“Good evening, Mr. Winslow,” the driver said pleasantly. He had driven Coop for years, and he drove other stars as well. He made a good living doing freelance driving. It made more sense for Coop than having a full-time driver. Most of the time he preferred driving himself.
When Coop got to the Schwartzes' enormous mansion on Brooklawn Drive, there were a hundred people already standing in the front hall, drinking champagne and paying homage to the Schwartzes. She looked stylish in a dark blue gown, and was wearing a fabulous collection of sapphires. And all around her, Coop saw the usual suspects, ex-presidents and first ladies, politicians, art dealers, producers, directors, internationally known lawyers, and the usual smattering of movie stars, some more current than Coop, but none as famous. He was instantly surrounded by a flock of adoring admirers of both sexes. And an hour later, they went in to dinner, as Coop followed the herd.
He was seated at the same table as another well-known actor of a similar vintage, and there were two famous writers at their table, and an important Hollywood agent. The head of one of the major studios was also seated there, and Coop made a mental note to speak to him after dinner. He had heard they were making a feature that was perfect for him. He knew the woman on his right, she was one of the better-known Hollywood matrons, whose parties tried to rival Louise Schwartz's but didn't. And on his left was a young woman he had never met before. She had a delicate, aristocratic face, big brown eyes, ivory skin, and dark hair pulled back in a bun, like a Degas ballerina.
“Good evening,” he said pleasantly. He noticed that she was small and lithe, and he wondered if she actually was a dancer. And as a brigade of waiters served the first course, he asked her, and she laughed. It wasn't the first time someone had asked her that, and she claimed she was flattered. She knew who he was, and had been excited to find him sitting next to her. Her place card said Alexandra Madison, which meant nothing to him.
“Actually, I'm a resident,” she said, as though that explained everything, but to him, it didn't mean a thing.
“A resident of where?” he said, with a look of amusement. She was not his usual profile, but she was strikingly pretty, and he saw that she had lovely hands, with short nails, and no polish on them. She was wearing a white satin gown, and had a young girl's face and figure.
“At a hospital. I'm a physician.”
“How interesting,” he said, looking momentarily impressed. “What kind? Anything useful?”
“Not unless you have children. I'm a pediatrician, a neonatologist to be exact.”
“I detest children. I eat them for dinner,” he said with a wide smile that showed off the perfect white teeth he was known for.
“I don't believe you,” she said with a giggle.
“Truly. And children hate me. They know I eat them. I only like them when they turn into grown-ups. Particularly women.” At least he was honest. He had had a lifelong distrust of children, and an aversion to them. He generally tried to choose women who didn't have them. They complicated everything, and had spoiled many an evening for him. Women without children were much more fun to be with, from his standpoint. You didn't have to rush home to pay babysitters. They weren't sick at the last minute. They didn't spill their juice all over you, or tell you they hated you. It was one of the many reasons why he preferred younger women. Over thirty, most women seemed to have kids. “Why couldn't you be something more entertaining? Like a lion tamer. Or actually, being a ballerina would suit you. I think you should consider a career change now, before you get in any deeper.” Alexandra was having fun sitting next to him. She was impressed with him, but she was enjoying playing with him, and in spite of her unfortunate choice of jobs, and severe hairdo, according to Coop, he liked her.
“I'll have to give it some thought. What about being a veterinarian? Would that be better?” Alexandra asked innocently.
“I don't like dogs either. They're filthy. They get hair all over your trousers, they bite, snap, and smell. Almost as bad as children. Not quite, but a close second. We'll have to think of an entirely different career for you. What about acting?”
“I don't think so,” she laughed, as a waiter spooned caviar onto her blini. Coop loved the food at the Schwartzes' dinners, and Alexandra looked comfortable there too. She had an aura of ease and grace about her, as though she had grown up in dining rooms like this one. It was written all over her, despite the fact that she wasn't wearing important jewels. Just a string of pearls, and a pair of pearl and diamond earrings. But something about her spelled money. “What about you?” She turned the tables on him. She was above all intelligent, and he liked that about her too. At the dinner table at least, it provided a challenge. “Why are you an actor?”
“I find it amusing. Don't you? Imagine being able to play pretend every day, and wear beautiful clothes. It's actually very pleasant. Far nicer than what you do. You wear an ugly wrinkled white coat and children throw up all over you, and scream the minute they see you.”
“That's true. But the ones I deal with are too small to do much damage. I work in the neonatal ICU, mostly with preemies.”
“Ghastly,” he said, pretending to be horrified. “They're probably the size of mice. You could get rabies. This is much worse than I suspected.” He was having a delightful time with her, and a man across the table glanced at him with a look of amusement. It was like watching fine art as Coop turned the charm full force on a woman. But Alexandra was a good match for him. She was sensible, and smart enough not to let Coop lure her or make her feel ill at ease. “What else do you do?” Coop continued to quiz her.
“I fly my own plane, and have since I was eighteen. I love to go hang gliding. I've parachuted out of an airplane, but I promised my mother I wouldn't, so I no longer do. I play tennis, ski. I used to race motorcycles, but I promised my father I wouldn't. And I spent a year doing health care work in Kenya before med school.”
“You sound relatively suicidal. And your parents seem to interfere a great deal in your athletic pursuits. Do you still see them?”
“When I have to,” she said honestly, and he saw in her eyes that she was telling the truth. She was a girl with an amazing amount of poise and spirit. He was fascinated by her.
“Where do they live?” he asked with interest.
“Palm Beach in the winter. Newport in the summer. It's very boring and predictable, and I'm something of a rebel.”
“Are you married?” He had seen that she wasn't wearing a ring, and he didn't expect a positive answer. She didn't feel married to him. He had excellent radar for these things.
“No.” She hesitated for a moment before she answered. “I almost was,” she volunteered. She didn't usually say that, but he was so outrageous, it was fun being honest with him. He was easy to talk to, and very quick.
“And? What happened?”
The ivory face turned icy, although she continued smiling. But her eyes were full of sorrow suddenly. No one but Coop would have seen it. “I was jilted at the altar. The night before actually.”
“How tasteless. I hate people who do rude things like that, don't you?” He was stalling for time. He could see that saying it had hurt her, and for an instant he was sorry that he had asked. She had been so bluntly truthful with her answer. He hadn't expected her to do that. “I hope he fell into a pit of snakes after that, or a moat full of alligators. He deserved it.”
“He did, more or less. The moat full of alligators, I mean. He married my sister.” It was heavy stuff for a first meeting. But she assumed she'd never see him again, so it didn't matter what she said to him.