“He’s direct,” Emily mused. She folded her hands together. “You’re right. These are interesting.” And certainly a diversion from the rest of her thoughts. “Go on.”
“ ‘Dear GC403, I am a gastroenterological surgeon at Massachusetts General Hospital. I have degrees from the Choate School, Harvard, and Harvard Medical School. I have served on three different president’s commissions and have published fifty-six articles in twenty-one prestigious medical journals in ten foreign countries.’ ”
“Humble.”
“Wait,” Celeste said with a grin, setting the doctor aside. “This gets better.” She held up the next for them to see. “Hand-typed, single-spaced, at the very top of the page, with no letterhead.” She read, ‘I am the presedent’—misspelled—‘of a large corperation’—misspelled—‘which has offices in New York, Texas, and San Antonio.’ ”
Emily laughed. “Celeste, these are awful.”
“Don’t they get any better?” Kay asked.
Celeste nodded, still grinning. “But you gotta hear these, so you can appreciate the good ones.” She waved a torn piece of paper. “Here’s my ad. This guy circles it, writes in the margin, ‘Send picture,’ along with his own post office box. Screw him,” she said with feeling and turned to the next. “Here we go. This one is sweet. ‘Dear GC403, I am blond, too, and my friends say that I’m sexy, though since I don’t turn myself on, I can’t know that for sure. I am a SWM, who is six-four and into whitewater rafting. When I’m not shooting the rapids, I am writing articles for a regional magazine. I love sitting by a campfire and making love under the stars. If you don’t have a hang-up about dating a younger man, give me a call.’ ”
“Younger?” Emily asked. “How much younger?”
“He put his age as an afterthought at the bottom of the page, very small, like he really feels it’s insignificant.”
“How old?” Kay asked.
“Twenty-five.”
“And he knows you’re forty-three? He must have an Oedipus complex.”
Celeste looked doubtful. “He does sound sweet, not to mention honest and interesting. Besides, there is something to be said for young flesh.”
“Please, Celeste,” Kay protested and turned to Emily. “Tell her she’s nuts.”
Emily couldn’t do that. The man did sound sweet and honest and interesting. Not that Emily would want to date a twenty-five-year-old, if she were free. She would want to date someone her own age.
“Is that the best?” she asked Celeste over the rim of her newly arrived iced tea.
“No. Here’s a cute one. ‘I am forty-four, tall, dark, and handsome, and definitely sexy. I am a banker by profession. I am also an avid reader who has just discovered poetry and would like someone to discuss it with. I do feel that I have to be up front and tell you that I am currently serving two to five years at the federal penitentiary in Allentown—’ ”
“Let’s hear the good ones,” Kay prompted.
“You don’t want to hear about the guy who says he’s been a victim all his life?”
“No.”
“Or the guy who says he likes black lace?”
“No.”
“Okay.” Celeste set down several of the letters. “Here. This one isn’t bad. ‘Dear Sexy Blond DWF, I am a fifty-year-old widower with three children. Now that my youngest has just left home to go to college, I am looking to form new relationships. I am British by birth, am chivalrous to a fault, and do indeed like fine wine, adventure, and song. If five-ten is tall enough for you, drop me a note.’ ” She looked up. “Think he might be too stuffy?”
Kay shrugged. “He says he likes adventure.”
“But what if he’s only saying that because I said it?”
Emily was uncomfortable with the prospect of Celeste actually going out with these men. “Isn’t that what you have to ask yourself? How honest will any respondent be?”
“He doesn’t say he’s drop-dead gorgeous,” Celeste reasoned. “He doesn’t say he’s ultra-tall. And he’s certainly at the same stage in life as me. But if he’s stuffy—”
Kay gestured toward the letters in her hand. “Read another of the good ones.”
Setting the widower aside, Celeste skimmed over the next. “This one sounds straightforward. He starts off by saying that this is the first time he has answered an ad, but that he hates the singles scene almost as much as he hates being fixed up by friends. He says that he doesn’t like dancing around issues, the way men and women often do. ‘I am in health care management. I am also a marathoner, which means that I am tall and slim, but that I spend much of my free time training, so I don’t have time to waste. I am looking for a woman who can be honest with me about things that she does or does not want to do.’ ”
“Hi, ladies.”
