Dating Game

by Danielle Steel

  “Sounds pretty glamorous, Mom,” Meg said, sounding pleased for her. “What's he like?”

  “I don't know. Nice, I guess. He's very good-looking, and very well dressed. He talks a good game, as Bixby would say. And he's been very nice to me.” But she didn't sound enthused. He wasn't Peter, and it was strange being with a new man, stranger still traveling with him to another city. She still wasn't sure she should. But he seemed to understand the ground rules, and accepted them. She was relieved that he had agreed to separate rooms. Otherwise she wouldn't have gone. And she was planning to pay for her own. She didn't want to be indebted to him. Going to the party with him and to L.A. on his plane was more than enough.

  “Are you falling for him, Mom?” Meg asked, sounding concerned.

  “No, I'm not. I'm not really dating him,” she said, kidding herself. “We're just going out as friends.”

  “Does he think that's all it is?”

  “I don't know what he thinks. But he's certainly clear that I'm not going to sleep with him. I think he's a gentleman, and if he's not, I'll come stay with you.” Meg laughed at her mother's illusions about dating.

  “You'd better take some Mace with you, in case he breaks into your room.”

  “I don't think he's the type. At least I hope not. If he does, I'll call the police.”

  “That would be nice,” Meg laughed again, and then told her mother she was seeing someone new. He was the first man she'd gone out with since Peace.

  “Does this one have a normal name?” her mother teased, and Meg said he did. His name was Anthony Waterston, and he was another young actor she'd met on the set. She said he was very talented, but she didn't know much about him yet.

  “It's a lot of work, all this stuff, isn't it?” It reminded Paris of weeding her garden in Greenwich. Sometimes you had to look hard to decide which were the flowers and which were the weeds. And even then sometimes you weren't sure. “I'll see you sometime this weekend,” Paris promised, and then she called Wim to let him know she'd be away. He was out, but she left him a message on his machine.

  And that night, when she went to bed, she thought long and hard about what she'd wear. She didn't think she had anything glamorous enough for a Hollywood black tie event, and then she settled on a white silk dress Peter had loved. It had been a little racy for Greenwich, but it was the best she could do, and she didn't have time to shop. She was too busy at work. She didn't have another minute to breathe all week. Or to think about Chandler Freeman.

  Chapter 18

  Chandler picked Paris up in the Ferrari at eight o'clock on Friday morning, and she was ready and waiting for him. Her bag was packed, and she was carrying her dress in a garment bag. She was wearing a black pantsuit and a fur jacket, and he was wearing a dark suit. They made a handsome pair as they drove off. And an hour later, after parking his car, they were boarding his plane.

  It was comfortable and sleek, and she was surprised to see that there was a hostess on board when he took his place in the pilot's seat.

  She had a cup of tea and read the paper as they flew south, and by the time she was finished, they were ready to land. It had been a short flight, and she was impressed by how expertly Chandler flew the plane. He obviously took it seriously, and he paid no attention to her until they were on the ground. There was a limousine waiting for them. Meg was right. It was turning out to be a very glamorous weekend. More so than she'd thought.

  They chatted in the limo on the way to the hotel, and everyone seemed to know him at the Bel-Air. They bowed and scraped, and an assistant manager escorted them to their rooms, and when she saw them, Paris was impressed. He had an apartment of sorts that he said he always had, and he had reserved a huge suite for her, which he had already paid for, in spite of her objections. He said he wanted to do that for her. In fact, he insisted on it.

  “Chandler, this is wonderful,” she said, looking embarrassed. It was hard to believe he was spoiling her this much. She hadn't expected anything even remotely like it.

  They had lunch in the dining room, and admired the swans as they waddled by and swam in the pond. And afterward Chandler asked her if she'd like to shop on Rodeo Drive. He still had the limousine standing by, and she confessed shyly that she would.

