Happy Birthday: A Novel

by Danielle Steel

  They happily munched the popcorn while watching the film they had selected. It was a romantic comedy about an actor with a million girlfriends who falls in love with his snooty leading lady, who is disgusted by him and wants nothing to do with him. Throughout the film, he tries to convince her that he’s a decent person, while the women he’s been involved with drop in, drop by, run into them, show up, climb in windows naked, and show up at his house, while the leading lady loathes him more and more. Some of the incidents portrayed in the movie were truly funny, and they both laughed loudly. The film particularly resonated for Jack, who could see himself easily in the role of the beleaguered actor if he ever truly fell in love. It was light fare and they both enjoyed it as they guffawed and giggled at the leading man’s discomfort and ate the popcorn. It had a happy ending, of course, which pleased them both. It set just the right tone for their friendly New Year’s Eve as buddies, recovering from their recent trauma, and trying to keep things light.

  “I loved it!” Valerie said, looking delighted, as Jack switched some soft lights back on. They were cozy in the big chairs, and he had handed Valerie a cashmere blanket to snuggle under since he liked keeping the apartment cooler than most women liked. She hated to get up, she was happy where she was as he turned on the lights. “I hate sad movies, or violence, or anything about sports,” she said without thinking, and then laughed out loud, and apologized to him.

  “Okay, I heard that!” he said, referring to her comment about sports. But it didn’t surprise or offend him. He watched movies with women all the time, and they felt much the way Valerie did. He watched the violent ones on his own, and the guy films about wars and sports. “I like happy movies too. I’m kind of a softie and I like chick flicks with happy endings. Life is tough enough without watching films that depress you for three days after you see them. I hate that stuff,” he said, and he meant it.

  “Yeah, me too,” she agreed. “I like thinking that things can turn out okay.”

  “What does ‘turning out okay’ mean to you?” he asked with interest. He often asked himself the same question, and had a relatively clear idea of what he wanted out of life. He just hadn’t found it yet, and the goal shifted slightly year by year. His version of a happy ending had been different at thirty and forty than it was now. So was hers.

  “Happy, peaceful, no big drama in my life,” she answered his question, looking thoughtful. “Sharing my life with someone, if it’s the right person, not if it isn’t. I don’t want to do that anymore. Good health obviously, but that’s kind of an old fart answer. Mostly just being happy and peaceful, loving someone and being loved by him, and feeling good in your own skin.”

  “That sounds about right to me too,” he said, and then he chuckled. “And don’t forget good ratings for our shows, please God.” She laughed in answer.

  “Yes, but I have to admit I don’t think about that when I’m making a wish list for my personal life.”

  “Do you do that often?” He looked surprised. “Make a wish list for your personal life?”

  “Not really. I do it in my head sometimes, when I think about what I want. Most of the time, I just roll along, doing what I have to. I think I do it on my birthday, or on New Year’s, those milestones always get me. I think about what I should have and be doing, but it never matches up, so I try not to anymore. Life never happens on the schedule you want, and I think I’m kind of past all that now anyway.” She looked sad when she said it, but she had felt that way for months now. This last birthday had hit her hard.

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” He looked puzzled, as though he didn’t understand what she meant. And she took a breath before she answered. They were friends now, and she felt like she could be honest with him. She wasn’t a candidate for romance with him anyway, and she knew he had no interest in that with her, or any woman her age. They were friends, and that was enough.

  “Let’s face it, women my age are not a high commodity on the market. Men my age want to go out with women like the ones you go out with. No one’s looking for sixty-year-old women, except maybe ninety-year-old guys. The eighty-year-olds are taking Viagra and looking for twenty-five-year-olds. Most men would rather go out with my daughter than with me. That’s simple fact. Add success and fame to that mix, and what you get is a guy screaming out the door, or who never shows up in the first place. I don’t have a lot of illusions left about it. I used to, but I don’t anymore.”

