Dating Game Read online

  a cognizant original v5 release october 14 2010

  Getting Dumped and Getting Over It!

  A novel of the wonderful, terrifying

  roller-coaster ride of life-after-divorce.

  DATING GAME

  PRAISE FOR

  DANIELLE STEEL

  “Steel pulls out all the emotional stops…. She delivers.”

  —Publishers Weekly

  “Steel is one of the best!”

  —Los Angeles Times

  “The world's most popular author tells a good, well-paced story and explores some important issues…. Steel affirm[s] life while admitting its turbulence, melodramas, and misfiring passions.”

  —Booklist

  “Danielle Steel writes boldly and with practiced vivid ness about tragedy—both national and personal … with insight and power.”

  —Nashville Banner

  “There is a smooth reading style to her writings which makes it easy to forget the time and to keep flipping the pages.”

  —The Pittsburgh Press

  “One of the things that keeps Danielle Steel fresh is her bent for timely story lines … the combination of Steel's comprehensive research and her skill at creating credible characters makes for a gripping read.”

  —The Star-Ledger (Newark)

  “What counts for the reader is the ring of authenticity.”

  —San Francisco Chronicle

  “Steel knows how to wring the emotion out of the briefest scene.”

  —People

  “Ms. Steel excels at pacing her narrative, which races forward, mirroring the frenetic lives chronicled; men and women swept up in bewildering change, seeking solutions to problems never before faced.”

  —Nashville Banner

  “Danielle Steel has again uplifted her readers while skillfully communicating some of life's bittersweet verities. Who could ask for a finer gift than that?”

  —The Philadelphia Inquirer

  PRAISE FOR THE RECENT NOVELS OF

  DANIELLE STEEL

  DATING GAME

  “A cheerful story full of colorful dating scenarios … you can't stop devouring it.”

  —Chicago Tribune

  “Fans will no doubt enjoy …”

  —Times Union, Albany

  ANSWERED PRAYERS

  “Smooth plotting …”

  —Publishers Weekly

  SUNSET IN ST. TROPEZ

  “Steel's skillful character development shines.”

  —The Star-Ledger (Newark)

  “Entertaining and suspenseful …”

  —The Kansas City Star

  THE COTTAGE

  “A story of friendship … fans can always count on Danielle Steel to come up with a best-selling story … [her] charm has lasted.”

  —Abilene Reporter News

  THE KISS

  “Steel pulls through with skillful plotting, steeping a gentle brew that will once again gratify her legions of fans.”

  —Publishers Weekly

  LONE EAGLE

  “THE NOVEL IS BRIGHTLY PACED, and the World War II setting provides plenty of contextual drama.”

  —People

  LEAP OF FAITH

  “STEEL IS A SKILLED STORYTELLER. [Her] tale provides entertainment and imparts important lessons.”

  —Booklist

  A MAIN SELECTION OF THE LITERARY GUILD

  AND THE DOUBLEDAY BOOK CLUB

  Also by Danielle Steel

  SAFE HARBOUR MIXED BLESSINGS

  JOHNNY ANGEL JEWELS

  ANSWERED PRAYERS NO GREATER LOVE

  SUNSET IN ST. TROPEZ HEARTBEAT

  THE COTTAGE MESSAGE FROM NAM

  THE KISS DADDY

  LEAP OF FAITH STAR

  LONE EAGLE ZOYA

  JOURNEY KALEIDOSCOPE

  THE HOUSE ON FINE THINGS

  HOPE STREET WANDERLUST

  THE WEDDING SECRETS

  IRRESISTIBLE FORCES FAMILY ALBUM

  GRANNY DAN FULL CIRCLE

  BITTERSWEET CHANGES

  MIRROR IMAGE THURSTON HOUSE

  HIS BRIGHT LIGHT: CROSSINGS

  THE STORY OF NICK TRAINA ONCE IN A LIFETIME

  THE KLONE AND I A PERFECT STRANGER

  THE LONG ROAD HOME REMEMBRANCE

  THE GHOST PALOMINO

  SPECIAL DELIVERY LOVE: POEMS

  THE RANCH THE RING

  SILENT HONOR LOVING

  MALICE TO LOVE AGAIN

  FIVE DAYS IN PARIS SUMMER'SEND

  LIGHTNING SEASON OF PASSION

  WINGS THE PROMISE

  THE GIFT NOW AND FOREVER

  ACCIDENT PASSION'S PROMISE

  VANISHED GOING HOME

  On ne voit bien qu'avec le coeur.

