“He must be crazy about you,” Walter said through pursed lips. “You should get things like that at home.” She nodded, and didn’t know what to say, but once he left her office, she stared at them, wondering why George had sent them. She knew the names of the women he went out with. She was nowhere in their league, and it felt strange to be the object of his attentions. She almost called Morgan to tell her about it, but decided not to. It didn’t mean anything. He was just a rich, successful guy playing a game, and she had no intention of playing it with him. But the flowers were beautiful. She sent him a short, polite e-mail to thank him, and went home at the end of the day. She had convinced herself by then that she would never hear from him again. And she didn’t really want to. George Lewis’s world was light-years away from hers. And she intended to keep it that way. She never said a word about the roses to Morgan.
—
The day after he sent the roses, George sent Claire a beautiful coffee table book about the history of shoes. It was a thoughtful gift, and she was touched, but uneasy too. He was obviously trying to woo her, although he hadn’t called and asked her out, but she was afraid he would. She had no idea how to deal with someone like him. He was so totally out of her league. She was hoping he’d lose interest in her before he called her or sent any more gifts. And she still hadn’t said anything to Morgan about him, nor had she mentioned him to the others. He was rapidly becoming a dark secret.
Claire had sent out several e-mails that week, with her résumé, to her favorite shoe companies. Two of them had written back to tell her they had no positions open, and three more hadn’t responded. She hoped they would, but at least she was trying. Walter was annoying her more than ever, and being constantly critical, and in her face.
George was the bright spot in her life at the moment, although his attention made her nervous. He was just a player flirting with her, she was sure, and she reminded herself to keep her eye on the ball, which was her job. But the roses and the book kept distracting her. He was a hard man to ignore.
Chapter 6
As it turned out, Sasha was on call at the hospital all Saturday afternoon. They called her in at one o’clock, and she did three deliveries back to back, dashing from one to the other, but all of them were simple and went smoothly. And she finished just before seven. She and Alex were supposed to have dinner at seven-thirty, and she had no time to go home and change.
She called Alex from the hospital, and was going to offer to postpone the date if he wanted to, since even if she went out to dinner, she might get called back again, although he had known she would be on call that night and said he didn’t mind and would take his chances.
“You get your wish,” she said to him when he answered. “I’m in scrubs and Crocs. I’ve been in L and D all day, and I just finished three deliveries. And it’s kind of late to go home and dress. What do you want to do? Do it another time?”
“Have you eaten?” he asked her simply.
“Not since breakfast, and two PowerBars between deliveries.”
“Perfect. I’m starving. I’ll pick you up at the ER in ten minutes. Are you done for now?”
“Yes, until they call me back in the middle of dinner.” She was smiling, he was so reasonable and easy to talk to. Men always made a big deal of it when she had to cancel or change plans. But he lived the same life she did, and the women he dated hadn’t liked it either.
“Fine. I’ll wear my scrubs if it makes you feel better. We can play doctor.” And then they both started laughing. “Sorry, that didn’t come out the way I meant it. Or maybe it did,” he teased her. “Do you like sushi?”
“I love it.”
“There’s a great place down the street. The food is good, the service is fast. If you get called in, you’ll at least have eaten. See you in five minutes.”
He was waiting for her outside the emergency room, in jeans and a clean, neatly pressed starched blue shirt and loafers, which looked like formal wear to her. She was wearing her hospital garb, and he told her she looked lovely, and meant it. And they walked down the street in the warm September evening. It was nice to get out of the hospital and felt like a vacation day to her, just being with him, talking about things other than work. And he was right, the food at the restaurant he’d chosen was delicious, and they served it quickly. They sat relaxing afterward, talking about skiing and sailing and their favorite books. They liked some of the same authors, and confessed with some embarrassment that both of them had been good students.
“So what’s your idea of the perfect date?” he asked her, still wanting to know more about her.
