Dinner with Andrew

by Martha Williamson

  Kate didn’t mind being disliked, but one could tell from looking at Beth that she was intimidated by her competitor, fearing her sharp tongue and steely manner. Nevertheless, she managed to answer with a certain amount of aplomb.

  “Well, Kate,” she said evenly, “everybody has to eat lunch. Besides, I was invited by Jackie Cysse and the organizing committee, as were you, I would imagine.”

  Kate Calder did not even stop, breezing by her, tossing a comment over her shoulder as she went. “Well,” she said, “it’s up to you, Beth. You know . . . if you think you can afford the time.”

  “I didn’t see you in the lab today,” Beth shot back. “I did a few hours’ work this morning.”

  This time Kate did stop and turn, but she did not look Beth in the eye. Instead her eyes swept the room, as if looking for someone more important in the crowd.

  “That’s very nice, Beth. Very dedicated of you. I’m sure you’re making great strides in your research.”

  “Well, what are you doing here, Kate?” Beth asked.

  “I figured that if anybody here had any serious questions about the institute, there ought to be someone here who could answer them.” There wasn’t even a smile on Kate’s face to lessen the impact of the words. They hit Beth like little darts, each one of them stinging as they struck.

  Beth opened her mouth to say something in reply, but Kate had swept on, and Jackie was at the podium now, calling the luncheon to order.

  “Ladies! Ladies!” she said into the microphone, her voice filling the room. “Please take your seats. Ladies! Ladies! And the gentlemen, too, of course!”

  Kate Calder found her seat and sat down, but paid little attention to her tablemates or to the proceedings of the luncheon. She was lost in her own thoughts, thinking, as she did almost all the time, about the future. Her snide little remark to Beth Popik—the one about being able to spare the time—may have sounded nasty to her colleague, but it had not been directed at her. Rather, it had been a reminder to herself— a way of telling herself she had no idea how much time she had left.

  Chapter Three

  Jackie was in her element, up there at the podium, running the luncheon like the conductor of a symphony orchestra. She was completely comfortable in her role even though every eye in the room was on her. Andrew, by contrast, was still feeling terribly self-conscious as he took his seat with the other bachelors at the table right down front.

  The other men at the table seemed blithely unconcerned about the upcoming auction— Andrew got the distinct feeling that a couple of them were actually looking forward to it—but he could not escape his own feelings of unease. Despite all the talk of doing this for a good cause, he felt that there was something slightly indecorous about the proceedings he was about to become part of.

  “Good news!” Jackie announced from the podium. “Our book sale has just sold out!”

  There was a smattering of light applause as Jackie continued. “And we are very pleased to have with us today some of those dedicated doctors whose research will be directly affected by the tax-free donations you have made today.”

  Jackie scanned the crowd until her eyes lit on a certain table. “Will you stand, please? Dr. Katherine Calder and Dr. Beth Popik.”

  Kate stood and waved rather halfheartedly. Beth stood and felt the blood rush to her face; she felt plain and awkward and she disliked being the center of attention. At least her moment in the limelight lasted no longer than a second or two.

  Jackie quickly moved on to other business— the amount of money raised so far and the calendar of events coming up in the course of the year that would raise even more. Finally, she ended her speech, and lunch was served.

  Andrew noticed that there were two selections for the meal: a very small piece of chicken or a very small piece of fish, both grilled. Andrew chose the fish, and while he ate, he listened to the talk around the table.

  The other men seated there seemed to know one another, all of them veterans of the society charity circuit and well acquainted with their hostess. Andrew learned that Jackie was the second wife—“trophy wife” they said—of the late Harvey Cysse. The deceased tycoon had divorced his first wife, a woman who had raised their four children and stood by him through thick and thin for forty years, before marrying Jackie. The seventy-five-year-old groom and the thirty-six-year-old bride had enjoyed wedded bliss for just over a year before Harvey died. By then he had rewritten his will to make his widow extremely rich.

