Kindred Spirits: A Romantic Comedy About Love, Life, and the Afterlife . . .

by Whitney Dineen

  The smell of dark french roast wafted through his apartment, which meant it had to be almost six a.m. Richard slept in on the weekends. During the week, he was up at five. He was looking forward to his brunch with Eliza, and after that the rest of the weekend was his. He hadn’t scheduled any first meetings or parties or anything. He needed some time to just be still and reflect on his current situation.

  Richard poured his first cup and padded across his modernly decorated living room to his terrace. Stepping out, he was hit with a decided chill. It now officially smelled like fall; which, he mused, was a perfume so intoxicating, if someone could figure out how to bottle it, they’d be set life.

  Even though New York was the city that never slept, there was still very little activity afoot in Richard’s neighborhood at that hour. No children were in the park yet, the street below was empty except for the occasional jogger, and even the birds seemed quieter than normal.

  Richard closed his eyes and simply tried to absorb the stillness and peace around him. It seemed the harder he reached for what his heart desired, the farther away it got, like trying to grab a handful of water.

  He prayed silently, “God, I haven’t been your most devoted servant in terms of church attendance, but I want you to know I’ve always been a big fan.” He inhaled slowly and added, “I’ve tried not to burden you with too many requests, and I’m aware of my vast blessings, but I need you now more than ever.” He continued, “I want to find a lasting love, someone to go forth and multiply with, someone to hold hands with and do the dishes with. Any help you can send would be greatly appreciated. Amen.”

  Richard realized he probably should have thrown in a prayer for world peace and starving children in Africa, but he was too overcome with his own need just then. He was a devoted philanthropist and gave a lot of money to charity. That would have to do for the moment.

  Richard tore off part of a croissant and before popping it into his mouth said, “Four weeks out of your six-month plan are gone. Are you still holding fast?”

  Looking a bit edgy, Eliza replied, “Barely. I told Spencer last night I wouldn’t be able to see him this week and we needed to continue our dates by phone.” She added, “I’m weakening.”

  Richard laughed, “Just think how wonderful it’s going to be when you finally, you know, go all the way.”

  His brunch partner exhaled deeply, “It’s like being seventeen all over again, but worse. When you’re a kid all the physical stuff is taboo, so you always have a little devil sitting on your shoulder keeping you in check. But once you’re in your thirties, well, come on, it’s just part of being an adult. Depriving yourself is downright painful.”

  “I hate to say it, but I told you so. I believe I mentioned six months would feel like an eternity, if you felt the relationship had a future, that is.” He smiled knowingly.

  “It does feel like forever,” she conceded, “but I’m holding strong because I still think it’s the right thing to do. If Spencer wants to have a future with me, he has to prove he’s looking at the long term and not just at the moment.”

  Richard replied, “I’ve known Spence for almost twenty-five years and I have to tell you, living in the present is his Buddha nature. It’s who he is.” Admiringly, he added, “I’ve never known another person who does it as intently as he does. You know how most of us have this little hamster wheel spinning in our heads, in constant motion, planning what comes next?”

  Eliza nodded in understanding. Richard continued, “I think Spence was born without a wheel. He’s like the Dalai Lama that way. He really truly enjoys what’s right in front of him with little thought to what comes next.”

  Eliza nodded her head in agreement, “I can see that, but I don’t think that’s the best thing when you’re dealing with a relationship. You have to be able to envision a future with a person and plan toward that future, otherwise you wind up like Spence, with three ex-wives. I’m in the process of retraining him.”

  Richard cocked his head, “Yes, but the question is, is the old dog re-trainable?”

  Shrugging her shoulders, Eliza responded, “It’s hard to say. I hope so.”

  Her friend replied, “I can’t believe I’m saying this because I’ve always given Spencer a hard time about his lack of planning, but do you think maybe you and I could actually learn something from him? You know, hop off the wheel once in a while and just enjoy the present?”

