“Yes, it is.” She smiled at him blandly, trying not to pick up the conversation, while still being polite to him. She didn't want to encourage him. She was working. She just didn't look it. She was better looking than most of the guests, most of whom were a great deal older. But the Fleischmanns' sons were there, and a handful of their friends. Paris assumed the man with the gray hair was one of them.
“Fabulous buffet.” There was an entire table devoted to caviar, which had been doing a considerable business. “Do you know the Fleischmanns well?” he asked conversationally, determined to engage her. He had bright blue eyes the color of Peter's, and much as she hated to admit it, he was better looking. He looked lean and athletic and in good shape. And he was so handsome he could have been an actor or male model, but in this crowd, she was sure he wasn't.
“I just met them today,” she said quietly.
“Really?” he said, assuming she was someone's date. He had checked out her left hand for a wedding ring, and there was none. “They're lovely people.” And then, with a smile that was nearly dazzling, he turned to her. “Would you like to dance? My name is Chandler Freeman. I'm a business associate of Oscar Junior's.” He had taken care of the full introduction as she smiled at him, but made no move toward the dance floor.
“I'm Paris Armstrong, and I work for Bixby Mason, who organized this spectacular event. I'm not a guest. I'm working.”
“I see,” he said, not missing a beat, as his smile grew broader. “Well, Cinderella, if you dance with me until the stroke of midnight, I promise to look for you all over the kingdom, until I find the matching glass slipper. Shall we?”
“I don't really think I should,” she said, looking amused but embarrassed. He was very appealing, and very charming.
“I won't tell if you don't. And you look far too beautiful to be standing out here on the sidelines. One dance won't hurt anything, will it?” He already had an arm around her, and without waiting for a response, he was leading her toward the dance floor. And much to her own amazement, she followed. She caught Bix's eye along the way, and he smiled at her and winked, which seemed to suggest he had no problem with it. So she let Chandler Freeman lead her onto the floor and sweep her away. He was an expert dancer, and it was three songs later when he led her to his table. “Would you like to join us?” He was there with several friends, and was in fact sitting with Oscar Fleischmann Jr., who was a handsome man about Paris's age with a very pretty wife, who was covered in diamonds and emeralds. The family had made their fortune in oil in Denver, and then moved to San Francisco. It was Oscar Jr.'s son who had had the bar mitzvah, Jane told her later.
“I'd love to,” Paris said, in answer to his invitation to join them. “But I have to get back to my team.” She didn't want to be inappropriate and overly familiar with the guests, and make a bad impression either on their client, or on Bixby. She had no problem keeping her place, and had no intention of picking up the guests, however handsome. And there was no question, Chandler Freeman was a knockout. She wondered who his date was, and how she had felt about his dancing with Paris. But she couldn't identify anyone at the table who looked as though she was with him. As it turned out, his date had canceled at the last minute.
“I had a great time dancing with you, Paris,” he said, nearly in her ear so no one would hear him. “I'd love to see you again.”
“I'll leave my number in the glass slipper,” she said as she laughed. “I always wondered why the prince didn't at least get her name. It has to make you wonder about him.” Chandler laughed at what she said.
“Paris Armstrong. And you work for Bixby Mason. I think I can remember that,” he said, as though he fully intended to call her and see her again. But she wasn't counting on it. He was just a very charming, very handsome man. It was good for her ego, for a minute or two, but she didn't expect or want more than that.
“Thank you again, have a lovely evening,” she said to the table in general and drifted off, and as she did, she could hear Oscar's wife say in a loud voice “Who was that?” and Chandler answer “Cinderella,” and everyone at the table laughed. Paris was still amused when she got back to Bixby and Jane.
“Sorry,” she said to Bixby apologetically. “I didn't want to insult him by not dancing with him, and I escaped as soon as I could.” But Bixby didn't look in the least concerned, except about Jane, who was finally sitting down, and looked as though she were about to pop.
