My Favorite Midlife Crisis (45 page)

After we adjourned to the ballroom decorated in Palm Beach Pink and Putting Green, a color scheme Fleur called country club camouflage, Harry led her to the floor for their first dance as husband and wife. Then Dan gingerly steered Mrs. Talbot out for a waltz, and Kat—looking healthy and sublimely happy—whirled around with Lee who, out of his turtleneck and into a dinner jacket, could have been a cover boy for
GQ.
As for me, I managed a few steps with Clayborne before his wife cut in and I found myself back at the empty table facing my
salade endive avec d’amandes et des croutons.

I sipped champagne, nibbled a breadstick, and allowed myself to grow maudlin about Simon. Say what you will about the man—that he was a cheat and a liar and a fraud—short-term, he’d given me one wonderful
coup de foudre,
one hell of a lightning strike, and I wouldn’t have missed the flash-bang for the world. Or the payback.

Fleur lowered herself into the empty chair next to me and snatched two breadsticks and the croutons off my salad. “Wedding’s over, diet’s over. Aw, look at you. You mooning over Simon?”

I dabbed at my eyes with my napkin. “Kind of. I feel sentimental, but not sad. Weddings make you believe that fantasies can become real. And for a while there, I believed mine would.”

“I want you to know I specifically instructed the bandleader not to play ‘Lara’s Theme.’” She leaned in to accept my grateful finger squeeze and showered me with crumbs. “You’re not going to believe this, Gwynnie, but I’m glad you found Simon. No, really, and not only because it freed Harry up for me. That craziness with Simon set you up for the real thing. And don’t tell me you don’t want the real thing. You will when the right person along. Someone you’ll appreciate for being what we Episcopalian Jews call a mensch
.
A truly good human being. You’ll see.”

“That’s sweet, Fleur. But the truth is I’m fine the way I am. Content.”

Fleur said, “Content? Ick. Bor-ing.”

“Hey, don’t knock content. It’s a good place to be, a lot better than some of the places I’ve been lately. What I’m telling you is my life isn’t only full, it’s fulfilling and, as you would say, that ain’t chopped liver, right?” I smiled with the realization that what I was saying was finally what I was feeling. “Besides, even the thought of starting over is exhausting. Lest you forget, I’m fifty-four years old.”

“Lest
you
forget, you were also fifty-four six months ago. If you’re happy the way you are, great. Enough said. But don’t give me the age crap. Look at me. Look at Kat out there, dancing her ass off in three-inch heels. Madly in love with Lee, who adores her. The age thing, the breast thing—none of it matters to him.”

True. Kat had been planning on having reconstructive surgery, but now she wasn’t so sure. She’d always gone
au natural
anyway, the flower child, and Lee loved her, dents and all.

“He told her he loved her not
in spite of
but
because
of
everything that made her who she is. Pretty poetic shit to hear at any age,” Fleur said as she shifted her gaze. “Hell, look at my mother dancing with Dan. Eighty-three and she thinks she’s fifteen and swooning over Frank Sinatra. I guess she’s always had a thing for Italian men. She’s really gone over the line with this crush, though. Do you know what the old vixen did? She persuaded me to let her bridge club handle the invitations and write out the place cards, and somehow Dan wound up at table six, next to her, surrounded by his geriatric patients. Lucky man. He’ll be talking osteoporosis all evening.”

I laughed as I watched him gallantly steering Mrs. Talbot back to the table. “He’s such a great guy, he’s probably taking it all in stride. That was sweet of him, agreeing to be here without Connie.”

“There is no Connie,” Fleur said.

“What?”

“Well of course, there
is
a Connie. That kind dies only with a stake through its heart. What I meant is our Dan isn’t dating her anymore. He put it more kindly, but bottom line is Connie gave him a raft of excrement about coming to the wedding when she wasn’t invited. I smelled the pungent odor of an ultimatum. Her or my mother. Being Dan, he chose not to disappoint my mother.”

“Is he all broken up?” I asked.

“Nah, it never would have worked anyway. Beauty and Constanza the beast. So he’s currently at liberty. But you do know he’s not going to be sitting at home twiddling his various appendages for long. The man is a major catch.”

Fleur sucked a deep breath. “On the off chance you might be interested, he thinks you’re pretty. No, really, he said that when you walked in this afternoon. And bright. I distinctly remember he said bright.” She leaned across to the breadbasket and snagged a roll.

“Come on, Fleur, you’re making this up. Dan Rosetti? You don’t honestly believe...”

“Yeah, actually I do. Why not? You’re free, he’s snap-up-able. You’re a doctor, he’s a doctor. You can examine each other.”

“Boy, are you reaching. I told you I don’t need a man to make me complete.”

“Who said anything about complete? We’re talking about having some fun. If something more is meant to be, it’ll be. Then again, maybe Dan’s not right for you. On the other hand, you never can tell.” She swept a storm of crumbs off her bosom. “While you’re thinking that through, heads up, baby. He’s coming our way.”

So he was, smiling his wise smile and looking directly at me. “Gwyneth, I’ve been meaning to say hello all evening but I kind of got sidetracked. My cheering section.” He gestured towards the old folks’ table. “I heard that your clinic is really coming along. Congratulations. Which reminds me. I got a tentative yes from Eli Hunt, the cardiologist, for giving you four hours a week.”

Fleur drew an audible sigh of impatience, drummed her fingers on the pink tablecloth, and gave him the googly eye.

“Uhm, well, what I really wanted to tell you is that you’re looking exceptionally nice this evening.”

Fleur allowed him the thinnest placated smile.

“You too,” I said. “The dinner jacket. Very Cary Grant.”

“Mrs. Talbot says Rudolph Valentino.”

“What
ever.
Can’t you people continue this small talk on the dance floor?” Fleur grumbled, poking me to stand. I didn’t budge.

Dan grinned at me. “Good idea,” he said. “Do you cha-cha?”

“Of course she cha-chas,” Fleur answered for me. “She mambos, she rumbas, she boogaloos, she...” I sent her a numbing look and she grabbed a breadstick. Dan reached down and took my hand.

The band swung into a slow tune. “I guess this is going to be a fox-trot. You game?”

I nodded.

“I have to warn you I’m not a very good dancer,” he said. “I’m notorious for my two left feet. Actually, none of the Rosettis can dance. It must be congenital.”

Notorious. Congenital. The man was polysyllabic. Plus he had two left feet. Just my type.

So I did what I’d done all my life. I picked myself up, dusted myself off, and moved on. Right into his arms. And he stepped on my toes once or twice, but we danced.

Ah, did we dance.

About the Author

Toby Devens graduated from The American University in Washington, D.C., with a B.A. in English literature. She returned to Manhattan where she earned a M.A., also in English, from New York University. She was a writer and senior editor at Harcourt Brace publications when she met her future husband interviewing him at a medical conference. The couple moved to Maryland, where Toby worked in corporate and health-related communications until the birth of her daughter, Amanda. Her poetry, short fiction, and articles have appeared in such publications as
Reader’s Digest, Family Circle, McCall’s
and
Parents
magazine, among many others. Most recently, she served as senior vice president for an international network of transplant banks, supervising public relations and media outreach. Traveling extensively, involved hands-on, she had a front row seat to cutting-edge biotechnology and medical advances around the globe. Her writing related to medical issues has appeared in numerous professional publications and scientific journals. She continues to write and consult in the medical field.

The inspiration for
My Favorite Midlife Crisis (Yet)
emerged from her most recent sojourn into singlehood. She currently lives in a Maryland suburb halfway between Baltimore and Washington, D.C. Find out more at
www.tobydevens.com
.