  “They say she got five units,” said a handsome young man who turned out to be an investment banker attached to a very prestigious Wall Street firm. There were low whistles from the other men seated around the table.

  “That’s some really serious money,” said one of the men. “I wonder who she invests with.”

  But Andrew had no idea what they were talking about. “Five units?” he asked, looking up from his plate. “Five units of what?”

  “You know, a unit,” said the young man from Wall Street. “A unit is a hundred million dollars, and she got five of them.”

  “Half a billion dollars?” said Andrew. Money didn’t mean much to angels—they knew how insignificant it really was in the greater scheme of things. “Why would anyone need that much money?”

  The rest of the men at the table laughed, assuming he was making an extremely dry joke.

  “Yeah,” said the Wall Streeter. “Really . . .”

  Desserts were not popular at charity luncheons. The tarte tatin served to Andrew seemed to be the size of a large button. The espresso was served in a cup scarcely larger.

  No sooner had the last plate been removed than the real fun of the afternoon began. Conversation died down a bit when Jackie walked back to the podium and tapped the microphone to get the attention of everyone present.

  “Well,” she said, “let’s get started.” She gestured toward Andrew’s table, crooking a finger at one of the men there. “Come on up here, Hugh.”

  Hugh stood up, winked quickly, and stage-whispered to the rest of his tablemates, “Wish me luck, guys.”

  Jackie continued at the podium. “I’d like you to meet Dr. Hugh Brooks, who has kindly agreed to be our first bachelor today! Now, I know this is what you’ve all been waiting for. So let the bidding begin! Dr. Hugh, come on up here.” There was spirited applause as Hugh Brooks made his way up to the auction block. Andrew had never felt such embarrassment and could only sink down in his chair, cover his eyes, and wish this weren’t happening to him.

  Jackie was an old pro at these auctions and she kept the bidding moving along at a good clip, interjecting jokes and observations about the bidders and the men up for auction. She cajoled and wheedled and, in a good-natured sort of way, sweet-talked the richest women in the room into paying top dollar for the privilege of a date with one of the bachelors. When the bidding slowed down, Jackie got it started again; when things got out of hand, she calmed things down a bit, reining in overly high spirits. One by one the bachelors were auctioned off until Andrew was the last man sitting at the table. The men had “sold” for between $3,500 and $5,000 each. Andrew, now sunk so low in his chair he was almost lying on his back, thought he would be lucky if he fetched more than a dollar.

  The penultimate bachelor was standing at the auction block, a broad smile on his face. It seemed that this young man was actually enjoying his moment in the spotlight. “This is Assistant District Attorney Peter Carpenter, ladies. Who will open the bidding at one thousand dollars?”

  No sooner had the words left her mouth than someone at the back of the room shouted, “One thousand . . .”

  Bidding climbed quickly, but stalled at three thousand dollars. “That’s too low,” Jackie announced. “Do I hear thirty-five hundred? Ladies! A night on the town with one of the city’s most eligible bachelors? Thirty-five hundred, please . . .”

  “Thirty-five hundred!” someone shouted.

  “Yes!” said Jackie, punching the air triumphantly. “Thirty-five hundred there in th
e back. Going once. Going twice . . . sold! Thirty-five hundred dollars for Assistant District Attorney Peter Carpenter. A bargain price for a great guy. Have a wonderful time, you two!”

  Peter Carpenter stepped off the stage and walked through the crowd to meet his date. The two embraced and kissed.

  Andrew looked up to see Jackie summoning him to the stage. He heaved a great big sigh, then got to his feet slowly.

  From a table in the rear of the room, Dr. Beth Popik was watching Andrew intently; Kate Calder, on the other hand, stifled a yawn and checked her watch while she prepared to make a quiet, unobtrusive, early exit. This society nonsense was precisely the sort of thing that bored her to tears. But when office rumors had told her that Beth was going to be there, she had decided to tamp down her reverse snobbism and show up, if only to find out what was going on with her colleague. She was positive that Beth would not be bidding on a bachelor. That was just not the kind of thing that the shy Dr. Popik would dream of doing.