  She didn’t tell him that she hadn’t had a real date in three years and couldn’t remember the last time she’d had sex. It had begun to occur to her that maybe she never would again, which seemed sad to her. But you couldn’t invent a man out of thin air, and no even remotely possible dates had crossed her path in a long time. She had given up on the terrible blind dates people used to fix her up with, with men who were severely damaged, very angry, or had a chip on their shoulder about who she was and what she had accomplished and were sometimes even nasty about it. Meeting them was always depressing and disappointing, so she didn’t bother anymore.

  And there was nothing else and hadn’t been in a long time, despite the Botox shots, good haircuts, well-toned body thanks to her trainer, and expensive wardrobe. Old was old, and she was, or so she thought. “I have this psychic I talk to a couple of times a year. He’s been telling me for years now that I’m going to meet a terrific man. I think he says it to give me hope. It never happens, or hasn’t in a hell of a while. I’d been to see him that morning I saw you in the elevator, doubled over with your back.”

  “He must have fangs,” Jack teased her, remembering it perfectly, despite the pain he’d been in. She was very striking, and had made an impression on him. “Your face was bleeding.”

  She hesitated and then laughed again, not worried about what she said to him. “I had just had Botox shots after I saw him. My dermatologist has fangs, not the psychic.” He was touched that she was so open with him. She was a surprisingly honest woman, given who she was.

  “I get them too,” he admitted, equally honest. “So what, if it makes us look good? I don’t usually advertise that, but shit, we both make a living on screen, and with high-definition video now, you need all the help you can get.”

  “Isn’t that the truth? You can’t lie to the camera anymore, although God knows I try.” They both laughed at their reciprocal confessions, which didn’t seem so shocking. Even schoolteachers and younger women were getting Botox shots now. It was not just for the very rich or movie stars. “The vanity of it is a little embarrassing, and I think my daughter thinks I’m pretty silly. She doesn’t even wear makeup, probably in reaction to me, but I also make my living, or part of it, based on how I look, and so do you. And it makes me feel better if I look a little younger. It’s not fun or easy getting old.” They both knew that was the truth, and had been wrestling with it for the past two months, each in their own way, since their birthdays.

  “You’re not old, Valerie,” he said kindly, and meant it. “We all feel that way past a certain age. It always annoys me that I think I’m falling apart. I hate having my picture taken, and then five years later I see the same picture and think I looked pretty good back then, but like hell now. I don’t know why we’re so obsessed with age in this country, but we are. It’s hard to live up to at any age. I know thirty-year-old women who feel old.

  “And I agree with your psychic. I think someone great is going to turn up one of these days. You deserve it. Forget the ninety-year-old guys. And the eighty-year-olds. They give me a run for my money too, if their bank account is bigger than mine. That’s pretty screwed up.” But those were the kind of women he dated, girls who were after money and power, which was why they liked him too. He didn’t kid himself about that. “Have you ever thought about a much younger guy? I mean like thirty-five. A lot of women do that now. I think Demi Moore set the trend. I know a fifty-year-old woman who has a twenty-two-year-old boyfriend. She says she loves it. That’s pretty much what I do. It’s fun a lot of the time.”


  Valerie looked at him and shook her head. “I’d feel stupid. I’ve never seen a boy that age who appealed to me. I like grown-ups, and I think that would just make me feel older. I don’t want to sleep with a man young enough to be my child. Besides, I want to share common life experiences, similar points of view and concerns. What do you have in common with someone that age? That’s really about sex, not love. I may be old-fashioned, but I’d like to have both. And if I were going to sacrifice something, it would be sex, not love.” For the moment, she had neither, but she was true to herself and always had been. Jack could sense that about her. She was a woman who knew who she was and what she wanted, what she was willing to sacrifice and what she wasn’t. But it wasn’t easy finding the right person, for anyone. He hadn’t found it either, so he settled for sex and a lot of fun, and a herniated disk when he had a little too much fun.

