Dating Game (14 page)

“How long did you stay?”

“Twenty minutes.”

“That doesn't count. You have to stay at least an hour.”

“Seven people told me how sorry they were that my husband left me. The husbands of two of my friends asked me if I would meet them on the sly for a drink sometime. And five people told me they were invited to Peter's wedding. I am not going out again. I felt like a pathetic fool.”

“Yes, you are going out again. And you're not a pathetic fool. You're a woman whose husband walked out on her. That's tough, Paris, but it happens. You'll survive it.”

“I'm not going out,” Paris said, with a look of iron determination. “I'm never going out again. And I had a massage. The woman was a nutcase, and I had bruises for days. I have demons in my bowels. And I am never going to another party. Ever,” she said, looking determined and very stubborn.

“Then you'll have to meet some people who don't know about Peter. That's a possibility too. But you can't stay home for the rest of your life like Greta Garbo. If nothing else, you'll worry your children, and you'll be bored out of your mind. You can't just sit at home. You need more in your life than that.”

“I'll go out after Peter gets married,” Paris said vaguely.

“What difference will that make?” Anne asked, looking startled.

“At least people won't be talking about the wedding. One of them was even stupid enough to ask if I was invited.”

“And what did you say?”

“That I could hardly wait, and I was going to New York to buy a new dress for the occasion. What was I supposed to say? No, I'm planning to commit suicide that night.”

“Are you?” Anne shot right back at her.

“No,” Paris said with a sigh. “Even if I wanted to, I wouldn't do that to my kids.”

“But do you want to?”

“No,” she said sadly. “I'd like to die, but I don't want to do it myself. Besides, I don't have the guts.”

“Well, if you ever reconsider that, and think about it, I want you to call me immediately,” Anne said sternly.

“I will,” Paris promised, and meant it. She was miserable, but not miserable enough to kill herself. She didn't want to give Rachel the satisfaction.

“What are you doing on New Year's Eve?”

“Crying probably.”

“Is there anyone you'd like to see?”

“I guess everyone I know is going to Peter's wedding. That's pretty depressing. I'll be okay. I'll just go to sleep.” They both knew it was going to be a tough night. There was no other way it could be.

Christmas was quiet that year. Wim and Meg spent Christmas Eve with her, and Christmas Day with their father and Rachel. Paris had gone out and gotten a tree, and decorated it before they got home from California. And five days before Christmas, her final divorce decree arrived, and she just sat and stared at it for a long time, and then put it away in a locked drawer. It was like reading a death certificate. She had never thought in her entire life that she would see her name on one of those. She didn't even tell the children it had come. She couldn't bring herself to say the words. It was over. Seven months after he had walked out on her, almost to the day. And now he was marrying Rachel. Paris had a sense of unreality about it all. Her life had become surreal.

And on the afternoon of New Year's Eve, Wim and Meg drove into the city. Paris kissed them good-bye, and said nothing to them as she saw them leave. She thought of calling Anne after that, but she had nothing to say. To anyone. All she wanted was to be alone. She made some soup for herself, watched television for a while, and at nine o'clock she went to bed. She didn't even allow herself to think about what was happening. She knew that the guests had been invited at eight o'clock. And she also knew that when she turned out the lights that night, Peter and Rachel had exchanged their vows and were man and wife. The life she had known for twenty-four years and nine months was over. He had a new wife, a new life. She didn't exist anymore, as far as he was concerned. He had blown everything they'd ever had to smithereens. And as she drifted off to sleep, she told herself she didn't care anymore, about him, or Rachel, or anything. All she wanted was to forget she had ever loved him, and go to sleep. They were leaving for a honeymoon in the Caribbean the next day, and a new life would be starting for them. It was a new year, a new life, a new day. And for Paris, whether she wanted it that way or not, it was going to be a new life too.

