Dating Game

“No, I'm not,” Paris said clearly. “I was, for twenty-four years. I'm divorced. I've been alone for two and a half. My husband left me.” She wanted to be entirely honest about it. “For another woman. They're married, and have a baby.”

“Is their having a baby part of this decision?”

“Maybe. It's hard to say what is the overriding factor. I think the strongest one is that I want a baby. I'm not going to get remarried, and I don't want to be alone for the rest of my life. To be crude about it, I guess this would buy me another eighteen or twenty years of cooking dinner, going to soccer or ballet, and driving carpools. I loved that, and I really miss it.”

“Why aren't you going to get remarried?” Alice was curious about it. “You can't be sure of that, can you?” She smiled gently.

“I think I am sure,” Paris said firmly. “I think the likelihood of my finding someone at this point is slim to none. It doesn't matter to me.” That was almost totally true, but not quite, and she knew it. She would have loved to be married, but she had accepted the fact that she wouldn't be, and considered it a reality.

“Why do you think it's so unlikely you'll find someone?” The attorney looked intrigued as she watched her. She wanted to make sure she wasn't unbalanced or suffering from a deep depression. She didn't want to place a baby with a sick woman, but Paris sounded very healthy. “You're a beautiful woman. I would think you could have any man you want.”

“It takes too much effort,” Paris said, smiling.

“So does a baby,” Alice said, and Paris laughed.

“I don't have to go on a blind date with a baby. It won't lie to me, cheat on me, forget to call me for another date, be commitment phobic, have peculiar sexual habits or ideas, it won't be rude to me, at least not until it reaches about thirteen, I don't have to play tennis, golf, ski, or take cooking lessons to meet it, I don't have to audition for it, and it won't get drunk halfway through the first date. I'd rather drive carpool for the next twenty years, and change diapers for the next two or three than go on another blind date. Actually, I'd rather go to prison for ten years, or have my toenails ripped out than go on another blind date.”

Alice laughed and looked at her ruefully. “You may have a point. I'd forgotten what it's like. You bring back some memories. I've been remarried for sixteen years. But if it's any consolation, I was about your age when I met my husband. We met in a hospital emergency room when I fell off a ladder and broke my arm, and he had broken a toe. We've been together ever since. But I felt exactly the way you did about blind dates. How old are you, by the way?”

“Forty-eight. I'll be forty-nine in May. Will that be a problem? Am I too old?”

“No,” the attorney said carefully, “you're not. It all depends on what the birth mother wants. You're single, and you're a little older, as those things go. If a birth mother wants a couple, then it won't be a match. But you have other things to offer, you've obviously been a good mother,” although that would be checked out carefully, with references and a home study by a licensed social worker, as Alice was going to explain to her later. “You're experienced, you've already provided a good home and know-how, you're affluent, you're responsible. Some birth mothers don't care if there's a father or not, and many won't mind your age. Some will. You'll find, when we get further into it, that most birth mothers don't ask a lot of questions, far fewer than you or I would. If they do, we may be in trouble, and what she may really be saying is that she doesn't trust you, and she thinks she'd be a better mother than you would. If we present you, and you've been checked out, and you will be, then it's all about chemistry and instinct. It's the adopting mothers who usually ask all the questions. But for the most part, I hate to say it, adoption is a lot like dating.”

Paris grinned at the comparison. “At least there's a reward at the end of it. I'm not sure that's the case in dating, there all you get is a lot of heartache.”

“Sounds like you've been dating the wrong guys,” she smiled, “but haven't we all! It's the good ones, when you finally find one, that make it all worthwhile. Just like adoption.” She smiled.

She explained the entire process to Paris then. She had numerous options, a foreign adoption, a domestic one, private, or closed, the adoption of a special needs child, which Paris said she didn't want to undertake on her own, and Alice nodded, it was all a personal choice. And Paris said she wanted a domestic child. Foreign adoption sounded too difficult and too stressful for her. And she didn't want to spend two months in a hotel room in Beijing or Moscow waiting for a lot of red tape to be cut, and forms to be filled out. She wanted to lead a normal life and go to work every day while she waited for the right baby to be found. And that sounded reasonable to Alice. There had to be a home study, done by a licensed adoption agency if it was going to be a private adoption, which this was. Paris would have mountains of papers to fill out, documents to sign, fingerprints and criminal records to provide, medical exams, as well as references and information about herself.

“Have you told your children yet?” Alice asked.

“No, not yet. My son is in college, and my daughter got married on Saturday. They're pretty much out of the house, and they can't have much objection, it's not going to affect them.”

“Don't be so sure. Even grown children have strong opinions sometimes about their parents adopting. Sibling rivalry can happen at any age.” Paris couldn't imagine it, but the attorney obviously had more experience than she did.

“What do I do now?” Just listening to her, Paris was excited. She knew more than ever that her decision was right, and she could hardly wait. Alice had told her that they screened birth mothers very carefully. They wanted to be sure that the family background was as sound as possible, the birth father had signed off so there were no problems later, and the match between adoptive mother and baby was as good as it could get, and of course that the birth mother was really going to give the baby up. And there was drug and alcohol screening for the birth mother as well.

“We give you a packet of papers,” Alice said, standing up. “And you start filling them out. I'll be in touch in the next week or two. I want to get your home study started, because if a baby comes up on short notice, and they do that sometimes, we can get a call from a hospital or a mother, after the baby has been born, and you want to be able to move forward quickly.”

“Does it usually happen that fast?” Paris looked surprised. She had assumed it would take months, or even years.

“It can happen just that fast. Or it can take a lot longer. Realistically, it will probably take about a year. Most of the time it's about that long. If we're lucky, six months. But I think I can tell you reasonably that you should be changing diapers within a year.” Paris smiled. It was a hopeful thought. And she liked this woman enormously. Paris had total confidence that she was in the right hands. She had gotten the name from her gynecologist, whom Sydney had referred her to. She did a lot better with doctors and jobs than she did with blind dates.

Paris gave Alice her number at the office, her home number, and the number of her cell phone. And after that, she drove to the office. She was totally excited about what she was about to do, and for the moment she didn't have a single doubt. The only thing she was wondering about now was if Alice was right and Meg and Wim might be upset. She didn't think they would. And it wasn't something she wanted to discuss with them on the phone. Meg and Richard were in Europe for three weeks on their honeymoon, so she had to wait until they got home.

And when she got to the office, Paris saw that Andrew Warren had called. She hesitated about returning the call, and didn't want to pursue anything romantic with him. He was a nice man, but she was serious about not dating. She had no interest in him. She saw that the message was in Bix's handwriting, and stopped in his office, with the message in her hand.

“What did he want?” She didn't look enthused.

“He asked if you'd donate a kidney,” Bix teased her. “Don't look so suspicious. He said he had to see a client here next week, and I think he wanted to know if you wanted to have lunch.”

“I don't,” she said curtly, tossing the message in the trash.

“Don't be such a pain in the ass,” Bix said, looking annoyed. “He's a nice man.” They had chatted for a few minutes on the phone, and Bix had invited him to stop by sometime. If Paris wouldn't have lunch with him, he would. “What have you got to lose?”

“My sanity and self-respect. I'm fond of both.”

“Where were you this morning, by the way?” She usually let him know where she went, and she had left a message on the machine saying she'd be late, but not why.

“I had my teeth cleaned.” She smiled at him, but something in her eyes told him it was something else.

“You must have more teeth than I do. You were gone a hell of a long time.”

“I had to wait,” she said, and went back to her desk. She didn't call Andrew Warren. He was a nice man, but there was no point. She could always see him sometime in L.A. when she visited Richard and Meg. Meg said they saw a lot of him. And she saw no reason to cultivate a friendship. She didn't need or want a male friend. She had Bix.

She heard from Alice Harper, as promised, the following week. Paris had returned as many of the forms as she could fill out. She still had to get her fingerprints done, and a computer check of her criminal record, but she'd been planning to do that in the next few days. And she wasn't prepared for what Alice said.

“I have a birth mother for you, Paris,” she said, and Paris could feel her heart pound. This was much better than a date. This was forever, just like a baby of her own. It was like waiting to find out if she was pregnant, in the early days of her marriage. They had been the best years of her life. And this was a way of bringing those days back, without Peter of course. But you couldn't have everything. Not anymore.

“Tell me about her,” Paris said, as she closed her office door. Bix glanced out of his office and saw her do it, and had the feeling that something smoky was going on. He hoped she wasn't looking for another job. Paris never closed her door.

“She's nineteen years old, in college in the Bay Area, from a solid family in Mill Valley. She's healthy, anxious to pursue her education. She's very athletic, which is why she didn't know she was pregnant. She didn't find out till she was five months along.”

“How pregnant is she now?”

“Seven months. The baby is due on December first. She's not into drugs, and hasn't had any alcohol since she found out. She says only a little beer and wine before that, she's on the tennis team at her school, so she's pretty wholesome. She's been drug tested, and she's clean. And judging from the photographs, she's a very pretty girl, blond hair, blue eyes, she looks a little like you. I'm going to see her myself tomorrow. The birth father is twenty-two, just graduated from Stanford, working in New York. Four point oh GPA all through college, he sounds like a real brain. No drugs. They went out for two years, and broke up six months ago. They don't want to get married, neither of them wants the baby, nor do their parents. His family is pretty well known in the city. I think they just want this to go away. You could be the answer to their prayers.”

“How does the birth mother feel about me? Does she mind that I'm single and older?” Paris asked, feeling humble. In a way, it was worse than dating, because there was so much at stake. A child for the rest of her life.

