The Numbers Game

by Danielle Steel

  They had dinner at a chic bistro in the Seventh, Le Voltaire, which had been there forever, and when they got in his father’s Ferrari again afterwards, he finally addressed the question. She had been wondering if he would ask her.

  “You were going to take care of something after you left Paris. I believe it had to do with the husband of the woman we met at Castel, at the party.” She knew exactly what he meant, and he remembered the circumstances perfectly, as well as her explanation at the time.

  “I remember,” she said simply.

  “Did you take care of it?” His eyes met hers when he asked her. He had waited three weeks to see her again and hear the answer.

  “Yes, I did,” she said, thinking of herself telling Paul all the reasons why she had decided that being with him was a mistake, and how angry he had been at her. Jean-Pierre smiled at her response and looked pleased.

  “If you didn’t, you know that my father’s car would have turned into a pumpkin and we would become white mice,” he said, and she laughed as they took off and headed toward the Right Bank in the splendor of a moonlit Paris night with the Seine beneath the bridge and Notre Dame in the background. She was surprised when he took a right turn on the Right Bank and drove her close to Notre Dame, and then parked nearby. The moon was almost full overhead. “Do you want to walk for a few minutes?” She nodded and they got out of the car and wandered close to the magnificent church. The scene looked like a postcard of Paris.

  He took her hand, and they walked along the street and stood in the shadow of the church. He kissed her, as though he had always meant to, and she had expected it. He wanted the first time he kissed her to be somewhere that they would both remember. He wanted this to be different, for both of them, and had felt that way about her since the first time he saw her in New York, as though she would always be in his life from then on.

  “I want us to always remember this,” he said softly, and kissed her again, and then they both saw a bouquet of white balloons flying high overhead toward the stars. “It’s a sign,” he whispered, and she smiled at him, and then she laughed and he looked surprised. “What are you laughing at?”

  “I was just thinking how pissed off your father would have been if I hadn’t taken care of things when I went back, and we had to give him back a pumpkin tonight instead of his Ferrari.” Jean-Pierre laughed. She looked happy and full of mischief.

  “You’re a terrible person,” he said. It felt good to both of them to be young and happy, in Paris, carefree, and in love. Olivia knew then that he was the one she’d been waiting for, and had freed herself for. Jean-Pierre had known it from the moment they met.

  Chapter 15

  Olivia stayed in Paris as long as she could before her grandmother’s show at the MoMA. She and Jean-Pierre spent every day together setting up the Paris branch of her business, getting their new office in order, and training their new assistant to work with the technology they used. And after being there for five weeks, she told Jean-Pierre she had to go home.

  They had gone to Saint-Tropez for their first weekend together, and stayed at a house Jean-Pierre borrowed from a friend. It was beautiful and peaceful out of season there, they walked along the narrow streets and sat at outdoor cafés along the quay, as they got to know each other. Their lovemaking was gentle and loving. He spent a few nights at the Ritz with her, and she stayed at his apartment. They were discovering each other, their histories, their fears, their dreams and goals, and they were happy together. Their joy from being in each other’s lives, and how well suited they were, was obvious to everyone who saw them.

  Jean-Pierre’s father commented on it, and was pleased to see his son with a lovely young woman. He hoped their relationship would last forever, and said so to his son.

  “I’m working on it,” Jean-Pierre said with a twinkle in his eye that his father had never seen before.

  Olivia reminded him that she had to go to New York for her grandmother’s show at the MoMA, and he hesitantly asked her if he could join her.

  “I want to meet your grandmother and your mother,” he said. “Would it be too awkward if I come with you?”

  “No, it wouldn’t.” She smiled at him. “As long as you don’t mind that my grandmother is very outspoken and a little eccentric. She says whatever she thinks.”

  “I’ve been around eccentric artists all my life, and I think she’s earned the right to be outspoken at ninety-two. If you can’t say what you think by then, when can you?” She warned him too that seeing Federico’s facial scars could be shocking at first. Her family was all used to them, and he had refused to continue having plastic surgery to fix them. He had decided to live with them instead, and Gabrielle said she no longer even saw them. Olivia told Jean-Pierre that one side of his face was perfect, and the other had nearly been destroyed when the mine went off where he was standing in Vietnam. He was lucky he hadn’t been killed.

  They flew to New York together two days before her grandmother’s show of recent works, and settled into Olivia’s apartment, which he thought was spectacular. He loved the wall of Warhols of her mother that Gwen had given her, and the two Picassos she had inherited from her father.

  She wanted to introduce him to her grandmother before the show, but Gabrielle told Olivia she was too busy overseeing the installation to meet him, and she’d see him at the museum.

  “Is this something serious?” Gabrielle asked her.

  “It might be. We haven’t known each other for long, only two months.” Their relationship was in its infancy, she had just turned twenty-eight and was starting to take things more seriously, not just living in the moment. She had learned a lesson from getting involved with Paul too hastily, without considering the consequences adequately.

