Dating Game

by Danielle Steel

  “His name is Bixby Mason. He's actually an artist, well, a painter and a sculptor. And he has a degree in architecture, but I don't think he's ever used it. He's just a very, very creative man, with incredible imagination and vision, and a nice person. Everyone he works with loves him.” Paris also realized, from what she'd seen, that he probably charged a fortune. But he ought to. What he created for his clients was obviously unique in all aspects. “Somebody called him a wedding planner once, and he almost killed them. He's a lot more than that. But he does a lot of weddings. I cater a lot of them, and I love working with him. Everything goes off like clockwork. He's a master control freak. But he has to be. That's why people come back to him, because everything he touches is perfect. And all the hosts have to do is enjoy the party.” He was worth his weight in gold to the people he worked for.

  “And sign a hefty check afterward, I'll bet,” Paris added. It was easy to see that the events he coordinated for them had cost a fortune.

  “He's worth it,” the woman who was baby-sitting the shop said without apology. “He makes their events unforgettable. Sadly, he even does funerals. And they're beautiful and tasteful. He never skimps on flowers, food, or music for parties. He flies in bands from everywhere, even Europe if he has to.”

  “Amazing.” It was embarrassing now to think of bringing her silver samovar in to have them put flowers in it. He was operating on such a grand scale that any business she could give them seemed pointless. And since she didn't know anyone yet, she wasn't planning to do any entertaining. “I'm glad I came in,” Paris said, with open admiration. “I was looking for a florist. But I don't think I'm going to be doing much entertaining for a while, since I just moved here.”

  The girl handed her a card and told her to call them whenever she felt they could help her. “You'd love Bixby. He's a riot. The poor thing is going nuts right now. His assistant is having a baby in a week, and we've got weddings booked every weekend. He told Jane she may have to work anyway. I don't think he knows much about babies.” They both laughed, and as Paris looked at her, she had an outrageous thought, and wasn't sure if she dared to ask her. But as she put the card in her pocket, she decided to throw caution to the wind and try it.

  “I'm looking for a job actually. I've given a lot of dinner parties, but not on this scale. What kind of assistant is he looking for?” It seemed ridiculous, even to her, to think he would want her. She had no experience in the workforce, and certainly none in his line of work, except for her own rather staid dinner parties, although some had been very pretty.

  “He needs someone with a lot of energy, and a lot of spare time at night and on weekends. Are you married?” She looked as though she might be. She had that quiet, respectable, well-kept look of wives who were well cared for.

  “No, I'm divorced,” Paris said quietly. She still said it as though admitting to having been convicted of a felony, and saw it as the public announcement of a failure. It was something she and Anne were still trying to work on.

  “Do you have children?”

  “Yes, two. One lives in Los Angeles, and the other one is at Berkeley.”

  “Well, that sounds interesting. Why don't I talk to him? He's supposed to call in, in a few minutes. Leave me your number, and if he's interested, I'll call you. He's down to the wire with Jane now. The baby's going to come any minute, and her husband wants her to stop working. I thought she was going to have it at the last wedding. She looks like she's having triplets. Thank God she isn't, but it's going to be a big one. And I don't know what he's going to do if he doesn't replace her. He hasn't liked anyone he's interviewed. He's a perfectionist, and a tyrant to work for, but he does such a beautiful job, and he's basically such a decent person, we all love him.” It sounded like nothing but fun to Paris. “Is there anything else you want him to know? Job experience? Languages? Special interests? Connections?” She had none of those, particularly in San Francisco. All she had been for the past twenty-four years was a mother and a housewife. But she thought that if he gave her a chance, she could do it.

  “I have an MBA, if that's of any use to him.” And then, having said it, she was afraid he'd think she was overqualified and unimaginative. “I know a lot about gardening, and always arrange my own flowers”—she glanced at the window then—“but not on that scale,” she said humbly.