  L'essentiel est invisible pour les yeux.

  One can only see clearly with the heart.

  What is essential is invisible to the eye.

  —Le Petit Prince

  Antoine de Saint-Exupéry

  To those who are seeking, those who have sought, those who have found—the lucky devils! And especially, with great fondness and respect, to those who have ground through this unnatural process, and not only survived with their minds and hearts intact, but managed to find the needle in the haystack, and win the prize!

  Climbing Everest is easier, and surely less fraught with danger and despair.

  And to all of my friends, who have tried ineptly or expertly to find the perfect man for me, in other words someone at least as weird as I.

  To those of you who have set me up on blind dates, which will give me something to laugh at in my old age, I—almost!—forgive you.

  And above all, to my wonderful children, who have watched and shared, and loved and supported me with humor, encouragement, and infinite patience. For their love and eternal support, I am profoundly grateful.

  With all my love,

  d.s.

  What is a date? A date is when two people, who hardly know each other, go out to dinner, and push their food around their plates nervously, while trying to ask as many questions as possible in the shortest possible time. As in: Do you ski? Play tennis? Do you like dogs? Why do you think your marriage fell apart? Why do you think your ex-wife said you were controlling? Do you like chocolate? Cheesecake? Have you ever been convicted of a felony? How do you feel about drugs? How many alcoholics are there in your family? What kind of medication are you on? Did you have plastic surgery, or is that your real nose? Chin? Upper lip? Breasts? Behind? What kind of surgery have you had? Do you like kids? Have you ever dated any? What foreign languages do you speak? What's your ideal honeymoon? Two weeks in the Himalayas?? Really? Have you ever been on safari? To Paris? To Des Moines? Are you religious? When did you last see your mother? How long have you been in therapy? Why not? How many DUIs have you had? Where does your wife think you are tonight? How long have you been married? Divorced? Widowed? Out of jail? On parole? Unemployed? What's your next career move? I'm sure the circus does offer fabulous travel opportunities, but what about the high wire? Have you been bulimic all your life? How many twelve-step groups are you a member of? When is later? How soon do you think you'll call??

  A blind date is when well-meaning friends select two people from opposite ends of the earth, with as little in common as humanly possible, and lie to each of them about just how fabulous, interesting, normal, well adjusted, intelligent, and attractive the other half of the blind date is. Reality hits as they come through the door. You then pursue the same formula as on a regular date, hopefully in less time, and you pray that they wrote down your phone number wrong. After that you go home and cry, eventually laugh, and never speak to the friends who set you up again. And after you forget just how bad it was, you let the same friends, or others, do it to you again.

  W
ith love and empathy.

  d.s.