  “You don't have to come with me. I just want to browse a little bit. I never have time when I come to see Meg,” she told him. But they had several hours before they needed to get ready. They didn't have to be at the Grammy party till seven. And it never took Paris long to dress. All she did was bathe, and wind her hair into a sleek knot. And she wore so little makeup, it didn't take long to put on. She was seldom late. She was always perfectly dressed, and impeccably organized. Chandler had already noticed that about her.

  He seemed to be enjoying her company considerably, and Paris was finding him easy to be with. He had a nice sense of humor, and an uncomplicated nature. And he seemed to be well versed at shopping with women. He knew all the right shops, and waited patiently while she looked. He didn't even mind when she tried a few things on. And on their way back to the hotel, he astounded her by producing a small shopping bag from Chanel, and handing it to her. He had bought it while she tried on some sweaters and a blouse that were on sale. In the end, the only thing she'd bought on the entire shopping spree was a pair of very simple black shoes that she thought might be good for work. And as she held the bag he had handed her, she looked up at him with hesitation.

  “Chandler, you didn't have to do that.” Whatever it was, she knew that it was expensive if it was from Chanel.

  “I know I didn't. I enjoy spoiling you a little. You deserve it, Paris. I want this weekend to be fun for you, and now you'll remember it whenever you see this gift.” She opened the gift box cautiously as they rode back to the hotel, and she was stunned when she saw that it was a beautiful black lizard bag. And much to her amazement, it was one she had admired and walked by. She wouldn't have dared to buy it for herself, and he had noticed that, so he had bought it for her. “Chandler, my God!” she exclaimed with wide eyes when she saw it. “It's so beautiful.” And it was also incredibly expensive.

  “Do you like it?”

  “I love it, but you shouldn't have.” She turned and gave him a gentle kiss on the cheek. No one had ever done anything like that for her. She scarcely knew him, and the gesture was as generous as it was spontaneous. It was a lovely gift. But Chandler was accustomed to buying the women in his life extravagant gifts, even when they hadn't slept with him yet. And he seemed to want nothing in return. She knew the bag was going to become a prize possession, and would always remind her of him, which was precisely his intent. It was a good investment for him, and had made a major impression on her.

  He had ordered a massage for her when they got back to the hotel. And he disappeared to his own rooms, to have one himself. She didn't see him again until shortly before seven. Until then, she relaxed with the massage, luxuriated in her bath, and admired the handbag he had given her again and again. She called Meg and told her about it, and her daughter sounded concerned.

  “Watch out for him, Mom. If he bought you a present like that, he's going to jump your bones.” Her mother laughed at the expression.

  “I was afraid of that myself. But I don't think he will. He's being very proper and restrained.”

  “Wait till tonight,” Meg said darkly, and then hurried back to work. She worried about her mother with this man. Paris had no idea what she was doing. And the guy was a big spender obviously, and something about him was beginning to suggest to Meg that he was too smooth. Unless he was madly in love with her mother and had never done this before, he sounded like a playboy of some kind to her. But as long as her mother could handle it, if she could, maybe it would be okay. Meg was no longer so sure.

  Chandler appeared at Paris's door at five minutes to seven in an impeccably cut tuxedo that had been made for him in London, and he looked better than any movie star, and Paris looked terrific too. The white evening gown clung to her just
enough, but not too much, and her figure looked spectacular. She had worn a little more makeup than usual, and she had rhinestone sticks in her chignon, and diamonds at her ears. As they left the hotel, she wore a white mink jacket over her dress. And as she walked, Chandler could just barely see high-heeled silver sandals with rhinestone buckles. She looked exquisite, and he was obviously proud to have her on his arm as they walked into the Beverly Hills Hotel.

  The entire hotel had been taken over by his record business friend Walter Frye, who, Paris discovered as they walked in, was easily the most important man in the music business. As they entered, it seemed as if two hundred photographers took their picture.

  “You look beautiful, Paris,” Chandler whispered to her, as he patted her hand tucked into his arm, and they glided by the photographers. Allison Jones was just ahead of them, and she was nominated for four Grammys, the previous year's major winner, Wanda Bird, was bringing up the rear. They were both Walter's discoveries, and incredible singers. Allison was twenty-two years old, and was wearing a cream lace dress that barely covered her figure, and left little to the imagination.