“We just had it. Good talk, good food, no pressure, someone nice to talk to, who isn’t having a fit that I was late, and might have to go back to work in five minutes, and doesn’t care what I wore to dinner. I like getting dressed up sometimes, but most of the time I’m too late to dress, and I’m too tired to care when I come home from work. And I fall asleep at the dinner table because I never got to bed the night before.” He had met all her criteria for the perfect date.
“I’m a little disappointed,” he said, looking slightly woebegone. “You never mentioned sex. That’s not part of your dating plan?” he asked hopefully, and she burst out laughing.
“I forgot,” she said honestly. “Do people still do that? Who has time for sex with jobs like ours?”
“I hear some people still do it,” he assured her mock seriously. “It’s an antiquated notion, I’ll admit, but I’m kind of an old-fashioned guy, and I like the old traditions, though not on the first date. Maybe second or third? Or nineteenth?” He looked at her hopefully, and she was smiling. She really liked him, and she could tell that he liked her, exactly the way she was, not in clothes she borrowed from her sister, and Claire’s ridiculous high heels. She had never been so comfortable on a first date.
“Yeah, sex on date nineteen sounds about right,” she teased him. “By then you might be married and could give it up completely.” Her parents hadn’t slept together in years before their divorce and had separate bedrooms.
“I don’t know if I agree with that,” Alex said seriously in response to her comment. “My parents still seem like they’re in love with each other, though God knows how, with my brother and me driving them crazy when we were growing up. But they seem to have survived it, and get along pretty well. I’d like to have a relationship like theirs one day. I suspect you have to work at it.” She nodded, and was fairly sure her parents hadn’t, and had slowly grown apart, until their marriage imploded. Her father had admitted to her that he’d been miserable and wanted more than he’d had with his ex-wife. He’d been starving for affection, which made sense, knowing her mother. “So do we have a plan here? Sex on date nineteen? Does lunch in the cafeteria count if the intention to date is there? If so, that makes this date two, which means we only have seventeen to go. Are you free for the next two and a half weeks? I could clear my calendar if you want me to.” She was laughing at what he said.
“Maybe we could stretch it out to three weeks,” she countered only half in jest. It was just talk, and easy banter between them. She liked his sense of humor, and his stories about his brother and parents. They sounded like the kind of family she wished she’d had, instead of her constantly angry mother and absentee father.
“Actually, the last date I had, I fell asleep on the couch watching a movie. When I woke up, my date had gone to bed without me, locked her bedroom door, and left me a note telling me to let myself out. It was the third time I had done that to her. She said ‘Call me after you get some sleep.’ I never did, I figured three strikes you’re out, and she was really boring. Maybe if we’d ever talked to each other, I could have stayed awake. The notion of sex as a sport you can play with a stranger, or a form of gymnastics, has never appealed to me. I’m a hopeless romantic and have this ridiculous idea that you’re supposed to care about each other. Maybe that sounds stupid to most people, and the last person I said that to, an ER nurse in the trauma uni
t, asked me if I was gay after I said it. She was sleeping with guys she met online, on the first date, and she thought I was a weirdo when we didn’t wind up in bed the day I met her. That’s fun at eighteen. After that, it’s nice if you care about, or at least know, the other person. Sleeping with strangers is too much work.” She liked what he was saying and agreed with him. His values were similar to hers, unlike Valentina, who openly admitted to sleeping with men on the first date. And she had been just as sexually adventuresome in high school. Love wasn’t necessary for her in order to have sex. Sasha was more old-fashioned, and so was Alex.
“I agree with you,” Sasha said quietly. “I think we’re kind of a throwback to another time. A lot of people don’t think like we do. The guys I’ve gone out with think sex is what you give them in exchange for a hamburger or a steak.” Alex smiled and was familiar with the theory too. He hadn’t felt that way since college.
“By the way, it’s okay if sex isn’t on the schedule until date thirty-six, or never. I like you, and I like the idea of getting to be friends first. Maybe we could get together and fall asleep in front of the TV sometime, or at a movie. Put me in the dark, after three nights on call, and you can count on me snoring in five minutes. I wake up for the credits, though. I like to know who made the movie I missed.” She laughed and admitted to doing the same thing.
