“It certainly helps.”
“Georgia, Dennis has been calling—he’s not giving up. He broke up with Darrien. Why don’t you just have lunch with him?”
“Ann, he’s not my type.”
“You and I are supposed to have lunch, so what if Dennis just comes along?” she persisted.
“Since when have you become Cupid, Ann?”
“Since I can’t get Dennis off my back. I’m his only connection to you. How’s Wednesday at the Bistro Garden?”
Ann wasn’t taking no for an answer. I reluctantly agreed.
Wednesday just happened to be Valentine’s Day. As I was getting dressed for our lunch, the doorbell rang. Dennis had sent two dozen long-stemmed red roses. What is it about receiving flowers that opens the door to a woman’s heart?
When I arrived at the restaurant, Dennis and Ann were already seated on the patio. I loved the Bistro Garden. The women, as well as the men, were always so elegantly dressed. I was a people watcher from way back, and the Bistro was an exceptional treat for my eyes. Seated under the umbrella tables and listening to piano music on a warm sunny day was a wonderful way to pass an afternoon. It was not the place to come for lunch if in a hurry. I always wondered what all these people did for a living that they could linger so long over a glass of wine in the middle of a workday.
Ann greeted me as she held her drink with both hands, toying suggestively with the stem of her glass. I wondered why Dennis was not attracted to her. Ann possessed an irresistible, wild sort of charm. Untamed and unattainable.
Dennis stood and pulled out my chair, bumping into the woman behind him as he did. The lady turned and gave him a thin-lipped, uptight, rich-woman-being-gracious smile. He politely apologized and turned his attention back to me, immediately seizing me with his charm.
No question, Dennis was a decent man. He was known for his cutting wit, and I found myself drawn to his sense of humor. He was an investment banker and looked the part. He wasn’t at all the kind of man to whom I was usually attracted. Not that he wasn’t a good-looking guy—he was—but not the kind of good-looking that made my head turn. Physically, Dennis was as American as you can get, complete with the stuffy-banker look. His light brown hair was cut short, but it suited him.
I found myself captured by his magic, of which he had an abundance. What I really loved was his outgoing personality, a contradiction to his banker appearance. His dress was understated, yet he still exuded wealth. Dennis was so full of life, he obviously would not allow a day to go by without enjoying it to the fullest. It was a quality I sought. At the hub of the Bistro Garden crowd, his presence drew people to him like bees were drawn to honey. People approached our table in a steady succession all throughout our lunch.
Pleasantly impressed, I accepted a date with him. Despite my reservations about Darrien, the fact remained that they had completely broken up. I had been divorced for almost two years, and this was the most charming man I’d met in ages. I couldn’t believe how differently I felt from my first impression of him.
We could not have been more different. My friends were all in advertising or the movie industry. And, of course, my friends in the stunt business were in a category all their own. His friends were all wealthy business tycoons. Our dates usually consisted of dinners with business associates and black-tie functions. If we continued to date, I had a lot of shopping to do. Where he got all of his energy was a mystery. He ran circles around me, and I was ten years younger.
Dennis always had a phone glued to his ear. He was constantly making deals. He had a home in Palm Springs, but the difficulty was in finding the time between our busy schedules to take advantage of weekend retreats. His business day spilled into our evenings together, but that didn’t stop him from celebrating life. Lunch at the Bistro Garden became a Friday-afternoon ritual.
This man needed a woman who could blend with his lifestyle. To my amazement, I slipped into his world with ease. Previously avoiding relationships, I had consumed myself with work. But Dennis was changing all that. He was becoming a priority, with surprisingly no effort on my part. The very thought that I was falling in love intrigued me. My shadow endeavored to sabotage my relationship with Dennis, but those efforts were met with defeat. Dennis and I were good together. The essence of our relationship was laughter.
I never expected to fall in love with Dennis. I was appeasing a friend by having an innocent lunch. I had never dated a friend’s ex-boyfriend before. Guilt about Darrien stabbed me because I knew she was still in love with Dennis, and he felt guilty, too.
Through my persistence, I made him call her and take her to lunch, hoping it would heal both their wounds. Darrien began to work on Dennis, using his guilt as her weapon. Georgia Black sensed trouble brewing and began to make a move, but not without a fight from Georgia White. I could not remember the last time I had felt this way and was reluctant to let go so easily.
Darrien was a social butterfly. She needed to be with a man who could bring her social status. In the end, she wound up exactly where she strove to be. She married Lee Iacocca. Life with him gave her all that she required.
On a hot Sunday in July, about a week before Dennis left for Florida on a business trip, we spent the day at the Jonathan Club, a private beach club in Santa Monica. Sitting under an umbrella on the sand, we watched the surf, both deep inside our own private thoughts. Dennis looked relaxed for a change. For once, a phone was not growing out of his ear.
Breaking the silence, Dennis said, “Whenever I fly, I always think about that flight I canceled at the last minute. The plane crashed, and I never quite got over the fact that I was supposed to be on it.”
“I know the feeling—that happened to me, too.”
“Really? What happened?”