“She's going to talk to two other couples. So this isn't a sure thing. Let's get your home study complete as fast as we can do it. Have you told your kids?” Alice asked.

“My daughter won't be home from her honeymoon for two more weeks.”

“That's soon enough. Let's see where this goes.” And on Saturday afternoon, she called Paris at home. She was sitting in her living room, in front of the fire, reading a book. And for some odd reason, she'd been thinking of Jean-Pierre, missing him, and wondering how he was. She hoped he was happy and well.

“The birth mother wants to meet you,” Alice told Paris. “She's going to see the other couples too.” This was auditioning big time. “Are you free tomorrow?”

“Absolutely.” She was having dinner with Wim, but she had no other plans. Her life was quiet these days. Quieter than it had ever been.

Alice named a restaurant in the heart of town, where they could meet and talk for as long as they wanted. She said the birth mother was coming alone. They agreed on two o'clock, and Paris said she'd be there. And when she showed up exactly on schedule the following afternoon, the young woman walked in at almost exactly the same time. She was a beautiful girl, with a lean athletic figure, and the baby was a tight neat ball that hardly showed, despite her seven months. The birth mother looked strikingly like Meg.

They were given a quiet corner table, and the girl looked uncomfortable, so Paris spoke first. She asked how she was feeling, and she gave Paris a shy smile.

“Stupid mostly. I should have figured it out. My periods are so irregular, I just missed it.” She told Paris afterward that her parents were extremely upset, especially her dad. She was an only child, and the apple of his eye. Paris wanted to ask her if she was sure of what she was doing, but Alice had suggested she not do that. The girl said she was certain she didn't want the baby. She talked about her boyfriend then. She said it had been a very acrimonious breakup, and they didn't want to see each other again, for the moment.

“What if you get back together?” Paris asked quietly. “Do you think you would want the baby back?” Legally, they wouldn't have a leg to stand on, Alice had said, once the papers were signed, but Paris was worried about it anyway. What if they harassed her, or tried to overturn the adoption in court? They were all normal fears for her to have. It was all unfamiliar to her.

“No, I wouldn't. I don't want a baby. I want to go to school in Europe next year, and finish school. I can't do anything I want with a baby. And he wants to go to law school and doesn't want it either. I just can't take care of a baby, and my parents won't.” She sounded as sensible as any nineteen-year-old girl, and sensible enough to know that she wasn't responsible enough to bring up a child. She was still one herself. She was the same age as Wim, and Paris couldn't imagine him with a baby for a long time to come. The birth mother's name was Jennifer, and they sat and talked for two hours. It was obvious that she liked Paris, and she said so when they left. And after that Paris went home and cooked dinner for Wim. They had an easy quiet evening, and she was dying to tell him about the baby, but she didn't want to tell him before she told Meg. She wanted to tell them together, it only seemed fair to both of them.

She spoke to Alice again on Monday, and she said it was looking good. The birth mother liked her a lot. And after she hung up, Paris was beaming when she came out of her office, and Bix looked upset.

“What's wrong?” She looked at him with a warm grin.

“You tell me,” he said, and asked her to come into his office and sit down. “Paris, what the hell is going on?” She suddenly wondered if she'd screwed something up for a client, and was worried by the look on his face.

“With what?” He looked furious with her, but in truth he was scared.

“Either you're having an affair, or you're looking for a new job. And since you insist you won't date, I figure it's the latter. Every time I walk past your office, the door is closed, and you look like a Cheshire cat.” He looked profoundly upset, and Paris felt badly to have caused him concern.

“I'm sorry, Bix,” she said gently. “You're going to have to drag me out of here, if you ever want to get rid of me. I'm not going anywhere.” She wanted to reassure him, but he only looked more confused.

“Then what the hell is it?” he asked, running a hand through his hair. And she smiled, just as he had said, like the proverbial Cheshire cat.

“It's something very wonderful. I think so anyway,” she said proudly. “I'm going to adopt a baby, Bix.” He just sat there and stared at her for endless minutes and then shook his head in disbelief.

“Oh my God. You're not.” It was all he could think of to say.

“I am. At least I hope I am. I met the birth mother yesterday. I've been pursuing this for the past couple of weeks, but I've been planning to for months. I wanted to get Meg married first.” It certainly explained the closed door.

“When did you decide that?”

“About six months ago. After Jean-Pierre. I don't want to do that again. And I don't want to be alone. Bix, when you think about it, it makes a lot of sense.”

“Not to me. Do your kids know?”

“Not yet. I'm going to tell them when Meg gets home.”

“When is this baby due, if you get this one?”

“December first.”

“Shit. There goes Christmas. When were you going to tell me?” He looked even more upset at the prospect. His office was going to be in an uproar without her.

“When I know for sure. This may not be the one, but I hope it is. She's a lovely, wholesome girl, and she looks just like Meg, and me. But even if this comes through, I'm not going to leave you in the lurch over Christmas. I'd like maternity leave for a month or so, but I can take it in January, when things settle down. I'll let you know when I do, and we'll work it out.” He was still staring at her in disbelief, and Paris looked frighteningly calm. She was absolutely sure she was doing the right thing, and it showed. She hadn't had a qualm or a hesitation since she'd met Alice Harper.

“Paris, are you sure? This sounds like a crazy thing to do.”

“Believe me, it isn't. It's the first thing I've done in two and a half years that makes sense, except for coming to work for you. And I can do both. I didn't with Meg or Wim, but other women work.” And she was mature enough now to handle a job and a baby. She wasn't worried about that either. She had thought it all out. “So,” she asked, smiling at him across his desk, “are you going to congratulate me?” She was beaming, as he shook his head.

“No, I'm going to have you committed. I think it's time to call Sydney again, for another blind date. If I had thought that ending it with Jean-Pierre would lead to this, I would have either forced you to marry him, or shot him when he first came near you. I think this is a crazy thing to do. You need a husband, Paris, not a baby.” And in part that was true. Or at best, she could have had both. But not the way things were.

“The baby is enough. I don't need a husband, Bix. I had one. It was great. But that's over.”

“And you're just going to give up on men for the rest of your life? That's crazy.” He looked genuinely upset for her. It was such a terrible waste.

“If it's meant to be, it'll happen someday, maybe when I fall off a ladder and break my arm,” she said cryptically, and he looked confused.

“What does breaking your arm have to do with it?”

“That's how my lawyer met her husband. She broke her arm, he broke his toe, and they met in an emergency room.”

“How cute,” Bix said, still looking upset. She had given him a lot to digest. She came around the desk to give him a hug, and reassure him everything would be all right, and a few minutes later, Paris went back to her desk. Bix took a bottle of Valium out of his desk, started to open it, shook his head, muttered to himself, and put it back without taking one after all. At least he knew now, he reassured himself, that she wasn't going to quit. But adopting a baby sounded almost as bad to him.

Chapter 30

It was another week before Alice called, and Meg was nearly home by then. But it wasn't good news. Jennifer, the birth mother, had chosen one of the couples instead, and Paris was surprised by how disappointed she was. It felt like the ultimate rejection.

“It works that way sometimes,” Alice said quietly. She knew how Paris felt. “When it's right, it will fall into place. You'll see. I have another option for you. I know you want a newborn, but I just want to run this by you. It never hurts to ask. We have a four-year-old in a Russian orphanage, alcoholic mother, unknown father, no HIV. She's been in the orphanage since she was two. There are two other siblings, and the Russians usually keep them together, but the couple who took them didn't want the little girl. She was scheduled to be adopted by an American family in Phoenix, and they backed out yesterday. The father has been diagnosed with a brain tumor, and they don't want to take on an adoption. So she's up for grabs. I have a picture of her I can e-mail to you. She looks very cute, but I know this wasn't what you had in mind.” Paris thought about it for a second and was about to say no, and then won

dered if this was fate, sending her this child.

“Can I think about it?” Paris asked cautiously.

“I'll send you the e-mail.” And when she did, Paris thought she had never seen a sweeter face. She sat and stared at it as Bix came into her office and looked too.

“Who's that?”

“A four-year-old in a Russian orphanage. She's available for adoption. The birth mother I saw doesn't want me.”

“Oh my God,” Bix said, and turned away from the photograph. “Tell me this isn't happening. Paris, I'll marry you myself if you stop this nonsense.” He was horrified by her adoption project, and said so whenever he got the chance.

“It's not nonsense,” she said, looking at him. She was so calm it frightened him. He had never seen her so determined. “And I don't want to get married. Except for you, I might make an exception. What about Steven? Should we adopt him?”

Bix stared at her, it was a nightmare happening, as far as he was concerned. “I need a Valium.”

“Do you want me to call your doctor?”

“Are you kidding?” He laughed. “I have about four hundred of them in my office. Would you like one?”

“No, thanks, I'm fine.” And two hours later she called Alice and told her she had decided against the Russian orphan. She felt more comfortable about a newborn.

“I thought so. I just thought I'd ask. I think I have a lead on another birth mother for you, by the way. I'll know more in a few days. I'll call you.”

And that weekend Meg and Richard came back from their honeymoon and called her. She invited them to come up and visit. She wanted Wim to be there with them, but they said they were busy. And Bix and Paris had Halloween to contend with.

It was early November when they finally made it up. They decided to have early Thanksgiving with her, since they were flying east to spend it with Peter. And shortly after they arrived, Richard mentioned to her that Andrew said he had called her. Paris looked faintly embarrassed.

“I know. I'm sorry. That was rude of me. I never called him.” But she really didn't want to.

“I think he was afraid he had offended you. He's a hell of a nice guy,” Richard staunchly defended him.