  Chapter 1

  It was a perfect balmy May evening, just days after spring had hit the East Coast with irresistible appeal. The weather was perfect, winter had vanished literally overnight, birds were singing, the sun was warm, and everything in the Armstrongs' Connecticut garden was in bloom. The entire week had been blessed with the kind of weather that made everyone slow down, even in New York. Couples strolled, lunch hours stretched. People smiled. And in Greenwich that night, Paris Armstrong decided to serve dinner outside on the flagstone patio they had just redone near the pool. She and Peter were giving a dinner party on a Friday night, which was rare for them. They did most of their entertaining on Saturday, so Peter didn't have to rush home from work in the city on Friday night. But the caterers had only been available on this particular Friday. They had weddings booked for every Saturday night through July. It was harder for Peter, but he'd been a good sport when she told him about the Friday night plan. Peter indulged her most of the time, he always had. He liked making life easy for her. It was one of the myriad things she loved about him. They had just celebrated their twenty-fourth anniversary in March. It was hard to believe sometimes how the years had flown by and how full they had been. Megan, their eldest, had graduated from Vassar the year before, and at twenty-three, she had recently taken a job in L.A. She was interested in all aspects of film and had landed a job as a production assistant with a movie studio in Hollywood. She was barely more than a gofer, as she admitted openly, but she was thrilled with just being there, and wanted to be a producer one day. William, their son, had just turned eighteen, and was graduating in June. He was going to UC Berkeley in the fall. It was hard to believe that their kids were grown. It seemed only minutes before that she had been changing diapers and carpooling, taking Meg to ballet, and Wim to hockey games. And in three months he'd be gone. He was due in Berkeley the week before the Labor Day weekend.

  Paris made sure that the table had been set properly. The caterers were reliable and had a good eye. They knew her kitchen well. She and Peter liked to entertain, and Paris used them frequently. They enjoyed their social life and over the years they had collected an eclectic assortment of interesting friends. She set the flowers that she had arranged herself on the table. She had cut a profusion of multicolored peonies, the tablecloth was immaculate, and the crystal and silver gleamed. Peter probably wouldn't notice, especially if he was tired when he got home, but what he sensed more than saw was the kind of home she provided him with. Paris was impeccable about details. She created an atmosphere of warmth and elegance that people flourished in. She did it not only for him and their friends but for herself as well.

  Peter provided handsomely for her too. He'd been generous with her and the children. He had been very successful over the years. He was a partner in a lucrative law firm, specializing in corporate accounts, and at fifty-one, he was the managing partner. The house he'd bought for them ten years before was large and beautiful. It was a handsome stone house, in one of the more luxurious neighborhoods in Greenwich, Connecticut. They'd talked about hiring a decorator, but in the end she had decided to decorate it herself, and loved doing it. Peter was thrilled with the results. They also had one of the prettiest gardens in Greenwich. She'd done such a great job with the house that he had often teased her and told her she should become a decorator, and most people who saw the house agreed. But although artistic, her interests had always been similar to his.

  She had a solid respect and understanding for the business world. They had married as soon as she graduated from college, and she had gone to business school and graduated with an MBA. She had wanted to start a small business of her own, but got pregnant in her second year of business school, and had decided to stay home with their children instead. And she'd never had any regrets. Peter supported her in her decision, there was no need for her to work. And for twenty-four years, she had felt competent and fulfilled, devoting herself full-time to Peter and their children. She baked cookies, organized school fairs, ran the school auction every year, made costumes by hand at Halloween, spent countless hours at the orthodontist with them, and generally did what many other wives and mothers did. She didn't need an MBA for any of it, but her extensive understanding of the corporate world, and her lively interest in it made it a lot easier when talking to Peter late at night about the cases he was working on. If anything, it even made them closer. She was, and had been, the perfect wife for him, and he had profound respect for the way she had brought up their children. She had turned out to be everything he had expected her to be—and Paris was equally pleased with him.

  They still shared laughter on Sunday mornings, as they snuggled beneath the covers for an extra half-hour on cold wintry days. And she still got up with him at the crack of dawn every weekday, and drove him to the train, and then came back to take the kids to school, until they were old enough to drive themselves, which had come far too quickly for her. And the only dilemma she had now was trying to figure out what she was going to do with herself when Wim left for Berkeley in August. She could no longer imagine a life without teenagers splashing in the pool in summer, or turning the house upside down as they overflowed the downstairs playroom on the weekends. For twenty-three of the twenty-four years of her marriage, her life had entirely and unreservedly revolved around them. And it saddened her to know that those days were almost over for good.

