Danielle Steel - The Apartment

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The day after he sent the roses, George sent Claire a beautiful coffee table book about the history of shoes. It was a thoughtful gift, and she was touched, but uneasy too. He was obviously trying to woo her, although he hadn’t called and asked her out, but she was afraid he would. She had no idea how to deal with someone like him. He was so totally out of her league. She was hoping he’d lose interest in her before he called her or sent any more gifts. And she still hadn’t said anything to Morgan about him, nor had she mentioned him to the others. He was rapidly becoming a dark secret.

Claire had sent out several e-mails that week, with her résumé, to her favorite shoe companies. Two of them had written back to tell her they had no positions open, and three more hadn’t responded. She hoped they would, but at least she was trying. Walter was annoying her more than ever, and being constantly critical, and in her face.

George was the bright spot in her life at the moment, although his attention made her nervous. He was just a player flirting with her, she was sure, and she reminded herself to keep her eye on the ball, which was her job. But the roses and the book kept distracting her. He was a hard man to ignore.

As it turned out, Sasha was on call at the hospital all Saturday afternoon. They called her in at one o’clock, and she did three deliveries back to back, dashing from one to the other, but all of them were simple and went smoothly. And she finished just before seven. She and Alex were supposed to have dinner at seven-thirty, and she had no time to go home and change.

She called Alex from the hospital, and was going to offer to postpone the date if he wanted to, since even if she went out to dinner, she might get called back again, although he had known she would be on call that night and said he didn’t mind and would take his chances.

“You get your wish,” she said to him when he answered. “I’m in scrubs and Crocs. I’ve been in L and D all day, and I just finished three deliveries. And it’s kind of late to go home and dress. What do you want to do? Do it another time?”

“Have you eaten?” he asked her simply.

“Not since breakfast, and two PowerBars between deliveries.”

“Perfect. I’m starving. I’ll pick you up at the ER in ten minutes. Are you done for now?”

“Yes, until they call me back in the middle of dinner.” She was smiling, he was so reasonable and easy to talk to. Men always made a big deal of it when she had to cancel or change plans. But he lived the same life she did, and the women he dated hadn’t liked it either.

“Fine. I’ll wear my scrubs if it makes you feel better. We can play doctor.” And then they both started laughing. “Sorry, that didn’t come out the way I meant it. Or maybe it did,” he teased her. “Do you like sushi?”

“I love it.”

“There’s a great place down the street. The food is good, the service is fast. If you get called in, you’ll at least have eaten. See you in five minutes.”

He was waiting for her outside the emergency room, in jeans and a clean, neatly pressed starched blue shirt and loafers, which looked like formal wear to her. She was wearing her hospital garb, and he told her she looked lovely, and meant it. And they walked down the street in the warm September evening. It was nice to get out of the hospital and felt like a vacation day to her, just being with him, talking about things other than work. And he was right, the food at the restaurant he’d chosen was delicious, and they served it quickly. They sat relaxing afterward, talking about skiing and sailing and their favorite books. They liked some of the same authors, and confessed with some embarrassment that both of them had been good students.

“So what’s your idea of the perfect date?” he asked her, still wanting to know more about her.

“We just had it. Good talk, good food, no pressure, someone nice to talk to, who isn’t having a fit that I was late, and might have to go back to work in five minutes, and doesn’t care what I wore to dinner. I like getting dressed up sometimes, but most of the time I’m too late to dress, and I’m too tired to care when I come home from work. And I fall asleep at the dinner table because I never got to bed the night before.” He had met all her criteria for the perfect date.

“I’m a little disappointed,” he said, looking slightly woebegone. “You never mentioned sex. That’s not part of your dating plan?” he asked hopefully, and she burst out laughing.

“I forgot,” she said honestly. “Do people still do that? Who has time for sex with jobs like ours?”

“I hear some people still do it,” he assured her mock seriously. “It’s an antiquated notion, I’ll admit, but I’m kind of an old-fashioned guy, and I like the old traditions, though not on the first date. Maybe second or third? Or nineteenth?” He looked at her hopefully, and she was smiling. She really liked him, and she could tell that he liked her, exactly the way she was, not in clothes she borrowed from her sister, and Claire’s ridiculous high heels. She had never been so comfortable on a first date.