“If he calls again, I'll talk to him. I promise.”

“I'll tell him.”

And after that they sat down to dinner, and had a traditional Thanksgiving meal. But there was nothing traditional about the look on their faces when Paris told them she wanted to adopt a baby. Both her children looked like they were going into shock.

“You what?” Meg stared at her, for the first time not willing to support her. “Mom, that's crazy. You're too old to have a baby.”

“That's possible,” Paris conceded, “although I'm not entirely sure of that either. But that's not what I have in mind. I want to adopt one. And I'm certainly not too old to take care of a baby. Women older than I am are having them by in vitro fertilization.” She defended her position, but so far hadn't convinced them.

“They have husbands.” Meg was almost shouting, and she was looking to Richard to be her ally. So far he had said nothing. And Wim looked horrified. His whole family was going crazy. His parents had divorced, his father had married a girl almost half his age, now they had a six-month-old baby, he had two stepbrothers, and now his mom wanted to adopt a baby. Neither he nor Meg was enthused by the project, and they made no bones about it.

“Single women adopt babies, and so do single men,” Paris said calmly.

“Let them,” Meg said childishly. “I think it's stupid for you to adopt a baby. Why would you want to do that?”

“Because I'm lonely,” Paris answered quietly, and both of her children stared at her. “You two are grown up, and have your own lives. I don't. Except for my job. You were my life. And I'm not your responsibility. I have to make my own life worthwhile. I want to have a baby, to love and take care of, and keep me company, until it grows up too. It doesn't mean I don't love both of you, of course I do. But I don't want to be alone either.” There was a deafening silence, and Richard looked at her with great compassion, as though they were the only two adults in the room, and he got it. He put an arm around his wife and tried to explain it to her.

“Your mom has a right to do anything she thinks is right to make her life better. It's not easy being alone. This is hard for her. And it would be a wonderful thing to do for a baby.”

“Why can't you just get married?” Meg asked plaintively.

“Because I can't, or I haven't,” Paris answered, “and I'm not going to sit here and wait for the Messiah to come and improve my lot in life. That's pathetic. I need to take responsibility for my own life,” Paris said, and Richard admired her for it.

“What if I have a baby? You won't even care about it, if you have your own,” Meg asked, sounding pathetic, and Paris smiled at her. In her own way, Meg was still a baby herself. And so was Wim. Alice had been right. This wasn't as easy as she had thought.

“Of course, I'll care about your baby, sweetheart. And I'll care about both of you, and all the children you have. But I need to do something to make my own life better, and this is what seems right to me.”

“It sounds pretty dumb to me,” Wim contributed. “Babies make a big mess.” He was seeing that with the half-sister Peter and Rachel had given him. Their baby seemed to scream all the time, and as far as Wim was concerned, every time he tried to play with her, she threw up, and Rachel got worried. It didn't sound like a terrific idea to him.

“Let's see what happens. I'll tell you both what I'm doing, and if a baby comes up. I just lost an opportunity recently, two actually. I turned one down, and the other one turned me down. This probably won't happen for quite a while,” she reassured them.

“How long?” Meg asked, as though she'd just been told she had to face a firing squad.

“Maybe a year, more or less.” All Meg could hope was that her mother would change her mind in the meantime.

And before they left on Sunday afternoon, Richard took a minute to talk to Paris alone. “Don't worry about Meg, Paris. She'll adjust. So will Wim. This is your life, and you have to do what's right for you. I admire what you're doing. It takes a lot of guts to take on a commitment like that at our age.” He was, after all, only a year older than she was, and had a different perspective than her daughter, even though they were married.

“You'd better not say that.” She smiled at him, grateful for his vote of confidence in her. “What if Meg has a baby?” She was hoping they would at some point, and from all they'd said, they intended to have children one day.

“That's different,” he said to his mother-in-law. “I'm a lot more cowardly than you. I don't think I could adopt one. That doesn't worry you?” he asked her openly, and she shook her head, feeling great affection for him. He was not only her son-in-law, he was becoming her friend.

“It doesn't worry me at all.”

Wim and Meg and Richard left on Sunday at the same time. It had been a turbulent weekend for all of them, but Paris was confident they'd calm down. And she knew Richard would help with Meg. And maybe even with Wim. He had promised to talk to him in a few days. God only knew what Peter would think of her plan when he heard of it. She wasn't counting on him to calm their children. He had his own life and problems, and his own baby they were somewhat hesitant about, because they still weren't sold on Rachel. And she had an unfailing knack for irritating them. She was a very strong woman, and she had broken up their parents' marriage, so she started out with two strikes against her in their eyes, if not three.

And as Richard and Meg drove away, he made a mental note to himself to say something to Andrew again. He still thought Andrew should call Paris, even if they only became friends. They seemed so much alike to him. And this time, if for no other reason than out of respect for her son-in-law, she had promised to take the call, if he did. There was no harm in it. She wasn't going to date him, but as Bix said, it was always good to have another friend.

Chapter 31

The following week Andrew Warren called Paris again. He said he had come to town to work on a screenplay with one of his clients, who was having trouble modifying it, and he wondered if Paris had time for lunch. She remembered her conversation with Richard and her promise to him, so she agreed to see him that week when he got in. It was a courtesy lunch, if nothing else. He was, after all, her son-in-law's partner and friend, and she didn't want to seem rude, although she was frighteningly busy in the office. Christmas was coming. She almost canceled at the last minute when a new client came in to meet with Bix, and he threatened to throw Paris out of the office physically if she didn't go to lunch. He liked Andrew Warren a lot, and was convinced Paris would too, if she gave him a chance, even as a friend.

They met in a deli on Sacramento Street, which wasn't elegant, but it was quick, and she was embarrassed to tell him that she had very little time. But he seemed good-natured about it.

“I'm just happy to get out of my client's apartment. He's been staring at a blank sheet of paper for four weeks, and he says he's not coming out till he writes something. I feel like a psychiatric attendant. I may have to write it for him.” He laughed, finishing his coffee.

“Can you write it?” Paris looked impressed.

“Not really, but I will if it will get him going. I was actually thinking about a stun gun, just to jolt him a bit.”

“There's an idea.” She laughed, and told him about the Christmas parties they were doing, when he asked her. He was fascinated by their business.

“I don't know how you do it. When I invite friends over, we order Chinese food, and eat it out of the cartons.”

“Call Bixby Mason,” she teased. “We'll take care of it for you.”

“I'll bet you would. If Meg's wedding is any indication of what you two do, I'd say you throw a terrific party.” He smiled at her appreciatively.

“We try to,” she said blandly, thinking she had fulfilled her promise and didn't have to meet with him again.

He said he had to get back to his screenwriter then, and she had to get back to the office. It had been a pleasant interlude. He was very much like Richard, and she could see why they were partners. They were both easygoing, intelligent, unpretentious, and very good at their business. They both did a lot of hand-holding for their talent, which showed they had a nurturing nature. Paris couldn't think of a better husband for her daughter. Or maybe a friend for her in Andrew one day.

And as soon as Paris got back to the office, the secretary told her she had a call from Alice Harper.

“I have an interesting birth mother for you,” Alice said, as Paris listened. She had just completed her home study and was ready to go, whenever it happened. “She's a little older than our run of the mill. And she's married. She's twenty-nine years old, and has four kids. She lives in the East Bay, and her husband is a lab tech. They're very tight on money. And apparently, he's been having an affair with their neighbor. He's leaving her, or in fact he's already left. And she didn't want this baby to begin with. I gather he's been pretty abusive to her. No drugs, no alcohol, she's very religious, and she wants this baby to have a good life. She knows it won't if she keeps it. She can't afford the ones she has, in fact, her sister is going to take her little girl who's three, and the birth mother is going to take the three boys, who are eleven and nine, and seven, and she wants to go east to get a job and live with her mother.” It sounded like a tragedy to Paris. Fragmented lives and endless heartbreak. It had happened to her. She couldn't even imagine what it would have been like if she had had to break up her family, farm out her children, and give one up for adoption.

“What happens if she gets on her feet? Will she want this baby?”

“She says he raped her. She told him she wanted a divorce a year ago, and he didn't believe her. He sounds fairly abusive. So he raped her, and she got pregnant. But then he got involved with the neighbor. She filed the divorce yesterday. Now she wants to place the baby, and start life with a clean slate somewhere else. I'm not sure I blame her,” Alice said. She had heard thirty years of these stories, and many of them were tragic. “What I like about her is that she's older, sensible. She knows what she's doing. She knows what it is to take care of a child, and she also knows what she can and can't handle. She's got more on her plate than she can cope with, and she knows it. You'd be a godsend for her.” And maybe she for Paris.

“When's the baby due?” Paris asked, making notes on a scratchpad.

“There's the rub. In two weeks. It's a baby girl, by the way. She had a sonogram last month, and the baby is healthy.” Paris had confided to Alice early on that she would prefer a little girl, it would be easier for her as she got older, particularly with no male role model for a little boy to rely on. But she was willing to take either sex.

“Two weeks?” Paris looked startled. “Next week is Thanksgiving.”

“I know. Her due date is December fifth. Do you want to meet her?”

“I…sure…” She had told her kids it could take a year. But Paris felt that if this was right, she would know it. And she already had a good feeling about it.

Alice called her back half an hour later. She had made an appointment with the birth mother, for Paris, at a coffee shop in San Leandro, the next evening at seven. It was the most exciting dinner date Paris had had in months. Possibly in years.

And the next night she was hurrying out of the office when Bix saw her.