“That happened to me at the symphony last year. Someone gave me tickets, and with the lights off and the music, I slept through the whole thing. I figure I’ll wait till I finish my residency before I try it again. It’s kind of wasted on me.”
“That’s why sports are so great. You can’t fall asleep playing touch football. Although I did fall asleep at the U.S. Open with my brother last year. He nearly killed me and said he wouldn’t waste a seat on me again. I’m actually pretty impressed we both stayed awake through dinner tonight, aren’t you?” He was beaming at her, he loved talking to her, and she was so beautiful it took his breath away, and he would have loved to sleep with her, but he didn’t want her to feel pressured, and preferred to move slowly. It made her feel comfortable and safe with him, and he could sense that. She was not a woman who was going to leap into anything.
The hospital hadn’t called her all through dinner, and she decided to go home when they left the restaurant, but she invited him to dinner at the loft the next day. She was off duty and so was he. Max was cooking, everyone was coming, and it would be a nice opportunity for Alex to meet them in a low-key way. She hadn’t had time to mention him to them, but for the moment they were just friends, and he said he’d like to meet her roommates. He put her in a cab after dinner, and promised to be at the loft the next day.
“Thank you for dinner. It was terrific,” she said, smiling at him. And the conversation had been even better than the food.
“See you tomorrow,” he said, and waved as the cab drove away. She had given him the address in Hell’s Kitchen, and he was looking forward to the evening and seeing her again. And her roommates and extended family sounded like a fun group to him.
—
On Sunday, Morgan went to the park with Max, before he came over to cook dinner. Claire went uptown to go shopping, and she wanted to check out the shoe department at Bergdorf’s to see if there were any brands she’d missed to send her résumé to. Abby was supposed to spend the day with Ivan, but he had called that morning to say he had the flu, so she hung around the apartment, working on a new play for him. And Sasha slept until early afternoon and caught up on sleep. It was a sunny September day and the weather was starting to turn cool.
Sasha set the table for dinner before the others came home, and by six o’clock, everyone was back, Max had arrived with the groceries, and Oliver and Greg turned up shortly after. And they were all milling around the loft laughing and talking, as Max and Morgan poured the wine, when Alex appeared. Sasha had told them he was coming, and said that he was a friend from work. No one thought much of it, and anyone was welcome at their Sunday-night gatherings.
“Where’s Ivan?” Oliver asked Abby.
“He’s sick.” And then everyone’s attention turned to Alex as Sasha introduced him, and he looked a little overwhelmed at first. Sasha explained who her roommates were, and that Oliver was Morgan’s brother, Greg was his partner, and Max was Morgan’s boyfriend, and she said he owned a terrific restaurant nearby.
“The only one missing is my sister. She’s still in St. Bart’s, and she’ll be home tomorrow.” But other than her and Ivan, everyone was there. Alex talked to all of them, and after the first few minutes, he was totally relaxed discussing hockey with Oliver and Greg, and said he’d been to several Rangers games the previous season and saw Greg make the winning save in the play-offs and said it had been sheer genius.
And in a quiet moment, when he wasn’t paying attention, Claire glanced at Sasha and raised an eyebrow in the direction of Alex and whispered to her.
“What about him? He’s cute.”
Sasha seemed embarrassed and tried to appear nonchalant about it. “We worked on a delivery together this week.”
“Never mind that—he’s great-looking, and he seems nice.” Sasha nodded and didn’t tell her about dinner the night before, or lunch in the cafeteria earlier in the week. She didn’t know where it was going, if anywhere, and she liked his idea of becoming friends first. But she was happy he’d come to dinner so everyone could meet him and he could see where she lived, and with whom.