  “Don't worry, he has a Japanese woman who does those for him. Bix couldn't do that either. He's great at rounding up people who can though. That's what he does best. Orchestrating the whole event. He's the conductor. The rest of us play the music. All you'd have to do is pick up the pieces and follow him around with a notebook, and make phone calls. That's what Jane does.”

  “I'm a genius with a phone,” Paris said, smiling. “And I have time on my hands. And a decent wardrobe, so I won't embarrass him with his clients. I've run a fairly decent house for the past twenty-four years. I don't know what else to say, except that, if nothing else, I'd love to meet him.”

  “If this works out,” the woman said encouragingly as Paris jotted down her name and number, “he'll be your best friend. He's a lovely man.” And then as Paris handed her the piece of paper, the woman who said she was a caterer looked Paris in the eye with a sympathetic smile. “I know what it's like. I was married for eighteen years, and when my marriage fell apart, I had no job experience and no skills. All I knew how to do was fold laundry, drive carpool, and cook for my kids. That's how I got into the catering business. It was the only thing I thought I knew how to do. It turns out that I had a lot more skills than I knew. I have offices in Los Angeles, Santa Barbara, and Newport Beach now. Bixby helped me do it. You have to start somewhere, and this may be it for you.” What she said brought tears to Paris's eyes, as she thanked her. “My name is Sydney Harrington, and I hope I'm going to be seeing more of you. And if this doesn't work out, give me a call. I've been there, and I have a lot of ideas.” She handed Paris her own card, from her catering business, and Paris thanked her again. She felt as though she were floating on air when she walked out of the shop. Even if she didn't get a job out of it, she felt as though she had made a new friend. And Sydney Harrington was a good contact to have. Working for her in the catering business would have been fine too. Working for Bixby Mason sounded like a dream come true. She realized she was unlikely to get a shot at it, she had no experience in the job market, and even less with elaborate events like the ones he did. But at least it was a place to start, and she was proud of herself for speaking up and asking about the possibility. This was a whole new world for her.

  Paris spent the next two hours wandering in and out of shops on Sacramento Street. She bought a set of salad plates in a pretty store down the street, and a needlepoint to do on lonely nights. And by four o'clock she was home again, made herself a cup of tea, and sat looking at the view. It had been a nice afternoon. She was still enjoying it, when the phone rang and she answered it. It was Sydney Harrington, and she had exciting news.

  “Bixby asked if you could be here at nine on Monday. I don't want to get your hopes up, I have no idea what his take will be, but I told him I thought you were terrific. And he's really desperate. He rejected everyone the agency sent. He thought they were just too dull and unimaginative, and he didn't like the way they looked. You'd have to go to all the events with him, and some on your own, if he has two at the same time. He always stops in, but he can't be in two places at once, particularly if one of them is out of town, so you have to be pretty much at ease with the clients and the guests and fit in. That's important to him. As he says, his assistant is like an extension of him, his representative in the world. He and Jane have been working together for six years. This is going to be a big change for him. He should have hired someone for her to train months ago. I think he had denial about the baby.”

  “Is she leaving or going on maternity leave?” Not that it mattered, Paris would have been happy to work for him, from all Sydney had said, for months or even weeks until she came back. The experience w
ould be valuable, and the job would surely be fun.

  “She's out for good. He did her wedding, and her husband says if she doesn't quit now, Bix can do their divorce. Paul says he hasn't seen Jane for more than ten minutes at a time for the last five years. He wants her at home, and she agreed. I think she's ready for it. Bix is terrific, but it's an incredible amount of work. I hope you're ready for that if you get the job.” Sydney was trying to be as honest as possible with her, there was no point being otherwise, and she had liked Paris when they met.

  “It sounds fabulous,” Paris said enthusiastically, and meant it, and then asked nervously, “What'll I wear? Is there anything he likes or hates?” She wanted to maximize her chance of getting the job, and was grateful for all the information Sydney had shared with her.

  “Just be you. That's what he likes best. Be open, honest, and yourself. And be ready to work an eighteen-hour day. He likes that too. No one on the planet works as hard as Bixby Mason, and he expects no less from anyone else.” He sounded like an interesting man.