“I'd say you had a hot date, but unfortunately, I know better.” He was extremely discouraged about Paris's current position on dating, although he knew she'd had lunch with Andrew Warren. She had told Bix pointedly that he'd make a great friend, and that was all either of them wanted. They were on the same page about that.

“I do have a hot date. I'm meeting a birth mother in San Leandro.” Paris looked anxious and excited and hopeful all at once.

“You hang out in the nicest places,” Bix teased.

With traffic, it took her an hour and a half to get there, but she had allowed enough time, and walked into the coffee shop minutes before the birth mother. She was a tired-looking blonde who looked as though she was ready to drop with exhaustion. But she was pretty, and gentle and bright when Paris talked to her. She'd had a year of community college, and wanted to go to nursing school one day. But for now, she was going to have to do whatever she could to support her children. Her husband sounded like a real bastard. And all this woman wanted to do was get on a plane after she had the baby, and go east to get away. She said her sister would send her little girl to her when she thought she could handle it. But she was frantic about trying to support her kids now, and she knew that they would all drown, if she had a fifth one. Her husband had recently lost his job, and he couldn't pay support. And every penny he had, he was spending on the other woman. Paris wanted to put her in the car and drive away with her, with the rest of her children. But she knew she couldn't. That wasn't what she was there for. They were there to talk about the baby that was due in two weeks.

Paris talked about her own family, and Meg and Wim, her house, her life, her job. But just as Alice had predicted, the birth mother wanted to know very little about her. All she wanted to know was that Paris was willing to take the baby. It was she who wanted Paris to approve of her, not the reverse, and get her out of the mess she was in, so she could get on her feet as quickly as possible, and help her other children. Giving someone the baby she was carrying was going to allow this girl to survive and take care of her other kids. She didn't care that Paris was single, or that she was older. She felt total confidence in her the minute she saw her. And from the moment Paris laid eyes on her, she knew this was the baby for her. They were halfway through the meal Paris had ordered for her, which neither of them barely touched, when Paris took the woman's hands in her own and held them, and as they looked at each other, there were tears rolling down their cheeks. They both knew at the same moment what had happened. The deal was done. The birth mother's name was Amy, and all she had to do now was have the baby, and give it to Paris. Paris and her attorney would take care of the rest.

“Thank you,” Amy whispered, still clinging tightly to Paris's hands. And they sat there, talking and planning, and exchanging photographs until nine o'clock. There were no notable medical problems in Amy's family, one of her children had hay fever, and there was no history of mental illness. No alcoholism, no drugs. And all she wanted from Paris were photographs once a year. She did not plan to see the baby again. Both she and her husband were willing to sign off, and the baby would become the ward of the adoption agency then. And within four months, the baby would be legally hers. Once they signed off, and it was registered in Sacramento, neither she nor the father could change their minds. But Amy assured her there was no way they ever would. She was far more concerned that Paris would back out, and Paris assured her there was no question of it. She had made her decision, and stepped up to the plate. Now all Paris had to do was wait. And tell her kids.

And as she drove back to the city that night, she felt exactly the way she had the first time the doctor had told her she was pregnant. There was always that queasy little fear in the back of your mind that something could go wrong, but what you felt most of all was excitement and exultation. She had come running into the house to tell Peter victoriously, “I'm pregnant!” And she felt exactly that way now. She had given Amy all her phone numbers and told her to call the minute she went into labor. And they both had to call Alice Harper in the morning to tell her they had agreed, and it was a match.

The attorney called Paris at home while she was dressing for work, and Paris held her breath. What if Amy had changed her mind? She might have on the way home. Or maybe her husband had decided to stay with her after all.

“She wants you,” Alice said simply. “How about you?”

“I love her,” Paris said, with tears in her eyes again. They had even both noticed that they had the same color eyes and similar hands. As though God had made them sisters at one time, and separated them, and now brought them back together in the nick of time. Paris had two weeks to buy everything she needed. And she told Alice she would write a check that morning for everything Amy needed. The delivery was covered by Amy's medical plan. All she needed was some child care for her other kids while she was in the hospital, and Paris had volunteered to pay plane fare for Amy and her boys to go back east, after the birth. It seemed like the least she could do.

“I'll send the check over this morning,” Paris said nervously.

“Don't worry. She's not going anywhere. She needs you,” Alice said wisely.

“I need her too,” Paris said. More than she had ever realized. But she knew it now. She called Meg and Wim before she left the house, and told them both.

Wim answered with a monotone “Whatever.” And then said that whatever made her happy would be fine with him. And he sounded as though he meant it. Paris cried when she thanked him. His support was the greatest gift he had ever given her.

“Are you sure, sweetheart?”

“Yeah, Mom,” he said, smiling at his end. “I still think it's a dumb thing to do. But if you want it, it'll be okay.” Paris cried with relief and gratitude as she listened.

“I love you,” she said fervently, touched to the core.

“Me too.”

And the conversation with Meg went better than she had hoped it would too. She had had a long talk with her husband, and she could see her mother's point. If she really wasn't going to remarry, it was going to be a lonely life for her. And if this was what she wanted, Meg said she would support her. The only thing that worried her was that she thought that if her mother did want to start dating again, no man her age would want to get stuck with a baby. But Richard pointed out that he was her mother's age, and he wanted a baby with Meg. In fact, they'd been working on it. So in the end, she got Meg's blessing too. “This is pretty exciting, Mom,” Meg conceded before they hung up.

“Yes, sweetheart, it is.” And then she ran to the office to tell Bix.

“I'm having a baby!” she shouted as she came through the door, and then she saw that the accountant was with him. Fortunately there were no clients afoot.

“Congratulations!” the accountant said, looking stunned, but not as stunned as Bix. He looked up and stared at her and said a single word.

“When?” They had twenty-two Christmas parties on the books.

“In two weeks.” She beamed, and Bix looked like he was going to faint. “Don't worry. I won't take off till January. I'll bring the baby to the office. I'll find a sitter. I'll take care of it. You can baby-sit for me,” she said, and he groaned.

“Should I give you a baby shower?” he asked, looking panicked.

“Not till it's here, but thank you. We can play after Christmas.” He was rummaging in his desk frantically as she said it. “What are you looking for?”

“My Valium. I may have to OD. What's the due date, or whatever you call it?”

“That's what you call it.” She grinned. “December fifth.”

“Oh my God, that's the night of the Addison wedding.”

“I'll be there. With the baby, if I have to.” She was going to find a sitter quickly, and already had a call in to a pediatrician. She was going to hire a baby nurse, to help get her through Christmas. And in January she was going to take care of her herself. Now all she had to do was think of a name. But that was the last thing on her mind, as she made hasty notes about what she'd need, and Bix followed her into her office.

“Are you sure you want to do this, Paris? A baby is forever,” he said ominously.

“Yes, I know,” Paris said, looking at him. “That's the only thing that is.”

Chapter 32

Andrew Warren called Paris again the Monday before Thanksgiving. He said he had to come to town to see his client again that weekend. And while he waited around for him to write something, he wondered if she wanted to have dinner. She was spending Thanksgiving with Steven and Bix, and her kids were going to be in New York with Peter. Over the weekend she was going to buy things she needed for the baby, and beyond that she had nothing to do.

“That would be nice. Do you want to come here for dinner?” She didn't mind cooking for him. She had nothing else to do, and it might be easier for him, while he waited for his beleaguered screenwriter to hatch a script. They were within hours of the deadline, and the studio was making ugly legal sounds, so he wanted to stick around and breathe down the writer's neck.

“Is this what you always do, or is it above and beyond the call?” she asked after he said he'd like to come to dinner.

“Way beyond, but he's a nice kid, and I think he's in over his head. If I can help, I might as well. It's a quiet weekend for me.” He said he was spending the holiday with friends, since both of his girls were in Europe, and he hadn't had time to fly over and see them for Thanksgiving this year. He asked how she was spending it, since he knew that Meg and Richard were going to New York to see Peter, and she told him she was going to spend it with Bix.

“It's always fun being with them,” she said, and they agreed that he would come to her place for dinner on Friday night, strictly casual, sweaters and jeans.

But as it turned out, Thanksgiving with Steven and Bix was a lot less fun than she'd expected it to be. Steven cooked a perfect bird, and Bix's table was exquisite. But there were no other guests this year, except her, and Steven looked like he had a bad case of flu. He ate very little and went to lie down immediately after dinner. And while she helped Bix clear away the dishes and put them in the dishwasher, she saw tears roll down his cheeks.

“What's happening?” she asked as she put her arms around him, and he nearly collapsed against her. And before he even told her, she knew. It was Steven. He had AIDS. “Oh my God, no…it can't be …” But it was. She knew he had been HIV positive for many years. And they had both known it could happen one day.

“Paris, if something happens to him, I can't live through it. I just couldn't live without him anymore,” Bix said as she hugged him, and he cried.

“Hopefully, you won't have to,” she said, trying to be optimistic for him, but they both knew that sometimes life was cruel. “You just have to do the best you can, and do everything you can for him.” And she knew Bix would.

“He started taking protease and nucleoside reverse transcriptase inhibitors last week, and it's making him feel really sick. Eventually, they said it would make him feel better. But right now he feels like shit.” He had looked pretty rocky at the dinner table, but Paris also knew that he was still going to work. He had been on call earlier that day.

“Can you get him to take some time off?”

“I doubt it,” Bix said, drying his eyes and loading the dishwasher again.

“I'll cover all the parties I can for you. Just tell me what you need.”

“How are you going to do that?” he asked, looking discouraged. He couldn't even imagine a life without Steven at his side, but they had always known the risk was real.