“Part of the secret of our success is knowing when to mix with the locals, and when to back off and work. You did it just right. People like it sometimes if we mingle with them for a while. I do. And I think it's just fine if you do a bit of that too. As long as we keep an eye on how the event is going. There are plenty of parties we do where I'm on the guest list,” he said, smiling at her. As far as he was concerned, Paris was not only efficient and competent, but she was socially adept, and he wanted her to know that. “By the way,” he said with a gleam in his eye, “that looked like a good one,” he said mischievously, referring to Chandler. “He's very nice looking. Who is he?”
“Prince Charming,” she said blithely, and then looked down to notice Jane rubbing her lower back.
“Are you okay?” Paris asked her, looking worried.
“I'm fine. The baby is just in a weird position. I think he's sitting on my kidneys.”
“How pleasant,” Bix said, rolling his eyes in mock horror. “I don't know how women do it. That would kill me,” he said, pointing at her stomach.
“No, it wouldn't, you get used to it,” Paris said, smiling.
“Your son is very well behaved, by the way,” he said to Jane, as some of the guests finally started leaving. It had been a long evening, and they had nearly an hour's drive back to the city. Bix had hired a crew to take down the tent, and oversee the undoing of the party, so they didn't have to stay there. “I told him not to come until after the Fleischmann anniversary, and there's no sign of him yet. Excellent manners, Jane, I commend you. My godson is a little prince. I would have spanked him if he'd come any sooner.” They all laughed, and Bix went to chat with Mrs. Fleischmann until the last of her guests had collected their cars, and she was finally alone with her husband, Bix, Jane, and Paris.
“It was everything I had dreamed it would be,” she said happily, looking like a vision in pink, as she gazed adoringly at her husband, and then gratefully at Bixby. “Thank you, Bix. I'll never forget this.”
“It was beautiful, Doris, and so were you. We had a good time too.”
“You all did such a good job,” she said warmly. She liked Paris too, and thought she made an excellent addition to the team.
Bix went to get his briefcase, and the clothes he had changed out of when he put on his tuxedo. He had been working there all afternoon. The Fleischmanns went into the house arm in arm, and Paris was walking to the car, when she heard Jane give a soft moan. She didn't know what it was at first, and when she turned to look at her, Jane suddenly bent over, and there was a rush of water that splashed onto the grass where she stood.
“Oh my God,” she said, looking at Paris with wide eyes, “I think my water just broke,” and within seconds, she was doubled over with a terrible pain.
“Sit down,” Paris said firmly to her, and helped her to sit down on the grass so she could catch her breath. “You're okay, it's going to be fine. Well, it looks like the baby did just what Bix said. He waited till after the party. Now let's get you home.” Jane nodded, but the contraction she was having was too strong for her to speak. And when it ended, she looked up at Paris miserably.
“I think I'm going to be sick.” Paris had had labors like that, fast and hard, vomiting everywhere, and too many things happening all at once. But in her experience, it had meant that the baby came quickly too. Jane was throwing up when Bix came back to look for them.
“Good lord, what happened to you? What did you eat? I hope it wasn't the caviar or the oysters, people were gobbling them up, saying how good they were.” But Jane just
looked up at him, mortally embarrassed.
“I think she's in labor,” Paris said quietly to him. “Is there a hospital near here?”
“Now? Here?” Bixby looked horrified, and Jane interrupted immediately.
“I don't want to go to a hospital here. I want to go home. I'm okay. I feel better now.”
“Let's discuss it in the car,” Paris said sensibly, and helped Jane into the backseat so she could lie down. There was a towel in the trunk, and Paris set it next to her, and got into the front seat. Bix had driven them, and he took off his tuxedo jacket, put it in the trunk, and a moment later they took off. By then Jane had called Paul, and told him what was happening. She promised to call him back in five minutes. “I think you should call your doctor too. When did the contractions start?” Paris asked, as Jane dialed her obstetrician's number.