  Kate realized that Beth had come for no particularly significant reason and that she was now free to leave. Something of a relief, she thought, ever so slightly grateful to Beth’s sense of insecurity and fear of the future. Kate paid no attention to what was going on up there onstage.

  This little society circus would bring in a bit of money for the Nichols Institute—that was the important thing. Other than that, there was no reason for Kate to be there a moment longer.

  Jackie positioned Andrew at the podium and flashed him her most winning smile. “And now,” she said, “I am delighted to introduce our last bachelor, Dr. Andrew Friend. Now, Andy has been a close friend of our family for years . . .”

  Andrew started as if he had been pinched. This was definitely news to him. He caught a glimpse of Tess and Monica—both were shaking their heads in disbelief, but were still managing to hold back their laughter.

  Jackie put an arm around Andrew’s waist and hugged him. “I love him like my own . . . younger brother,” she announced. “I wish he had been my younger brother.”

  Everyone, including Jackie herself, laughed out loud, but Andrew turned an even deeper shade of crimson. He could not believe that this was happening to him.

  “And I want you to know,” Jackie continued, saying the first things that popped into her head, “that Andy here is a dedicated physician who, by the way, dances a pretty mean rumba.”

  More news to Andrew.

  “Ladies,” Jackie went on, “believe me when I tell you that after a date with Andy you’ll never be the same.”

  “Well,” Tess whispered to Monica, “at least that part is true.” It was difficult to imagine a meeting with The Angel of Death that didn’t change your life—and rather drastically at that.

  Jackie waited for the laughter to die down, then got down to business. She was determined to end the auction with a real bang. She was going to do her best to get a high price for her new pal, Dr. Andrew Friend.

  “Do I have an opening bid of two thousand dollars?” Jackie asked as she scanned the room, looking for women she knew had not bid on anyone that day and who could afford to open their pocketbooks wide and pay big.

  There was a moment of silence. Then, from the back of the room, the usually introverted Beth Popik heard her own voice say: “Two thousand dollars!” She seemed dazed, not quite able to believe that she had actually said it.

  Just as amazed as Beth was Kate. She stared at her competitor for a moment, then looked up at Andrew, checking him out for the first time. It was obvious that she was thinking of getting into a bidding war. But before she could make an offer, yet another voice piped up.

  “Twenty-five hundred!” Monica suddenly shouted.

  Jackie looked delighted. “Twenty-five! That’s great! But it’s not enough!” she announced. “Come on now, do I hear three thousand dollars out there?”

  Now it was Tess’ turn to be shocked. “Just what do you think you’re doing, Monica?”

  “I don’t want him to feel cheap,” Monica explained. “You can understand that, can’t you?”

  “Well . . . ,” said Tess reluctantly. “I guess I can. Seems like a waste of money, though, if you ask me.”

  “Just watch what happens,” whispered Monica. “I’m guessing Andrew’s price will skyrocket now.”

  Her words seemed to pay off immediately. The bid from Monica spurred Beth on. Her heart was pounding, and she was sure she was doing something completely crazy, but the words came out of her mouth anyway. “Three thousand!”

  Kate Calder could not help but notice the urgency in the bid of her rival. Something inside her threw her into the bidding. It was a nasty thing to do—she knew that—but she could not help herself. If Beth wanted this guy, then Kate had to do her best to see that she didn’t get him. Childish, foolish—maybe so. But somehow it was also deeply satisfying.

  “Thirty-five hundred!” the usually austere, no-nonsense doctor shouted. She even rose a little bit out of her gilded chair as she yelled out her bid. Beth stared at Kate—she couldn’t believe that her fellow doctor and researcher had bid on her man.

  “I have a bid of thirty-five hundred dollars on the rumba master, Dr. Andrew Friend,” Jackie announced. “That’s nice, ladies. Very nice. But not enough!”