  It was a dazzling evening. There were eight hundred people in the room, among them every major name in the music business, singers, producers, power brokers of all kinds, and the photographers who were wending their way among them were going crazy. And in the midst of it all was Walter Frye, who was delighted to see Chandler, and smiled warmly when he saw Paris.

  An hour later they all moved slowly into the dining room, and Paris was no longer surprised to see that they were at Walter's table, and she was seated between Chandler and Stevie Wonder.

  “This is quite an evening,” she said to Chandler in a whisper.

  “It's fun, isn't it?” he said, looking extremely comfortable.

  “Yes, it is,” Paris agreed, which was a vast understatement.

  And as soon as the dessert had been served, the lights dimmed, and a star-studded group of performers took turns singing for the audience, including most of those nominated for Grammys. All told, they sang for nearly three hours while people shouted and rocked and sang along with them, and by the time it ended, Paris wished it would go on forever. She only wished her children could have seen it. She couldn't even begin to describe it to them. It ended long after midnight, and it was after one by the time they got back to the Bel-Air.

  “Would you like a drink at the bar?” Chandler asked her.

  “I'd love it,” Paris agreed. She hated to end the evening. “What an incredible performance,” she said, sipping a glass of champagne, while he drank brandy. “I'll never forget it.”

  “I thought you might enjoy it.” He looked pleased, and he had enjoyed sharing it with her.

  “Enjoy it? I loved it.” They talked about it for another hour until the bar closed, and then he walked her back to her room, kissed her on the cheek, and said he'd see her in the morning. She had mentioned Meg to him earlier, and he had suggested to Paris that she invite her to have lunch with them. He was incredibly generous and hospitable, and acted as though he was dying to meet her. Paris had never known anyone like him. The whole experience was unforgettable, and as she walked into her room, she saw the black lizard bag again, sitting on the table. She put it on with her white gown, and looked in the mirror. She couldn't imagine anyone doing all this for her. She had no idea how to thank him.

  And when she called Meg the next morning, Paris was laughing.

  “What's so funny?” Meg asked, rolling over in bed with a yawn. “God, Mom, it's only nine-thirty.”

  “I know. But I want you to have lunch with us. You have to meet him.”

  “Did he propose?” Meg sounded panicked.

  “No. And he didn't jump my bones either.” She'd been waiting all night and since early morning to tell her.

  “Did you have fun last night?”

  “It was incredible.” And then she told Meg all about it.

  “I have to meet him.”

  “He said to meet us at Spago at twelve-thirty.”

  “I can't wait. Can I bring Anthony?”

  “Does he look decent?”

  “No,” Meg said honestly, “but he has very good manners. And he doesn't talk about high colonics.”

  “I suppose that's something,” Paris said gratefully, and when she met Chandler for breakfast, she warned him that Meg was bringing her current escort.

  “That's fine. I'd love to meet him,” he said enthusiastically, and she warned him that she couldn't be responsible for how he looked. And then she described Peace to him, and he roared with laughter.

  “My son used to go out with girls like that. And then he met ‘the one.’ She looks like the girl next door, and he married her six months later. And now they have three babies, or almost. There's hope for us all yet,” he said good-naturedly. “I just haven't been as lucky as he was. Till now.” He smiled meaningfully at Paris, and she ignored it. She wasn't ready to make any commitments, and still didn't think she ever would be. And she said as much to Chandler over breakfast. She didn't want to mislead him. “I know that,” he said gently. “You need time, honey. You can't go through all that you did less than a year ago and expect not to have scars. It took me years to get over what my ex-wife did to me.” And Paris wasn't sure he had yet. He spoke with thinly concealed venom whenever he mentioned his ex-wife.

  “I don't know that I'm ever going to be ready to get involved again,” she said honestly. “I still feel like I'm married to him.”