Chapter 10

The week after Peter's wedding
became a blur for her. When Paris woke up on New Year's Day, she had the flu. By the time the kids came back from New York, she had a raging fever, she was sneezing and coughing, and all she wanted to do was sleep. Wim left to go skiing with his friends, and Meg went back to Los Angeles to see Peace. They were still seeing each other, but Meg had admitted to her mother she was tired of him. If nothing else, his health regimen, his strange eating habits, and his intense workout program were getting to her. She was bored out of her mind with Peace.

“Every time I see him, all I want to do is eat a hamburger at Burger King. If he takes me to another vegetarian restaurant, I'm going to go insane.”

Paris was relieved. And it was a week after they both left before she felt human again. It was her first morning out of bed after the flu when Natalie called, and said she had had the same flu. She was having a dinner party the following Saturday, she said, just a few old friends, and she wondered if Paris would like to come. There was nothing special about the occasion, and she didn't say a word about Peter's wedding. For a moment, Paris was tempted to decline, and then she remembered her promise to Anne Smythe. She hadn't seen Natalie since Thanksgiving. It sounded easy and agreeable, so she accepted. And when she told Anne about it, she was pleased.

“Good for you. I hope it'll be fun,” she said, sounding sincere, and Paris said that she didn't really care. But as she was getting dressed that night, for the first time in months, she realized that she was looking forward to seeing her friends. Maybe Anne was right, and she was ready. Natalie had told her that there wouldn't be more than a dozen people, which seemed comfortable to Paris. She wasn't in the mood for fancy affairs. And Natalie had said that Virginia and Jim would be there too.

She put on a pair of velvet slacks and a cashmere sweater, and did her hair in a bun for the first time in months. And she was about to put on high heels when she saw that it was snowing. In the end, she stuck them in her coat pockets and put on boots.

And as she looked out the window right before she left, she realized that she was going to have to shovel snow out of her driveway to get out. She thought about calling the Morrisons to hitch a ride with them, but didn't want to be a nuisance. If she was going to go out alone, she had to get used to taking care of herself. She put on a heavy coat, with a hood, donned mittens, and went outside with a shovel. It took her twenty minutes to get the snow out of the driveway, and the ice off her windshield, and she was twenty minutes late by the time she left for dinner. But only four of the guests were there when she got to Natalie and Fred's. The other guests had had the same problem too. It was turning out to be a heavier snowfall than expected. And when Fred found out she'd driven herself, he told her if she had called, they would have been happy to come and get her. But she laughed, and felt surprisingly independent.

By the time the last of the guests arrived, she realized that she was the only single person there, which was more or less what she had expected. They had invited four couples, and Paris. It was what she was going to have to get used to. Being the odd man out. She was relieved that she knew everyone there, and no one had the bad taste to mention Peter's wedding, although she knew some of them had been there, like Virginia and her husband.

“So how's it going?” Virginia asked her quietly. They had had lunch the week before, and Virginia said she was getting over the same flu. Nearly everyone they knew had had it. And they were discussing home remedies when the doorbell rang again, and Paris realized they had invited yet another couple. But when she turned, she saw a man walk into the room whom she didn't recognize. He was tall and had dark hair, and looked faintly like Peter, except on closer inspection, she saw that he was older and had a major bald spot. But he looked pleasant as he walked in.

“Who's that?” Paris asked Virginia, who said she didn't know him. And although she didn't tell Paris, she knew about him. He was Fred's new stockbroker, and they had invited him to introduce him to Paris. They thought it was high time she got out in the world and met someone. And although she was unaware of it, the entire dinner party had been planned around her. It was a mercy dinner, as she told Anne later.

The new addition strolled into the room wearing a blazer, a red plaid turtleneck, and a pair of plaid pants that Paris couldn't help but stare at. They were the loudest pants she had ever seen, and it was obvious almost from the minute he sat down that he had been drinking. He introduced himself to everyone, before Fred could take care of it, and pumped people's hands until their arms ached. And the moment he turned to Paris, she knew exactly why he'd been invited.

“So you're the gay divorcée of Greenwich,” he said, grinning at her, and this time he didn't pump her hand, he held it. She had to make a visible effort to get him to loosen his grip so she could reclaim her right hand. “I hear your husband just got remarried,” he said bluntly, and Paris nodded, and turned back to Virginia.