“I found an adorable baby-sitter yesterday.” It seemed funny even to her to have to worry about baby-sitters, and schedules and formula and diapers. But she didn't mind the responsibility or inconvenience of it. She could hardly wait. She was going shopping for everything she needed the next day. Amy's due date was eight days away. She was having the baby at Alta Bates Medical Center in Berkeley, and all Paris had to do when the call came was race over the bridge. She had promised to be at the delivery with her. And hopefully, the baby wouldn't come as fast as Jane's, so Paris could at least get there in time to see the baby born. Amy had asked Paris to be at the delivery with her. And if the baby was healthy, eight hours after the delivery, Paris could take the baby home. The one thing she didn't have for the baby yet was a name.

But she turned her attention back to Bix before she left that night. They went in to check on Steven, but he was sleeping, and Paris noticed that he seemed to have lost weight recently, and looked very thin, and in the past month or two, he seemed to have aged. Bix could see it too. They both knew he could have years left, if he was lucky. But battling AIDS and living on medications was not going to be easy for either of them.

She thought about them as she lay in bed that night, praying that Steven would get better, and live for a very long time. She knew how much they loved each other, and how unusual a relationship like theirs was. She didn't want anything bad to happen to them. Life was always so challenging, and so full of wicked, unexpected turns in the road. She had discovered that herself two and a half years before.

She fell into a fitful sleep and dreamed about the baby. She dreamed that she was having it and Amy was standing next to her, holding her hand, and as soon as the baby came, someone took it away, and in the dream Paris was screaming. And as she woke up with a start, she realized that that was what she was going to do to Amy. Amy was going to work so hard to have the baby, and then Paris was going to take the baby away. Her heart went out to her as she lay in bed and thought about it. Things seemed to be so hard for everyone. Bix, Steven, Amy… and in the midst of it there was innocence, and hope, and love. The baby seemed to personify all the good things in life, all the joy that came with a new life. And it was interesting that even in the midst of sorrow, there was always some small ray of light. And hope to make it all worthwhile.

The next morning Paris rushed out, as she had intended to, to buy everything she needed. She went to a fancy little baby store to buy a bassinet and a changing table, some adorable furniture, with pink bows and butterflies painted on it. And she bought little dresses and hats and booties and sweaters, and a layette fit for a princess. And then she went to three more stores to buy all the practical things. Her station wagon was so full, she could hardly see to drive it, and she got back just in time to unload the car, and put all of it in the guest room upstairs. She was going to put the baby in the bassinet in her own room. But she was going to put everything she needed in the guest room next to hers. She was planning to spend the rest of the weekend organizing it. But there was no hurry. She had all weekend to do it, and at five o'clock she started dinner for Andrew Warren. He had promised to come by at six. Or a little later, if his screenwriter was finally producing something.

She put a roast and some baked potatoes in the oven, and made a big salad. She had bought some crab on the way home, and she thought they could have cracked crab to start, and she put a bottle of white wine in the fridge.

He arrived promptly at six o'clock, and looked pleased to see her. She looked comfortable and relaxed in jeans, and loafers, and a pale blue turtleneck sweater. She didn't make any fuss for him. She didn't consider him a date, but a friend, and he seemed to feel the same. He was wearing an old leather jacket, a gray sweatshirt, and jeans as well.

“How's it going?” she asked him with a warm smile, and he laughed and rolled his eyes.

“God save me from writers with writer's block. When I left, he was on the phone to his shrink. And he had to go to the hospital for an anxiety attack last night. I may have to kill him before we're through.” But he was remarkably patient. And he was more than willing to baby-sit him through it. The screenplay he was writing was for a major movie, with two very major stars, who were represented by her son-in-law. It was a family affair.

They sat in her living room while he ate peanuts and drank wine, and she put some music on.

“What did you do today?” Andrew asked comfortably. He liked her house, it was bright and cheerful, and on a sunny day it was awash with sunlight.

“I did some shopping,” she said, not volunteering what she'd bought. She hadn't told anyone about the adoption, except her kids and Bix so far. And for the moment, she wanted to keep it that way. She didn't want a lot of comments from people she barely knew. And as much as she liked Andrew, they didn't know each other very well. Although he seemed to be very fond of Meg, and said a number of very nice things about her, which touched Paris's heart. He thought she and Richard were going to be a great match. And Paris agreed with him.

They had dinner around seven-thirty, and he loved the dinner she had prepared. He said that crab was his favorite, and the roast came out just right.

“I'm a little out of practice,” she apologized. “I don't cook very often anymore. I'm either working, or I'm too tired to even think of food when I get home.”

“It sounds like you and Bix work very hard.”

“We do, but I love it. And so does he. Next month is going to be crazy for us, the holidays always are. Starting Monday we're going to be working almost every night.” And it was going to be even more complicated for her once the baby came. She was almost hoping it would be late. It would make it a lot easier for her. And Bix had already agreed to let her take off the month of January. But she knew that babies came when they wanted to, witness Jane's, which she'd almost had to deliver herself. At least she wouldn't have to do that this time.

“Do you ever think about just taking some time off for a while?” Andrew asked her casually, and she smiled to herself, thinking of what she had planned.

“Not for very long. I'm actually planning to take some time off after the holidays, but no more than a month. That's a long time for me.”

“I'd love to take a year off one of these days, and take an apartment in Paris or London, and just roam around Europe for a while. Maybe take a villa in Tuscany, or even Provence. It sounds like heaven to me. I keep telling Richard I'm going to do it, and he threatens to have a nervous breakdown every time I suggest it. His actors drive him crazy enough. I don't think he wants my writers on his neck too.” The agency was a huge success, so it wasn't surprising that they had a vast number of difficult personalities to deal with. It was the nature of their work, just as parties and hostesses and brides and their mothers and hysterical caterers were the nature of what she did with Bix. It was obvious that they both enjoyed their work.

They talked about their children then, and inevitably their marriages to a minor extent. Although he was sorry that his marriage didn't work out, he didn't seem to have an ax to grind about his ex-wife, which was something of a relief. Paris was so tired of all the people who hated their ex-spouses, the energy they put into it ended up being draining for everyone else. And although she would always be sad about Peter, she wished him well. Whether she had wanted it that way or not, they had both moved on. It had seemed to take her forever, but she was there at last.

She had just poured him a cup of coffee, since he said he was going to be up most of the night after he went back to his writer, when her cell phone rang. It was sitting in the charger in the kitchen where they were eating, so she leaned over and picked it up. She was fairly certain it would be Meg. But it was an unfamiliar female voice, and in an instant she knew who it was. It was Amy, and she didn't sound like herself.

“Are you okay? Did something happen?” Paris asked, sounding motherly and concerned.

“I'm in the hospital,” Amy said, sounding uncomfortable.

“Already? How did that happen?”

“I don't know. I had a lot of things to do with my boys. And my sister came today to pick up my little girl.” Paris couldn't help wondering if she'd been upset, anyone would have been. She knew the sister lived in Oregon, and had been planning to come down and pick up the child. It was a loss to Amy, no matter how helpful it was. And maybe she was just ready to have the baby, now that she knew she had a home. The psyche did strange things to the body sometimes.

“What did the doctor say?”

“He says I'm in labor. I'm four centimeters dilated, and the contractions are about fifteen minutes apart. I think you still have time.”

“Wow. Where are you? What room?” Paris grabbed a pen and paper and jotted it down, and Amy was having a contraction when she hung up. And suddenly Paris realized what was happening. The baby was coming. In a few hours, no matter how long it took, she'd be a mom again. And as it occurred to her, she looked at Andrew Warren, who'd been watching her and listening with a degree of concern. “I'm having a baby!” she said, right out of the blue, as though he knew what she was talking about, but he didn't.

“Now?” He looked shocked. He couldn't fathom what she meant.

“Yes…no…I mean, we're in labor….” She wasso excited she was incoherent, and he looked utterly confused.

“Who was that?”

“The birth mother. Her name is Amy.” And then she realized she had to slow down, at least long enough to tell him why she had to leave. She wanted to get to the hospital right away. “I'm adopting a baby,” she said, and smiled at him, and he was struck by how beautiful she was, but it seemed an inappropriate time to say anything about it to her, or maybe even notice it. She was a lovely-looking woman, and he liked her too.

“You are? What an amazing thing to do.” He looked pleased for her as he sat back in his chair with a warm smile. “Good for you.”

“Thank you. It's a week early. It's a girl. Thank God, I bought everything I needed today.” She was definitely jangled but in a wonderful, joyous way. “I have to go to the hospital,” she explained to him, as he smiled at her. There was something very touching about the whole scene. She looked like an excited little kid on Christmas Eve, knowing that Santa was coming any minute.

“Where? What hospital?” he asked, with a look of concern.

“Alta Bates in Berkeley,” she said, looking around for her handbag, and stuffed the piece of paper with the room number into it.

“Are you driving?” he questioned her.

“Yes, I am.”

“No, you're not.” She was too distracted to be safe. “Let me drive you, Paris. We can take your car, and I'll take a cab home. I don't think you should be driving in the condition you're in. Besides, you're having a baby. You shouldn't be driving yourself,” he teased, and she was touched.

“Are you sure?” She had to admit she didn't feel up to driving herself, and she was grateful to him.

“Perfectly. I'd much rather help you deliver a baby than my crazy client deliver a script. This is a lot more fun.” He was excited for her, and pleased to be part of it. They left the house a few minutes later, and she chatted animatedly about the decision and how she had come to it. “That's kind of a radical position you've taken about dating, isn't it?” She had told him about that too.

