Danielle Steel - Rogue

“I've been fascinated by psychiatry since I was a kid. What my dad does always seems like carpentry to me. Sorry, that's an awful thing to say. I just like what I do better. And I love working with adolescents. It seems like you have a better shot at making a difference. By the time they're older, everything's pretty well set. I could never imagine myself with a Park Avenue psychiatric practice listening to a bunch of bored, neurotic housewives, or alcoholic stockbrokers who cheat on their wives.” It was the kind of thing she could only say to another physician. “I'm sorry.” She looked embarrassed suddenly, as he laughed. “I know that sounds awful. But kids are so much more honest, and seem much more worth saving.”

“I agree with you. But I'm not sure stockbrokers who cheat on their wives go to shrinks.”

“That's probably true,” she admitted, “but their wives do. That kind of practice would depress me.”

“Oh, and teen suicides don't?” he challenged her, and she hesitated before she answered.

“They make me sad, but they don't depress me. Most of the time, I feel useful. I don't think I'd make much difference in the lives of normal adults who just want someone to listen to them. The kids I see really need help.”

“It's a good point.” He asked her about her trauma work then, and had actually bought her most recent book, which impressed her, and halfway through lunch he told her he was divorced. He said that he and his wife had been married for twenty-one years, and two years earlier she had left him for someone else. Maxine was startled that he sounded so matter-of-fact about it. He told her it hadn't come as a complete surprise, as their marriage had been difficult for years.

“That's too bad,” Maxine said sympathetically. “Do you have children?” He shook his head and said his wife hadn't wanted any.

“It's my only regret actually. She had a difficult childhood, and eventually decided she just wasn't up to having kids. And it's a little late for me to start now.” He didn't sound heartbroken about it, but as though it was something he was sorry he'd missed, like an interesting trip. “Do you have children?” he asked, as their lunch arrived.

“I have three,” she said with a smile. She couldn't imagine a life without them.

“That must keep you busy. Do you have shared custody?” As far as he knew, most people did. Maxine laughed at the question.

“No. Their father travels a lot. He only sees them a few times a year. I have them full time, which works better for me.”

“How old are they?” he asked with an interested look. He had seen how her face lit up when she talked about her kids.

“Thirteen, twelve, and six. My oldest is a girl, the two others are boys.”

“That must be a handful all by yourself,” he said with admiration. “How long have you been divorced?”

“Five years. We're on very good terms. He's a terrific person, he's just not much of a husband or father. He's too much of a kid himself. I got tired of being the only grown-up. He's more like a wild and crazy uncle for the kids. He never grew up, and I don't think he ever will.” She said it with a smile, and Charles watched her, intrigued. She was intelligent and nice, and he was impressed by the work she did. He was enjoying reading her book.

“Where does he live?”

“All over the place. London, New York, Aspen, St. Bart's. He just bought a house in Marrakech. He leads a sort of fairy-tale life.” Charles nodded, wondering whom she'd been married to, but he didn't want to ask. He was interested in her, not her ex-husband.

They chatted easily all through lunch, and she said she had to get back to see patients, and so did he. He told her how much he'd enjoyed her company, and said he'd like to see her again. She still couldn't figure out if it had been a date, or a professional courtesy, of one physician meeting another. And then he clarified it for her by asking her to dinner. She looked startled when he asked.

“I…oh…uh…,” Maxine said, blushing. “I thought this was just lunch … you know … because of the Wexlers.” He smiled at her. She looked so surprised that he wondered if she was involved with someone and had expected him to know it, or sense it.

“Are you seeing someone?” he asked discreetly, and she looked even more embarrassed. She was blushing.

“You mean as in dating?”

“Well, yes, as in dating.” He was laughing.

“No.” She hadn't had a real date in over a year, and hadn't slept with anyone in two. Thinking about it that way was actually depressing, and most of the time she tried not to. She just hadn't met anyone she liked in a long time, and sometimes she wondered if she didn't want to. She had gone out with a number of people after she and Blake split up, and had gotten tired of being disappointed. It seemed simpler to just forget it. The blind dates she'd gone on, courtesy of friends, had been particularly awful, and the others, with people she'd met randomly, weren't much better. “I don't think I date,” she said awkwardly. “Not in a while anyway. It just seemed kind of pointless.” She knew a number of people who had met through the Internet, and she couldn't imagine doing that, so she had just stopped trying and gave up dating. She hadn't planned it that way, it just happened, and she was busy.

“Would you like to have dinner?” he asked gently. It seemed hard to believe that a woman with her looks, at her age, wasn't dating. He wondered if she'd been traumatized by her marriage, or maybe by some relationship since.

“That would be fine,” she said, as though he had suggested a meeting, and he looked at her with disbelief and amusement.

“Maxine, let's get something clear here. I have the feeling you think I'm inviting you to an interdisciplinary meeting of some kind. I think it's great that we're both physicians. But to be honest, I don't care if you 're a go-go dancer or a hairdresser. I like you. I think you're a beautiful woman. You're fun to talk to, you have a nice sense of humor, and you don't appear to hate men, which is rare these days. Your CV would put most people to shame, man or woman. I think you're attractive and sexy. I invited you to lunch because I wanted to get to know you, as a woman. I'm inviting you to dinner, because I want to get to know you better. That's a date. We eat dinner and talk and learn about each other. Dating. Something tells me that is not on your agenda. I can't figure out why, and if there's some serious reason for it, you should probably tell me. But if not, then I would like to ask you out for a date, for dinner. Is that okay with you?” She was smiling at him, and still blushing, as he explained it.

“Yes. Okay. I think I'm a little out of practice.”

“I can't even imagine why that would be, unless you've been wearing a burka.” He thought she was gorgeous, and most men would have agreed with him. She just somehow had managed to take herself off the dating market, and had been hiding her light under a bushel. “So when would you like to do dinner?”

“I don't know. I'm pretty free. I have a national psychiatric association dinner next week on Wednesday, otherwise I have no plans.”

“How about Tuesday? Why don't I pick you up at seven, and we'll go someplace nice?” He liked good restaurants and fine wines. It was the kind of evening she hadn't had in years, except with Blake and the kids, and those were less adult evenings. When she saw her old married friends, they didn't go to restaurants, and she went to their homes for dinner. And she was even doing that less often. She had let her social life dwindle from lack of attention and interest. Charles had reminded her, without meaning to, of what a slug she had been about going out. She was still startled by his invitation, but agreed to Tuesday. She didn't make a note of their dinner plans, she knew she'd remember, and she thanked him as they got up and left. “Where do you live, by the way?” She gave him the address, and said that he would meet her children when he picked her up, and he said he'd like that. He walked her back to her office, and she liked striding along beside him. He had been good company over lunch. And then she thanked him for lunch again, and walked back into her office, feeling dazed. She had a date. An honest-to-God dinner date, with a fairly attractive forty-nine-year-old internist. He had told her his age over lunch. She didn't know what to make of it, although she realized with a smile to herself that, if nothing else, her father would be pleased. She'd have to tell him about it the next time they talked. Or maybe after the date.