Going Home Part 11

"It isn't important, Peg. He doesn't want to get tied down just now, and I can see his point. He's not ready. It's really better this way." But I could see I wasn't convincing Peg. I wasn't even convincing myself.

"You're out of your mind. You're going to have the baby, Gill?"

"Yes."

"Why?"

"Because I love him. And I want to have the baby."

"That's a h.e.l.l of a big decision. I hope you know what you're doing." Peg looked as though she had just been hit with a bucket of ice water.

"I think I do."

"How about another drink? I don't know about you, but I think I need one." She looked up at me with a rueful smile and I shook my head.

"Look, don't let it put a damper on our evening. Everything's okay, I'm fine, and I know what I'm doing. Honest, Peg. So relax."

"That's easy for you to say. I enjoy worrying. Besides, you're only the mother! I plan to be the G.o.dmother, and that's a big responsibility." I laughed and she raised her drink to me in a toast. "To you, you G.o.ddam nut. Sonofab.i.t.c.h. I never expected this. What happened to your upbringing for chrissake?" We both laughed at that and then we ordered dinner. The subject never came up again, but I knew Peg was rolling it around in her mind and I'd hear more about it at a later date. She'd let it go by too easily, for Peg, and she wasn't going to feel right about it unless she did what she thought was her duty by me at some point and gave me h.e.l.l. Maybe she thought I couldn't take it just then. Maybe she was right.

We stayed at Twenty-One until after eleven and were just getting ready to ask for the check when a tall, attractive man stopped at our table.

"h.e.l.lo, Peg, can I offer you two a drink?" He was speaking to Peg, but smiling straight at me.

"Hi, Matt. What are you doing here?"

"I could ask you the same question, but I won't."

"Oh, I'm sorry. This is Gillian Forrester, Matthew Hinton."

"Good evening." We shook hands over the table and Peg looked pleased about something.

"How about that drink, ladies?" I was about to refuse but Peg gave me a filthy look and accepted.

We sat and chatted with him for half an hour. He was a lawyer, worked on Wall Street, and belonged to the same tennis club as Peg. He looked as though he were in his early thirties and had an easy-going manner but a little too much charm for my taste. I felt as though he were looking me over, like a large hunk of meat he might or might not want to buy, and I resented it.

"How about if I take you two ladies to Raffles for a drink and a little dancing." But this time I beat Peg to it.

"No, really I couldn't. I just got back from California last night, and I haven't caught up on my sleep yet, but thanks anyway."

"She's my best friend, Matt, and the biggest pain in the a.s.s I know. Party p.o.o.per."

"Why don't you go, Peg? I'll take a cab home."

"No, I'll pa.s.s too. Sorry, Matt." He made a mock tragic face, threw up his hands, and we all paid our various tabs, or rather he and Peg did. I cringed, thinking what she must have paid for the dinner, but it had been a lovely evening.

Matt offered to drop us off at our respective homes in a cab and Peg accepted. And in a few minutes we were at the Regency. And I noticed that Matt seemed to like what he saw. I kissed Peg on the cheek, thanked her for dinner, and tried to stop her from saying anything. Whatever she could have come up with would surely have been mortifying. Matt was patiently waiting on the sidewalk as the doorman stood by.

"You like him?" she whispered in my ear as I disengaged myself from her hug.

"No, G.o.ddam you! And don't you dare start any matchmaking! But thanks for dinner." My response was spoken in a hoa.r.s.e whisper like her own, and I punctuated it with a stern look. But she didn't answer, which is always a bad sign with Peg. I had visions of her setting up a whole scenario for Matt while he took her home.

"Goodnight, Matt. Thanks for dropping me off." I shook his hand coolly as we stood on the sidewalk and started toward the revolving door with a last wave at Peg.

"Gillian!" It was Matt.

"Yes?" He reached my side in two long strides.

"I'll call you tomorrow."

