Danielle Steel - Second Chance

And when she got in a cab to meet him, she was wearing the only slightly dressy dress she had brought with her. It was a little vintage black cocktail dress by Dior that she had bought at Didier Ludot in the Palais Royal. It looked spectacular on her. She was wearing her hair down, and it shone like burnished copper, and in honor of her new career as a soon-to-be author, she had even deigned to wear makeup. The dress was short and showed off her legs, and she was wearing astonishingly high Manolo Blahnik sandals with ankle straps that nearly made Jamal drool. She looked more than a little bit like Audrey Hepburn in Breakfast at Tiffany's, except for the bright red hair.

The headwaiter at La Goulue was thrilled to see her, they spoke in French and he complained that he hadn't seen her in a year. She explained that she had moved to Paris, and as he led her to a corner table on the banquette, heads turned. Fiona looked more spectacular than ever. She was about to sit down, when a familiar face caught her eye. Ordinarily, she wouldn't have said hello to him, it seemed easier not to. But as he was only two tables away from hers, it was just too rude. It was John.

She stopped and smiled at him, but it was not a greeting of seduction, it was a bittersweet one in recognition of old times. She noticed that the woman with him was very respectable looking and very blond. She looked almost as though she could have been his late wife's twin. And she was the head of the local Junior League. They had been dating for six months, and had the comfortable air of people who knew each other well.

John looked more than a little startled for a moment, in fact he looked thunderstruck and uncomfortable, and then graciously stood up, acknowledged Fiona, and politely introduced her to his date. He looked supremely ill at ease as the two women shook hands.

“Elizabeth Williams, Fiona Monaghan.” The two women checked each other out, and there was instant recognition in the eyes of the blonde. She had obviously heard about Fiona, and she looked slightly discomfited by the long red hair and good legs. Fiona looked like a model, and ten years younger than she was. She was the kind of woman who would have made any other woman nervous, knowing the man she was involved with had slept with her, or worse yet been in love with her. But John had left her after all, not the reverse. So he was not carrying a torch for her, as far as Fiona was concerned.

“Nice to see you, John,” Fiona said pleasantly, after acknowledging the woman he was having dinner with. She hadn't paid much attention to her name. More than anything, she was a type, and exactly whom Fiona would have expected to see with John. She was precisely who and what Fiona had predicted he would end up with, and apparently he had. And he looked well. She suddenly wanted to tell him about her book and her new agent, but it seemed a little foolish doing so, so she refrained.

“How've you been?” he asked, as though they had been old tennis partners that had drifted out of sight in the last year, or as though the only contact they had ever had was through their work.

“Wonderful. I'm living in Paris,” she said, but even after not seeing him for a year, or being in his life for longer than that, she could feel her heart begin to pound. Much to her chagrin, even after all this time, the magic wasn't gone. She wasn't healed. But he clearly was. He knew she had left the magazine, and thought she had gone to Paris for a few months, he didn't realize she had actually moved. “I just sold my house,” and wrote a book! she nearly screamed. But she was demure and reserved. He nodded, and without saying more, she moved on and sat down. She hoped Adrian would come soon.

As luck would have it, it took him another half an hour to get there, and she was ready to have a nervous breakdown by the time he arrived, although she looked sophisticated, poised, and cool, as she made some notes on a pad, and never even glanced at John. She forced herself to look at ease and unconcerned.

“Did you see who's sitting there?” she whispered to Adrian through clenched teeth, as he sat across from her, with his back to John.

“Is it someone fabulous?” he asked, as she warned him not to turn around and look.

“Used to be,” she whispered. “It's John. He's with some blond debutante, who looked like she wanted to kill me.”

“He's with a young girl?” Adrian looked surprised, that had never seemed to be John's thing.

“No, she's older than I am, I think. Just that type.”

“Are you okay?” he asked solicitously.

“No.” She felt as if she were about to cry, but she would have died first, and she felt sick. “This is hard.” She had used every ounce of control and discipline she had to maintain the charade of indifference until Adrian arrived.

“I know it is.” She had given up a life, a job, a city, a house, and a country over him, just to get over him. Seeing him again was bound to be a bitch. “Do you want to leave?” Adrian whispered sympathetically. He wouldn't blame her if she did.

“I'll look like a fool… or a wimp.…” She foughtback tears, but no one would have guessed it in a million years.

“Okay. Then sit there and smile. Laugh your ass off. Pretend I'm amusing you to death. Come on… that's it… give me some teeth, Fiona… more… I want you to pretend that you've never been happier in your life.” He was right.

“What if I throw up?”

“I'll kill you if you do. Where did you get that dress, by the way? It's to die for.” Leave it to Adrian to notice her dress at a time like this. She smiled genuinely as she answered.

“Didier Ludot. It's vintage Dior couture, from the sixties. It barely covers my ass.”

“Good. I hope he got a good look, and feels as sick as you do, over what he gave up.” As he said it, Fiona looked surprised.

“I thought you thought it was all my fault, because of the compromises and adjustments I didn't make.”

“I never said that,” Adrian corrected her, and she looked incensed.

“Yes, you did.”

“I'm your friend, Fiona. I tell you when I think you're wrong. That's what friends do. I'm always honest with you. So I told you I thought you should adjust to him. But I think he is a chickenshit sonofabitch for throwing in the towel and walking out in a matter of months. You should have done a lot of things differently, and could have if you wanted to, like empty your closets for him, and keep the chaos to a minimum. But he should have kicked his kids’ asses, fired his housekeeper, and killed his dog, and stuck with the greatest woman that ever lived. He was a damn fool.” Fiona looked stunned and pleased. He had never told her how sorry he felt for her, or how angry he was at John. She had been in such bad shape, he had tried to underplay the damage to her, and minimize it, so she would have the guts to get back on her feet. He had always feared that too much sympathy would give her permission to fall apart and stay that way. Instead, she pulled herself together remarkably.

“You really think so?” She felt vindicated finally, and wished he had told her before. His respect made a huge difference to her, as much as his empathy.

“Of course I do. You weren't the only one to blame. You were silly, and even stupid at times, and you should have given me Jamal then. A guy like John can't deal with eccentric bullshit like that. You needed to be less Holly Golightly and more Audrey Hepburn, and you look like her in that dress by the way.” He could afford to be honest with her now. She was fine. Better than fine. She was great, even if the wounds still hurt. But she had survived.

“Which one do I look like?” she teased, but she liked what he had just said.

“Miss Hepburn, of course.”