“I don't know. I've been feeling weird all afternoon. I thought it was something I ate.” She got through to her doctor's exchange then, and they patched her through to him. He told her to go straight to California Pacific Medical Center in the city. He thought driving back would be fine. And if anything changed dramatically, he told her to stop and go to a hospital along the way, or at the very worst, call 911. He was relieved to hear that she wasn't driving back alone, and she was lying down. She called Paul back then and told him where to meet her, and to bring her overnight bag. It had been sitting in the front hall for three weeks. And as soon as she finished talking to him, another contraction hit. It was another major one, and she couldn't talk for three or four minutes.
“If memory serves,” Paris said to Bix as she held Jane's hand. Jane was nearly breaking her fingers, and gripping Paris's hand in a vise as she squeezed her eyes shut and made a moaning sound that terrified Bix. “As I recall, once you can't talk during contractions, it's time to be in the hospital. I think she's further along than she thinks.”
“Oh my God,” Bix said, looking panicked. “I'm a homosexual, for chrissake. I'm not supposed to see these things, or even know about them. What am I supposed to do now?”
“Drive back to the city as fast as you can,” Paris said, laughing at him, and feeling better again, Jane was laughing weakly in the backseat too.
“Your godson wants to see you, Bix,” Jane teased, and he groaned louder than she had a moment before.
“Well, tell him I do not want to see him. Yet. I want to see him neatly wrapped in a blue blanket, in a hospital ward, and not until his hair has been combed. And that goes for you too,” he said, glancing at Jane in the rearview mirror, but he was genuinely concerned. The last thing he wanted was for something untoward to happen to her, or the baby, while he drove them into town. “Are you sure we shouldn't stop at a hospital along the way?” he asked both women, and Jane insisted she was fine. She had several more contractions, and Paris was timing them. They were still about seven minutes apart. They had time, but not much, she knew.
The two women talked softly between contractions, and Jane had a horrific one just as they cruised past the airport, going at full speed.
“Are you okay?” Bix asked, and Jane's voice was hoarse when she spoke again.
“Yeah. I think I might get sick again.” But this time she didn't, and she told Paris as they reached the outskirts of the city that she felt like she wanted to bear down.
“Don't!” Paris said firmly. “We're almost there. Just hang in.”
“Oh my God,” Bix said, “this isn't happening.” And then he turned to Paris with a nervous look. “Do you deliver babies too?”
“Is that part of the job description?” she asked, keeping an eye on Jane and her hand in hers.
“It may have to be. I hope not. And by the way…” he began as they flew through a red light on Franklin Street, and narrowly missed being hit by a car. He had never driven as fast, or as recklessly in his life. “You're hired, Paris. In case I haven't told you yet. You've done a great job this week. And you in the backseat,” he said jokingly to Jane, “you're fired. I don't want to see you in the office on Monday. Don't come back again!” They were on California Street by then, and Jane was making horrible sounds. Paris was trying to get her to pant like a dog so she wouldn't push.
“Can we stop?” Jane asked feebly. The motion of the car was making her feel sick.
“No!” Bix nearly screamed. The hospital was only a few blocks away. “I am not stopping, and you will not have that baby in this car! Do you hear me, Jane?”
“I will if I want,” she said, lying back with her eyes closed. She had broken out in a sweat and let go of Paris's hand to hold her belly. Paris knew that they would be lucky if they got there in time. The baby was definitely coming. And just as she thought it, Bix screeched to a halt outside the hospital, in the parking slots reserved for emergency vehicles. Without asking either of them, he jumped out of the car, and ran inside to find a doctor. “I think the baby's coming,” Jane said to Paris in staccato breaths, and all she wanted to do was scream.
“It's okay, sweetheart, we're here,” Paris said, as she jumped out of the car, and opened the back door to get to Jane, but just as she did, two attendants rushed out with a gurney, and Paul was with them. They got her onto the gurney as she cried, and she was sobbing as she reached for Paul with both hands. She had been very brave, but now she was frightened, and so relieved to see him.