"Oh." But he was already gone, the taxi door slammed, and the cab pulled away and was instantly lost in the city's eternal traffic.

16.

The telephone rang while I was struggling with my second cup of coffee the next morning, and I reached for it absentmindedly, holding the paper in my other hand.

"h.e.l.lo?"

"How did you like him?"

"Peg! You're a b.l.o.o.d.y nuisance. Will you cool it, please? I told you how I felt about that last night. And I meant it."

"What the h.e.l.l is wrong with you?" She sounded immensely irritated.

"For one thing, I'm still in love with Chris."

"And that's not going to get you anywhere. He dumped you, remember?"

"Okay, Peg, that's enough. Let's just drop it. Last night was really nice."

"I thought so too. And . . . oh h.e.l.l. Okay, Gill. I'll lay off. I'm sorry. Except I wish you'd go out with him. It would give you a good start back here. He's very social."

"I'm sure he is, but that doesn't turn me on anymore."

"Okay, so I'll find you a hippie, ya nut." She laughed briefly and I felt better. "Well, I just thought I'd put in a good word for Matt. Gotta go to a meeting now. I'll call you."

"Okay, Peg. See you soon."

I no sooner hung up than the phone rang again, and this time I suspected who it would be. And was right.

"Gillian?"

"Yes."

"Good morning. This is Matthew Hinton." So what else is new?

"Good morning." Now what? I really wasn't in the mood.

"I was going to ask you to dinner, Gillian, but something else has come up." It seemed an odd way to start, but I waited for him to go on. "One of the senior partners in the firm just offered me two tickets to the opening of the opera tonight. How does that sound?" I was ashamed of myself for the sudden change of heart, but that sounded too good to miss.

"Wow! That would be lovely, Matthew. I feel very spoiled."

"Don't be silly. The opera starts at eight and we can have a late dinner afterward. I'll pick you up at seven-thirty. Sound all right to you?"

"Sounds fine. I'll see you then. And thank you."

I looked at myself in the mirror and felt briefly guilty for accepting his invitation just because of the opera, but what the h.e.l.l, it would be a real treat.

Matthew arrived promptly at seven-thirty and gave a long, slow whistle which almost swelled my head. I was wearing a cream satin dress which set off the remainder of my California tan, and I had to admit that I'd been pleased myself when I looked in the mirror before leaving the room.

He was looking very precise and rather handsome in a dinner jacket, with small sapphire studs, and for a moment he reminded me of my ex-husband. I was stepping back into the sedate, establishment world again, even if only for an evening. And it was a million light years from the world I had shared with Chris.

The cab pulled up to Lincoln Center, and the fountain rose in graceful, erratic leaps in the plaza. Little cl.u.s.ters of well-dressed opera-goers headed in the same direction as we, and I ignored Matt in favor of the bright dresses and beautiful people. It was obvious that this was an Event.

Photographers leapt out from oblique angles and invisible corners and flashed lights in the darkness as people went inside. You could tell who would occupy the boxes-they were even more elaborately dressed than the others, and the jewels were blinding.

"Mr. Hinton, just a moment please." Matthew turned his head to the left to see who was calling him, and I followed his gaze, just as a light went off in our faces and a photographer snapped a picture.

"May I ask who the lady is?" a lithe-looking black girl at the photographer's side inquired. She was dressed in brilliant red and was wearing her hair in a natural. She raised a small notebook and took my name with a smile, while I looked on in disbelief. It was quite a scene. Pandemonium seemed to reign everywhere, and people were attempting to filter through the a.s.sembly of reporters and photographers.

Matthew shepherded me up the flight of stairs to the boxes, and an elderly usher smiled at him. "Good evening, Mr. Hinton." My, my.

"Do you come to the opera often, Matt?"

"Once in a while." But something was beginning to smell fishy.

The opera was Lucia di Lammermoor with Joan Sutherland, and the performance was breathtaking. During the intermissions, the champagne flowed like water, and the photographers continued their field day.