As usual, dinner was delicious. Max had made a French-style leg of lamb, with lots of garlic, mashed potatoes, and string beans. And he had brought tiramisu from the restaurant for dessert. Whenever Max cooked, it was their best meal of the week, and the red wine he had brought was exceptionally good. He loved cooking for their family-style dinners, and thought Alex was a great new addition. They talked about French wines, and Alex said he liked to cook too. And after dinner, Morgan, Max, Oliver, and Alex played a few hands of poker, while the others cleaned up.
After Max and Morgan went to her room at midnight, Alex and Sasha were finally alone. The others had all gone home or to bed by then.
“What a terrific evening,” Alex said warmly. “I love your roommates, and Max is a great guy. I’d like to try his restaurant sometime. He’s a wonderful cook.” He felt like he’d spent the evening with a family, not just a group of friends, which is how they always felt about it too. And they always had a good time. Alex said he liked the apartment too, and Sasha told him that Claire’s mother had helped to make it look and feel like home.
They talked for a long time, and then regretfully he got up, hating to leave, and she walked him to the door. He felt lucky to have met her, and that she had invited him to dinner with her friends.
“Thank you for including me, Sasha. I haven’t had that much fun in years. What’s your schedule like this week?”
“I’m on duty and on call for the next five days, but I have a day off next weekend.”
“Let’s figure out something to do.”
“I’d like that,” she said quietly, and then he gently pulled her into his arms and kissed her. It was the perfect end to a lovely evening, and she looked up at him with wide eyes after they kissed.
“I’m not sure if that’s the right protocol for date three,” he whispered, and she giggled. “But it seemed pretty great to me. What do you think?”
She nodded and he kissed her again, and they lingered at the door for a few minutes, kissing, and then hating to leave her, he disappeared down the stairs. Date number three had gone extremely well, and Alex could hardly wait for the rest.
Chapter 7
Valentina came back from St. Bart’s the next day, and called Sasha to tell her about all the fun she’d had. She was crazy about Jean-Pierre and said he had treated her like a queen. They had flown back on his private plane, which was nothing unusual for her, but she said that Jean-Pierre was different from any man she had ever known, and he seemed to know everyone in the world.
Sasha had heard all of
it before, but she was pleased that her sister was happy, as long as he was a decent guy. Sasha was never sure with her.
“When am I going to see you?” Sasha asked her.
“I’m leaving for a shoot in Tokyo tomorrow, with Japanese Vogue. That’s why we came back.” The Japanese loved her, and were crazy about her blond green-eyed looks. She no longer did the ingenue shoots, where they used fourteen-year-old models, but there was still plenty of work for her, and her agency booked her for great shoots all the time, even for American Vogue. She told Sasha that they were pissed at her for staying in St. Bart’s for so long, but she’d had a ball.
“Do you want to come over after work tonight?” Sasha offered.
“I can’t. I’m going to a gallery opening with Jean-Pierre, and a dinner with the owner after.” She mentioned one of the most prestigious galleries in town.
“I’m working today.” Her twin had reached her at the hospital. “Do you want to meet me in the cafeteria for lunch? At least I’ll get to see you before you leave.”
Valentina didn’t sound enthused about it, but she agreed. She wanted to see Sasha too.
“See you at noon,” Sasha suggested, and Valentina said she’d be there.
Valentina was twenty minutes late, as Sasha sat eating a yogurt and a banana at a table, when her sister appeared. She was wearing a one-piece black stretch jumpsuit, a vintage Dior real leopard coat from the fifties that she’d found in a secondhand shop in Paris, and dizzying high heels. She created a sensation the minute she walked in, and headed for Sasha’s table, carrying the coat. She looked rail thin in the jumpsuit, and like the star she was.
“Someone is going to kill you for wearing that coat,” Sasha said in a low voice.
“Fuck them. It’s Dior couture. I paid a fortune for it.”
“Can’t you get arrested for that?” Sasha looked nervous, and Valentina laughed. Their faces were identical, and their bodies, and they both had long straight blond hair, but everything else was as different as it always was. And Sasha was wearing scrubs and clogs.
The Apartment Page 9