  “I felt that way too, for a long time. Be patient with yourself, Paris. I am. I'm not going anywhere.” She couldn't believe she'd had the good fortune to meet him. He was everything any woman could want, and all he seemed to want was to be with her, whatever the ground rules.

  They sat in the garden at the Bel-Air for a little while afterward, and they arrived promptly at Spago at twelve-thirty. Meg and Anthony arrived twenty minutes later, and although Meg looked lovely, Anthony didn't. He was wearing wrinkled black cotton pants and a wrinkled T-shirt, and although Paris tried not to notice, he looked like his hair was dirty. It hung in locks over his eyes and was greasy. But he was a very handsome boy. And he was extremely polite to Chandler and Paris. He had a tattoo of a snake running down one arm, and he was wearing rather large earrings. But Chandler looked completely unaffected by his appearance, and had a very intelligent conversation with him, which was more than Paris could do. Although she had found Peace eccentric and a little zany, she took an instant dislike to Anthony. She thought he was a phony. He name-dropped constantly, and she thought he was condescending to her daughter, as though he were doing her an enormous favor just being with her. And it irritated Paris throughout lunch, so much so that she was still steaming after he and Meg left the table. He had an audition that afternoon, and had promised to drop Meg back in Malibu, and Paris promised to call her later.

  “I gather you don't like him,” Chandler said to her once they were alone at the table.

  “Was it that obvious?” Paris looked embarrassed. She couldn't stand him.

  “Not to the untrained eye. But you forget, I'm a parent. I've been through it. You just have to grit your teeth sometimes and pretend not to notice. They usually disappear pretty quickly. I think he's fairly ambitious. Sooner or later, he'll get himself latched on to someone who can help his career.” And Meg was only a production assistant. Paris just hoped he didn't hurt her feelings. She didn't want Meg to get her heart broken by some young actor, and Anthony looked like just the guy to do it.

  “I thought he was arrogant and pompous, and so narcissistic it's a wonder he can hold a conversation.”

  “Isn't that a prerequisite for an actor?” Chandler teased. “He's a bright boy. He'll probably go far. Is she madly in love with him?” She didn't look it to him.

  “I hope not. The last one was weird. This one is awful.”

  “I'm sure you'll see lots more before it's all over. I did. I couldn't keep track of my son's dates for a while. But every time I
started to panic about one of them, she vanished.”

  “My kids have been that way too. Or Meg has. Wim is usually a little more constant. Or at least he was before he went to college. I hate worrying about them, but I don't want them to end up with the wrong people.”

  “They won't. They just need to play first, and experiment a little. My guess is this boy will be gone before you know it.”

  “I hope so,” Paris said as they left the table, and then thanked him for taking them all to lunch. She felt as though they had imposed on him somewhat, but he didn't seem to mind. In fact, he acted as though he liked it, and he said he had been delighted to meet her daughter. Chandler had all the right instincts, and endless thoughtful gestures in his repertoire.

  They spent the afternoon looking at art galleries, and went to the L.A. County Museum before going back to the hotel. That night he took her to L'Orangerie for dinner, and ordered caviar for her. There was nothing he didn't do to spoil her. And by the time they got back to the hotel, Paris was happy and relaxed, and had had another wonderful evening. And this time, when he left her at her door, he kissed her long and hard on the mouth, and she didn't resist him. But he made no attempt to go further. And he looked at her with tenderness and regret when he left her.

  And as she looked at herself in the mirror as she brushed her hair, she wondered what she was doing. She could feel herself drifting slowly away from Peter. Chandler was the first man she had kissed in twenty-six years other than Peter. And what was worse, she had liked it. She was almost sorry she hadn't stayed in the same room with him. And realizing that kept her nearly sleepless until morning. Although nothing dire had happened yet, she could feel her budding relationship with Chandler slipping slowly out of her control.

  Chapter 19

  Chandler flew her back to San Francisco at noon on Sunday, after a hearty breakfast at the Bel-Air. And she was home by two-thirty after a magical weekend.

  “Now I really do feel like Cinderella,” she said as he carried her bag in. “I'm going to turn into a pumpkin any minute.”