Dating Game (17 page)

“May I help you?” the woman asked pleasantly.

Paris actually wanted to buy some flowers for the house, but it was the three arrangements in the window that had drawn her in. “I've never seen such lovely flowers,” she said, staring at them again.

“Thank you.” The woman at the desk smiled at her. “They're for a party we're doing this afternoon. The pots belong to the client. We can do flowers in your own bowls, if you like, if you want to bring one in.”

“That would be wonderful,” Paris said pensively. She had an antique silver samovar that was actually very similar to the one in the middle. She and Peter had bought it at an antique show in England. “I'm not going to have anything for a while, or a few weeks anyway. I just moved out from the East.”

“Well, just bring them in any time. And if you're doing a dinner party, we'll be happy to set you up with caterers too.” It was a very unusual florist indeed, or maybe the woman was just being helpful. Paris wasn't sure. “Actually”—she smiled again—“that's my end of things. I run a catering service, and I do a lot of work for the owner of the shop. I'm just baby-sitting for them today. The girl who usually works here is out sick. And Bixby's assistant is at a baby shower, she's having a baby next week.” The shop was called Bixby Mason.

“Is this actually a florist shop?” Paris asked, looking confused. As she glanced around, she could see that the decor was very high end, and there was a narrow marble staircase to the upper floors at the back of the room.

“It started out as one. But it's actually a lot more now. The man who owns it is an artist and a genius. He does all the best parties in town, from soup to nuts. He provides the music, caterers, decides on the theme, or works with his clients to create the atmosphere they want, from small dinner parties to weddings for eight hundred. He's pretty much cornered the market on entertaining in San Francisco. The flowers are just the tip of the iceberg now, so to speak. He does parties all over the state, and around the country sometimes.”

“Very impressive,” Paris said quietly, as the woman reached into a bookcase behind her and pulled out three huge leather-bound albums. There were at least two dozen more on the shelves.

“Want to take a look? These are just a few of the parties he did last year. They're pretty fabulous.” If the flowers in the window were any indication of his work, Paris was sure they were. And as she sat down to thumb through the books out of curiosity, she was enormously impressed. The homes he worked in were spectacular, the settings more elegant than any she'd ever seen. Mansions, gardens, beautifully manicured grounds on large estates with tents specially designed to accommodate the guests in fabrics she would never have thought of using. The weddings she saw in the book were exquisite. And there were a handful of small dinner parties he had photographed that were any hostess's dream. There were hand-painted gourds on the table in one for a Halloween party, a profusion of brown orchids in another, with tiny Chinese vases holding little sprigs of herbs, and a fifties party with so many funny decorations on the table that she smiled as she turned to the last page, and finally handed the books back, with a look of awe.

“Very, very impressive.” And she meant it. She wished she had had the imagination to do something like that in Greenwich. She had done some lovely dinner parties, but nothing in these leagues. Whoever the owner was, he really was a creative genius. “Who is he?”

“His name is Bixby Mason. He's actually an artist, well, a painter and a sculptor. And he has a degree in architecture, but I don't think he's ever used it. He's just a very, very creative man, with incredible imagination and vision, and a nice person. Everyone he works with loves him.” Paris also realized, from what she'd seen, that he probably charged a fortune. But he ought to. What he created for his clients was obviously unique in all aspects. “Somebody called him a wedding planner once, and he almost killed them. He's a lot more than that. But he does a lot of weddings. I cater a lot of them, and I love working with him. Everything goes off like clockwork. He's a master control freak. But he has to be. That's why people come back to him, because everything he touches is perfect. And all the hosts have to do is enjoy the party.” He was worth his weight in gold to the people he worked for.

“And sign a hefty check afterward, I'll bet,” Paris added. It was easy to see that the events he coordinated for them had cost a fortune.

“He's worth it,” the woman who was baby-sitting the shop said without apology. “He makes their events unforgettable. Sadly, he even does funerals. And they're beautiful and tasteful. He never skimps on flowers, food, or music for parties. He flies in bands from everywhere, even Europe if he has to.”