  They were no more successful seeing Gwen, who had just signed the contract for her new movie. The script she loved had been picked up by a serious producer, an important director she’d worked with before had been attached to it. A number of talented actors had been signed, and they were going to start shooting in September. Her career was taking off again, with an extraordinary part, just as her mother had predicted. The right vehicle had turned up for her talent. And she’d just been approached about another film she loved after this one.

  Olivia and Jean-Pierre arrived right on time at the opening of the show, and the work her grandmother and the curator had chosen was spectacular. They had put it in just the right location in an atrium, with enough breathing space around it. Jean-Pierre couldn’t decide if he was more fascinated by the work or the mesmerizing, fiery, white-haired artist. Olivia introduced him and Gabrielle narrowed her eyes as she looked at him, and then her lined face crinkled into a smile.

  “You will do very nicely,” she said, and spoke to him in French thereafter. She heartily approved of him, and introduced him to Federico. Jean-Pierre explained to him how he had hunted for one of his photographs for an important client, and owned two himself. Federico was immensely pleased, and Jean-Pierre was oblivious to his scars as well.

  “I am Beauty and the Beast all rolled into one,” Federico said, laughing at himself.

  A little while later, there was a ripple throughout the room as Olivia’s mother entered. There were the usual whispers that she had arrived, that she was there, who she was, from strangers who were surprised to see her and didn’t know about her connection to the artist. Olivia knew how much her mother disliked the attention in her private life, and whenever she went to public places. Olivia walked up to her with Jean-Pierre and Gwen greeted him with a warm smile. He tried to treat her like any other woman, but found he couldn’t, she was too beautiful and too famous. He could more easily ignore Federico’s scars than Gwen’s fame and stunning beauty. And unlike most people, fooled by the difference in their height and hair color, he saw an immediate resemblance to her daughter, which pleased them both. It was rare for anyone to say that they looked like e
ach other.

  The three of them stood chatting for a little while, and Gabrielle and Federico joined them.

  “I signed for the second film today,” Gwen told her mother proudly. “You were right. And they are both fantastic parts. I really thought for a while that my career was over and I was too old to get a decent part. At my age, the film industry can be unforgiving and quite cruel.”

  “Whatever age you are,” her mother said tartly, “age is just a number, and numbers have no power over you, unless you allow them to. You can feel ‘too old’ at any age, if you let yourself. You’re never too old or too young for anything, you’re just the right age. It’s all a numbers game invented to frighten you.” Then she turned to meet someone the curator wanted to introduce her to. She was wearing a deep purple dress with a high black lace collar, black satin shoes, and a long string of pearls that she said had been her grandmother’s. Jean-Pierre thought her timeless and very beautiful.

  They all had dinner that night at La Grenouille with the director of the museum and the curator who had helped Gabrielle select the work for the show, and Jean-Pierre was right in his element with artists and museum people. Like Olivia, he had grown up with them, perhaps even more so because of who his father was.

  Gabrielle made a comment about Gwen’s painting, and Gwen laughed.

  “I’m finishing the last one now,” Gwen said to her mother. “I don’t think I’ll be painting for much longer. I’m going back to work, thank God.” Olivia explained to Jean-Pierre quietly that her mother hadn’t worked for about a year, and now had found two parts she loved, and would start shooting the first one in September, and the second not long after. He still felt awestruck to be standing around chatting like old friends with Gwen Waters. He told Olivia that he couldn’t imagine what it was like having a mother as famous as she was.

  “She’s actually very normal,” Olivia said with a smile. “She used to pick me up every day at school when she wasn’t working. She’s never been a diva. And my grandmother certainly isn’t.”

  “Neither are you.” Jean-Pierre smiled at her. She had her own opinions, but he was finding her to be reasonable and undemanding, and he was having a good time working with her and even learning from her. She was clever in business.

  They went back to Olivia’s apartment after dinner at La Grenouille, Gabrielle and Federico went downtown to the Bowery in an Uber, and Gwen took a cab to the Dakota.

  Gwen looked at the painting she had almost finished, set up on an easel in the kitchen, when she got home. There were still a few things she wanted to add to it, and she was studying it when the phone rang. It was late for anyone to call her, and she wondered if it was Olivia. When she glanced at her cellphone, she saw that it was her mother’s number. She sounded panicked when Gwen answered. Gabrielle was breathless.

  “Mother, are you okay?” Gwen asked her quickly.

  “It’s Federico. He can’t breathe. I think he’s having a heart attack. I called nine-one-one, they’re not here yet. I have to go. I’ll text you where they take him.” She hung up before Gwen could say anything. And ten minutes later, Gabrielle sent her a text that they were taking him to NYU hospital, it was the closest large medical center to where they lived. And Gabrielle was going in the ambulance with him.

  Gwen had changed out of her cocktail dress the moment she got the call. She put on jeans, a black sweater, flat shoes, and the moment she got the text, she called an Uber and hurried downstairs. The car was there three minutes later, and Gwen was panicked as they sped through the night. Federico was eighty-four years old and in good health until now, but one of these days, something serious was liable to happen to him. Age was not on his side. Her mother was older, but seemed sturdier and hardier than he did. He was always full of energy, and paid no attention to his age or health, only to hers. But getting blown up years before in Vietnam had taken a toll he chose to ignore.