  “Sounds great to me. I have no kids at home, no husband, no big house to take care of. I don't even know anyone here. I have nothing else to do.”

  “He'll love that. And I told him about your MBA. I think he was intrigued. Good luck,” she said with a warm tone in her voice. She had so much empathy for the situation Paris was in. She had been there herself five years before, and Bixby had turned it around for her. She was forever grateful to him, and if she could help someone else in the same boat now, she was pleased. “I'll check in on Monday and see how it went.”

  “Thank you,” Paris said gratefully and meant every word of it. “Keep your fingers crossed!”

  “I will. You'll do great. I have a good feeling about this. I think it was meant to be that you walked into the shop today. He was going to keep it closed because he didn't have anyone to be there, and I volunteered to keep it open for him, but it was just a fluke. Destiny. Now let's see what comes of it. And if this doesn't pan out, something else will. I'm sure of that.” Paris thanked her again, and they hung up, and she sat staring at the view from her living room with a smile on her face. All of a sudden, good things were happening. Better than she'd ever dreamed. She just hoped she didn't make a fool of herself on Monday, or say the wrong thing. She had so little to offer him, she thought, but if he gave her a chance, she was going to put her heart and soul into it. This was the best thing that had happened to her in years.

  Chapter 14

  Paris parked her car on Sacramento Street on Monday morning at ten to nine, and went to the black door with the brass knocker next to the shop, where Sydney had told her to go. And she noticed with embarrassment that her hands were shaking when she rang the bell. She was wearing a trim black suit, and high-heeled black shoes, her hair was neatly pulled back in a bun, and she had small diamond studs at her ears. She felt a little overdressed, but she wanted him to see that she would look proper at parties, and this was an interview after all. She hadn't wanted to underdress or overdress, and she was carrying a small black classic Chanel shoulder bag that Peter had given her for Christmas several years before. She had so little occasion to wear it in Greenwich that it looked brand-new. She wondered if she should be carrying a briefcase, but she didn't own one. All she had to offer him was her brain, her energy, her time, and her organizational skills. She hoped it was enough for him.

  A buzzer sounded, and when she pushed the door, it opened, and revealed a short flight of marble stairs leading upward, just like the staircase in the shop. The house was beautifully done. She heard voices on the floor above, and followed them, and found herself in an elegant hallway, with original modern art by well-known artists, and ahead of her was a large wood-paneled room lined with books, and in it were seated a strikingly handsome blond man in his mid- to late thirties in a black turtleneck and black slacks, and a young woman who was so pregnant, Paris almost smiled thinking of Agnes Gooch in Auntie Mame. She got out of the chair with difficulty, and came to greet Paris in the hall and lead her into the room.

  “You must be Paris, what a terrific name. I'm Jane. And this is Bixby Mason. We've been expecting you.” He was already looking Paris over with eyes that felt like X rays as he checked her out. She could feel him taking in everything, from her hair and earrings to the Chanel bag and the high-heeled shoes she had worn, but he seemed to approve, and smiled as he asked her to sit down.

  “Great suit,” he said, as he reached behind him and grabbed a phone that was ringing. He answered a rapid-fire series of questions, and then turned to sum it up for Jane when she sat down.

  “The truck is late with the orchids. They're about halfway here from Los Angeles, they should arrive before noon, which means we have to hustle when they get here. But they're going to knock something off the price to make up for the delay. I think we'll make it. The party isn't till seven, and if we get into the room by three, we should be fine.” He turned his attention back to Paris then, and asked her how long she'd been in San Francisco and why she had come. She had already thought about how she would answer him. She didn't want to sound depressed or pathetic, he didn't need to know all the gory details, just the fact that she was divorced and on her own.