“Amazing.” It was embarrassing now to think of bringing her silver samovar in to have them put flowers in it. He was operating on such a grand scale that any business she could give them seemed pointless. And since she didn't know anyone yet, she wasn't planning to do any entertaining. “I'm glad I came in,” Paris said, with open admiration. “I was looking for a florist. But I don't think I'm going to be doing much entertaining for a while, since I just moved here.”

The girl handed her a card and told her to call them whenever she felt they could help her. “You'd love Bixby. He's a riot. The poor thing is going nuts right now. His assistant is having a baby in a week, and we've got weddings booked every weekend. He told Jane she may have to work anyway. I don't think he knows much about babies.” They both laughed, and as Paris looked at her, she had an outrageous thought, and wasn't sure if she dared to ask her. But as she put the card in her pocket, she decided to throw caution to the wind and try it.

“I'm looking for a job actually. I've given a lot of dinner parties, but not on this scale. What kind of assistant is he looking for?” It seemed ridiculous, even to her, to think he would want her. She had no experience in the workforce, and certainly none in his line of work, except for her own rather staid dinner parties, although some had been very pretty.

“He needs someone with a lot of energy, and a lot of spare time at night and on weekends. Are you married?” She looked as though she might be. She had that quiet, respectable, well-kept look of wives who were well cared for.

“No, I'm divorced,” Paris said quietly. She still said it as though admitting to having been convicted of a felony, and saw it as the public announcement of a failure. It was something she and Anne were still trying to work on.

“Do you have children?”

“Yes, two. One lives in Los Angeles, and the other one is at Berkeley.”

“Well, that sounds interesting. Why don't I talk to him? He's supposed to call in, in a few minutes. Leave me your number, and if he's interested, I'll call you. He's down to the wire with Jane now. The baby's going to come any minute, and her husband wants her to stop working. I thought she was going to have it at the last wedding. She looks like she's having triplets. Thank God she isn't, but it's going to be a big one. And I don't know what he's going to do if he doesn't replace her. He hasn't liked anyone he's interviewed. He's a perfectionist, and a tyrant to work for, but he does such a beautiful job, and he's basically such a decent person, we all love him.” It sounded like nothing but fun to Paris. “Is there anything else you want him to know? Job experience? Languages? Special interests? Connections?” She had none of those, particularly in San Francisco. All she had been for the past twenty-four years was a mother and a housewife. But she thought that if he gave her a chance, she could do it.

“I have an MBA, if that's of any use to him.” And then, having said it, she was afraid he'd think she was overqualified and unimaginative. “I know a lot about gardening, and always arrange my own flowers”—she glanced at the window then—“but not on that scale,” she said humbly.

“Don't worry, he has a Japanese woman who does those for him. Bix couldn't do that either. He's great at rounding up people who can though. That's what he does best. Orchestrating the whole event. He's the conductor. The rest of us play the music. All you'd have to do is pick up the pieces and follow him around with a notebook, and make phone calls. That's what Jane does.”

“I'm a genius with a phone,” Paris said, smiling. “And I have time on my hands. And a decent wardrobe, so I won't embarrass him with his clients. I've run a fairly decent house for the past twenty-four years. I don't know what else to say, except that, if nothing else, I'd love to meet him.”

“If this works out,” the woman said encouragingly as Paris jotted down her name and number, “he'll be your best friend. He's a lovely man.” And then as Paris handed her the piece of paper, the woman who said she was a caterer looked Paris in the eye with a sympathetic smile. “I know what it's like. I was married for eighteen years, and when my marriage fell apart, I had no job experience and no skills. All I knew how to do was fold laundry, drive carpool, and cook for my kids. That's how I got into the catering business. It was the only thing I thought I knew how to do. It turns out that I had a lot more skills than I knew. I have offices in Los Angeles, Santa Barbara, and Newport Beach now. Bixby helped me do it. You have to start somewhere, and this may be it for you.” What she said brought tears to Paris's eyes, as she thanked her. “My name is Sydney Harrington, and I hope I'm going to be seeing more of you. And if this doesn't work out, give me a call. I've been there, and I have a lot of ideas.” She handed Paris her own card, from her catering business, and Paris thanked her again. She felt as though she were floating on air when she walked out of the shop. Even if she didn't get a job out of it, she felt as though she had made a new friend. And Sydney Harrington was a good contact to have. Working for her in the catering business would have been fine too. Working for Bixby Mason sounded like a dream come true. She realized she was unlikely to get a shot at it, she had no experience in the job market, and even less with elaborate events like the ones he did. But at least it was a place to start, and she was proud of herself for speaking up and asking about the possibility. This was a whole new world for her.