  Eliza looked startled by the thought, “I’ve never considered that. I mean, I’m a planner by nature. My life has been successful because I set a schedule for myself and I adhere to that schedule. My life is orderly and I like it that way.”

  “Yes, but even though our lives appear successful from the outside, neither one of us has been successful in love.”

  “Neither has Spencer!” she retaliated.

  “Really?” Richard asked. “Because if you ask Spencer, he’ll tell you the opposite. He’ll tell you that he’s been very successful in love and just because his marriages ended, doesn’t mean he failed. It just means there was a new opportunity on the horizon.”

  “Okay,” Eliza said, “but I don’t want to move from one person to the next like he has. I want forever.”

  “So do I,” Richard agreed. “I’m just wondering if we haven’t taken things to the extreme, like Spencer has, but in the other direction. I wonder if maybe you and I both need to loosen our rules a bit and learn to enjoy the here and now.”

  Eliza looked like she’d been run over by a bus. “You mean compromise, right? Like instead of going to sleep at ten twenty and waking up at five after six, I should be more flexible and maybe go to sleep at ten thirty and wake up at six fifteen?”

  Richard laughed out loud, “Oh boy, you sound like me. I guess that would be a start, but what I was really thinking was maybe you should ease up on your six-month rule and enjoy the moment. And maybe I should throw away my first, second, and third date agendas.” After a brief pause, he added, “Believe me when I say, I’ve not been successful with them.”

  From that point on, the friends continued to eat in relative silence. They were both lost in contemplation wondering if they’d been doing things all wrong. They both questioned if it were possible for them to be more spontaneous and less rigid. Could Spencer, of all people, be on to something?

  London

  Chapter 21

  Pip and Cressida waited in Honey’s salon. The duchess had run to fetch a list she was working on for the fundraiser. Cressida whistled under her breath, “This is some place she has here.” Then she looked at her friend and sighed, “Of course, your house is just as grand. Have you even wondered what it would be like to live in a tiny one bedroom flat like the rest of us peasants?”

  Pip smiled, “Of course I have.” Then she replied, “But I’m quite content where I am, thank you very much. I have plenty of privacy at home and I enjoy seeing my parents regularly.”

  Cressida rolled her eyes, “What if you had a proper beau and he spent the night all the time? What then?”

  “I can’t imagine that being a problem. Mum and Dad’s bedchamber is on the opposite side of the house, so there would be no need for us to ever encounter uncomfortable moments.”

  “Philippa, you’re insane! What if you wanted to make crazy monkey love all over the place, then what?”

  Pip sighed, “If I had someone to make crazy monkey love with, I’d wait until my parents were out of the house. Needs must, right?”

  Honey walked in the room at that moment waving papers in the air and announcing, “I found them at last! They were in the garden, of all places.” Then she sat down and handed a sheet to both of her guests. “Here’s my initial list of bachelors. Most of them were amenable to my request to help our charitable efforts—all except the top three.”

  Cressida asked, “Are we going to try to get them to change their minds or just pick a few off the B string instead?”

  Honey replied, “Oh, they’ve already changed their minds.” With a twin
kle in her eye, she added, “I contacted their mothers. It doesn’t matter how old a lad gets, he’ll always listen to his mother, with the right motivation, that is.”

  Pip inquired, “And what exactly were the right motivations?”

  “Well, in Rupert Farrell’s case, the incentive was exclusive use of the family chalet for the entire month of December. In Nigel Humphrey’s case, it was a racing pony his mother owned; and in Cedric Fitz-Lloyd’s case, it was for his mother to promise not to mention marriage to him for six months.”

  Cressida smiled appreciatively, “You’re devious, Honey, and I love that about you!” Then she changed the subject and asked, “Have you given any more thought to letting me change your hair color?”

  “I don’t know, dear,” the old lady answered. “Maybe I should just go back to my boring gray old-lady hair.”