“Believe me, after the blind dates I've had, you'd come to the same conclusion.” She told him about the sculptor from Santa Fe Sydney had introduced her to, and Andrew roared as they crossed the Bay Bridge.

“I don't date a lot either,” he said sensibly. “Or I haven't for a while. It gets so tedious exchanging all that pointless information about what you do and don't do, like and don't like, where you've been and where you haven't. And then you discover she's a dominatrix who feeds rats to her pet snake, and you can't help wondering what the hell you're doing there. Maybe you have a point. Maybe I should adopt a baby too.” He smiled.

“You can come visit mine,” she said proudly, and he looked over at her tenderly.

“Can I see the baby tomorrow after she's born and you bring her home? I'd really love to see her. I feel like I'm part of the official welcoming committee now.”

“You are,” Paris said, as they entered Berkeley. And a few minutes later he stopped at the hospital, and told her he'd park the car.

“Good luck,” he said. She had remembered to put the baby seat in the car to bring the baby home in, and he told her to call him on his cell phone if she wanted him to come back in a cab and drive her. He handed her a card with the number. And she leaned over to kiss his cheek and thanked him.

“Thank you, Andrew. You've been terrific. You're the first real person I've told. Thank you for not telling me I'm crazy.” It had been a reality check for her, particularly as she had a great deal of respect for him.

“You are crazy,” he smiled at her, “good crazy. This is very good crazy. More people should do wonderful things like this. I hope you'll both be very happy, you and the baby.”

“I feel so sorry for the birth mother,” Paris said softly, and Andrew shook his head. He couldn't imagine giving up a baby and how awful that would be. Knowing how he loved his own children, it seemed like the ultimate agony to him, and to Paris. They felt deeply for her.

“So do I,” Andrew said. “I hope everything goes smoothly.” And as Paris got out of the car, he looked back up at her. “Call me when the baby gets here. I'll be dying to hear from you. I want to know who she looks like.”

“Me, of course,” Paris said, smiling happily, and waved as she walked into the hospital, and he drove into the parking lot in her car, smiling to himself. Richard had been right about his mother-in-law. She was a terrific woman.

Chapter 33

When Paris walked into the hospital, they directed her to the labor and delivery floor. She took the elevator, and two minutes later she was walking into Amy's room. By then she was already in heavy labor, and it was moving quickly. This was her fifth baby, and her other four had been fast deliveries. But she said this one hurt more. Maybe because she knew she was giving it up forever.

“How's it going?” Paris asked sympathetically as she arrived.

“Okay,” Amy said, trying to be a good sport, but she groaned out loud when the next contraction hit her. They had an external monitor on her and the baby's heartbeat was fine, but the part of the monitor that showed the force of the contractions was nearly off the charts. The graphs on the paper tape looked like a major earthquake.

“Wow! Those are big ones,” Paris said as the nurse showed her how to read it. She changed into hospital pajamas then, so she'd be ready for the delivery room, and took Amy's hand in hers. There was no one else with her. Her husband had been at the neighbor's when she left for the hospital in a taxi, and she had dropped off the boys at a friend's. It was a lonely way to have a baby. But at least Paris was there. And she had had the presence of mind to bring the papers she needed to have the baby released to her. And the hospital had been notified by Alice Harper about the adoption. Everything was in order. All they needed now was the baby.

Amy was doing her best to have it. And her body was cooperating nicely. The nurse said she was dilated to ten, an hour after Paris got there. From their point of view, it was going fine, but poor Amy was writhing in agony as she lay there, and she was determined to do it without medication. Paris didn't argue with her, although she herself had had an epidural and much preferred it to natural childbirth. But Amy insisted it was better for the baby. Maybe she felt it was her final gift to her.

They seemed to stay in the same place for a while. The doctor came in to check her, which hurt Amy more, and this time she screamed, and a few minutes later they rolled her down to the delivery room, and she started pushing. Paris was holding both her hands and trying to help her breathe, and after a while a nurse suggested that Paris get behind her and hold her in an upright position. It was uncomfortable for Paris, but it seemed to help Amy as she kept pushing, but the baby was going nowhere. They continued pushing, with no visible results for more than two hours, and Amy was screaming all the time now. Paris wished there were something more useful she could do for her, but she kept talking to her, and encouraging her, and all of a sudden Amy gave a hideous howl, and the doctor said the baby was finally coming.

“Come on, Amy … come on … that's it … push again …” Everyone was shouting at her, and Amy couldn't stop crying. Paris wondered if her own deliveries had been as awful. It didn't seem like it, but she couldn't remember. They had seemed easier than this one. And then finally, finally, they could see the top of the baby's head, as Amy worked harder than she ever had, and with three horrible screams, the baby finally slid out. Amy was sobbing in Paris's arms, and the baby girl's wail filled the room, as Paris saw her and began crying. The doctor cut the cord, and gently handing her over Amy, she handed her to Paris, as Paris leaned down to show her. “Look how beautiful she is,” Paris whispered to Amy. “You did such a good job,” she said, as Amy closed her eyes, and they finally gave her a shot, which made her woozy. The baby weighed eight pounds fourteen ounces. She was a big one, though Jane's had been bigger, but this had seemed harder and longer. It was four o'clock in the morning when they left the delivery room, and went back to the room that had been assigned to Amy. It was at the far end of the hall from the nursery. The hospital staff knew that this was an adoption, and Amy would be relinquishing her baby, and they tried to be sensitive about it.

They took the baby to the nursery to clean her up, give her eyedrops, and check her Apgar scores, as Paris sat in the room with Amy while she slept off the medication. And while she was still asleep, they brought back the baby. She was looking around, alert, with a little cotton cap on, wrapped in a pink blanket, and the nurse silently held her out to her new mother, and Paris took her, and held her close to her, as their eyes met.

“Hello, little one …” The baby had round pink cheeks, and big eyes that were baby color, and had yet to reveal what they would be, and a fuzz of white duck hair on the top of her head. She looked like a little doll in Paris's arms, and as Paris held her, she drifted off to sleep, as though she knew she had come home to her mother at last.

“What's her name?” the nurse whispered.

“Hope,” Paris said, as she looked down at her. The word had just come to her as she saw her. She had been considering several others, but Hope seemed to suit her perfectly.

“I like that.” The nurse smiled, as Paris sat looking down in wonder at the new life that was hers now. And she realized as she did that if Peter hadn't left her, this moment would never have happened. She had found it finally. The gift. The blessing that she hadn't been able to find in the agony for two and a half years. She knew it was there somewhere, but she had never found it, and now she had. The mystery of blessings tucked away in tragedies and disasters. This was the blessing. The hope she had longed for. It had come now in the form of this sleeping baby.

They sat that way for hours, as Amy slept off the drug, and Paris held the baby, and finally they both woke up. They gave Paris a little bottle with glucose in it to feed the baby, and they gave Amy a shot so she wouldn't lactate. They sat together all morning, quietly talking. The pediatrician had checked Hope out and said she could leave at six o'clock that evening, if Paris wanted. Amy was staying till the following morning, and Paris hated to leave her. She called Alice Harper at home to say that the baby had come, and she was delighted for her. Alice said that she should leave whenever the hospital said the baby could be discharged.

“What about Amy?” Paris asked, feeling anxious. She was calling from her cell phone in the hallway, and had left the baby in the nursery to do it.

“It's all right, Paris. They'll take care of her at the hospital. She knows what she's doing. She wants to do this. Don't make it harder for her.” Paris understood then. They each had their role, their separate destinies to follow. It seemed so lonely to her. She called Bix then and told him too, and in spite of all his grumbling, he was happy for her. And then, feeling a little silly because she didn't know him very well, she called Andrew Warren on his cell phone. But he had driven her to the hospital and asked her to call him. She told him Hope had arrived and how much she weighed and how beautiful she was, as she described her to him. She didn't even realize she was crying as she did.

“I love her name,” he said softly.

“So do I,” Paris said. “It suits her.” And it was what she had become to her mother, a symbol of hope for the future. The past was healed now. The gift had been delivered at last.

“I left your car keys at the information desk,” he explained. “When are you going home?”

“They said we could leave at six o'clock tonight.” She still sounded a little awestruck, and hadn't slept yet. She was too excited.

“Would you let me drive you?”

“Are you sure it wouldn't be a nuisance?” Bix hadn't offered, and she hadn't expected him to. Steven was still under the weather, and he wouldn't have anyway. Bix hated hospitals, and wasn't wildly fond of babies. This was her deal. And she did have her car there. She hadn't expected Andrew to renew his offer to drive her home.

“It would be an honor,” he said solemnly. “I'll be there at five-thirty, in case they let you leave early.”

“Thank you.” It was a night that had solidified their friendship, and was an important moment for her, and her new daughter. He congratulated her again, and after that she called Meg and Wim on their cell phones. And they were surprised that the baby had come early. She was laughing and talking to them, and after she hung up, she went back to get the baby in the nursery, and was startled to discover that they had taken her to Amy. She was awake and had asked for her, which worried Paris. What if she changed her mind now? Paris already loved this baby. But Amy was still legally her mother.

And when she walked back into the room, Amy was holding her, looking into the baby's eyes and talking to her, as though she'd been saying something very important to her. And she had been, she'd been saying good-bye.

She looked up when she saw Paris, and without hesitating, she held the baby out to her, as Paris held her breath. “I was watching your baby for you,” she said softly, acknowledging in one sentence all she was giving to her. Paris's eyes filled with tears as she took Hope from her. And a little while later the social worker came in with papers for Amy to sign.