“Yeah, sex on date nineteen sounds about right,” she teased him. “By then you might be married and could give it up completely.” Her parents hadn’t slept together in years before their divorce and had separate bedrooms.

“I don’t know if I agree with that,” Alex said seriously in response to her comment. “My parents still seem like they’re in love with each other, though God knows how, with my brother and me driving them crazy when we were growing up. But they seem to have survived it, and get along pretty well. I’d like to have a relationship like theirs one day. I suspect you have to work at it.” She nodded, and was fairly sure her parents hadn’t, and had slowly grown apart, until their marriage imploded. Her father had admitted to her that he’d been miserable and wanted more than he’d had with his ex-wife. He’d been starving for affection, which made sense, knowing her mother. “So do we have a plan here? Sex on date nineteen? Does lunch in the cafeteria count if the intention to date is there? If so, that makes this date two, which means we only have seventeen to go. Are you free for the next two and a half weeks? I could clear my calendar if you want me to.” She was laughing at what he said.

“Maybe we could stretch it out to three weeks,” she countered only half in jest. It was just talk, and easy banter between them. She liked his sense of humor, and his stories about his brother and parents. They sounded like the kind of family she wished she’d had, instead of her constantly angry mother and absentee father.

“Actually, the last date I had, I fell asleep on the couch watching a movie. When I woke up, my date had gone to bed without me, locked her bedroom door, and left me a note telling me to let myself out. It was the third time I had done that to her. She said ‘Call me after you get some sleep.’ I never did, I figured three strikes you’re out, and she was really boring. Maybe if we’d ever talked to each other, I could have stayed awake. The notion of sex as a sport you can play with a stranger, or a form of gymnastics, has never appealed to me. I’m a hopeless romantic and have this ridiculous idea that you’re supposed to care about each other. Maybe that sounds stupid to most people, and the last person I said that to, an ER nurse in the trauma unit, asked me if I was gay after I said it. She was sleeping with guys she met online, on the first date, and she thought I was a weirdo when we didn’t wind up in bed the day I met her. That’s fun at eighteen. After that, it’s nice if you care about, or at least know, the other person. Sleeping with strangers is too much work.” She liked what he was saying and agreed with him. His values were similar to hers, unlike Valentina, who openly admitted to sleeping with men on the first date. And she had been just as sexually adventuresome in high school. Love wasn’t necessary for her in order to have sex. Sasha was more old-fashioned, and so was Alex.

“I agree with you,” Sasha said quietly. “I think we’re kind of a throwback to another time. A lot of people don’t think like we do. The guys I’ve gone out with think sex is what you give them in exchange for a hamburger or a steak.” Alex smiled and was familiar with the theory too. He hadn’t felt that way since college.

“By the way, it’s okay if sex isn’t on the schedule until date thirty-six, or never. I like you, and I like the idea of getting to be friends first. Maybe we could get together and fall asleep in front of the TV sometime, or at a movie. Put me in the dark, after three nights on call, and you can count on me snoring in five minutes. I wake up for the credits, though. I like to know who made the movie I missed.” She laughed and admitted to doing the same thing.

“That happened to me at the symphony last year. Someone gave me tickets, and with the lights off and the music, I slept through the whole thing. I figure I’ll wait till I finish my residency before I try it again. It’s kind of wasted on me.”

“That’s why sports are so great. You can’t fall asleep playing touch football. Although I did fall asleep at the U.S. Open with my brother last year. He nearly killed me and said he wouldn’t waste a seat on me again. I’m actually pretty impressed we both stayed awake through dinner tonight, aren’t you?” He was beaming at her, he loved talking to her, and she was so beautiful it took his breath away, and he would have loved to sleep with her, but he didn’t want her to feel pressured, and preferred to move slowly. It made her feel comfortable and safe with him, and he could sense that. She was not a woman who was going to leap into anything.