Been In Love Before: A Novel (10 page)

Chapter Nineteen

He sat at his desk, intently watching the phone as he waited for his next patient to arrive.

“Dr. Macgregor?” June asked.

Startled, Ryan looked up at her.

“That phone won’t dial itself, you know?” She had known him long enough to tell he was preoccupied.

He was quiet at first. “I know.”

“And it won’t ring just because you want it to.” She looked at him and turned to walk away. She was glad he was alive; he was a good person and a good boss. Anything could have happened—that crazy patient could have killed him and . . . killed her. She shuddered just thinking about it.

He continued to look at the phone on his desk.
I’m going to call her. Right now. Yes, that’s what I’m going to do.
He went to grab the receiver just as the phone rang.

June reached across his desk to answer it. “Good morning. Dr. Macgregor’s office.” She nodded her head as she listened. Then a small smile crept across her face. “Hold on just a minute, please; let me check to see if he’s available.” She put the call on hold. “Ms. Alexi Cassini on the phone for you. Do you want to take the call?” she asked with a wry grin on her face.

He coughed as he sat up in his chair, moving his head from side to side to help himself relax and to loosen his neck muscles as he prepared to take the call. “Yes, I’ll speak with her. Of course.” He picked up the phone but waited to press the button to speak to her.

June stood and watched before she finally turned away, saying, “Men. Umphh.”

“Hi,” he said quietly into the phone as the door closed behind her.

“Hi back.” An awkward moment of silence ensued.

Then he said, “Hey, listen, about last night, I was a little off yesterday. Must have been something I ate or . . .”

“It’s okay. I understand, but you still have dance lessons left on your package, and I was thinking, that is, if you want to, we could do it later tonight or tomorrow, depending on your schedule.”

“Tonight works fine for me. If that’s okay.”

“Sure,” she said with a bouncy cheer. “See you about . . . eight?” Her laugh was like Gracie’s lighthearted way.

“Perfect. See you then.” He hung up the phone, but something was troubling him. His memories of Gracie were slipping away and being replaced by thoughts of dancing, dining, smiling . . . and Alexi.
Where is all of this going?

Later Ryan drove to the dance studio and found her waiting for him when he arrived. Other instructors were scattered about the room, practicing with their students.

“Hey. Sorry about last night. Like I said, it must have been something I ate or . . .”

“It’s okay,” she said sweetly. “Don’t give it another thought. We all have days like that . . . it’s fine, really. Follow me.”

She started her music in the private lesson room and walked back to him. “You just missed your brothers. They came in for their lesson.”

“Yes, I couldn’t make it with them; I had a late-afternoon patient I had to see.”

She smiled her sweet smile. “You did very well with your lesson, especially the waltz. Let’s just practice a little more. Okay?”

“Sure.” The music began as he took her in his arms. He looked at her. Tonight was different; she was different. Her hair lay gracefully on her shoulders and was not pinned tightly above her head, as it had been during their last lesson. Gone was the gym leotard, replaced by a chic beaded top and tailored skirt, the kind Gracie always wore.

Taking Alexi in his arms, he detected the slightest hint of perfume as they began their dance. It was Grace’s favorite. He closed his eyes, listened to the music, and could not help himself. He dreamed he was dancing with his Gracie. She felt perfect in his arms—so soft, warm, and tender. The rise and fall of the dance came naturally, his shoulders perfectly squared as he spun, rotated, and danced to the music. He opened his eyes, then led Alexi back across the room in a butterfly movement, alternating sides until finally the song was over.

When they were finished, she stepped back and looked at him, impressed. “That was wonderful.” She just stood there looking at him. He had surprised even himself.

“You were dancing with your wife just now, weren’t you?”

He hesitated for a moment before saying, “I’m sorry. Yes, I guess I was. It felt so natural.”

“I could tell, but that’s good. I dance with my husband all the time,” she said quietly, touching her chest. “You know, you remind me of . . .” She paused for a moment before changing the subject. “Let’s try it one more time, then we can add some other moves.”

It was all coming back to him as he remembered the dance steps from years gone by. It was more like dancing than a lesson.

They sat for a break and soon discovered they had been practicing for over an hour and that the studio was empty except for the receptionist reading a magazine at her desk.

Alexi dabbed her face with a towel, leaned back in the chair, and looked at him. “I can understand how uncomfortable it can be to dance with someone new. Or be with someone new. I only danced with my husband until he passed away.”

“Gracie and I took lessons for years, and we danced once or twice a week. I loved to dance with her. To hold her in my arms . . . was magical.” He realized he was rambling. “How long has it been since your husband passed away?”

