3. We Loved a Serial Dater

On a recent afternoon, seven women gathered in Manhattan, over wine, cheese, and cigarettes, to animatedly discuss the one thing they had in common: a man. Specifically, an Eligible Man of Manhattan, a man we'll call "Tom Peri."

Tom Peri is forty-three years old, five feet, ten inches tall, with straight brown hair. There is nothing remarkable about his appearance, save for a penchant, a few years ago, for dressing in black Armani suits paired with wacky suspenders. He comes from a wealthy manufacturing family and grew up on Fifth Avenue and in Bedford, New York. He lives in a modern high-rise on Fifth Avenue.

Over the last fifteen years, Peri, who is almost always referred to by his last name only, has become something of a legend in New York. He's not exactly a womanizer, because he's always trying to get married. Peri is, rather, one of the city's most accomplished serial daters, engaging in up to twelve «relationships» a year. But after two days or two months, the inevitable happens. Something goes wrong, and, he says, "I get dumped."

For a certain type of woman—thirtyish, ambitious, well placed socially— dating Peri, or avoiding his attentions, has become nothing less than a rite of passage, sort of like your first limo ride and your first robbery, combined.

Even among the city's other notorious ladies' men, Peri stands out. For one thing, he appears to be holding far fewer cards. He has neither the well— bred good looks of Count Erik Wachtmeister nor the free-flowing cash of Mort Zuckerman.

I wanted to know, What's Peri got?

Each of the women I contacted had been involved with Peri—either intimately or as an object of his ardent affections— and each said she had dumped him. None refused my request to get together for a session of Talking about Peri. Each woman, perhaps, had something. . unresolved about Peri. Maybe they wanted him back. Maybe they wanted him dead.