"I ordered dinner at Raffles, since you wouldn't do me the honor last night. Is that all right with you?"

"Lovely."

And at Raffles we were besieged with "Good evening, Mr. Hinton's" from every waiter in sight. Peg was right, he was very social.

But the evening was pleasant, the conversation was superficial, and he had a nice sense of humor. He had ordered smoked salmon, roast duck, and a souffle au grand marnier. We drank more champagne, and danced for a while in the muted, gaiety of the club. The decor was done by Cecil Beaton and lacked warmth, but the crowd was obviously New York's elite.

We arrived back at the Regency at one, and I shook his hand in the lobby as the evening came to a close. It had been precisely what I'd expected. The opening of the opera. It meant no more to me than that. Until I saw the papers the next day.

The phone rang once again at nine the next morning, but this time I was asleep.

"I thought you said you didn't want to go out with him."

"Huh?"

"You heard me." It was Peg. "How was the opera?"

"Very nice, thanks." I struggled to wake up and then a question came to mind. "How did you know I went to the opera? Did Matt call you?" The possibility irritated me, like a ninth-grade report to the "gang."

"No. I read it in the papers."

"Bulls.h.i.t. He called you." I was sitting up in bed by then.

"He did not. I have in hand today's Women's Wear Daily, and I quote 'Who is Playboy Matthew Hinton's latest love? Mrs. Gillian Forrester, of course. They attended the opening of the opera last night, which was . . . etc., etc. They occupied his father's box, Q, and were later seen at Raffles, private discotheque where the B. P. congregate. They sipped champagne and danced till dawn.' "

"For chrissake, I was home by one!" I was stunned, "Playboy Matthew Hinton's latest love"? Oh Christ.

"Shut up, I'm not finished. 'Mrs. Forrester wore a gown of cream-colored satin, off the shoulders, and it looked like last year's Dior. But she is a most attractive young woman. Right on, Matt.' "

"Thanks a lot. As a matter of fact, the dress is six-years-ago's n.o.body. For G.o.d's sake, Peg. That's the worst thing I've ever heard. I'm mortified."

"Console yourself. The Times only ran a picture. You looked pretty good. Now . . . do you like him?"

"Of course not. Oh h.e.l.l, what do I know? I was excited about going to the opening of the opera, and he's about as colorful as papier-mache. He's stereotyped and terribly proper. And frankly, I don't enjoy being smacked all over the newspapers as some playboy's 'latest love.' Jesus!"

"Don't be a bore. Enjoy it."

"Bulls.h.i.t."

"Well, at least go out with him for a while."

"What? And have all the papers a.n.a.lyzing what we had for dinner. It's not worth it, Peg. But thanks for the introduction."

"You're a creep. But maybe you've got a point. He is a little dull. Anyway, I'll put these in my sc.r.a.pbook. My friend, Gillian Forrester, latest love of playboy."

"You jerk." And this time I hung up as I broke into a laugh. It really was pretty funny. It would have almost been worth sending the clippings to Chris.

An immense bouquet of roses arrived as I ordered breakfast. The card read, "I'm so sorry about the newspapers. Hope you can weather the storm. Next time dinner at Ned.i.c.k's." And it was signed "Matt." Weather the storm was right. And that wasn't at all what I had in mind for myself. I put the flowers on a table and answered the phone. Probably Peg again.

"Gillian? Have you forgiven me?" It was Matt.

"Nothing to forgive. That's quite a coming-out party for my second day in New York. It would appear, however, that you're rather notorious, Mr. Hinton."

"Not nearly as much as Women's Wear seems to think. How about dinner tonight?"

"And confirm the rumor?"

"Why not?"

"I'm sorry, but I can't make it, Matt. But I had a lovely time last night."

"I'm not sure I believe you, but I'm glad if you did. I'll give you a call at the end of the week and see what else we can think up to tantalize the press. How do you feel about horses?"