“John!” Kay cried. “What are you doing here?”
He shrugged and looked idly around. “There was nothing doing at home. I figured I’d take a ride. The car brought me here.”
“Cute, but you can’t eat with us. There are no men allowed at this booth.”
He looked lonesome. Emily’s heart went out to him.
“Whatcha got there, Celeste?” he asked.
“Here?” Celeste looked at the papers in her hand. “Uh, letters. Letters I wrote to my parents. At different times. Growing up.”
He craned his neck. “Anything funny?”
“Nah,” she said, pushing the papers aside. “Just girls’ stuff.”
“Ah.” He put his hands in his pockets. “What’d you order?”
“Salads, fajitas, and chips,” Kay said. “Did you see Brian over there?”
John looked around. “Huh. Maybe I’ll go say hello. Join him for a cup of coffee. Looks like the baby’s asleep.”
Julia was indeed. Emily melted at the sight of them, her with her head on Brian’s shoulder, and him with his back to the wall and his legs sprawled along the booth bench. He looked like he was half-asleep himself, though he gestured John over.
“Close,” Kay breathed when he left.
Celeste made a noise. “I hate lying.”
“You could have told him the truth.”
“Really.” She drew the papers front and center again. “So. What’s the verdict on the marathoner?”
Emily supposed that he was better than the others. “Not bad.”
“A maybe,” Kay decided. “How many more do you have?”
“Just two.” Celeste lifted the first of those. “ ‘Dear Sexy Blond DWF, I was attracted to the part of your ad that said your second life was just beginning. I feel that way about mine. My wife of twelve years recently left me for a childhood sweetheart.’ ”
“Poor guy,” Kay said.
Celeste read on. “ ‘I’m a veterinarian, with a successful practice. Since I’ve always loved animals, I consider myself fortunate to be doing something that I find satisfying. Many people don’t have that. I am not a playboy, but I am a romantic. I much prefer intimate dinners at home, eaten in front of the fireplace, to dinners at fancy restaurants. I like Bach, Beethoven, and Liszt, though I have been known to go on easy-listening binges with the likes of the Eagles, Cat Stevens, or Simon and Garfunkel. I chop my own firewood, by the way. I am interested in meeting someone who will introduce me to new things, at the same time that she values my quiet life. I may be barking up the wrong tree answering an ad that starts with sexy and blond, but if there is substance beneath the looks, please drop me a note.’ ”
“Whew,” Emily said.
Kay agreed. “He sounds the most sane so far.”
“Assuming he doesn’t have a menagerie living in his house,” Celeste cautioned. “But wait. I’ve saved the best for last. Listen.” She read from the final letter. “ ‘Dear GC403, I’m not sure how to answer your ad. I’m not a hunk, though I am good-looking. I’m not an adventurer, though I enjoy trying new things. I’m not a darkhaired, brown-eyed guy, age forty-one, six-foot even, one-eighty pounds, who designs houses for people with lots of money to
spend. In the past, business has taken me traveling, but my name is finally established enough so that I can stay more in one place. I’m looking to put down roots, and at the same time cultivate the kind of relationship that my work always made difficult. Money isn’t an issue. I want companionship and laughter. If love develops, fine. I’m old enough to recognize it, and young enough to make the most of it.’ ”
Celeste set down the letter. She raised speculative eyes. “Tempting?”
Emily looked at Kay. “He sounds intelligent, articulate, humble. There must be a catch.”
“The catch,” Kay told Celeste, “is exactly what you asked about Brian Stasek when I first mentioned him. Do you remember? You asked what’s wrong with him, if he’s forty and single. Brian’s excuse is his wife’s death. What’s this guy’s excuse?”
“His work,” Celeste said. “As long as it kept him on the move, he couldn’t pursue deep relationships.”
