Liz had suggested otherwise once or twice. They were, after all, both good-looking, intelligent, nice people, living in the same house. Jane had laughed.

“Stop inventing stories for screenplays and sitcoms,” Jane chided her partner, making fun of the idea. “Leslie Baxter isn't going to get involved with a dog-walker, even if she is my baby sister. Trust me. She's not his type.” Jane was so adamant about it that Liz backed off. But it struck her odd that now that his ex-girlfriend was living with a rock star and no longer threatening him, Leslie was still staying at their house. And she had more respect for Coco than Jane did. To Jane, Coco was still a child, and a rebellious one at that. Liz knew what lay beneath the surface. Jane never tried to find out. Maybe Leslie had. The thought had crossed Liz's mind.

And as she always did, Liz visited who she referred to as her “mother in love” when she went to L.A. It was a duty call, out of respect for her partner's mother, but one that she always enjoyed. And she was happy to find Florence in excellent form, and looking better than ever. It had not gone unnoticed by Liz, however, that as she arrived at the house in Bel-Air, a young man had left. He had smiled at Liz as they passed each other, and he looked about Jane's age. He got in a silver Porsche parked outside and drove off. Liz had no idea why, but she had the odd feeling that the young man was planning to come back as soon as she left. And there was a man's cashmere sweater hanging on the back of the door when she used Florence's bathroom, and two toothbrushes in the cup. She told herself she was too suspicious but teased Jane's mother about it anyway, over champagne in the garden, a ritual with her. Her new face-lift had finally settled in, and she looked fifteen years younger than she was. Her figure was better than ever.

“Is that your new beau I saw driving off in the Porsche when I arrived?” Liz teased her, and was stunned when she saw Florence go visibly pale and choke on her champagne.

“I… of course not… don't be silly… I… I…” She stopped talking in midsentence as she looked at Liz, and bowled over the younger woman as she started to cry. “Please don't tell Jane or Coco… we've been having such a nice time. I thought it was just a passing thing, but we've been together now for almost a year. I know it doesn't make sense. He thinks I'm fifty-five. I told him I had Jane at sixteen, which sounds awful, but I didn't know what else to say. He's thirty-eight years old, and I know it must sound disgraceful, but I love him. I loved Buzz while I was married to him, but he's gone. And Gabriel is a lovely man. He's very mature for his age.” Liz had to remind herself to close her mouth as she tried not to stare at her mother-in-law. Liz had always been more sympathetic and gentler than Jane, and Florence had often confided in her, but never about anything like this.

“If it makes you happy, Florence,” she began cautiously, not sure what to say, or what the man's motivations were for being with someone that much older. Liz was understandably worried about that. And she knew that Jane would have a fit, and more than likely Coco too. “What does he do? Is he an actor?” He looked like one, and was handsome enough to be, which made Liz suspicious of him too.

“He's a producer-director. He makes independent films.” She mentioned two that had enjoyed considerable success, so at least he wasn't a gigolo, only after her money. “We have a wonderful time together. It's lonely now that Buzz is gone, and the girls don't live here anymore. I can't write or play bridge all the time. Most of my friends are still married, and I'm always the odd man out.” Liz had understood for a while that it was hard, harder than Florence's older daughter wanted to admit. And Florence was still young enough to want companionship, and even sex, although it startled Liz a little to think about. And she knew Jane would want to hear nothing about that. “Are you going to tell Jane?” Florence asked her with a look of panic, as Liz thought about it.

“Not if you don't want me to.” Florence wasn't committing a crime, or doing anyone any harm. She wasn't mentally incompetent, or risking her health. She was having an affair with a younger man, twenty-four years younger in fact. But in the end, Liz thought to herself, why the hell not? Who were they to tell her she was wrong? Or that she couldn't? Or make her feel bad about it? Still, she was afraid that Jane would do all of the above. She could be very tough. Liz loved her anyway, but she was well aware of her weaknesses, flaws, and quirks, and acceptance of her fellow man had never been one of her strong suits. “I think you should tell the girls yourself,” Liz said gently.

“You do?”

“Yes, I do,” Liz said honestly. “When you think it's the right time. If it's a passing thing, it's none of their business. But if he's planning to stick around, you have a right to feel loved and accepted by your family. It's nice for them to know what's going on in your life.”

“I think Jane will have a fit,” her mother said miserably.

“So do I,” Liz said honestly. “She'll get over it. She has no right to tell you how to run your life. I'll remind her of that, if that helps.”

“Thank you,” Florence said gratefully. Liz had championed other causes for her before, successfully. But they both knew that this was going to be tough.

“I wouldn't worry about Coco,” Liz added. “She's a gentle soul, and not as critical as Jane. They both want you to be happy.”

“But they probably don't want me to have a young lover. There's no money involved,” she said, to reassure Liz, and indirectly Jane. “I told him he needs to get married and have children. But he's already been divorced and has a two-year-old. And we're very happy. I don't think we'd ever get married,” she said apologetically, as though she were doing something awful.