  “Just give me one chance,” Cressida begged. “I promise if you don’t absolutely love it and totally understand why unique coloring is so addictive, I’ll change it right back for you and I won’t even charge you.”

  “What do you have in mind, dear?” the duchess asked.

  Cressida smiled, “I’m working on a new technique and I don’t want to tell you about it ahead of time because I don’t want to scare you away.”

  Their old friend shrugged her shoulders, “Why not? I’m on the downward side of eighty. I might as well see what all the fuss is about while there’s time.”

  Over the next two hours the three friends dissected the duchess’s list, looking for the right man for Pip to bid on. They narrowed their selection down to four. All of them were between thirty-two and forty-two, they were all over six feet tall, successful in business, and according to Google images, they were reasonably attractive.

  Pip questioned, “I wonder how many of them are gay?”

  Bertram materialized at that moment and answered, “Just one, Rupert Farrell. The reason he wants the Swiss chalet for a month is so he can throw some rather questionable parties he’d never dare throw in London, for fear his mother would find out.”

  At that moment, Cressida felt a small breeze cross her face and heard “Penny Lane” in her head. She smiled and said, “Hi, Bertram. Have you come to lend a hand with our charity?”

  He replied by putting a new song into her head and she laughed out loud.

  Pip asked, “Don’t tell me you can hear him now, too?”

  “In a way,” her friend responded. “He answered by giving me a new song.”

  “Which one, dear?” the duchess asked.

  “‘It’s Raining Men,’” Cressida answered.

  Pip demanded, “Why don’t you ever give me a song, Bertram? I want a song!”

  He smiled and before she could take another breath, James Blunt’s, “You’re Beautiful,” was running through her head. The line ‘My life is brilliant, my love is pure, I saw an angel, of that I’m sure . . .’ played across her heart and she dared to hope some man would really think that of her someday soon. Of course that man wouldn’t be Rupert Farrell because she’d just crossed his gay self off her list.

  Pip and Cressida met Sephra for lunch after their meeting with the duchess. They wanted to fill their friend in on their new charitable endeavor.

  Sephra thought it was a lovely idea and offered to help sell tickets to her clients. She’d had more women complain that their stress was directly related to the nightmare dating scene in London.

  Cressida offered, “Oh, I met Pip’s new contact. He’s just lovely!”

  “What do you mean, you met him?” Sephra asked. So Cressida explained all about the wind in her face and the song titles he gave to her.

  Sephra was so excited to try it, she announced, “Bertram, if you’re there I’d like a song title too, please.” Before too many seconds passed, her hair fluttered as a small breeze blew by and she started to hum along to Elton John’s, “Saturday Night’s Alright for Fighting.”

  “Did it work?” Pip demanded.

  “Elton John?” Cressida asked when she heard the tune.

  Sephra smiled, “It did work! And it was kind of funny, really. Liam and I had a big row on Saturday night about whether we’d go out or stay in, so ‘Saturday Night’s All Right for Fighting’ really fits the bill.”

  Pip asked, “Who fights about something like that? For heaven sakes, Seph, when you’re lucky enough to have a man like Liam, you don’t waste your fights on whether you go out or stay in.”

  “Just you wait,” her friend replied. “It’s amazing how many little things will get on your nerves after you’ve been with someone for seven years.”

  Pip longingly replied, “I can’t wait. In fact, the mere thought of fighting with someone after seven years together sounds like bliss.”

  Cressida readily agreed and Sephra merely rolled her eyes at her pathetic friends.

  New York

  Chapter 22

  Mimi’s wedding was in only four days. Richard was really looking forward to getting out of the city and was actually starting to get excited about meeting the women his friend was going to introduce him to. She told him that three of them would be at his table at the reception.

  Richard was getting ready for his last first meeting before leaving the city and his heart wasn’t in it. According to Rachel, his standards were too high. She’d accused him of expecting to fall head-over-heels in love at first sight, when all he should be looking for was a slight interest. “You have to give women a chance to grow on you,” she’d advised.