“I was so worried about you,” he said, as he held her hand and they wheeled her inside at full speed, while Paris and Bix watched, and followed her inside. They didn't even try to get her upstairs, but took her straight into the emergency room, and Paris and Bix were still trying to catch their breath when they heard her scream. It was a long horrifying howl that was so primeval, so deep, and so profound that it went to one's very soul. Bix looked at Paris in terror, and clutched her hand.
“Oh my God, is she dying?” He had tears in his eyes. He had never heard anything like it. It sounded as though someone had sawed her in half.
“No,” Paris said quietly, as they held hands in the waiting room, “I think she just had a baby.”
“How awful. Was it like that for you?”
“With one of them. I had a C-section with the other.”
“You're a remarkable breed, all of you. I could never go through it.”
“It's worth it,” she said, as she wiped a tear from her eyes too. Thinking about it reminded her of Peter.
And a moment later one of the emergency room nurses came out to tell them that the baby was healthy and weighed ten pounds three ounces. Half an hour later they wheeled Jane past them, as Paul followed proudly, holding the baby. They were all going upstairs to a room.
“Are you okay?” Paris asked as she bent to kiss her. “I'm so proud of you. You were terrific.”
“It was pretty easy,” Jane said gamely. They had just given her something for the pain, and she was looking very woozy. And at ten pounds three ounces, Paris knew it couldn't have been easy.
“We'll come back and see you tomorrow,” Paris promised, as Bix leaned over and kissed her too.
“Thank you for not having it at the Fleischmanns' party,” he said solemnly, and all three of them laughed. He took a peek at the baby, and remarked to Paul that he looked enormous. “He looks like he should be smoking a cigar and carrying a briefcase. That's my godson,” he said proudly to one of the nurses. And a moment later, the little family they had become went upstairs to get to know each other.
“What a remarkable evening,” Bix said to Paris, as they stood outside in the starry night. It was three o'clock in the morning.
It had been an extraordinary week. She had gotten a job, made two new friends, and nearly delivered a baby.
“Thanks for the job,” she said as he drove her home. She felt as though they were old friends now.
“We'll have to put midwifery in the brochure after tonight,” he said solemnly. “I'm awfully glad we didn't have to deliver that baby.”
“So am I,” Paris said with a yawn, as she smiled at him. She knew the ni
ght had created a bond between them that might not have been there otherwise. Neither of them would ever forget it. Nor would Jane, she was sure.
“Would you like to come to breakfast tomorrow?” Bix asked as he dropped her off at her house. “I'd like you to meet my partner.” It was a compliment and an honor for him to bring her into his private world, but he felt she had earned it. She was a lovely person.
“I didn't know you had a business partner,” she said sleepily, looking puzzled, but pleased to be invited.
“I don't. I was referring to the man I live with,” he said, laughing at her. “You have led a sheltered life, haven't you?”
“Sorry, I wasn't thinking.” She giggled. “I'd love it.”
“Come at eleven. We can get drunk thinking about tonight. It's a shame he wasn't with us. He's a doctor.”
“I can't wait to meet him,” she said sincerely, and then got out and waved as she unlocked her front door, and stepped inside.
“Good night,” he called as he drove away, thinking of the events of the evening. A baby had come into the world, and he'd nearly had to deliver it, and he had a new assistant. It had been quite a day.
Chapter 16
After sleeping as late as possible, Paris took a shower, put on khaki slacks and an old cashmere sweater and her favorite pea coat, and turned up at the door next to the shop at eleven. She knew Bix and his friend lived on the two floors above the office. He had bought the building years before, and the private quarters, when she entered them, were lovely. The rooms were cozy and warm. There were books everywhere, and there was a roaring fire, where Bix and an older man had been sitting and reading the Sunday paper. The older man was wearing a tweed jacket and slacks and an open blue shirt, and Bix was wearing jeans and a sweatshirt. The older man had white hair, but looked youthful and very rugged. They were a handsome couple.
Dating Game Page 16