“Four years. We were in Argentina at a dance competition. Juan stopped at a stoplight in Buenos Aires, and when he went to kiss me, a truck came up behind us. He hit us at full speed. The next thing I knew, I woke up in the hospital. I found out later the truck had lost its brakes and slammed into us. I was hospitalized for weeks. My husband died a few days after the accident. I still miss him terribly, but I realize he would want me to get on with my life. It still took me over a year before I could even practice dance with anyone else.”

Alexi looked over at him with a sweet smile on her face. “My brother owns this studio. He invited me to come here, to dance and to teach. So three years later, here I am.” She stopped and looked at him. “You know, you have his laugh. My Juan Carlos. You shouldn’t be afraid to show it. It’s a wonderful gift. It tells the whole world you’re happy.”

Alexi stretched out her legs, then crossed them, causing her skirt to rise slightly. She had beautiful legs, long and athletic. His eyes lingered on them. She was intoxicating. He took a deep breath as he sat looking at her.

She caught his gaze, swallowed once, and asked, “Once more around the dance floor?”

“Sure.”

“I think you have the waltz down pretty well. Would you like to brush up on any other dance? Maybe the rumba? The one they call the dance of love?” she laughed.

“Yes, that’s exactly what I was thinking. A nice slow rumba to end the evening, and help wind down.”

They danced together while she slowly brought her head close to his, dancing the slow Latin classic. When they separated for a spin or turn, she came back to him, each time closer. When the music was over, he spun her out and she returned to his arms, her face this time mere inches from his. He moved to her, wanting to kiss her.
Heaven help me,
he thought as they both closed their eyes and . . .

“Excuse me, Ms. Cassini?” came a voice over the intercom from the front desk. “It’s after closing time, and if you don’t mind, I have a bus to catch for home. Can you lock up for the night?”

With the moment broken, they both looked toward the receptionist, and she waved good night.

“I have one more lesson left with you. I thought perhaps, maybe . . . ,” he began.

“Saturday night?” she said, finishing his sentence.

“Yes, yes, exactly what I was thinking. What time?”

“Later. Say nine o’clock.”

“That works fine. See you then. Good night.”

He could not wait to see her again. To dance with her, to hold her in his arms, and . . .

Chapter Twenty

The Boynton Beach Town Hall Center was filled with people. So many women, all very well dressed, sipping tea and coffee, eating doughnuts and bagels. The room was abuzz with chatter. Robert felt uncomfortable wearing the new tie that Patti had bought for him. He was tempted to remove it, but when he spoke to her that morning, she had told him, “Whatever you do, don’t take your tie off until you’re done and back in your truck.” He heeded her advice.

A friendly male face in the crowd waved at him. “Hi, I’m Jeremy. You must be . . .”

“Robert, or just Bob Macgregor.”

“Good to meet you, ‘just Bob.’ Is this your first time doing a senior speed-dating session?”

“Yes, I’m afraid it is.”

“Piece of cake. Here’s how it works. You take a seat across from one of the ladies, and you get three minutes to talk to her. A buzzer will sound, and you thank the woman for her time and move to the next seat. The tables are set up in a circle so you just keep going until you’re back at the seat where you first sat down. If the lady likes you, she will give you a bio card with some information about her—her background, her interests, her photo, and contact information. And she’ll invite you to call or e-mail her.” Jeremy could tell that Bob was overwhelmed.

“At the end of the session, there’ll be coffee and cake, and you’ll have the opportunity to mingle with the ladies and to talk with them again. Just remember to be yourself and be respectful. And don’t be disappointed if you don’t get any cards, this being your first session and all. I made up some bio cards for you to hand out to the ladies that you like, which lists the information you sent me.” A bell rang to alert all the participants to take a seat.

“Good luck, Bob. You’ll do just fine. Listen for the buzzer.”

Bob grabbed an empty chair and smiled at the woman across from him. The buzzer went off, and the room was suddenly filled with voices.

She had a very pleasant smile. Bob liked that about her. “Hi, I’m Matrice. I’m a snowbird and flew down here from Maine. I usually stay here in Florida for the winter, and I like to attend as many of these dating sessions as possible. Then go back to Maine in the summer. So tell me, are you divorced, widowed, or what?”

“My wife died of cancer almost two years ago.”

“I’m so sorry to hear that. My Claude died six years ago, and I’ve been looking for somebody for about that long. Are you handy around the house?”

“Very handy. Why?”

“Well, my other home, the summer place, is kind of remote, in the mountains of Maine, and it needs a lot of work. So I thought I would kill two birds with one stone, so to speak, if you know what I mean?”