  “I've been here for three days,” she said honestly. “I'm divorced. I was married for twenty-four years, ran my home, took care of my kids, didn't work, gave a fair number of dinner parties. I love decorating and entertaining and gardening. And I came to San Francisco because my son is at UC Berkeley, and my daughter lives in L.A. And I have an MBA.” He smiled at the rapid recital, and although he looked sophisticated and elegant, there was something warm in his eyes too.

  “How long have you been divorced?”

  She took a breath. “About a month. It was final in December, but we've been separated since last May.”

  “That's tough,” he said sympathetically, “after twenty-four years.” He didn't ask what happened, but she could see that he felt sorry for her, and she tried not to give way to tears. It was always harder when people were nice to her. Their kindness always made her cry, but she forced herself to think of what she was doing there, and kept her eyes firmly on his. “Are you doing okay?”

  “I'm fine,” she said quietly. “It's been an adjustment, but my kids have been great. And my friends. I just wanted a change of scene.”

  “Were you living in New York?” He was interested in her.

  “Greenwich, Connecticut. It's a fairly opulent bedroom community, and has kind of a life of its own.”

  “I know it well.” He smiled. “I grew up in Purchase, which isn't very far away, and is pretty much the same idea. Tiny little communities full of rich people who know each other's business. I couldn't wait to get the hell out after college. I think you did the right thing coming out here.” He smiled approval at her.

  “So do I.” She smiled broadly at him. “Particularly if I get a job working for you. I can't think of anything I'd like more,” she said, almost shaking as she made her brave little speech.

  “It's a lot of very, very, very hard work. I'm a pain in the ass to work for. I'm totally manic, and obsessive about everything. I want everything perfect. I work a million hours a day. I never sleep. I'll call you in the middle of the night to tell you something I forgot and that you have to do first thing in the morning. Forget having a love life. You'll be lucky if you see your kids for Thanksgiving and Christmas, and probably not then either, because we'll have parties to do. I promise to run you ragged, drive you crazy, teach you everything I know, and make you wish you'd never laid eyes on me at least ninety percent of the time, if not more. But if you can stand all that, Paris, then we'll have a hell of a lot of fun. How does that sound to you?”

  “Like a dream come true,” she said honestly. It was all she wanted to do. It would keep her busy and distracted, make her feel useful, the parties and events they did had to be exciting, she would meet new people, even if they were his clients and not her friends. She couldn't think of a bet
ter job for her, and she didn't care how hard she worked. She wanted to. “I think, I hope I can do a great job for you.”

  “Want to try it?” he asked with a look of excitement in his eyes too. “We're only doing four dinner parties this week. One tonight, two tomorrow, and a good-sized fortieth-anniversary party on Saturday night. If you survive all that, you're on. Let's see how we both feel about it by the end of the week.” Then he looked at Jane with a stern expression. “And if you have that baby before that, I'm going to spank it and strangle you, do you understand, Mrs. Winslow?” He wagged a finger at her, and she laughed, rubbing the enormous Buddha belly that looked like it was going to explode out of her dress at any minute.

  “I'll do my best. I'll have a talk with him and tell him that if he shows up before the weekend, his godfather will be extremely pissed.”

  “Exactly. No inheritance from me, no trust fund, no graduation party, no presents for Christmas or birthdays. He's to stay where he is until Paris and I figure out if we can work together, understood? And in the meantime, I want you to teach her everything you know.” In a mere five days. Jane didn't flinch.

  “Yes, sir, Captain Bly, Your Honor. Absolutely.” She saluted him, and he laughed at her as he stood up. And Paris was startled by how tall he was. He was at least six foot four, incredibly handsome, and she was almost certain he was gay.

  “Oh, shut up,” he said to Jane, laughing at her as she stood up too, though with considerable difficulty. She needed a crane to get her out of the chair. And then he turned to Paris with a mock-severe expression. “And if you get pregnant, in or out of wedlock, you're fired on the spot. I can't go through this again.” He looked meek and boyish then, and they both laughed. “This has been very hard on me. You may have stretch marks,” he said to Jane, “but my nerves are stretched a lot tighter than your stomach!”