I'll see how much he'll tell me about his history, and I'll let you know if any of it matches up.”

  “Unfortunately, it probably will.” Bix felt sorry for her. Dating was something he hoped never to have to do again. Gay or straight.

  “Do you mind if I go out to lunch tomorrow?” she asked him as an afterthought, and he laughed.

  “Do you want me to say yes?”

  “More or less.” She wasn't entirely sure. He had been a good-looking man, seemed like fun, and it was only lunch, she told herself.

  “Go. You'll have fun. You have to get your feet wet. He looks like a decent guy.”

  “Even if he's a professional dater?”

  “So what? It's not marriage. It's lunch. You'll be safe. It's good practice for you.”

  “For what?”

  “The real world,” he said honestly. “You're going to have to get out there one of these days. You can't stay home forever. You're the kind of woman who deserves to have a good man in your life, Paris. And you aren't going to find one if you don't go out.”

  “I thought I had one,” she said sadly, and Bix nodded.

  “It turned out he wasn't as good as you thought.”

  “I guess not.”

/>   Half an hour later he showed her a four-foot white teddy bear made of roses that he was sending to Jane, and it was so spectacular it took Paris's breath away. “How on earth did you do that?”

  “I didn't. I designed it. Hiroko did the rest. Cute, don't you think?” He was proud of it, and pleased that Paris liked it too.

  “It's incredible. She's going to fall in love with it.” He took it back downstairs to the shop at street level and sent it off to Jane with a note, which reminded Paris that she wanted to get a baby present for her, maybe over the weekend, when she had time, if she did. She had to work one of the Valentine's Day parties, but she was free for most of the day before that. She couldn't believe how busy her life had gotten in barely more than a week. And she said as much to Anne Smythe when she called her that night when she got home. They had to do their sessions now at night or on weekends, in spite of the time difference, and Anne said she didn't mind. She was happy to hear from her, and delighted that things were going so well. They had already agreed to reduce their sessions to once a week. Paris didn't have time for more. Except, in an emergency, she knew she could always call.

  She told Anne she was having lunch with Chandler the next day, and what Bix had said about him, about being a professional dater possibly.

  “Keep an open mind,” Anne reminded her. “You might have fun. And even if he's a ‘professional dater,’ as Bix says, he might be an interesting person to know. You were going to meet people, remember. You don't have to love them all. He might introduce you to a whole circle of his friends.” It was a good point. She was starting from scratch, and she had known when she left Greenwich that it would be hard work. This was only the beginning.

  At five minutes before noon the next day, Paris heard a roar beneath her office window, and when she looked down, she saw that it was a silver Ferrari. And seconds later she saw Chandler Freeman get out in a blazer, gray slacks, blue shirt, and yellow tie. It looked like Hermès. He looked very chic, and extremely prosperous. He rang the bell, came upstairs, and a moment later, was standing in front of her desk, with a dazzling smile.