Bob smiled at her. “Can I make a suggestion?”

“Sure,” she said and her expression perked up.

“Talk to some of the handymen advertising up there, and bring them in to do some work for you. I am sure there are many single repair people in Maine who are also looking for potential mates. You could even invite them in for dinner if you like.”

“Wow, that’s a great idea. Two birds with one stone. Here’s my card and bio if you think you may be interested in the job. I would really like to—”
Buzzzzzz.

He shook her hand and moved to the next seat.

“Hi, I’m Betty. I live here in Boca full-time. Have you been to many of these? I come here and to the one in Delray all of the time, but I just haven’t had any luck yet. You must be new; I’ve never seen you before.” The words came tumbling out so fast Bob could not keep up with her.

“I’m Bob. This is my first—”

She kept talking, and Bob was afraid she was going to pass out. “What’s your name again?”

“Robert. I mean Bob, Bob Macgregor.”

“Irish, huh. I once dated an Irishman in New York. Great guy, but—”
Buzzzzz.

“Nice to meet you, Betty.”

She handed him a card with her bio. “Call me. We can talk.”

He smiled and moved on to the next chair. “Hi, I’m . . .”

That day he met more than thirty-six women and accumulated thirty-two cards, including the one from Matrice. Afterward, when it was calmer, he poured himself some coffee and mingled with the group. They were by far the nicest, most considerate women he had met in a long, long time. Although a few were forceful, he talked with all of them. He laughed and was glad he had taken the time to come to the event. Robert arranged to call three of them. He also had a list of twelve others he needed advice about, so he phoned Patti when he got to his truck to ask her guidance.

She could not stop laughing as he told her of his adventures, and he started to laugh as he thought about the conversations. He loved Patti’s ways and how she made him laugh, just as his Tess always had.

They talked for a half hour, but when he started to ask her advice about the next steps for some of the women he had met, she stopped him. “Whoa, wait a minute, Dad. I suggest you call your old friend Coleen. You told me she wanted to hear all about your adventures. Talk to her about it. I’m sure she can give you some good advice, much better than I can.” She paused. “I just don’t feel comfortable talking about your love life, if you know what I mean?”

“Oh yeah, sure. You’re right,” he chuckled and hung up.
Well, Coleen did say to call her, to let her know how it went.

Later that evening he decided to call her. Bob was nervous about rejection when he picked up the phone and dialed her number. The phone rang twice, and he lost his nerve. He was about to hang up when he heard her sweet voice, say, “Hello?”

“Hi, it’s Robert.”

“Hiya, Mac.”

“I haven’t caught you at a bad time, have I?”

“No, I was just sitting here relaxing with a good book. What’s up?” He could hear her getting comfortable, with the sounds of rustling pillows and a book closing in the background.

“Well, I went to the senior speed-dating session today.”

“You did?” she nearly shouted.

Robert could not tell if she was surprised, excited, or somewhat disappointed. “Yeah. It was fun. I met some very nice ladies there. And I got over thirty bio information cards.”

Really?
she thought, upset with herself. This is not what she had thought would happen. What did she think? Wait . . . did she care? Yes, she reluctantly admitted to herself—she did care.

“Wow! Tell me about them, and don’t leave anything out.” She tried to sound enthused.

They talked for an over an hour as Bob gave her a play-by-play of the dates he remembered.

“They were all very nice. I made arrangements to call some of them and go out.”

“Good for you.”
What?
she thought.
Coleen, what did you think was going to happen—he’s a single, good-looking guy. And you turned him down when he asked you out.
She swallowed hard.

He paused; he wished he were sitting there next to her talking and sharing a glass of wine with her. He coughed. “I know it’s late, and I don’t want to keep you. But maybe we could do dinner one night, and I can tell you about the rest of them. Maybe you could give me some advice.”

Something held her back. She did not want to go down that path. “No, Bob, I don’t think that’s such a good idea.”

“Can I ask you why not?”

She paused. “Bobby, you’re an adorably handsome guy, almost sexy—but it would never work out.”

“Why not?”

She took in a deep breath. “Because we’re cut from different cloths. I like the ballet, the opera, the theater, classical music, and you like hunting, boating, fishing, country music, and camping. It wouldn’t work. I’m sorry, Mac, I have to go. Good-bye.” She was nearly in tears when she hung up the phone.
Damn him. Why me? Why now? I only wanted to be left alone. Why did he have to come back into my life? Why can’t he just leave me be?
She sat and watched the tall and serene grandfather clock in the corner, waiting for it to strike its melodious chimes, and she thought to herself,
I wonder when he’ll call me next?