  She knew that once Wim left for college, life as she had known it for so long would be over. He would come home for the occasional weekend, and holidays, as Meg had while she was at Vassar, only less so because he would be so far away, on the West Coast. Once Meg had graduated, she had all but disappeared. She had gone to New York for six months, moved into an apartment with three friends, and then left for California as soon as she found the job she wanted in L.A. From now on, they would see her on Thanksgiving and Christmas, if they were lucky, and God only knew what would happen once she got married, not that she had any plans. Paris knew only too well that in August, when Wim left, her life would be forever changed.

  After twenty-four years out of the job market, she couldn't exactly head for New York and go to work. She'd been baking cookies and driving carpools for too long. The only thing she had thought of doing so far was volunteer work in Stamford, working with abused kids, or on a literacy program a friend of hers had started in the public schools for underprivileged high school students who had managed to get most of the way through high school and could barely read. Beyond that, she had no idea what she was going to do with herself. Peter had told her years before that once the kids left, it would be a great opportunity for them to travel together, and to do things they had never been able to do before. But his work hours had stretched so noticeably in the last year, she thought it unlikely he would be able to get away. He rarely even made it home for dinner anymore. From what Paris could see, for the moment at least, both of her children and her husband had busy, productive lives, and she didn't. And she knew she had to do something about it soon. The prospect of the vast amount of free time she was about to have on her hands was beginning to frighten her. She had talked to Peter about it on several occasions, and he had no useful suggestions to make. He told her she'd figure it out sooner or later, and she knew she would. At forty-six, she was young enough to start a career if she wanted to, the problem was that she didn't know what she wanted to do. She liked things the way they were, taking care of her children and husband, and attending to their every need on the week-ends—particularly Peter's. Unlike some of her friends, whose marriages had shown signs of strain over the years, or even ruptured entirely, Paris was still in love with him. He was kinder, gentler, more considerate, in fact he was more sophisticated and seasoned, and even better looking than he had been when they got married. And he always said the same about her.

  Paris was slim and lithe and athletic. Once the children were older and she had more free time, she played tennis almost every day, and was in terrific shape
. She wore her straight blond hair long, and most of the time wore it pulled back in a braid. She had classic Grace Kelly good looks, and green eyes. Her figure was noteworthy, her laughter easy, and her sense of humor quick to ignite, much to the delight of her friends. She used to love playing practical jokes, which never failed to amuse her children. Peter was far quieter by nature, and always had been. By the time he came home at night after a long day and the commute on the train, more often than not, he was too tired to do much more than listen to her, and make the occasional comment. He came to life more on the weekends, but even then he was quiet and somewhat reserved. And in the last year he had been consumed with work. This was, in fact, the first dinner party they had given in three months. He had worked late every Friday night, and gone back into town some Saturdays, to clear things off his desk, or meet with clients. But Paris was always patient about it. She made few demands on him, and had a profound respect for his diligence about his work. It was what made him so good at what he did, and so highly admired in business and legal circles. She couldn't fault him for being conscientious, although she missed spending more time with him. Particularly now, with Meg gone for the past six months, and Wim busy with his own life and friends in the final weeks of his senior year. Peter's heavy workload in recent months reminded her yet again that she was going to have to find something to occupy her time in September. She had even thought of starting a catering business, or investing in a nursery, since she enjoyed her garden so much. But the catering business, she knew, would interfere with her time with Peter on the weekends, and she wanted to be available to him whenever he was home, which was seldom enough these days.

  She took a shower and dressed after checking the table and cruising through the kitchen to check on the caterers, and everything seemed in good order. They were having five couples for dinner, all of them good friends. She was looking forward to it, and hoped Peter would get home in time to unwind before the guests arrived. She was thinking of him, when Wim stuck his head in her bedroom door while she was getting dressed. He wanted to tell her his plans, a house rule she rigidly enforced even at his age. She wanted to know where her children were at all times, and with whom. Paris was the consummate responsible mother and devoted wife. Everything in her life was in perfect order, and relatively good control.