  He had just been admitted to the emergency room when Gwen got there. They asked if she was related to him, and she said she was his daughter so they didn’t prevent her from going to the room where he was being examined and her mother was waiting in the hall. Within seconds, people started to recognize Gwen. She ignored them, and went through double doors to find her mother outside the exam room, still in her purple dress with the black lace collar. She looked pale as she saw her daughter, and was standing ramrod straight while she waited to hear what the doctors would say about Federico.

  Gwen put an arm around her, and they sat down on two straight-back chairs and waited.

  “What happened?” Gwen asked her gently.

  “I don’t know. He was fine, and then suddenly he had a terrible pain in his chest and said he couldn’t breathe. He was fighting for air. He can’t eat rich food, or red wine, and he loves both. It usually just gives him indigestion. I thought he was having a heart attack so I called nine-one-one.” It had been the right thing to do, and it occurred to Gwen that if something happened to him, and it would one day, it would devastate her mother. They relied on each other totally, and although both were independent people, their lives and hearts were intertwined inexorably. After fourteen years together, Gwen could no longer imagine either of them without the other, nor could Gabrielle.

  The doctor came out twenty minutes later and said they were going to do an angiogram on Mr. Banducci, to see what was going on. It was possible that he would need a stent for his heart, but they didn’t know yet. Then they let Gabrielle in to see him, and Gwen went with her for support.

  His hair was fluffed out around him and disheveled, he didn’t have his glasses on, and he looked like a mad scientist in a horror movie, but Gabrielle smiled when she saw him. The color was back in his face, and he said the pain was less severe.

  “I’m sorry, Gabbie,” he said. “I’m fine, they should let me go home with you.”

  “I’m not taking you home till we know what’s wrong with you,” she said firmly.

  “I have work to do tomorrow on my own show. I can’t stay here.” He tried to get up and she pushed him gently back into the bed.

  “Don’t make me get rough with you, Banducci,” she said sternly, and he laughed.

  “What are you going to do? Beat me up?”

  “Of course, if I have to.” She smiled at him and he chuckled again, and Gwen was watching them from the doorway with a smile.

  “If you two don’t behave, they’ll arrest you for domestic violence.” All three of them laughed, and then an attendant took him away for the angiogram. Gabrielle sobered quickly, sitting in the waiting room with Gwen. There were tears in Gabrielle’s eyes.

  “I don’t know what I’ll do if something happens to him. He’s the most wonderful person I’ve ever known, the kindest human being on the planet.”

  “Why haven’t the two of you ever gotten married?” Gwen asked her, curious, and Gabrielle looked blank.

  “I don’t want more children, why would I get married?” Gwen smiled at her answer. “I never saw the point of it. When you’re young and want children, it makes sense to me. But at our age, what difference does it make? I couldn’t be more committed to him if I’d given birth to him myself. He’s my sun and my moon and the stars in my heaven. What could a piece of paper possibly add to that?” Her mother was her own person and always had been.

  “He’s religious, though, isn’t he? It might make a difference to him.”

  “It wouldn’t to me, and it’s more fun living in sin with him. It keeps us on our toes and it’s more romantic. Marriage might spoil that,” she said, as though they were fifty or sixty years younger. Age seemed to matter to them as little as marriage. They were unimpressed by it, and it simply wasn’t part of their identity or how they saw themselves or each other. Neither of them was “old” mentally, and they worked harder than people half their age.

  They waited two hours for the doctor to come back. It was t
wo in the morning by then, and he finally came to tell them that the angiogram had gone well, and Federico had come through it without any problem and was resting now.

  “How’s his heart?” Gwen asked him. He was well aware of who she was, and tried not to stare at her.

  “Probably stronger than yours or mine.” The doctor smiled. “He had indigestion and an anxiety attack.” He turned to Gabrielle then. “Did he get upset about anything today?”

  “He’s been working very hard preparing an upcoming show of his work, and I think he carried some heavy boxes with negatives in them.”

  “It would be good if he’d slow down for a few days. Can’t someone else carry the boxes?” The doctor was surprised by what she said.

  “He won’t let them. All his archives are in them.”

  “Well, I’d like to see him rest just for a day or two.”

  “He gets wound up before he has a show,” Gabrielle explained. The two of them were extraordinary for their age or any other.

  “You can see him now, if you like,” the doctor said, “and then you should probably both get some rest.” He assumed that she was about the same age as Federico. It didn’t even occur to him that she was eight years older.

  “Can I sleep here?” she asked. “I won’t disturb anyone. I can sleep in a chair if necessary.”

  “We can put a cot in his room for you, if you like.” He glanced at Gwen. Her parents were obviously devoted to each other, and she wasn’t about to explain that Federico wasn’t her father and they weren’t married.