“How charming,” she whispered as Virginia winced, and saw Natalie glaring at her husband across the room. Fred had sworn that the guy was terrific. But he had only met him twice in the office. All he knew was that he was divorced, had three kids, and was, according to his own reports, a fantastic skier. It seemed enough to inspire Fred to invite him. They didn't know anyone else single, and Fred had assured Natalie he was intelligent and decent looking, didn't mishandle their account, and said he didn't have a girlfriend.

By the time they went in to dinner, he had told a series of lewd jokes, most of which were inappropriate in mixed company, and some of which were actually funny. Even Paris laughed heartily at one of them, but when he sat down next to her at the dinner table, he stepped up the volume. He had had two more scotches by then, and he was starting to slur before he got to the soup course.

“Christ, don't you hate soup at a dinner party?” he said to her, more loudly than he was aware of. “I always get it all over myself, used to get it on my tie, that's why I don't wear them.” And she could only assume that he didn't want to get it on his blazer either, since he tucked his napkin into his turtleneck, and asked Fred where the wine was. “Must be a dry state here. You still in AA, Fred? Where's the wine, boy?” Fred hastened to pour him the first glass, while Natalie looked as though she wanted to kill him. She was all too aware of how fragile Paris had been, and the fact that this was the first time she had gone out to dinner. She had wanted to be subtle about introducing her to this man. And he was about as subtle as a flood in a farmhouse, and considerably less attractive. He had a habit of taking his glasses on and off, and in doing so, messed up his hair. The drunker he got, the wilder he looked, and the lewder his jokes got. He had mentioned every possible body part by the end of the first course, every possible sexual position by the end of the second, and by the time dessert came, he was pounding the table and laughing so loudly at his own jokes that Paris couldn't keep a straight face when she looked across the table at Virginia. It was awful.

And as they got up from dinner, Natalie took Paris aside and apologized profusely.

“I'm so sorry. Fred swore he was a nice guy, and I thought you might like to meet him.”

“It's fine,” Paris said graciously. “He's actually kind of funny. You don't have to introduce me to anyone, you know. I'm perfectly happy being on my own among good friends. I'm not interested in dating.”

“You should,” Natalie said sternly. “You can't be by yourself in that house for the rest of your life. We have to find you someone.” But their first attempt had certainly been disastrous. The lone wolf had settled onto the couch by then, and was swilling brandy. He looked as though he was about to pass out, and Paris commented to Virginia that they were going to have to let him stay the night, or drive him back to wherever he came from. He was in no condition to drive, particularly in a snowstorm. It was snowing much harder than at the beginning of the evening, and even Paris was feeling cautious about driving home, but she wouldn't have admitted it. She was determined to be self-sufficient, and not a burden.

“I really think you should be a good sport, and put him up in your guest room,” Virginia said to Paris with a rueful grin. It had been quite an evening. And she was glad that Paris was still smiling. She was sure she wouldn't have been, and she and Jim had exchanged cryptic looks several times during the evening. The stockbroker was definitely not what the doctor would have ordered. And as the stockbroker patted her behind as Paris walked past the couch, her heart sank. It had reached a point where it was no longer funny. And her friends' sympathy, however well meant, was somehow degrading, as though she couldn't take care of herself, and they had to do it for her. She had to have a consort at any price, under any circumstances, so they wouldn't feel sorry for her. He was, without a doubt, the perfect nightmare escort.

“Hi, sweetie. Come and sit next to me, and let's get to know each other.” He leered at her.

Paris smiled wanly at him, and went to say good-night to her hostess. She told her she wanted to slip out quietly, so as not to break up the party. And after looking at her carefully, Natalie didn't argue with her. Paris had taken good sportsmanship to new heights that evening.

“I'm really sorry about Ralph. If you like, I'll just shoot him, before he drinks any more of the brandy. And after that, I'm going to shoot Fred when everyone goes home. I promise, we'll do better next time.”

“Next time, just invite me on my own. I'd much prefer it,” Paris said softly.