“You said you didn’t want to get married again,” Emily reminded her.
“I don’t. This guy doesn’t mention marriage, and he only mentions love as an afterthought. But I have nothing against deep relationships.” She came forward. “Look at it this way. He’s a successful professional. He’s well-traveled, which means that he has a certain worldliness. I’m sure that he still has to spend some time at whatever site he’s designing for, so I wouldn’t be stuck with someone hanging on me every minute. But then he works at home in a stunning studio that he has designed himself, and he’s his own boss, so his hours are flexible. You heard him. Money is no object. The possibilities are endless.”
“Assuming he’s telling the truth,” Kay warned. “How do you know?”
“I don’t, for sure.”
“You would make a date with him, not knowing for sure?”
“Yes, I would. I’d arrange to meet him for drinks somewhere very public, and tell him to look for the blond holding the rose. He wouldn’t know my name, much less my address or phone number. If it doesn’t work out, that’s it, the end. He can’t bother me further.”
“What if he follows you?”
“I’d make sure he didn’t.”
“How?”
“Kay, there are ways.”
“Like what?”
Celeste sighed. “Like climbing into a cab and having the cabbie drive around before delivering me back to my car. If I really think the guy’s a problem, I’ll make a beeline for the nearest police station. I’m telling you. There are ways.”
“And you really want to risk it?”
Celeste stared at her. “Yes, I do. I have common sense and solid instincts. I am not getting into trouble with this.”
Emily touched her arm. “We’re worried. That’s all. We don’t want anything to happen to you.”
“Nothing will,” Celeste assured her and sat back, waiting for Kay’s capitulation.
Their dinners arrived, a timely buffer. As though calmed by the act of separating a cheese-covered nacho from the pile on her plate, Kay said, “Okay. You’re determined to follow through. What happens next?”
“I contact the ones who interest me and propose a meeting.”
It sounded very clinical to Emily, but who was she to criticize. She had spent the day systematically taking apart her marriage, step by step, item by item. “Which ones will you contact?”
Celeste started on her salad as she separated letters from the pile. “The architect is the best. No doubt about it. Next in order of preference is the vet, the marathoner, then the widower. For good measure, I may just throw in the doctor and the twenty-five year old.”
Kay gave her a pleading look. “Why the twenty-five-year-old?”
“Why not?”
“Because you’re forty-three. You look great, Celeste, and not a day over thirty-five, but even then, you have ten years on him. He’ll have smooth skin, unwrinkled hands, and firm thighs. You’ll feel old beside him.”
“If I turn him on, I’ll feel flattered. Besides, I’m not ashamed of my body. Are you ashamed of yours?”
“My body isn’t an issue. John and I have been married too long for that.”
“And John has twelve years on you. Why is it okay for the man to be older, and not the woman?”
“That’s just the way it’s always been.”
“Not anymore. Not nowadays. There are plenty of relationships where the opposite is true.”
“In Hollywood.”
“Those are the ones we hear about, but there are others.”
“Name some.”
Celeste threw up a hand. “Uh…uh.” She scowled. “It happens all the time. I just can’t think of names off the top of my head.” She looked away. In the next instant her scowl faded. “Yes, I can.” She lowered her voice and leaned forward without taking her eyes off the person in question. “Cynthia Berlo. She’s been involved with her husband’s accountant for years.”
“Pure rumor,” Kay said.
“She’s fifty-eight to his thirty-five.”
“There’s no proof they’re involved.”
“I heard it from Enid Hildridge, who does Cynthia’s tailoring. Cynthia brought the accountant with her one day. They were all over each other in the dressing room.”
Kay looked dismayed. “What in the world would a thirty-five-year-old want with Cynthia?”
“She happens to be in great shape.”
“But she’s fifty-eight.”
“So? That doesn’t mean she can’t desire a man, or feel sexual pleasure, and it sure doesn’t mean she can’t turn a man on. Sex doesn’t end with menopause, Kay.”
“I never said it did.”