Paris slept most of the afternoon, as the baby did. And at five o'clock they told her Hope could go home. Paris went to the nursery to dress her in the outfit she'd brought. It was just a nightgown and a blanket and an undershirt and a little cap. She hadn't had time to put something pretty together as she had done so long ago for Meg. But all that mattered now was that they were going home together.

When the baby was dressed, Paris walked back into Amy's room with Hope wrapped in the blanket in her arms. She wanted to give her one last look at her, and she was surprised by how calm Amy was, and she was sure that the drugs had worn off.

“Do you want to hold her?” Paris offered, but Amy shook her head. She looked sad, but she was very quiet. She just looked long and hard at the baby and then at Paris.

“Thank you,” she said, which was what Paris wanted to say to her.

“Thank you… God bless you… please take care of yourself.” She had promised to send her address so Paris would know where to send the photographs next year. It was so incredible to be walking away with this woman's child. But now she was hers. That was the most amazing part of it… this incredible baby was hers. “I love you,” Paris said, and briefly touched her hand. Amy nodded, and said not a word, and as the door closed slowly behind her, Paris heard her say, “Good-bye.”

There were tears streaming down Paris's cheeks, as a nurse escorted her downstairs. She felt like a kidnapper, spiriting this tiny bundle away. But everyone was smiling at her, and wishing her well, and Andrew was waiting for her downstairs in the lobby.

“Let me see her,” he whispered, and found himself looking into two big bright eyes as Hope stared intently at him, as though wondering who he was.

“Isn't she gorgeous?” Paris grinned at him, and he nodded. He had the car waiting for them. And as he helped Paris put Hope in the baby seat and strap her in, she realized that he had been touched by the miracle too. They had come there together eighteen hours before, a man and a woman who barely knew each other, and had set out on an adventure together. And now they were friends, and there was a brand-new little person driving back across the bridge with them.

“It's amazing, isn't it?” Paris looked at him in wonder, and he nodded, bereft of words. There was nothing he could say to her to tell her what the moment meant to him. And every few minutes, on the drive home, Paris turned around and stared at Hope, with love and gratitude and disbelief. All she could think of now was how lucky she was. Hope was the long-awaited gift.

Chapter 34

Paris wanted to sit up all night and hold the baby, but she finally broke down and put her in her bassinet, and went to bed herself. She got up every few hours to check her, and kept waking up with a start, wondering if she had dreamed it, but she hadn't. Andrew had left around eleven, after helping her set things up for the baby. He helped her get the bassinet ready and even put the sheet on it for her while she held Hope.

“You're good at this,” she teased him.

“I had a lot of practice. And I always enjoyed it.” And it was obvious he was enjoying it now. He promised to come by the next day before he left for Los Angeles. The writer had finally finished the script. And Andrew was going back to the hotel to bed.

Bix and Steven came by on Sunday morning and saw her, and Bix brought a camera and took a million pictures. He had never seen Paris look better, and he had to admit, the baby was cute. Steven raved about her chin and her nose, which were perfectly formed. And by then, Paris had her in a tiny pink dress and a receiving blanket to keep her warm.

And at four o'clock Andrew came by again.

“I feel like I've been so fortunate to be part of a very special weekend,” he said, looking very moved.

“Thank you for driving us back and forth,” Paris said gratefully to him. “And for sharing this with us.”

“I feel like the stork.” They both laughed. He only stayed a few minutes, kissed the baby on the top of her downy head, and left. He promised to call Paris soon, and this time she didn't mind. He had become a friend overnight. Not a boyfriend or a lover or a suitor, or even a candidate for any of the above. Just a friend, which she valued far more.

And the next morning he sent her a huge bouquet of flowers, with a card that said, “In celebration of Hope! Love, Andrew.” And Bixby sent one of his giant teddy bears made of pink roses. He had told her to take two days off, but she had to be back at work on Wednesday, and she had the baby nurse she'd be using that month all lined up.

And by Wednesday morning, when she went back to work, Paris was in full control. She knew the baby's schedule, which formula she liked, which position she slept in best. And everything in the guest room had been set up for Miss Hope, whose bassinet sat next to her mother's bed at night. All was well in their little world. And at every party they worked together that week, and there were many, Bix told their clients, “Isn't Paris amazing? She had a baby last Friday night!” And then they looked at her in awe, and she explained. By Friday, she had a mountain of gifts on her desk. The world was welcoming Hope.

She had to work straight through until Sunday, and on Sunday morning Andrew called. He had had a ridiculous week too, he said. And he reminded her that Hope was nine days old.

“I wanted to call her on Saturday to wish her a happy birthday, but I didn't have time. Another one of my writers went nuts and walked off a set. It took a while to smooth it out.” He asked what she'd been doing, and she told him, and he said he thought he'd be coming up the following week and said he'd let her know.

And after that Meg called to ask about the baby. She, Richard, and Wim were spending Christmas with her, and they were planning to meet Hope then. It was less than three weeks away, and Paris could hardly wait for them to see her. Whatever their hesitations had been, they seemed excited about her now, if only to please their mother. And she was sure that when they saw her, it would be love at first sight. Who could possibly resist?

It was an insanely busy month for her. Between her work and the baby, she felt as though she were in a relay race, and despite the baby nurse, Paris was up with the baby every night, and wanted to be. But she was ready to drop by Christmas.

Andrew came up to see a client two days before, and she was half asleep on the couch, with Hope in her arms, when he arrived.

“You look beat,” he said, as he handed her a box, which she unwrapped with glee. It was an outfit and a blanket for the baby with a matching doll.

“You're spoiling us. And yes, I am beat.” She could hardly wait till January to get some rest. Jane had agreed to come back for a month to take Paris's place. She was pregnant again. And Bix was complaining that he was surrounded by women having babies. His life was complicated right now too. Steven hadn't been well since Thanksgiving.

And every day Paris was tempted to call Amy, to see how she was, but Alice had told her not to. Out of respect, if nothing else, Paris had to let go. So she did. And just enjoyed Hope as the gift she was. All of the paperwork was in order. Amy had signed everything without a murmur.

Andrew told Paris he was leaving for London, and both his daughters were going to celebrate Christmas with him there. And after that they were going skiing in Gstaad. It sounded very racy to Paris, and was. He said he would be back right after the New Year.

“I'd love to come up and see you when I get back. I'm sure Hope will be twice the size by then,” although his return was only two weeks away. But there was something about the way he said it that filled Paris with concern. She didn't know what to say.

“I'd like to see you, Andrew,” she said softly. But she wanted to see him as a friend, nothing more, and she wasn't sure that was what he had in mind. He clarified it for her.

“I know you have some very strong reservations about dating, and I can't say I blame you, or disagree with you. But if I promise to be extremely well behaved and not bring photographs of any phallic sculpture I may have made, and I don't arrive drunk, or order beans for dinner…do you suppose I could take you out for dinner sometime, and consider it a date?” He was being very careful with her, and she couldn't help but laugh.

“Am I as impossible as all that?” she asked as she laughed.

“Not impossible,” he said fairly, “just cautious, and with good reason. I'd say you've had a tougher time than most. I don't blame you for being gun-shy, and if I do anything to upset you, I want to know.”

“Like what? Spoil my daughter, send me flowers, drive me to and from the hospital when she's born? I'd say that's pretty offensive, wouldn't you?” They exchanged a long smile. “I just don't want to spoil our friendship. You're becoming too important to me. I don't want to blow that with something stupid that won't matter to us in two months.” But he was hoping it would, and in truth so was she. He had to leave to catch his plane then, and he wanted to make sure they were on the same page.

“Are we on for a date when I get back? Officially, I mean?”

She smiled at him. “Officially, I'd say yes.”

He didn't want to sneak up on her, or take advantage of her, or surprise her, or frighten her. He wanted to be her friend, but he also wanted to be more than that. He had enormous admiration for her, all she had survived, and all she'd done. “I'll call you from Europe,” he promised. “Take care of Hope!” he shouted to her as he hurried down the stairs, having just kissed her on the cheek. And she waved as he drove away, wondering what she had just done, and if she'd regret it. She hoped not. She had sworn to herself she would never date again, and now she was sticking her nose out again. But it had been eight months. Maybe that was long enough to clear the air. And there was something very different about Andrew Warren. More than anyone she had met since Peter, he was a man she could not only love, as a friend, but respect. The others had been fun, or good company, or sexy, or pathetic, but none had been worthy of respect. Andrew was.

He called her from the airport, from L.A., and from London when he got to Europe the next day. And by then her family had arrived.

Meg was excited to hold the baby. And Wim was grinning, as Paris hovered over them telling them to be careful of the baby, while Richard took pictures. And they all said she was the most beautiful baby they'd ever seen, which Paris knew anyway. Hope was almost smiling by then, and nearly four weeks old.

And as she set her gently down in the bassinet, Meg turned to her mother with a womanly smile that Paris had never seen before. “She'll be good practice for me,” Meg said, smiling at her mother, then at Richard, and then back at Paris again.

“How's that?” Paris asked, feeling a little dim, but she was very tired.

“We're having a baby, Mom,” Meg said as her mother threw her arms around her with tears in her eyes.

“How exciting! Congratulations, both of you! When?”

“It's due on the Fourth of July.”

“How patriotic!” Paris laughed and kissed her son-in-law and congratulated him again, as Wim groaned and threw himself on the couch, while Meg held Hope again.

“What is this? An epidemic?” Wim asked the room in general. “Everyone's having babies.”