“I flew to New York to shoot a magazine ad for More cigarettes. I called my mother when I got there. When she found out I was in New York, she insisted I come to Rochester to see her. I was anxious to get back, but my mother was really hurt that I could be so close and not stop to see her. I finally agreed. I told her I’d call her back and let her know what flight I would be on. Since I was no longer in a rush to catch my flight, I called some friends in the city and met them for lunch. I did a little shopping, then caught a cab to the airport. Unbeknownst to me, my connecting flight back to Los Angeles had crashed on takeoff in Chicago—”
“Chicago! Was it American Airlines flight one-ninety-one?”
“Yes, it was. The one that lost the engine—I think it was in ’seventy-nine or ’eighty.”
“This is incredible! That’s the same flight I was supposed to be on!” he exclaimed.
“You’re kidding!What are the chances of that?We didn’t even know each other then, and we were both supposed to die on the same flight. I wonder what that means?”
Maybe I’m wrong. Maybe God has a hand in this. . . . Nah, I don’t think so. Let’s not get carried away.
Astonished, he replied, “This is unbelievable!”
We continued talking as we dragged beach chairs out into the sun. “What’s really strange is what happened when I got to the airport. I was standing in line to purchase my ticket. I hadn’t yet called my mother to give her the flight information. The agent behind the counter was on the telephone, and I heard him say my name, so I stepped out of line and walked up to him. I told him who I was and he handed me the phone. I was confused. I couldn’t imagine who’d be looking for me. It was my mother! When she heard my voice she got hysterical. She had heard about the crash and hadn’t heard from me yet. She thought that I had decided to go back to L.A. without stopping in Rochester. She found me! Can you believe it?”
“That’s really amazing,” Dennis said, shaking his head.
Neither of us could get over the coincidence. We baked in the blistering sun and talked for a few more hours.
“Have you had enough sun?” he asked, patting the glistening beads of sweat on his face with the edge of his towel.
“I’m ready if you are,
” I answered, rising lazily from the comfortable beach chair.
“I have a surprise for you,” he said mischievously.
“Oh . . . Can I wear it?”
“No.”
“Can I eat it?”
“No.”
“Well, tell me.”
“It won’t be a surprise then, will it?”
“I hate it when you do this, Dennis. Tell me!” I demanded.
“You’ll find out in about fifteen minutes,” he said, smiling coyly.
We drove down Pacific Coast Highway to Sunset Boulevard. As we zipped up the winding road, I remember feeling so happy and carefree. The warm summer wind blew through my hair as we drove. The salty air and the smell of suntan lotion filled my nostrils. The anticipation of the surprise churned within me. I never knew what Dennis had up his sleeve; he was always full of wonderful surprises. He turned onto Stone Canyon Road in Bel Air.
“Where are we going, Dennis? I can’t take the suspense!”
He looked over at me with a big grin and continued driving without a word. Then he turned into a large circular driveway.
“This is a beautiful house. Whose is it?” I questioned, looking over at him with wonder.
“Mine.”
“What?” I exclaimed, snapping my head back toward the house and taking a longer look. It reminded me of a slightly smaller version of a stately European palace.
“Yep, I put an offer in on it last week, and they accepted. It’s in escrow,” he said proudly, admiring the property.
“You’re kidding! This has to be a four-million-dollar house.”
“You’re right, but it was a steal.”
“Dennis, this is an incredible house. No, this isn’t a house; this is a mansion!”
“Wait till you see the inside,” he said excitedly, grabbing my hand and leading me to the front door.
As we walked from room to room, I was open-mouthed. It was breathtaking.
“What do you think we can do with this room?” he asked, gesturing toward the vast space.
We? What is he saying?
“This would make a great exercise room,” I replied, recovering. “I’d mirror all these walls and put hunter green carpet in here. There’s certainly enough light to carry it.”
“I like that idea,” he said, eyeing the room, imagining what it would look like with the changes.
Still awestruck, I said, “I can’t believe you bought this house.”
“I couldn’t pass up the deal.”
My creative side was bursting with excitement. My mind was running wild with what I could do with this place. I stood at the large picture window and looked out at the expansive grounds. “I hope you realize your friends are going to be living here because of that tennis court.”
“That’s what it’s there for, to enjoy.”
“Does this mean I have to learn to play tennis?” I asked.
“I think you should. You’d really like it. With your athletic ability, I’m surprised you don’t play.”
“I did play at one time . . . with my ex-husband Joe. But playing with him gave me a bad taste for the game. I was never good enough for him,” I said, reflecting momentarily.
“I’ll get you a private instructor when you’re ready.”
“Do I get to choose him?”
“Have you got someone in mind?”
“Yes . . . about six-two, evenly tanned, thick dark hair, gorgeous blue eyes—”
“I’ll choose the instructor,” he said, pulling me passionately into his strong arms. Neither of us wanted to say it out loud, but Dennis had clearly bought this house with the idea of living in it with me.
Back off, White! This can’t work. You know whenever it’s too good to be true, it usually is.
But this one’s different!
What about Richard? He was different too—or so you thought.
We walked out to the back of the house to admire the landscaping. I struggled to wipe the negative thoughts from my mind. Georgia Black was beginning to annoy me.
