Danielle Steel - Rogue

“Usually, not as flexible as this. I'm pretty well organized most of the time. Today just got out of hand. Mostly because Zellie was sick too. I count on her a lot.” He nodded. It was obvious that she had to have someone to rely on, and her ex-husband wasn't around. After what Daphne had told him, he could see why. He had read about Blake Williams over the years. He was a major figure in the jet set, and didn't sound like a family man. Maxine had said as much over lunch.

Charles went to say goodbye to the children before he left, and told Sam he hoped he'd feel better soon.

“Thanks,” Sam said, and waved goodbye. And a moment later, Maxine let Charles out.

“I'll pick you up at seven on Friday,” Charles promised, and she thanked him again for being so nice about tonight. “Don't worry about it. At least I got to meet all your kids.” He waved as he got in the elevator, and a moment later she collapsed on her bed next to Sam with a sigh, as the others walked in.

“So how come you didn't tell us you had a date?” Jack complained.

“I forgot about it.”

“Who is he anyway?” Daphne looked suspicious.

“Just a doctor I met,” Maxine said, looking exhausted. She didn't want to have to justify it to them. Tonight had been bad enough. “And by the way,” she said to her daughter, “you shouldn't brag about your father like that. It's not nice.”

“Why not?” Daphne looked instantly defiant.

“Because talking about his yacht and his plane isn't cool. It could make people uncomfortable.” Which of course was precisely why she had done it. Daphne shrugged and walked out of the room.

“He's okay,” Sam pronounced.

“Yeah, maybe,” Jack said, sounding unconvinced. He didn't see why his mother needed a man around. They were doing fine the way they were. It didn't shock them that their father went out with women, even a lot of them. They weren't used to seeing a man in their mother's life, and none of them liked the idea. It worked fine for them having her to themselves. And there was no reason why that should change, in their opinion anyway. Their mother got the message loud and clear.

It was eight o'clock by then and none of them had eaten, so Maxine went out to the kitchen to see what she could dig up. As she was pulling out salad and some cold meats and eggs, Zelda walked in in her bathrobe, looking puzzled.

“Who was that masked man, Tonto?” she asked Maxine, and her employer laughed.

“I guess the correct answer to that is the Lone Ranger. Actually, he's a doctor I met. I had a date with him, and I completely forgot. Sam threw up all over the front hall as he walked in. It was quite a scene.”

“Think you'll ever see him again?” Zelda asked with interest. She thought he'd seemed nice. And good looking.

She knew that Maxine hadn't had a date in a long time, and this one looked promising to her. He seemed the right type, he was nice-looking, and she thought the fact that they were both physicians was a good beginning to establish common ground.

“Supposedly he's taking me out on Friday night,” Maxine said in answer to her question. “If he recovers from tonight.”

“That's interesting,” Zelda commented, poured herself a glass of ginger ale, and went back to bed.

Maxine made pasta, cold cuts, and scrambled eggs, and they had brownies for dessert. She cleaned up the kitchen, and then went to help Daphne with her paper. They didn't finish until twelve o'clock. It had been a hell of a day, and a long night. And when she finally slipped into her bed next to Sam, she had a minute to think about Charles. She had no idea what would come of it, or if she'd see him again after Friday night, but in its own way, tonight hadn't been so bad. He hadn't run out the door screaming at least. That was something. And for now, it was enough.

Chapter 8

On Friday night, when Charles appeared to pick her up, every thing worked like a Swiss clock. The house was deserted. Zelda was off. Daphne was spending the night with friends, as was Sam, having recovered from the flu, and Jack was at a party at a friend's before a bar mitzvah the next night. Maxine had bought scotch, vodka, gin, champagne, and a bottle of Pouilly-Fuissé. She was ready for him. She was wearing a short black dress, her hair in a neat bun, diamond earrings, and a string of pearls, and the house was silent.

When she let him in on the dot of seven, Charles entered with the look of a man heading across a minefield. He looked around, listened to the deafening silence, and stared at her in amazement.

“What did you do with your kids?” he asked nervously, and she smiled at him.

“I put them up for adoption, and fired the nanny. I was sad to let them go, but you have to have priorities in life. I didn't want to spoil another evening. They went very quickly.” He laughed and followed her into the kitchen, where she poured him a scotch and soda at his request, and carried a silver bowl of nuts into the living room. The silence was almost eerie. “I'm really sorry about Tuesday, Charles.” It had been a scene right out of a movie. Or real life. A little too much so.

“It was kind of like hazing when I was in college.” Getting put in the trunk of a car with alcohol poisoning might have been easier and more fun, but he was willing to give it another shot. There was a lot about Maxine that he liked. She was a serious, intelligent woman with a booming career in the medical field, highly respected, and she was beautiful as well. It was a combination that was tough to beat. The only thing about her that unnerved him somewhat were her kids. He just wasn't used to that, and didn't feel a need for children in his life. But they were part of the package with her. And this time, at least, she had gotten them out of the way, and they would be able to enjoy an adult evening, which was what he preferred.

La Grenouille had very kindly given him another reservation for eight o'clock that night, and hadn't held Tuesday's last-minute cancellation against him. He went there often and was a good client. Maxine and Charles left her apartment at a quarter to eight, and reached the restaurant precisely on time, and were given an excellent table. The evening had been perfect so far, he observed, but the night was young. Nothing would have startled him now, after the introduction he'd had to her life three days before. For a minute there, he had been tempted to run. But now he was glad he hadn't. He liked Maxine a lot, and she was great to talk to.

For the first half of dinner, over scallops, soft shell crab, followed by pheasant and Chateaubriand, they discussed their work, and current medical issues that were pertinent to both of them. He liked her ideas, and was impressed by her accomplishments. And they were just starting on their soufflés when he mentioned Blake.

“I'm surprised your children aren't more critical of him, since you say he's such a no-show with them and is never around.” He realized that that was a real testimonial to her, since she could easily have turned them against him, and most women would, given how little he helped her.

“He's basically a nice man,” she said simply. “Wonderful, in fact. And they see that. He's just not very attentive.”

“He sounds very selfish, and incredibly self-indulgent,” Charles observed, and Maxine conceded that he wasn't wrong.

“It would be hard not to be,” Maxine said quietly, “given what happened with his success. Very few people could resist that and keep a level head. He has a lot of toys, and he likes to have fun. All the time, in fact. Blake doesn't do anything that's not fun, or high risk. That's just his style, it always was. The other path he could have chosen was to pour his money into philanthropy. And he does a fair amount of that, but he's not involved in charity in any hands-on kind of way. Basically, he figures that life is short, he's been lucky, and he wants to have a good time. He was adopted, and I think in a funny way, even though he had nice adoptive parents who loved him, he's always been insecure about life, and about himself. He wants to grab everything he can, before someone takes it away from him, or he loses it. That's a tough pathology to fight. The constant fear of abandonment and loss, so he grabs everything with both hands, and loses in the end anyway. Kind of a self-fulfilling prophecy.”