Paris spent the next two hours wandering in and out of shops on Sacramento Street. She bought a set of salad plates in a pretty store down the street, and a needlepoint to do on lonely nights. And by four o'clock she was home again, made herself a cup of tea, and sat looking at the view. It had been a nice afternoon. She was still enjoying it, when the phone rang and she answered it. It was Sydney Harrington, and she had exciting news.

“Bixby asked if you could be here at nine on Monday. I don't want to get your hopes up, I have no idea what his take will be, but I told him I thought you were terrific. And he's really desperate. He rejected everyone the agency sent. He thought they were just too dull and unimaginative, and he didn't like the way they looked. You'd have to go to all the events with him, and some on your own, if he has two at the same time. He always stops in, but he can't be in two places at once, particularly if one of them is out of town, so you have to be pretty much at ease with the clients and the guests and fit in. That's important to him. As he says, his assistant is like an extension of him, his representative in the world. He and Jane have been working together for six years. This is going to be a big change for him. He should have hired someone for her to train months ago. I think he had denial about the baby.”

“Is she leaving or going on maternity leave?” Not that it mattered, Paris would have been happy to work for him, from all Sydney had said, for months or even weeks until she came back. The experience would be valuable, and the job would surely be fun.

“She's out for good. He did her wedding, and her husband says if she doesn't quit now, Bix can do their divorce. Paul says he hasn't seen Jane for more than ten minutes at a time for the last five years. He wants her at home, and she agreed. I think she's ready for it. Bix is terrific, but it's an incredible amount of work. I hope you're ready for that if you get the job.” Sydney was trying to be as honest as possible with her, there was no point being otherwise, and she had liked Paris when they met.

“It sounds fabulous,” Paris said enthusiastically, and meant it, and then asked nervously, “What'll I wear? Is there anything he likes or hates?” She wanted to maximize her chance of getting the job, and was grateful for all the information Sydney had shared with her.

“Just be you. That's what he likes best. Be open, honest, and yourself. And be ready to work an eighteen-hour day. He likes that too. No one on the planet works as hard as Bixby Mason, and he expects no less from anyone else.” He sounded like an interesting man.

“Sounds great to me. I have no kids at home, no husband, no big house to take care of. I don't even know anyone here. I have nothing else to do.”

“He'll love that. And I told him about your MBA. I think he was intrigued. Good luck,” she said with a warm tone in her voice. She had so much empathy for the situation Paris was in. She had been there herself five years before, and Bixby had turned it around for her. She was forever grateful to him, and if she could help someone else in the same boat now, she was pleased. “I'll check in on Monday and see how it went.”

“Thank you,” Paris said gratefully and meant every word of it. “Keep your fingers crossed!”

“I will. You'll do great. I have a good feeling about this. I think it was meant to be that you walked into the shop today. He was going to keep it closed because he didn't have anyone to be there, and I volunteered to keep it open for him, but it was just a fluke. Destiny. Now let's see what comes of it. And if this doesn't pan out, something else will. I'm sure of that.” Paris thanked her again, and they hung up, and she sat staring at the view from her living room with a smile on her face. All of a sudden, good things were happening. Better than she'd ever dreamed. She just hoped she didn't make a fool of herself on Monday, or say the wrong thing. She had so little to offer him, she thought, but if he gave her a chance, she was going to put her heart and soul into it. This was the best thing that had happened to her in years.