“Hi, Max,” he said calmly. “How are you? Sorry about all the chaos.” He was as dazzling as ever. He had a deep tan, which made his electric blue eyes even more startling. He was wearing jeans, a black turtleneck sweater, and black alligator cowboy boots that had been made for him in Milan. There was no question, Maxine reminded herself, he was a knockout. Everything about him was appealing, and incredibly handsome, for about ten minutes. And then you realized you couldn't count on him, he never showed up, and no matter how charming he was, he was never going to grow up. He was the best-looking, smartest, most adorable Peter Pan in the world. It was great if you wanted to play Wendy, but if not, he just wasn't the right man. She had to remind herself of that at times. Being in his aura was a heady experience. But she knew better than anyone that he wasn't a responsible adult. Sometimes she felt like he was her fourth child.
“They love the chaos,” she reassured him. Being with him was a three-ring circus. And who didn't love that at their age? It was a lot harder to take at hers. “You look great, Blake. How was Morocco, or Paris, or wherever you were?”
“The house in Marrakech is going to be terrific. I've been there all week. I was in Paris yesterday.” She laughed at the contrast between their lives. She had been at Silver Pines, seeing Jason, on Long Island. It was a far cry from the glamor of her ex-husband's life, but she wouldn't have traded places with him for the world. She couldn't have lived that way anymore. “You look great too, Max. Still too busy? Seeing a million patients? I don't know how you do it.” Particularly knowing what heavy things she dealt with. He admired the work she did, and the kind of mother she was. She had been a great wife too. He always said so.
“I like it that way,” Maxine said, smiling. “Someone has to do it, and I'm glad it's me. I love working with kids.” He nodded, knowing how true that was.
“How was Thanksgiving with your parents?” He used to feel stifled at those Thanksgivings, and yet in a funny way he loved them too. They were what every family should be, and so few were. He hadn't had a holiday like that in five years.
“It was nice. They love the kids, and they're so sweet. They're both in remarkably good shape for their age. My father is still operating, though not as much, and teaching and practicing full time, at seventy-nine.”
“You will be too,” Blake said, as he poured champagne into two glasses and handed her one. He always drank Cristal. She took it and sipped it, admiring the view from his apartment. It was like flying over the city. Everything he owned or touched had that magical quality to it. He was what people dreamed of being if they hit it big, but very few people had Blake's style and ability to pull it off.
She was surprised he didn't have a woman with him this time, and a few minutes later, he explained it with a rueful smile. “I just got dumped,” he said, by a twenty-four-year-old supermodel, who had run off with a major rock star, who Blake said had a bigger plane. Maxine couldn't help laughing at the way he said it. He didn't seem upset, and she knew he wasn't. The girls he went out with were just playmates for him. He had no desire whatsoever to settle down, and didn't want more kids, so eventually the young women he went out with had to marry someone else. Marriage with him was never an option, and the farthest thing from his mind. As they sat in his living room and chatted, Sam wandered in, and hopped up on his mother's lap. He sat watching Blake with interest, as though he were a family friend and not his father, and then inquired about the girlfriend he'd had with him the previous summer. Blake looked at him and laughed.
“You've missed two since then, champ. I was just telling your mom. I got dumped last week. So it's just me this time.” Sam nodded at the explanation, and glanced at his mother.
“Mom doesn't have a boyfriend either. She never goes out. She has us.”
“She should go out,” Blake said, smiling at both of them. “She's a very beautiful woman, and one of these days you guys are going to grow up.” It was exactly what Maxine's father had said that day after lunch. She had another twelve years until Sam left for college. She was in no hurry, despite everyone else's concerns. He asked Sam about school then, not knowing what else to say, and Sam told his father he had been the turkey in the school play. Maxine had emailed Blake the pictures of it, as she always did of important events. She had sent a slew of them to him of Jack at his soccer games.
The children wandered in and out, chatting easily with their parents, and getting used to Blake again. Daphne looked at him with open adoration, and when she left the room, Maxine told him about the incident with the beer, just so he was aware of it, and didn't let it happen when Daphne was with him.
“Come on, Max,” he chided her gently, “don't be so uptight. She's just a kid. Don't you think restriction for a month is a little over the top? She's not going to turn into an alcoholic from two beers.” It was the kind of reaction she expected from him, and not one she liked. But she wasn't surprised. It was one of the many differences between them. Blake didn't believe in rules, for anyone, and least of all himself.
“No, she isn't,” Maxine said quietly. “But if I let them have beer parties now, at thirteen, where are we going to be at sixteen or seventeen? Crack parties when I'm out seeing patients, or heroin? She's got to have limits, and respect for boundaries, or we're going to be in deep shit in a few years. I'd rather put the brakes on now.”
“I know,” he sighed, the blue eyes looking brighter than ever as he glanced at her sheepishly. He looked like a boy who had just been scolded by his mother or teacher. It was a role Maxine didn't like, but had had with him for years. She was used to it by now. “You're probably right. It just doesn't seem like such a big deal to me. I did a lot worse at her age. I was stealing scotch out of my father's bar at twelve, and selling it in school for a hell of a profit.” He laughed and so did Max.
“That's different. That's business. You were an entrepreneur at that age, not a drunk. I'll bet you weren't drinking it.” He was not an excessive drinker as a rule, and had never done drugs. He was just wild in every other way. Blake was allergic to boundaries of any kind.
“You're right.” Blake laughed harder at the memory. “I didn't do that till I was fourteen. I was more interested in staying sober and getting the girls drunk that I went out with. That seemed like a much better plan to me.”
Max shook her head, laughing at him. “Why is it I think that hasn't changed?”
“I don't need to get them drunk anymore,” he confessed with a shameless grin. They had the strangest relationship, like great friends, more than people who had been married for ten years and had three children. He was like the crazy pal she saw two or three times a year, while she was the responsible one, bringing up children and going to work every day. They were night and day.