I recognized the house next door. “See that house over there?” I said, pointing out the property next to his. “That’s James Caan’s house. His backyard is unbelievable.”
“How do you know him?” Dennis inquired.
“He’s a good friend of a friend of mine. You should try to get his landscape person to work on this place. He has a stream with beautiful waterfalls and bridges that run all through the property. It feels more like a park than a backyard. You could do something like that here—although the tennis court kind of takes up a lot of space,” I said, eyeing the layout more closely.
Dennis’s relaxed face became serious. With an arched brow he said, “Don’t get any wild ideas about taking it out.”
I laughed. “I think I can find enough here to keep me busy for a while without ripping out the tennis court.”
“Are you going to have time for all this?” he asked as we walked along the side to the front of the house.
“You got the money, honey, I got the time,” I answered with a playful smile as he opened my car door.
We chatted as we drove to Beverly Hills to pick up my son.
“Isn’t it funny how just seven months ago we didn’t even know each other and our lives were running parallel,” Dennis said.
“What do you mean?”
“Well, the plane thing for one, and our daughters being friends. Don’t you think that’s quite a coincidence?”
“As strange as it may be, it’s almost normal for me.”
“How is Toni, anyway?”
“Her grades are dropping and her attitude is getting out of hand. I don’t know what to do with her lately.”
“Jennifer tells me she’s been hanging around with some kids who are a little rough around the edges. You’d better keep a close eye on her.”
Toni was a handful with both my eyes open.
While we drove in silence, I thought about the merger Dennis had just precipitated. I’d bought the stock the day it became available to the public. It was called American Home Shield. He was one of two principals in the company. This was a pivotal move in Dennis’s career. It was his baby. Years of work went into ironing out the intricate details of the merger. This venture would make him wealthy beyond belief, but his pride was the more valued commodity. Dennis had come from a wealthy oil family, but he had made his own fortune. Money was never his God—making it was.
Everything Dennis touched seemed to turn to gold. He was brilliant in his field. Taking his advice, I invested every cent I had in the stock. But doing so cleaned out my savings account and left me with no backup. The memory of the days when I first arrived in L.A. created an obsession with seeking and attaining financial security. That fear served as my incentive never to return to that place in time.
“Dennis, how soon do you think it will be before the stock goes up?”
“It went up a quarter of a point every day last week. It’s moving nicely. Are you worried?”
“No. I just want to be able to sell some if I should need to, preferably at a profit, so I can have a cash flow.”
“Do you need money?”
“No, I was just asking a question.”
“Are you sure?” he asked, looking at me skeptically.
“Yes, I’m sure,” I answered reassuringly.
“If you need anything, I hope you’ll tell me. As far as the stock is concerned, try to hang on to everything you’ve got. You’re going to come out of that a very big winner.”
“You really think so?” I asked.
“I know so. I got the inside scoop, remember?”
After spending a delightful day with Dennis on Sunday, I started out my week in a pleasant mood.
“Mommy, take me to the arcade. Please, please, please,” Dustin begged.
“Your dad always takes you to the arcade. Don’t you ever get tired of it?”
“No, I wanna go to the arcade.”
“Why don’t we take our bikes to the p
ark?”
“No, I hate the bike at your house. The one at my dad’s is better. Can we go get it?”
“No, Dusty. I’m tired of driving up and down that hill every time you want a special toy. There’s nothing wrong with this bike.”
“The one my dad bought is better. I want that one or I don’t want to go,” he whined, crossing his arms in a determined fashion.
“Well, I guess we don’t go then. You can’t always have what you want when you want it,” I replied, holding firm.
I hated having to be the bad guy, especially with the short time I had to spend with my son, but Richard obviously never said no. If I didn’t destroy this facade of life as Dustin knew it, he’d never have a chance of surviving in the real world.
“Why not? Daddy gives me everything I want,” he persisted.
“Yes . . . and you’re really getting spoiled, too. Why don’t you call your friend Mark and you boys can help me make chocolate-chip cookies. Won’t that be fun?”
“Yeah . . .” he answered, giving up any hope of getting his way.
After cleaning up the mess in the kitchen, Dustin and Mark went outside to play in the tree house. When Frankie had visited a few months earlier, I was in the process of having a deck built. He paid the workers on the sly and surprised us by having the tree house built.
“Every kid should have a tree house,” he said, reflecting on his less fortunate childhood.
Frankie secretly got more pleasure from the tree house than the kids did. They’d all stay up there for hours. I’d have to bring up their lunch when they couldn’t stop playing long enough to come down to eat. When Frankie played, he really got into it. He always had to be the Indian so he could paint his face. Such a big kid. He cracked me up. The thought of him made me smile.
With the kids busy at play, I sat alone in my kitchen, enjoying the temporary silence. A shaft of sunlight streamed through the skylight, trapping slow convec tions of dust. The shrill ring of my telephone disturbed the calmness of the moment.
“Hello, Miss Durante?”
“Yes?” I answered, setting my coffee on the counter.
“This is Mrs. Louis from the Beverly Hills High School.”
The Company She Keeps Page 38