“You know, if you were a man,” Liz said, sounding suddenly angry on her behalf, and feeling sorry for her at her obvious embarrassment and shame, so much so that she had been lying to her daughters. “If you were a man, you'd be showing off a girl half his age at every party you could go to, you'd have her strutting her stuff at the pool at the Beverly Hills Hotel, and bragging to your children, your barber, and your neighbors. You'd be married by now, and having a baby. In fact, if you were ten years older, and he were ten or twenty years younger, if your sexes were reversed, that's exactly what would happen, and everyone would stare at you with envy. Now that is what's disgusting, that double standard that makes you feel you have to slink around and lie and hide, and makes a man in exactly the same position feel he should shout it from the rooftops. Florence, this is your life. We only go around once. Do what makes you happy. I was married before I met Jane, and I probably could have stayed that way forever. I didn't want anyone to know or think I was gay. I was so busy being respectable and being who everyone wanted me to be that I was absolutely miserable. The best thing I ever did was leave my husband and move in with Jane. I finally have the life I always wanted. And you know, if Buzz were still alive, I'm sure he'd be doing exactly the same thing with an even younger woman.” She raised her glass of champagne in honor of the woman who was her mother-in-law by love if not by law. “To you and Gabriel, Florence. Long life, and only happiness ahead.” They both cried as she said it, and sat in a hug for a long time. And a moment later, Florence called him on his cell phone and told him. She wanted to introduce him to Liz, but Liz felt that it wouldn't be fair if she met him before Jane did. That smacked of a conspiracy to her, and she knew it would to Jane, although she could have reassured her. She promised to meet him next time, once Jane and Coco knew about him.

She left a little while later, and the two women embraced on the doorstep.

“Thank you,” Florence said, looking gratefully at her. “You're such a kind, decent person. My daughter is very lucky.”

“So am I,” Liz said, smiling at her, and got back into the town car that had brought her there. They headed down the driveway, as the Porsche was returning. Liz lowered her window as he passed them, and she smiled and waved, as he looked at her in amazement, and smiled back.

“Welcome to the family,” Liz thought to herself, as they headed toward the airport. She could only begin to imagine the explosion it was going to be when Florence finally got up the guts to tell Jane. Liz would do whatever she could to soften the blow, but she knew Jane. There was going to be hell to pay. For a while anyway.





Chapter 7

It was the end of July, two weeks later, when Florence finally got up the courage to call Jane. She decided to tell her first. And predictably, Jane went insane.

“You what?” Jane sounded incredulous. “You have a boyfriend? When did that happen?”

“About a year ago,” Florence confessed, trying to sound calmer than she felt. She had had three glasses of champagne before she called. “He's a very nice man.”

“What does he do for a living?” Jane growled.

“He produces and directs films.”

“Do I know him?” Jane was still shocked that her mother had called to tell her she had a beau. “What's his name? I assume he has his own production company.” At her age that was obvious. He was probably someone important in the business, whom they had all known for years. But it still seemed a little strange. Jane didn't like to think of her mother that way.

“Gabriel Weiss.” Jane thought about it for a minute and nodded. There had been nothing too frightening so far. The name was respected in the business. “I know his son by the same name. He's made a couple of very good films. I didn't know his father was a producer too.”

“He isn't. His father was a neurosurgeon, and he died ten years ago. We're talking about the one you know.” Florence felt suddenly braver than she had before. The moment of truth had come, and the champagne had kicked in. Gabriel had told her that day that no matter what happened and what they said, he loved her, and there was nothing wrong with what they were doing. Loving someone, despite a considerable age gap, was not against the law. She reminded herself of that now. She was sixty-two, but Gabriel still thought she was fifty-five. She didn't have the guts to tell him the truth.

“Wait a minute, Mom,” Jane said, sounding confused. “The Gabriel Weiss I know is twelve years old.”

“Not quite. He's your age. He'll be thirty-nine next month.”

“And how old are you?” she said cruelly. “Sixty-two? Almost sixty-three? Isn't that a little ridiculous? In fact, I'd say it's downright disgusting for a woman your age to be dating a man his age. What's wrong with him? Does he need money for his next film?” Liz had just walked into the room and felt sick as she listened. She hated it when Jane got like this, going in for the kill. She had heard her do it to Coco too, and others. Underneath it all, Jane was a good person, but she decimated people. Liz loved her anyway, and didn't put up with it from her. But the others did. “I think this is the most embarrassing, revolting, shameful thing I've ever heard. I hope you come to your senses very, very soon.”

Her mother startled her then. “And I hope you find your manners again soon. Gabriel is a respectable man. He doesn't need my money. And I'm a respectable woman. I'm your mother. And I'm doing you the honor of telling you myself before you hear it from someone else. We're not doing anything wrong, and we're not doing anything any man wouldn't do, given half a chance. Gabriel is twenty-four years younger than I am, and if we can deal with it, maybe you can too. I'll talk to you soon,” she said, and hung up while Jane was still spluttering at the other end. She couldn't believe what she'd just heard, and her mother had hung up on her. It was a first. And long overdue. The two were usually an even match, but this time Jane had gone too far. And her mother felt some allegiance to Gabriel too.

Jane turned to Liz in disbelief. “My mother has Alzheimer's,” she said with an agonized look.

“How did you come to that conclusion?” Liz asked, trying to keep a straight face.

“She's having an affair with a guy my age. Gabriel Weiss.”

“Is he a bad guy?” Liz asked evenly.

“What do I know? He's a good producer. But he can't be a good guy, if he's screwing my mother, who's nearly twice his age.”

“She doesn't look her age,” Liz reminded her, “and guys her age and older do it all the time, with girls half his age.” It was not what she wanted to hear from Liz.