“Well, you'd better not have one too,” Paris warned, and they all laughed. And that night, when Paris came back in the living room after dinner, Wim was holding the baby, and Meg was next to him sound asleep on the couch. All her children were together. It was the perfect Christmas. Particularly now that they had Hope.

Chapter 35

The month that Paris took off in January turned out to be the best thing she'd ever done. She had time to spend with the baby, read books, go for walks with the baby in the stroller, visit Bix at the office and sympathize over his workload, and even see friends. She loved being a lady of leisure, but she was looking forward to going back to work again too. But not yet.

And Andrew Warren took two weeks off, and came to visit her in San Francisco. They drove to the Napa Valley, had lunch in Sonoma, strolled along Crissy Field with the baby. It was almost like being married again. And he took her out for several very fancy dinners that he claimed were their “official” dates.

“In that case, what's the rest of it?” she inquired. They had an easy relationship that seemed to be equal parts friendship and romance, and they both liked it that way.

“The rest of the time we're just friends,” he explained. “It's only a date if I take you to a restaurant. How's that?”

“Excellent. Just the way I want it.” And she really missed him when he left. He was wonderful with the baby, and they had a good time together. When he went back to work, he came up on weekends from L.A., and stayed in the mother-in-law apartment, once with Wim, since there were two bedrooms. Paris hadn't slept with him, and wasn't ready to yet. They had only been “dating” for about a month, although they'd seen a lot of each other when he came up for two weeks. They were together every day.

But on Valentine's Day their chastity came to an end. He took her out for a lovely dinner. She was back at work by then, and didn't even get home that day till eight-thirty. And at ten o'clock he spirited her away for a lovely meal. They came home at midnight, and he gave her a beautiful diamond bangle. She gave him a silly watch with a red alligator band, and he put it on. They sat and talked for hours, and finally they drifted into her bedroom and that which she had avoided and feared for so long became the easiest thing in the world. They made love like two people who had known each other forever and not strangers, she never had to ask him if it was “exclusive,” it wasn't acrobatic or disappointing, exotic or terrifying. It was as though it had always been, which was the best way. And after they fell alseep in each other's arms, the baby woke them. Paris went to get her bottle ready, and Andrew gave it to her, and they went back to sleep with the baby between them and slept until the next day. Paris felt as though she'd come home. After nearly three years of loneliness and sorrow, she had found the man she had thought she would never find. She had stopped looking for him, and had long since ceased to believe that he existed. She had found the needle in the haystack after all. And so had Andrew. He had never been happier in his life.

It was a golden spring for them. They alternated weekends between San Francisco and L.A., and whenever he could get away from his office, he brought a stack of scripts up and stayed with her and Hope. Her children loved him, and when his daughters came to visit in June, they liked Paris as well. All the pieces of the puzzle fit, better even than they had with Peter. That was the odd part. It was almost as though she couldn't remember being married to him now. She felt as though she had always been with Andrew.

And when Meg's baby was due, she took two weeks off. Bix said he could manage without her, and much to everyone's relief, Steven was feeling much better. He was doing well.

Paris and Hope were staying with Andrew when Meg went into labor, right on her due date, and Andrew baby-sat for Hope while Paris went to the hospital with Richard and Meg. It was a long arduous labor, but Meg was very good about it. And Richard was wonderful with her. Paris sat in the labor room with them, and wasn't intending to be at the birth, but at the last minute Meg wanted her there, and Richard didn't mind. Paris didn't want to intrude, and as their son pushed his way into the world, Paris was watching her daughter and her husband and cried at how happy they were, and how beautiful their baby was. They named him Brandon. Brandon Bolen. He was a beautiful healthy boy, and as Paris held him in the delivery room, after they did, Meg looked up at her mother with a tired smile.

“I love you, Mom… thank you for being my mom.” It was the best gift in the world. And she cried when she told Andrew about it. And when she lay in bed next to him that night, she sighed. There was something about having babies around. She was forty-nine years old, but she loved her babies, of all sizes and ages, as much as she had twenty-five years before.

“You know, I was thinking,” she said to Andrew with a yawn, as she cuddled up next to him in the dark. “Maybe it's not such a great thing for Hope to be an only child. Maybe I should adopt another one.” There was a long silent pause, as Andrew looked down at her with a smile.

“Is that what you've been thinking? She's not going to be an only child. She'll have her nephew to play with, they're only eight months apart.”

“That's true,” she said, nodding. She hadn't thought of that. Although they didn't live in the same town, so they wouldn't see each other every day. It wasn't the same as growing up in the same house with a sibling.

“Maybe we should really shake everyone up and have one of our own.” He had thought of it several times, but there were other things he wanted to do with her as well. And she didn't seem to object to his suggestion. It would take effort, but was not impossible these days, thanks to modern science and a little help from their friends at UCLA. But he didn't want to discuss that with her yet. “I have another idea. What do you say we get married, and go to Europe for a year?” He had wanted to do that for a long time, and now he wanted to do it with her.

“And leave Bix?” She sounded shocked, as she looked at him in the dark.

“Well, yes, for a year. You can always go back to work when we get back if you really want to. We could take him to Europe with us of course,” he teased.

“He'd like that.” And then she sat up and looked at him. “Did you just ask me to marry you?” She looked surprised but not shocked. She hadn't really expected him to ask, things were so comfortable as they were.

“Yes, I did,” he said quietly. “How does that sound to you?” She answered him with a long heartfelt kiss. “Is that a yes?” She nodded. “Could you say it, please? I want to make sure I don't make any incorrect assumptions.”

“Yes,” she said with a big grin. “I will marry you. Will that mean we're exclusive?” She had told him that story too. She had told him all of them over the past seven months. She had no secrets from him.

“Yes, I think that would mean that we're exclusive. That would be a yes. So what do you think? Europe for a year?” She nodded. She liked that idea too. She'd help Bix train someone to take her place while she was gone, assuming they moved back to San Francisco, which she didn't know for sure. Once they got to Europe, who knew? Andrew was fifty-nine years old, and he kept threatening to retire early so they could roam around the world, and the idea appealed to her a great deal, and they didn't have to worry about Hope going to school yet.

“Shall we tell the children?” She beamed at him.

“I should think so. I don't think we should keep it a secret from them.” He laughed and put his arms around her, and pulled her down next to him again in bed. “I love you, Paris … you'll never know how I love you.…” He had never loved anyone as much before, and it had grown on them slowly, in all the right ways, for both of them. They lay in bed talking about it. They were going to have a small wedding. She thought Bix should do it for them. And they agreed that they only wanted their children and a few friends there. And then they were going to leave for Europe, rent a place in Paris or London … a country house somewhere … maybe charter a yacht and spend a summer on it … it was all so perfect. But it would have been just as perfect if they never went anywhere. All she wanted was to be with him.

They told Richard and Meg the next day, and called Wim on his cell phone in the East, he was visiting Peter. And everyone was thrilled. And then she called Bix, and he was gracious enough to be thrilled for her too. “I told you you'd find the needle in the haystack. Now weren't all those blind dates worth it?”

“No,” she laughed at him. “I didn't meet Andrew on a blind date. I met him at my daughter's wedding.”

“Well, I knew it was something like that. Besides, the blind dates were good practice.”

“For what?”

“Being charming to horrible clients, and running our business when you come back.”

“Are you retiring?” She sounded shocked. She wondered just how sick Steven was.

“Not yet. But after you take a year off, so will I. Steven and I want to travel around the world. Maybe we'll close for a year. We'll figure it out. One thing I do know,” he said, sounding happy for her, “the best is yet to come.”

“Yes, it is,” she said softly, and when she hung up, she told Andrew what he'd said.

“He's right.” They had agreed to get married in August, and wanted to leave by September. She and Andrew went back to San Francisco the following week, to start making plans for their trip. He already had three apartments lined up in Paris, and a house in London. There was no limit to what they could do. And when she walked into the house in San Francisco, there was a box waiting for them, with a sprig of lily of the valley on top. And when she opened it, there was a beautiful oval antique silver box nestled in it, with engraving on the surface of the lid. She had to look at it carefully to read it because it was in a lacy old script.

“What does it say?” Andrew asked her, admiring it. Bix had such incredible taste.

“It says”—she held it carefully to the light and smiled at Andrew— ” ‘The best is yet to come.’ ”

“So it is,” he said, and kissed her. The past had brought infinite blessings and lessons, and had been what was meant to be at the time. It had given birth to the present, in all its beauty. And what would come next was unseen and unknown. But she was more than willing to believe that the best was in fact yet to come.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

DANIELLE STEEL has been hailed as one of the world's most popular authors with over 520 million copies of her novels sold. Her many international bestsellers include Safe Harbour, Johnny Angel, Dating Game, Answered Prayers, Sunset in St. Tropez, The Cottage, The Kiss, Leap of Faith, Lone Eagle, Journey, The House on Hope Street, and other highly acclaimed novels. She is also the author of His Bright Light, the story of her son Nick Traina's life and death.

Visit the Danielle Steel Web Site at

www.daniellesteel.com.

a cognizant original v5 release october 14 2010

DATING GAME

A Dell Book

Published by Bantam Dell

A Division of Random House, Inc.

New York, New York

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

All rights reserved

Copyright © 2003 by Danielle Steel

Library of Congress Catalog Card Number: 2002073619

No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without the written permission of the publisher, except where permitted by law. For information address: Delacorte Press, New York, New York.

Dell is a registered trademark of Random House, Inc., and the colophon is a trademark of Random House, Inc.

eISBN: 978-0-307-56641-6

v3.0

Table of Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Chapter 35

ABOUT THE AUTHOR