“Is it human nature or just female nature to keep hoping for love, beyond any evidence that such a thing is possible?” she groaned to Henry on the phone when the girls finally left at eleven.
She hung up, fluffed her pillow, and leaned back against it with a mighty sigh.
How she wished she could make her friends understand that not being married and not having children was a small price to pay—if, indeed, it even was a price—for the deep self-esteem and self-confidence gained by being a self-made woman.
Society celebrated the self-made man, but the concept of the self-made woman hardly even existed. Probably because what society insisted defined a woman were her relationships to other people.
The next morning, she was still riled. “Henry,” she said on the phone, “doesn’t anyone realize that for men, marriage and children aren’t considered achievements? Or even accomplishments? For men, marriage and children are a lifestyle. And that isn’t right!”
Henry laughed. “And yet I’m assuming that none of this feminist talk is going to prevent you from going on that date with Jonny Balaga.”
“You’re right,” Pandy conceded, rolling out of bed and pulling up the shade. “I’m a complete hypocrite. And I hate myself for it.”
“Life makes hypocrites of us all, my dear,” Henry said kindly.
“Oh, Henry.” Pandy plopped back onto the bed and sighed. “When it comes to love, I’m a lousy human being. I’m like Romeo. I’m in love with being in love.”
“‘Alas, that love, so gentle in his view, should be so tyrannous and rough in proof!’” Henry quipped, quoting Shakespeare.
“In other words, I’m doomed,” Pandy said.
By the time she was in the taxi heading for Jonny’s new restaurant, Pandy had recovered her equilibrium. The seesaw had tilted in the opposite direction, and she was now on top. As she’d signed her name to the contract and then smartly replaced the cap on the sterling silver pen she saved for these rare occasions, she felt quite sure that a new phase in her life had begun. How could it not? She was a woman in her prime: no longer young and foolish enough to put her career aside in hopes of securing a man; and after twenty years in her profession, experienced enough to finally be taken seriously. But mostly, she still had time. Time to truly make her mark in the world.
But not enough time, she thought, glancing at her watch in annoyance, to sit in ridiculous theater traffic.
Irritated, she called Suzette. “I don’t care what you guys say. I am not yet desperate enough to sit in traffic for forty-five minutes for a man. I haven’t even gotten there, and I already hate Jonny Balaga and his stupid restaurant.”
Suzette laughed. “Stop complaining. I’ve heard it’s going to be the hottest place in town.”
The taxi turned the corner. Once again, thanks to Jonny’s opening, the traffic was stopped.
“Gotta go,” Pandy said, glaring at the huge crowd standing out in front.
Apparently, Suzette was right. About the restaurant, anyway. The paparazzi were massed five-deep on either side of the red carpet. Pandy stopped and posed dutifully, meaning she stood stiffly with her hands at her sides and stretched her lips into her widest smile. SondraBeth had always been after her to work on her posing skills, but Pandy hadn’t listened.
Two uniformed doormen swung open the doors to the restaurant and Pandy stepped inside.
She gasped. It was like walking into a mouth.
The walls were red lacquer. There were gilt mirrors and booths behind red-velvet curtains. Dark oak chairs with shiny silk cushions.
It was, she realized, the ultimate expression of Jonny’s aesthetic: a plush French bordello.
Pandy joined the crush at the bar. It didn’t take but a minute for her to start having a good time, as she immediately saw four people she knew. It wasn’t until half an hour had passed that she remembered Jonny. Ought she to go look for him? On the other hand, he should be the one looking for her. In any case, there was no rush; she was bound to see him eventually. In the meantime, she would use the bathroom.
Turning the corner into the darkened hallway that led to the toilets, she nearly ran straight into him.
“Hey!” he exclaimed. And with a proprietary intimacy, as if they were already a couple, he pulled her into him and squeezed her hard against him. Pandy felt an intense, girlish rush of joy.
“I’m so sorry,” he exclaimed.
“For what?” she asked, feeling a little tremble at the base of her throat.
“For not finding you right away. I kept looking for you, and then someone told me they’d seen you go in this direction.”
They stood for a second, smiling, staring into each other’s eyes.
“Come on,” he said, taking Pandy by the hand. “I want you to meet my mother.”
Jonny squeezed her palm. Pandy noted that the crowd parted as he guided her through them, their expressions lit up as if they were pleased by this potential coupling.
And then he was escorting her across the floor to the head table. There, squatting behind two swags of red velvet like a gypsy in a fortune-teller’s booth, was Jonny’s mother.
Pandy slid in next to her. It was one of those booths that once you got into, you couldn’t get out of easily.
Jonny leaned over the table. “MJ, meet PJ,” he said loudly and with great affection. He gave Pandy a grateful smile. “She’s been pestering me all night to introduce you.”
“How wonderful,” Pandy exclaimed. She turned her head to look directly at Jonny’s mother. This required some courage. Her first impression of MJ had been of bad face work topped by a blue silk turban coupled with enough bright gold jewelry to rival the Franklin Mint.
Pandy forced herself to look beyond all that and right into MJ’s eyes. It was like looking into chocolate kisses, Pandy realized with a start. She was sure she saw kindness, along with something else—a mesmerizing dash of Jonny’s intangible allure.
So that’s where he got it from, Pandy thought. She tore her eyes away and smiled up at Jonny.
“Now listen,” MJ said, commanding Pandy’s attention again. “I’ve read everything you’ve written, and I’ve watched both the movies. I’m your biggest fan.”
“Now, MJ,” Jonny said warningly.
MJ turned back to Pandy and spoke conspiratorially. “He told me I wasn’t supposed to embarrass you.” She glanced at Jonny and inhaled sharply. “But I told him I don’t care who knows, and I’m not ashamed to say it.
“I absolutely love Monica.”
Two hours later, Pandy and MJ were still talking.
“How come a girl like you isn’t married?” MJ asked.
“There are a million girls like me who aren’t married,” Pandy said.
“But smart women usually can get married if they want to,” MJ countered. “When I see a smart woman who isn’t married, I think to myself, there’s someone who doesn’t want to get married.”
Pandy leaned back in the booth, staring at MJ in awe. She could hardly believe it. Here was someone who might finally understand her own feelings about marriage.
“Why did you never marry?” she asked MJ cautiously.
“Because I’ve already got my man. Jonny,” she said. “He came into my life and saved my life. And I don’t want to be greedy. If a woman gets one good man in her life, she’s lucky. She should be happy. Asking for two good men is tempting fate.”