Impossible Page 0,18
decent guys around. This one's a good one.” Or at least Alana thought so. But she had proven over the past year that her judgment had been colored by desperation.
“I don't want a good one,” Sasha said sadly. She liked her friend, or always had, but hated what she was becoming. Her good taste, good judgment, and dignity seemed to have gone out the window the moment she became a widow. Sasha was sure that not all widows were like her. Alana also had severe money problems, and was desperate to find a husband to solve them. And as Arthur had said before he died, men could smell it. Eau de Panic, as Arthur had called it. It was not a perfume men liked.
“You want Arthur,” Alana said, rubbing salt in her wounds. “Well, if you want to know the truth, I want Toby. But they're gone, Sash. They're not coming back, and we're stuck here without them. We have to make the best of a bad situation, any way we can.”
“I'm not ready to do that,” Sasha said kindly. She didn't tell her friend how foolish she looked, or how embarrassing she was becoming. “Maybe staying alone is the right answer. I can't even imagine dating.” Nor did she want to.
“Sasha, you're forty-eight years old, I'm fifty-three. We're too young to be alone forever.” Sasha had felt young when she was married to Arthur. Since he had died, she felt ancient.
“I don't know, Alana. I don't know what the answer is. I just know that right now I'd rather be dead than dating.” As always, she was painfully honest.
“Be patient with yourself. Give these guys a chance, sooner or later you'll find one you want.” Judging by the men Alana had been dating for the past year, with the exception of the current one, none of them were men most sane women would have wanted, except maybe for their money. Alana had a whole different agenda than Sasha. All Sasha was trying to do was survive Arthur's loss. “In a few months, you'll feel different. Wait till after the first year. Then you'll be ready.”
“I hope not. I have my children, my galleries, and my artists.” Although without Arthur, nothing but the children meant anything to her. She could hardly concentrate on her work now. All it did was get her out of the apartment in New York, or her house in Paris. But nothing in her life brought her joy.
“That's not enough, and you know it,” Alana chided.
“Maybe it is for me.”
“Well, it isn't for me,” Alana said firmly. “I want to find a nice guy and get married.” Or if not a nice one, a rich one. Sasha had no interest in either. “Give yourself another six months, and you'll be out there looking too.”
“God, I hope not,” Sasha said grimly. Just thinking about it depressed her more.
“We'll see,” Alana said, as though she knew better. But one thing was for sure, it wasn't easy for anyone, divorced or widowed, to find men these days. Alana said she'd been hearing that from all her friends. So had Sasha, not that she cared.
She went back to Paris the following week, and stayed for two weeks this time. For the first time in months, she visited her artists, in several cities in Europe—Brussels, Amsterdam, and Munich. And she stopped in London on the way home to visit her son. He was in much better spirits, and producing some very interesting new work. She was impressed when she saw it. She gave him the name of a gallery she thought he should talk to, and he was pleased. He didn't want to show at Suvery. It reeked of nepotism to him, and he was determined to make it on his own.
Xavier had mentioned his friend Liam Allison to her again several times in recent months. He insisted that Liam was one of the most talented artists he had ever known, and he wanted her to see his work.
“I'd be happy to, but I want him to send me slides first.” She didn't want to waste her time, and seeing his slides was a screening process for her. But no matter how many times she told Xavier that, his friend never sent them to her. Xavier claimed he was shy, which wasn't unusual for a young artist, or even an older one, but he sounded anything but shy from the tales Xavier always regaled her with. Every time Xavier got out