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.
And when she called Meg the next morning, Paris was laughing.
“What's so funny?” Meg asked, rolling over in bed with a yawn. “God, Mom, it's only nine-thirty.”
“I know. But I want you to have lunch with us. You have to meet him.”
“Did he propose?” Meg sounded panicked.
“No. And he didn't jump my bones either.” She'd been waiting all night and since early morning to tell her.
“Did you have fun last night?”
“It was incredible.” And then she told Meg all about it.
“I have to meet him.”
“He said to meet us at Spago at twelve-thirty.”
“I can't wait. Can I bring Anthony?”
“Does he look decent?”
“No,” Meg said honestly, “but he has very good manners. And he doesn't talk about high colonics.”
“I suppose that's something,” Paris said gratefully, and when she met Chandler for breakfast, she warned him that Meg was bringing her current escort.
“That's fine. I'd love to meet him,” he said enthusiastically, and she warned him that she couldn't be responsible for how he looked. And then she described Peace to him, and he roared with laughter.
“My son used to go out with girls like that. And then he met ‘the one.’ She looks like the girl next door, and he married her six months later. And now they have three babies, or almost. There's hope for us all yet,” he said good-naturedly. “I just haven't been as lucky as he was. Till now.” He smiled meaningfully at Paris, and she ignored it. She wasn't ready to make any commitments, and still didn't think she ever would be. And she said as much to Chandler over breakfast. She didn't want to mislead him. “I know that,” he said gently. “You need time, honey. You can't go through all that you did less than a year ago and expect not to have scars. It took me years to get over what my ex-wife did to me.” And Paris wasn't sure he had yet. He spoke with thinly concealed venom whenever he mentioned his ex-wife.
“I don't know that I'm ever going to be ready to get involved again,” she said honestly. “I still feel like I'm married to him.”
“I felt that way too, for a long time. Be patient with yourself, Paris. I am. I'm not going anywhere.” She couldn't believe she'd had the good fortune to meet him. He was everything any woman could want, and all he seemed to want was to be with her, whatever the ground rules.
