A Good Man Is Hard To Find : Part 5

Because She Can: A Novel
by Bridie Clark

(Page 5 of 6)

Of course not, I told myself. There's got to be a Molly Simms doppelgänger lurking in the wings.

Not wanting to come right out and ask him, I took a roundabout route. "Didn't you date Alexandra Dixon back in college?" I asked. Alexandra was the femme fatale.

"I did, you've got a great memory. Did you know Alex?"

"We took a few English classes together. She was such a nice girl." Okay, so these were not exactly true statements: Alex Dixon and I had taken one class together, and she'd never looked at me once. I had no hard evidence that she was nice-only that she was stunning, brilliant, poised, and multilingual. I swear I never heard her speaking the same language twice. Since I didn't necessarily want to remind Randall of those attributes, I'd pulled a more banal adjective out of thin air. Nice.

"Well, she's doing amazingly well. Spent a year modeling in Milan, and then came back to the States for med school. Now she's a neurosurgeon, if you can believe that!"

Of course I believed it.

"Wow," I said lamely, "I bet not many models can make that transition. Are you guys still in touch?"

"No, we're not. Haven't been for years, unfortunately. She's living in Chicago now, with her husband and two kids. Crazy, huh?"

"Two kids?" I repeated, mood brightening. At least his model-neurosurgeon ex sounded pretty tied down.

"So how about you?" he asked, his eyes focusing on me intensely. "Married? Kids?"

"Nope, not yet"-I could feel myself blushing-"I've been pretty focused on my career."

"I hear that." Randall looked at me again in a way that made my knees wobbly. "I ended something long term last year. My ex was a terrific girl, but I just couldn't see myself marrying her. It didn't seem fair to keep her hanging."

My heart did secret backflips at the poor girl's misfortune. "Well, I'm sure you have no problem meeting women."

"Meeting women like you is much harder than you think," he answered. "You know ... smart, successful women who also happen to be beautiful?"

Had I just received the triple crown of compliments from Randall Cox? Smart? Successful? Beautiful? Was this actually happening?

"Listen, Claire, I know the party's just getting going, but is there any chance you'd feel like grabbing dinner? The cheese puffs aren't doing it for me."

Remain calm. Remain cool. Do not dork out.

"I'd love that," I squeaked.

Randall smiled. The next thing I knew, we were gliding together toward the door, Randall's strong hand on the small of my back. I waved to Bea over my shoulder, and she gave me a discreet thumbs-up.

"You're quiet, Claire. I'm talking too much about work," Randall apologized, refilling my wineglass.

It was a slightly out-of-body experience, having a date with my biggest crush of the past decade. It might be comparable to sitting down to dine with some mega-watt celebrity and having to gracefully overcome the shock of being so close to a face you'd seen on billboards, on movie screens, on E! True Hollywood Story. Randall's face had starred in my daydreams for so many years, replaced temporarily by lesser crushes but never completely retired. So, naturally, I was a little overwhelmed to find myself sitting across a small candlelit table from him at Il Cantinori-a perpetually hot date spot that Harry referred to as Il Can't-Afford-Me.

"Not at all," I answered, "It's really amazing how much you've accomplished in such a short amount of time." It was true, even if it did sound as though I were laying it on thick-Randall had a phenomenal résumé for such a young guy. Besides picking up his MBA from Harvard, he'd become the youngest managing director in the history of Goldman Sachs-an investment bank not exactly known for employing noncompetitive slackers. And he'd done it in one of the toughest economic climates imaginable.

"Well, I like to feel challenged," Randall deferred humbly. His BlackBerry went off and he glanced at the screen. "I'm sorry, Claire, it's Greg again. Really busy time at the office. I've got to take this quickly."

Greg had called three times since we left the gallery. I checked my watch. It was now 10:45. Did Randall ever get a break from work? Poor guy! Although I often gave Bea a hard time about gabbing on her phone when we were together, I waited patiently as Randall gave his associate a series of indecipherable commands.

Actually, I was impressed by Randall's work ethic, especially given that he could've coasted through life without lifting a finger. I knew from Mom that the Coxes lived large and that Randall could've chosen a far less arduous career path-as an ancient compass collector, say, or an unemployed actor-if he'd been so inclined. That he'd instead opted for the rigors and challenges of a fast-paced career said a lot about the kind of guy Randall was.

Copyright © 2007 by Bridie Clark

About the Author

Bridie Clark is a former book and magazine editor who has worked for several major New York publishers. She lives in New York City with her husband. This is her first novel.