  “I don’t think it’s easy to find someone at any age. Look at all the people in their twenties and thirties trying to find dates through the internet. That tells you something, that it’s not as easy to find people as it used to be. I don’t know why, but I think it’s true. People are better informed, more particular. They know themselves better through therapy. Women don’t just want a guy to pay the bills, and they’re not willing to put up with anything to get it, they want a partner. That narrows the field considerably. And there are always guys like me out there, who throw the balance off, dating twenty-year-olds, which leaves the fifty-year-old women with no one to go out with, except some Neanderthal who’s watching TV and drinking beer, never had therapy, and doesn’t know who the hell he is or care.”

  “So what’s the answer?” she asked, looking puzzled. He seemed to understand the problem perfectly, but had no more solutions to the problem than she did.

  He grinned, as he switched the music on the stereo to something more lively. “Sex, drugs, and rock and roll,” he teased. It was five to midnight, almost New Year’s, and the evening had flown by. “I don’t know what the answer is. I suspect you probably find the right person by accident one day. And it’s never who you thought it would be, or what you thought you wanted. Kind of like real estate. I was looking for a brownstone in the East Sixties, and wouldn’t look at anything else. This apartment came on the market, and my realtor dragged me here kicking and screaming. I fell in love with it, and you couldn’t get me out of here now. I think we have to stay open to what comes along. I think that is the real secret to youth and a good life, staying open, interested, excited, learning about life, trying new things, meeting new people. And whatever happens, you have a good time, and if the right person turns up while you’re doing that, terrific. If not, at least you’re having fun. I think it’s when we start to shut down, give up, and limit our options that life starts to be over. I don’t ever want that to happen to me. I want to keep opening new doors till the day I die, whenever that is, whether it’s tomorrow, or when I’m ninety-nine. The day you stop opening doors, and give up on those new opportunities, you might as well be dead. That’s what I believe anyway.”

  “I think you’re right,” she said, looking hopeful. She liked the way he looked at things, and his philosophy about life. He was fully alive and excited about whatever he did. It was why he wasn’t sitting there clutching his leg and moaning about the trauma he’d been through and the near-death experience. Instead he was ready to move on, and having a good time with her, getting to know a new person, and making a new friend. She liked the way he thought, and it was an inspiration to her.

  Jack looked at his watch then, and flipped on the TV to the ball in Times Square where a crowd of thousands was waiting to see the New Year in. He started counting. They were almost on it. Ten … nine … eight … seven … He was smiling and so was she … and when they reached “One!” he put his arms around her and looked into her eyes.

  “Happy New Year, Valerie. I hope it’s a great year for you in every way!” He kissed her lightly on the mouth then, and hugged her.

  “You too, Jack,” she said, and meant it as they held each other, as they both thought at the same time that it was already a great year. They were both alive!

  Chapter 12

  Valerie had lunch with April right after the New Year. She had sent a bottle of Cristal and a note to Jack to thank him the next day. The note said, “Best New Year ever! Thank you! Valerie,” and she told April about it over lunch. They both agreed that he was a genuinely nice guy, in spite of the showy twelve-year-olds he went out with, as April put it. Most of them looked like gold-diggers when he brought them to the restaurant, but he didn’t seem to mind.

  Valerie told her he’d invited her to come to the Super Bowl, and April was stunned to hear that she was going.

  “But you hate sports, Mom, and you know less about football than I do, and that’s not much.”

  “You’re right. But he said something on New Year’s Eve that I think is true, about staying open to life, doing new things, meeting new people, opening new doors. I think that’s the antidote to getting old and shriveling up. I may hate it, but I might have fun. Why not try it? He invited me as a friend, not a date, with my own room. Why not do something different for a change? I don’t want to get stuck in a rut.” Her daughter was impressed by her attitude, and Valerie herself had noticed that since surviving the terrorist attack on the network, she had been more open to everything, and more grateful for her life. She could easily have been killed like some of the others, and instead she had gotten another shot at life. As terrifying as it had been, it had freed her in some important ways. The little aggravations seemed less important, and everything seemed like a gift, especially a new friend like Jack, and a chance to go to the Super Bowl with a retired football star. Why not? Maybe that’s what getting older was all about, she said to April. Maybe it was about “Why not?” Even April was taking a huge chance, being willing to have and embrace a baby she hadn’t planned. Life was about living, Valerie realized now, not huddling in a corner, too frightened to move or try anything new, or too tired and disenchanted to bother. April’s had been an enormous decision, and although she worried about her, Valerie admired her for what she had decided to do. Even if she didn’t want to be a grandmother. That she was not ready for, and wasn’t embarrassed to say so to her daughter.

