“So how's it going?” Virginia asked her quietly. They had had lunch the week before, and Virginia said she was getting over the same flu. Nearly everyone they knew had had it. And they were discussing home remedies when the doorbell rang again, and Paris realized they had invited yet another couple. But when she turned, she saw a man walk into the room whom she didn't recognize. He was tall and had dark hair, and looked faintly like Peter, except on closer inspection, she saw that he was older and had a major bald spot. But he looked pleasant as he walked in.
“Who's that?” Paris asked Virginia, who said she didn't know him. And although she didn't tell Paris, she knew about him. He was Fred's new stockbroker, and they had invited him to introduce him to Paris. They thought it was high time she got out in the world and met someone. And although she was unaware of it, the entire dinner party had been planned around her. It was a mercy dinner, as she told Anne later.
The new addition strolled into the room wearing a blazer, a red plaid turtleneck, and a pair of plaid pants that Paris couldn't help but stare at. They were the loudest pants she had ever seen, and it was obvious almost from the minute he sat down that he had been drinking. He introduced himself to everyone, before Fred could take care of it, and pumped people's hands until their arms ached. And the moment he turned to Paris, she knew exactly why he'd been invited.
“So you're the gay divorcée of Greenwich,” he said, grinning at her, and this time he didn't pump her hand, he held it. She had to make a visible effort to get him to loosen his grip so she could reclaim her right hand. “I hear your husband just got remarried,” he said bluntly, and Paris nodded, and turned back to Virginia.
“How charming,” she whispered as Virginia winced, and saw Natalie glaring at her husband across the room. Fred had sworn that the guy was terrific. But he had only met him twice in the office. All he knew was that he was divorced, had three kids, and was, according to his own reports, a fantastic skier. It seemed enough to inspire Fred to invite him. They didn't know anyone else single, and Fred had assured Natalie he was intelligent and decent looking, didn't mishandle their account, and said he didn't have a girlfriend.
By the time they went in to dinner, he had told a series of lewd jokes, most of which were inappropriate in mixed company, and some of which were actually funny. Even Paris laughed heartily at one of them, but when he sat down next to her at the dinner table, he stepped up the volume. He had had two more scotches by then, and he was starting to slur before he got to the soup course.
“Christ, don't you hate soup at a dinner party?” he said to her, more loudly than he was aware of. “I always get it all over myself, used to get it on my tie, that's why I don't wear them.” And she could only assume that he didn't want to get it on his blazer either, since he tucked his napkin into his turtleneck, and asked Fred where the wine was. “Must be a dry state here. You still in AA, Fred? Where's the wine, boy?” Fred hastened to pour him the first glass, while Natalie looked as though she wanted to kill him. She was all too aware of how fragile Paris had been, and the fact that this was the first time she had gone out to dinner. She had wanted to be subtle about introducing her to this man. And he was about as subtle as a flood in a farmhouse, and considerably less attractive. He had a habit of taking his glasses on and off, and in doing so, messed up his hair. The drunker he got, the wilder he looked, and the lewder his jokes got. He had mentioned every possible body part by the end of the first course, every possible sexual position by the end of the second, and by the time dessert came, he was pounding the table and laughing so loudly at his own jokes that Paris couldn't keep a straight face when she looked across the table at Virginia. It was awful.
And as they got up from dinner, Natalie took Paris aside and apologized profusely.
“I'm so sorry. Fred swore he was a nice guy, and I thought you might like to meet him.”
“It's fine,” Paris said graciously. “He's actually kind of funny. You don't have to introduce me to anyone, you know. I'm perfectly happy being on my own among good friends. I'm not interested in dating.”
