Danielle Steel - Dating Game

“Chandler, this is wonderful,” she said, looking embarrassed. It was hard to believe he was spoiling her this much. She hadn't expected anything even remotely like it.

They had lunch in the dining room, and admired the swans as they waddled by and swam in the pond. And afterward Chandler asked her if she'd like to shop on Rodeo Drive. He still had the limousine standing by, and she confessed shyly that she would.

“You don't have to come with me. I just want to browse a little bit. I never have time when I come to see Meg,” she told him. But they had several hours before they needed to get ready. They didn't have to be at the Grammy party till seven. And it never took Paris long to dress. All she did was bathe, and wind her hair into a sleek knot. And she wore so little makeup, it didn't take long to put on. She was seldom late. She was always perfectly dressed, and impeccably organized. Chandler had already noticed that about her.

He seemed to be enjoying her company considerably, and Paris was finding him easy to be with. He had a nice sense of humor, and an uncomplicated nature. And he seemed to be well versed at shopping with women. He knew all the right shops, and waited patiently while she looked. He didn't even mind when she tried a few things on. And on their way back to the hotel, he astounded her by producing a small shopping bag from Chanel, and handing it to her. He had bought it while she tried on some sweaters and a blouse that were on sale. In the end, the only thing she'd bought on the entire shopping spree was a pair of very simple black shoes that she thought might be good for work. And as she held the bag he had handed her, she looked up at him with hesitation.

“Chandler, you didn't have to do that.” Whatever it was, she knew that it was expensive if it was from Chanel.

“I know I didn't. I enjoy spoiling you a little. You deserve it, Paris. I want this weekend to be fun for you, and now you'll remember it whenever you see this gift.” She opened the gift box cautiously as they rode back to the hotel, and she was stunned when she saw that it was a beautiful black lizard bag. And much to her amazement, it was one she had admired and walked by. She wouldn't have dared to buy it for herself, and he had noticed that, so he had bought it for her. “Chandler, my God!” she exclaimed with wide eyes when she saw it. “It's so beautiful.” And it was also incredibly expensive.

“Do you like it?”

“I love it, but you shouldn't have.” She turned and gave him a gentle kiss on the cheek. No one had ever done anything like that for her. She scarcely knew him, and the gesture was as generous as it was spontaneous. It was a lovely gift. But Chandler was accustomed to buying the women in his life extravagant gifts, even when they hadn't slept with him yet. And he seemed to want nothing in return. She knew the bag was going to become a prize possession, and would always remind her of him, which was precisely his intent. It was a good investment for him, and had made a major impression on her.

He had ordered a massage for her when they got back to the hotel. And he disappeared to his own rooms, to have one himself. She didn't see him again until shortly before seven. Until then, she relaxed with the massage, luxuriated in her bath, and admired the handbag he had given her again and again. She called Meg and told her about it, and her daughter sounded concerned.

“Watch out for him, Mom. If he bought you a present like that, he's going to jump your bones.” Her mother laughed at the expression.

“I was afraid of that myself. But I don't think he will. He's being very proper and restrained.”

“Wait till tonight,” Meg said darkly, and then hurried back to work. She worried about her mother with this man. Paris had no idea what she was doing. And the guy was a big spender obviously, and something about him was beginning to suggest to Meg that he was too smooth. Unless he was madly in love with her mother and had never done this before, he sounded like a playboy of some kind to her. But as long as her mother could handle it, if she could, maybe it would be okay. Meg was no longer so sure.

Chandler appeared at Paris's door at five minutes to seven in an impeccably cut tuxedo that had been made for him in London, and he looked better than any movie star, and Paris looked terrific too. The white evening gown clung to her just enough, but not too much, and her figure looked spectacular. She had worn a little more makeup than usual, and she had rhinestone sticks in her chignon, and diamonds at her ears. As they left the hotel, she wore a white mink jacket over her dress. And as she walked, Chandler could just barely see high-heeled silver sandals with rhinestone buckles. She looked exquisite, and he was obviously proud to have her on his arm as they walked into the Beverly Hills Hotel.

The entire hotel had been taken over by his record business friend Walter Frye, who, Paris discovered as they walked in, was easily the most important man in the music business. As they entered, it seemed as if two hundred photographers took their picture.

“You look beautiful, Paris,” Chandler whispered to her, as he patted her hand tucked into his arm, and they glided by the photographers. Allison Jones was just ahead of them, and she was nominated for four Grammys, the previous year's major winner, Wanda Bird, was bringing up the rear. They were both Walter's discoveries, and incredible singers. Allison was twenty-two years old, and was wearing a cream lace dress that barely covered her figure, and left little to the imagination.

It was a dazzling evening. There were eight hundred people in the room, among them every major name in the music business, singers, producers, power brokers of all kinds, and the photographers who were wending their way among them were going crazy. And in the midst of it all was Walter Frye, who was delighted to see Chandler, and smiled warmly when he saw Paris.

An hour later they all moved slowly into the dining room, and Paris was no longer surprised to see that they were at Walter's table, and she was seated between Chandler and Stevie Wonder.

“This is quite an evening,” she said to Chandler in a whisper.

“It's fun, isn't it?” he said, looking extremely comfortable.

“Yes, it is,” Paris agreed, which was a vast understatement.

And as soon as the dessert had been served, the lights dimmed, and a star-studded group of performers took turns singing for the audience, including most of those nominated for Grammys. All told, they sang for nearly three hours while people shouted and rocked and sang along with them, and by the time it ended, Paris wished it would go on forever. She only wished her children could have seen it. She couldn't even begin to describe it to them. It ended long after midnight, and it was after one by the time they got back to the Bel-Air.

“Would you like a drink at the bar?” Chandler asked her.

“I'd love it,” Paris agreed. She hated to end the evening. “What an incredible performance,” she said, sipping a glass of champagne, while he drank brandy. “I'll never forget it.”

“I thought you might enjoy it.” He looked pleased, and he had enjoyed sharing it with her.

“Enjoy it? I loved it.” They talked about it for another hour until the bar closed, and then he walked her back to her room, kissed her on the cheek, and said he'd see her in the morning. She had mentioned Meg to him earlier, and he had suggested to Paris that she invite her to have lunch with them. He was incredibly generous and hospitable, and acted as though he was dying to meet her. Paris had never known anyone like him. The whole experience was unforgettable, and as she walked into her room, she saw the black lizard bag again, sitting on the table. She put it on with her white gown, and looked in the mirror. She couldn't imagine anyone doing all this for her. She had no idea how to thank him.