  But Jackie knew that was just bravado on her part. She was pretty sure it would go no farther than that and that the bidding for Andrew was pretty much done. After all, she reasoned, no one knew him; he had no special social claims on any of the women there—thirty-five hundred was about the best she figured her last-minute replacement bachelor would do. Not bad, considering the circumstances. True, he was a doctor and, yes, he was good-looking, but he didn’t have the prestige of her original choice, the eminent cardiologist, Dr. Ray Hannah. He, she was sure, would have topped out at somewhere around five thousand dollars—at the very least.

  But, for once, Jackie Cysse had made a mistake, reading this particular hand of cards—social cards—incorrectly. No sooner had the thirty-five-hundred-dollar bid come in than it was topped by a bigger bid.

  Beth glared across the room at Kate. Why would she bother to bid so high? Beth never thought that she would spend money on anything so frivolous. Kate never acted interested in anything that would keep her from her precious research.

  Beth’s features hardened as the truth dawned on her. Kate was doing what she was doing only to annoy her, to spoil her own plans. From the moment Beth had seen Andrew, when they bumped into each other, she had felt some connection to him. She felt that she had to know him better. She couldn’t explain why exactly, but she knew that money wasn’t going to hold her back. Without hesitation she raised her voice. “I bid four thousand dollars!”

  Kate was dumbfounded at Beth’s persistence, but she wasn’t going to be stopped either. She snapped back immediately, calling out her own bid. “Four thousand five hundred dollars!”

  Kate sat back in her little gold chair and smiled at the people around her, sure that she had announced the winning bid. Her tablemates whispered congratulations and smirked behind their hands. Kate Calder was no one’s idea of a fun date. She was blunt to the point of rudeness and completely obsessed by her work. The poor bachelor had no idea what he was in for if Kate proved triumphant.

  Kate, of course, had other plans, which did not include going on a date with the guy, should she win. Maybe when this doctor—what was his name anyway?—was brought down to her she would pay the bill and present him to Beth as a gift. Yes . . . that would be the most humiliating thing she could do. She was looking forward to making her grand gesture when Beth piped up again.

  Doctors who choose medical research over the private practice of medicine don’t have a lot of money to throw away on society auctions. And while it’s true that even doctors engaged in research are paid better than most people, research physicians never ascend into the realms of the serious money—the stratospheric incomes of the society dermatologists, the sports medicine specialists, and the plastic surgeons who cate
r to the whims and complaints of the very rich. So the money that Kate and Beth were throwing around represented significant pieces of their income.

  But Beth wanted to buy “Dr. Andrew Friend,” and she didn’t care how much he cost. The odd thing was she didn’t really know why. All she knew was that the look in his blue eyes had told her something—it hadn’t been undying love or anything else as obvious or as pedestrian—but she knew that there was something about him that touched her, touched her soul. Something she needed to know more about. And if money was the medium that would bring her that answer, she would spend it. And she would spend it gladly.

  The price was too rich for Beth, but she announced it anyway, and spoke the price proudly: “Five thousand dollars!”

  When Tess heard the figure she half-turned to Monica and whispered in her ear, “So much for your fears . . . thinking he was going to feel cheap.”

  “Shh,” Monica replied quickly. “It’s not over yet, you know. He could fetch a lot more.”

  The rest of the crowd was impressed by the five-thousand-dollar bid. There was a certain amount of oohing and aahing from the spectators, as well as some applause. In the audience a dozen women—women far richer than Kate and Beth—wondered if they should get involved. Plainly this Dr. Andrew Friend was a find—a find who happened to be a friend of Jackie Cysse. Every one of them knew that giving Jackie a hand would pay back in spades in the social sphere.

  “Five thousand dollars for the extremely desirable Dr. Andrew Friend,” Jackie Cysse announced, her wide blue eyes glittering with delight. “That can’t possibly be enough, ladies . . . Do I hear fifty-five hundred dollars for this wonderful prize? And that’s cheap!”