“Guys,” Emily broke in, putting a hand out to each. “There isn’t any point in arguing, especially about Cynthia Berlo. She isn’t a role model, by a long shot.”
“I agree,” Kay grumbled. “Comparisons to her make me ill.”
“There isn’t any comparison. We’re talking apples and oranges. Celeste is smart and sane. Look, I’m nervous about her dating these men, but she’s thought it through, and it is her life.”
“What about yours?” Celeste asked. “How was the weekend?”
Emily sighed. She still wasn’t ready to talk about Doug. Then again, she needed to air her angst. “Not great.”
“What did he do?” Kay asked.
“Nothing. That’s the problem. He comes home and goes through the motions, like going through the motions is enough. I suggested we drive to Stockbridge; he shrugged. I suggested we buy lobsters and boil them; he shrugged. I suggested we go to a lecture at the college; he shrugged. It’s impossible to get a rise from the man.”
“Is he just tired?”
“If he were, he’d spend the weekend sleeping, but he doesn’t. He’s just not interested in doing things with me. I try to engage him in discussions about what’s happening in the world—he prides himself on being out there in the middle of it all—only he won’t be engaged. He gives an answer or two, then finds something else to do. It’s like I bore him. Well, y’know, he bores me.”
“Whew,” Kay said softly. “That’s quite an admission.”
“Well, I can’t keep defending him,” Emily cried in despair. “I have no idea what he wants from our relationship. He has nothing to say to me, which is a statement, but I don’t know what of. Does he want a dull, boring marriage to balance the other parts of his life? Does he want me to be different in some way I can’t imagine? Or does he want a divorce?”
“Have you asked him?” Celeste asked.
“About the last?” Emily couldn’t repeat the word. It shook her up. “Not like that.”
“Maybe you should.”
“What if he says yes?” Her heart thundered. She didn’t want a divorce. She wanted things back the way they had been twenty-two years before—which was an absurd notion. She and Doug were different people from the ones they had been then.
Thoughtful, troubled, Kay said, “This isn’t any kind of a life for you, Emily.”
But she co
uldn’t throw in the towel, not yet. “It’s not so bad. I talked with Rod Meany over at the Sun last Thursday. He gave me a couple of assignments, little things that are more fun than substance.”
“You deserve substance.”
“I’ll get that from Petra Drovski.” Petra was head of the English department at the college. Emily had talked with her, too. “She needs help editing a collection of critical analyses of the works of American writers in the early 1900s. It’s an interesting project.”
“Won’t keep you warm at night,” Celeste advised. “Your husband is supposed to do that, on weekends, at least, but he’s not here even then. Doug is involved in your marriage in name only.”
Emily started to deny it. Only it was true. Name only. They hadn’t really talked, hadn’t shared laughs, hadn’t made love in weeks and weeks.
“What are you going to do about it?” Celeste asked.
Emily couldn’t exactly seduce him, not if he didn’t want to be seduced, which was the impression he gave. “Keep trying, I guess. I can’t just chuck twenty-two years. Parents’ weekend is coming up. We’ll meet in Boston. He promised he’d come. Maybe being together in a hotel will inspire him. Maybe being with me away from here will.” It had occurred to her that Grannick might be the problem.
“Does Doug spend any time with Brian?” Kay asked.
Emily pictured the two men together, Brian head and shoulders above Doug, and so much more appealing to her that she was frightened. “They say hello in passing. That’s about all. Why?”
“I’d think he would be jealous. There you are at home with a good-looking guy right next door. I’d think he would want to rush home and restake his claim.”
Emily would have thought so, too. She remembered feeling guilty the first time she had referred to Brian by name. But Doug wasn’t jealous. “It doesn’t occur to him that I might even be remotely attracted to another man.”
“Are you?” Celeste asked.
She was. Very much so. But she still hoped to salvage her marriage, so she said, simply, “Brian is a wonderful man. If I were the type to be unfaithful to my husband, he could tempt me.”
“He could tempt me,” Celeste said.
Kay swatted at her. “Oh, hush.”
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