  Richard replied, “You make them sound like barnacles or moss or something.”

  Rachel responded, “It’s the same principal. If you stand still long enough, your ability to live in a symbiotic relationship with another person will grow exponentially.” She asked, “Where would the barnacle be without the boat? Where would the moss be without the tree?”

  Richard snorted, “You sound like something from those old Saturday Night Live episodes—deep thoughts with Jack Handy.” He let the sarcasm drip from his voice.

  His matchmaker retaliated, “While you’re trying to find an unrealistic love that only exists in cheap romances. Trust me,” she said, “the women you meet aren’t trying to picture whether or not they want to spend the rest of their lives with you. They’re only wondering if you’re worth shaving their legs for.”

  Richard was totally aghast. “You’re kidding?” Then he decided, “You’re wrong. You have to be. The women of New York cannot possible be as jaded as all that.”

  Rachel rolled her eyes in reply. “Do you think you’re the only single person in this city who’s fed up with the love machine? Do you think you’re the only who’s sick and tired of dating a million people in hopes of finding the right one?”

  Richard let his head fall back, “God, Rachel, you’re depressing the hell out of me.”

  “I’m not trying to,” she said. “I’m only trying to get you to realize you’re not alone out there and if you’d quit putting such unrealistic expectations on the first meeting, the chances of actually going out on second and third dates would be a lot higher.” She added, “Which of course would increase the odds of finding someone to spend your life with.”

  Richard sighed, “What’s her name?”

  His matchmaker replied, “Chantal. She’s French, she’s been living in the city for four years, and she’s a shoe designer.”

  Without sounding too interested, he said, “She sounds lovely. Where do I meet her?”

  “The Palm Court at the Plaza Hotel at five thirty,” she replied.

  Shocked he wasn’t meeting her on the corner of Broadway and Sixty-Third, he asked, “You mean we’re having a proper first date? Not some drive-by third bench from the left or in front of the monkey house at the zoo?”

  Rachel smiled, “Not this time. You don’t seem to do well following the rules everyone else has to follow, so I’ve changed them up for you. Instead of giving you twenty minutes to find out why she isn’t the woman for you, I’m giving you two
hours.” She instructed, “Do not leave the Plaza until at least seven thirty.” Then she added, “I mean it. I have someone watching you.”

  Richard was at a loss for words. What was he, seven? Now he couldn’t play by the rules and had to be supervised? He was about to dig deep and find a few unpleasant words for his relationship expert, when she interrupted, “Richard, trust me. You’re so set on finding a woman and having immediate feelings for her that no one will ever live up to your expectations. I’m giving you two whole hours and all you have to do is see if you feel a little spark. Don’t expect her to be everything you’ve ever imagined a grand love to be, just let her be herself and see if she isn’t worth spending another two hours with at another time.”

  Richard had agreed, but he still wasn’t happy. He hadn’t liked being dissected by Rachel and made to feel wanting. He didn’t think his expectations were unreasonable and he sure as hell knew when he was attracted to someone or not.

  Thinking back, he didn’t remember one first meeting he’d judged too harshly, except maybe the woman whose fingernails he didn’t like. But there was just something about a person who filed their fingernails into sharp pointed talons that made him think of a rabid animal. It was almost like they were honing weapons and woe be to the poor sucker who made them mad. Of course he hadn’t told Rachel that. She already seemed to have enough ammunition against him.

  Chantal was lovely. She was tall and slim and held herself in a very cosmopolitan way: confident without being arrogant, bold without being brash. She had dark hair that she wore pulled back and she was wearing a very flattering wrap dress. Her shoes were higher than anything he’d ever seen and he briefly wondered if she’d had some kind of circus training which allowed her to walk in them without falling to her death.

  Richard stood and took her hand when the maître d’ handed her off. He smiled and offered, “I’m Richard Bingham. I’m very pleased to meet you.”