  “The baby will have to call me Aunt Valerie or Mrs. Wyatt,” she said to April as they both laughed. “If it calls me Grandma, I’m going to deny it immediately, and act like I don’t know either of you. I’m not ready to be anyone’s grandmother yet! My vanity won’t allow it.” She was more than willing to admit it, and still looked faintly outraged about it. “How’s it going, by the way? How do you feel?” April looked well, but her mother could see sadness in her eyes. She was afraid that this was harder than April had thought. Having a baby alone was far from easy, and being pregnant without the baby’s father was sad, or at least Valerie thought so anyway, although people did it more and more these days. But it had been such a sweet time for her and Pat, waiting for April to arrive. She was sad that her own daughter didn’t have the benefit of that experience and a man to love and care for her. Instead, she was working as hard as ever, at the fish market by five every morning, meeting with commercial fishermen, and fighting with wholesale butchers for better prices, working a twenty-hour day with no one to love her or rub her back. It seemed like a hard road to her mother.

  “I felt the baby move a few days ago. It felt so sweet, like a butterfly. I thought it was gas or indigestion at first, and then I realized what I was feeling. It’s happening a lot now.” She looked deeply moved but still sad. Her mother knew her well.

  “How’s Mike? Have you seen him?” Valerie hoped so. She liked him. And maybe something could work out between them, despite an inauspicious start. Stranger things had happened. But April shook her head.

  “No, I haven’t. He disappeared. I did something stupid, I guess. We had a nice evening over Chinese dinner, and I invited him to the doctor’s visit, to see the baby
on a sonogram. And he freaked. He walked out, and texted me after that he just can’t. I guess he had a pretty awful childhood, and doesn’t want to be part of anyone else’s. He broke up with a girlfriend a few months ago, because she wanted to get married and have children. I guess he’s one of those damaged people who is never going to be able to commit to anyone.” She saw that now, and Valerie looked annoyed.

  “That’s all very nice to cry about your childhood. But this baby exists now, and so do you. You didn’t ask for it either, and you thought you were being careful. It’s not like you threw caution to the winds. It happened to both of you. He can’t just walk away from it because it makes him uncomfortable. So what? How comfortable are you? Not very, I would guess. You’re running a business and pregnant all alone with a baby you didn’t want. I think he owes you more than just running away and hiding. That’s a little too easy. I thought he was better than that.” She sounded disappointed, and although she didn’t say it, so was April. For a crazy minute, when he had agreed to go to the doctor with her, she had hoped he would get involved. But that was obviously not going to happen. She hadn’t heard a word from him since he walked out of the doctor’s office and sent her the text. And she wasn’t going to call him and try to force the baby or herself on him. She knew that would be a huge mistake. She had to let him go, if that was what he wanted. It was her baby now, not his.

  “I decided to have it, Mom. He didn’t. It was my decision. I didn’t consult him about it. I told him. He doesn’t want this child.” April was as firm about it as he was, and realistic. No matter what she felt for him, if he didn’t feel the same things for her, or the baby, she couldn’t beat her head into a brick wall, and she wouldn’t try.

  Valerie was still worried about her, when she left her after lunch. April wandered out to the kitchen, looking wistful. She enjoyed seeing her mother, but had been down ever since the last time she’d seen Mike. They’d had such a good time at dinner. It had made her hopeful about a possible relationship between them, which she realized now was impossible. She would always be the woman who had forced him to have a baby he didn’t want, and he would never forgive her for it. Their relationship had been doomed from the beginning.