My older man, Patrick, knew the whole idea of his son donating sperm for us to have kids was out of the question, so he didn’t push it. We returned to our “normal” selves, just enjoying each other and Chicago. His sexual desire for me was stronger than ever and I pretty much responded, including the early morning trysts. And I mean every morning.
New Year’s Eve was coming up and he made a reservation for us at a new posh hotel in Chicago. It was a package deal that included dinner, dancing to live music, a suite, and breakfast served in the room on New Year’s Day.
I bought a festive outfit—a winter white dress, black stilettos, and special lingerie.
Our evening began at the dinner table and Patrick was in such a romantic mood that he started singing some old romantic tune that completely embarrassed me. The song was so old that I didn’t even remember my parents knowing it, and they were big music fans. Patrick had a wonderful baritone voice, but even when he was trying to be subdued, his voice carried. People at surrounding tables looked at us. I couldn’t tell if they were irritated or amused, but I asked him to please stop singing. It was creating too much attention.
His singing isn’t really what bothered me. My real issue was how him singing that particular song pointed out the age difference between us, and it made me wonder if either one of us were really doing the right thing by being together. I wasn’t about to tell him that on New Year’s Eve, so I resolved to enjoy the evening and night together.
After a fabulous dinner of fresh lobster and veal chops, with a French wine from 1961 that nearly equaled my bi-weekly salary, we went to the dance floor. It was the first time we had danced together. Magic is all I can say about dancing with that man. He was so talented and led me in a way that made me feel like I was a princess. He had such a way of making me feel special and dancing brought it out in a special way.
We went to our suite around two o’clock in the morning and champagne was waiting, along with red roses. I changed into an Yves Saint Laurent negligee and we relaxed on a plush sofa facing a huge window overlooking Navy Pier and Lake Michigan. I no longer felt like the age difference mattered anymore. I was with a man who sensed my every need and pleasure, and heading into the New Year with him felt very right as we talked about our next trip together, which was not Hawaii again, but Europe—Paris, to be exact. I had never been to Europe and I couldn’t imagine a better escort than Patrick, who spoke French and, in many ways, had the heart and manners of a European man.
Several minutes later, he excused himself, went to the foyer, and returned with yet another gray suede box tied with a ribbon. Again, it was from Bailey Banks & Biddle.
I knew what it was this time—and it wasn’t another plain gold band, like last time. I opened up the box to find a three-carat diamond engagement ring.