Danielle Steel - The Apartment

“Is this serious?” her mother asked, adjusting to it rapidly, and hopeful.

“It’s very new, but it seems like it, for both of us. He says he’s been waiting for me all his life.” Sarah smiled at her end of the phone. She was thrilled for her daughter. It was what every woman wanted to hear.

“That would certainly be life-changing for you,” Sarah said thoughtfully.

“Yes, it would,” Claire responded.

And then she thought of something. “Are you still coming home for Thanksgiving?”

“Of course.” She always went home for both Thanksgiving and Christmas. She didn’t want to disappoint her parents, especially her mother. The holiday would have been awful for her without her only daughter, alone with a morbidly depressed husband who barely spoke to her.

“Do you want to bring George home with you?”

“I don’t know. We haven’t talked about it.” But she didn’t want him to see how dreary her parents were. Their holidays had been grim for the last several years, with her father making constantly gloomy comments, about the state of the economy and the world. She didn’t want to drag George into it, although she might have to someday, but not just yet. She was planning to warn him that she had to go home for a few days. She hated to leave him, but she had no other choice.

As it turned out, when she mentioned it to him, he was relieved too.

“Don’t give it another thought,” he reassured her. “I hate holidays with a passion. They always upset me. I hated them even as a kid.” No wonder, Claire thought, with his parents dead and living alone with his grandmother, but she didn’t say that to him. “I usually go skiing in Aspen for Thanksgiving, and the Caribbean for Christmas and New Year. You spend it with your family and don’t give it a second thought.” And he seemed delighted she hadn’t invited him to join her. He wouldn’t have gone anyway, but he didn’t want to be asked and have to turn her down. It was working out perfectly for both of them. Thanksgiving was still a month away, but he was pleased to have the conversation behind them. Now they could go their separate ways for the holiday, and he promised they’d fly out to San Francisco for an ordinary weekend, so he could meet her parents.

But for all other things except the holidays, he wanted to be with her constantly, and they were seeing each other almost every night. She had spent several nights with him in his penthouse at Trump Tower, and he planned fun weekends for them. He loved going to parties with her, but he put his foot down on spending a night with her and her roommates at the loft.

“I’m too old to spend a night with all your roommates.” He liked his privacy and his comfort, and all the luxuries he was used to. And he liked sleeping in his own bed, preferably with her. He told her that she was welcome to stay at his apartment anytime, and assigned a drawer to her for her things, and the use of a guest closet. But she hadn’t left anything there yet, it seemed too soon. She took a small bag with her when she spent the night and took it all home with her afterward. She didn’t want to be presumptuous and look like she was moving in. She respected his space. He had been a bachelor for a long time, and he was set in his ways. He had a houseman and a maid at his apartment, and they took good care of him. She still felt a little awkward when they served her breakfast in the morning, but they were very nice to her. It was an easy way of life to get used to. And he talked as though he expected her to be there for a long time, hopefully forever. He had never mentioned marriage to her, and she didn’t expect him to, or want him to, but it was constantly implied that she was the woman of his dreams, the one he had waited for all his life. He even asked her one day, when they were walking on the weekend, how many children she wanted to have, and she was honest with him.

“None.” He looked surprised. “I’ve never really wanted to have children. They seem like such a burden.” All she could remember was her father complaining about it when she was growing up, and feeling unwelcome in his life. “I’d rather have a career.”

“You can do both,” George said gently.

“I’m not sure I could, and be fair to my kids.”

“It’s a lot easier to have children when you have money,” he reminded her. “We could hire a nanny. To be honest, I’ve never wanted children either, but I’ve been rethinking it since I met you. If I were ever going to do it, I can’t think of a more perfect mother for my children than you.” She felt dizzy when he said it. It was the ultimate compliment. Everything was moving so fast, at his instigation. He acted as though they’d been dating for a year or two, instead of a month. And no one had ever said “I love you” to her as fast. It panicked her sometimes, and she would try to take a little distance from him, just so she could keep some perspective, but as soon as she did, he sensed it, and did everything he could to pull her closer again.

He knew she was worried about her career if she got too involved with him, but he assured her he wouldn’t interfere. And in spite of her fears, and occasional panic, she loved what he said. Who wouldn’t? And he texted and called her three or four times a day. It annoyed Walter whenever he became aware of it, and told her in a loud voice to tell her boyfriend to cool his jets. He was unspeakably rude, and increasingly so as he saw the mentions of their romance on Page Six. It was as though he resented what was happening to her, and he made slurs about her boyfriend and said she probably didn’t care about her job anymore, which she assured him wasn’t true. She was still supporting herself, with no help from anyone, and needed the money. But the atmosphere at work just seemed to get worse. George compensated for it lavishly on the weekends, and for two days she could forget Walter Adams and his ugly, boring shoes.

She had sent out several more e-mails with her CV, but no one had offered her a job yet. So she was still dependent on him. And George was the sweet spot in her life. They were in the honeymoon phase, where everything looked perfect and rosy to both of them. And so far, they had never had even the hint of a disagreement or a fight. She hoped they never would.

—

Sasha and Alex were doing well too. They spent as much time together as they could, and talked a lot about their work. They had both tried to negotiate their schedules, so they could work and be on call on the same days, and have the same days off, and some of the time it worked, and they did fun things. They went to concerts at Lincoln Center, and she met his friends, most of whom she liked when they had dinner with them. He rented a small sailboat one weekend, and they sailed on Long Island Sound. They went to Union Square’s farmers’ market to buy food, and to the flea market in Hell’s Kitchen. They bought pumpkins for the hospital and carved them for Halloween. She put two at the nurses’ station in labor and delivery, and they took the rest to the pediatric ward, where the kids loved them. And by then he reminded her that they were on about date twenty. They had lost count, but the right opportunity to spend a night together hadn’t turned up. Like George, he felt awkward spending the night at the loft with her roommates, or at least for the first time. And he said that his studio was a mess, and too small even for him, let alone for both of them. Valentina had asked her if they’d had sex, and told her she was ridiculous when Sasha said no. She told Sasha that she and Jean-Pierre had sex constantly, in every possible location, even on his plane. And she said there was something wrong with them, and insisted Alex was probably gay or couldn’t get it up, which Sasha told her was rude. But Alex and Sasha were in perfect harmony with each other, and they weren’t upset about the delay. And just before Halloween weekend, he had an idea.