LAST DATE

LAST DATE

They had exchanged a number of brief WhatsApps. Sasha had said how important it was to meet a bright, bookish woman, and he told Ellie she had the perfect profile. Ellie was impatient to meet him, but held back, distracted by the dust that had settled on the front of the bookshelf holding the dictionaries. She didn’t use the dictionaries anymore. English, French, German and Spanish, as well as Italian and Latin tomes stood stolid and confident in paper dust jackets. She didn’t do translations anymore, not since well before Kenneth had left, leaving her half his fortune, out of pity and guilt. And left a broken heart, or so she liked to believe, in melodramatic moments.  Heart broken up into puzzle pieces that could never be reassembled. But his image had faded quickly -- she’d tossed out the leather photo albums and erased the ten thousand-odd pictures on the computer and phone apps. Perhaps they were still up in the Cloud, untouchable, forever.

Her back garden, impressively big for the neighborhood, kept her busy, though it was complicated organizing different actions for different seasons – when to mulch, pollard, which flower bulbs should be kept and cossetted, which should be removed and replaced with fresh, hardy ones delivered from Progressive Organics. She had always loved flowers -- such a universe of colorful names and sibilants: Narcissus! Rose of Sharon! Chrysanthemum! But which flowers could be trimmed or pruned half way through the season, and which ones had to wait? It was all a beautiful blur. When the names really began to fade, she mentioned this to Dr. Thomas--he didn’t take it too seriously, but did refer her for testing.

Yes, she was ready to move on, and she would be meeting her ‘date’ (is that what they still called meet-ups?) Sasha in an hour at Todd’s Cavern. His choice, a dark woody décor that at least didn’t smell like a pub. Yes, Sasha. Though wasn’t that also a girl’s name?  He was a ghost-writer. At least he must be literate, she thought, then checked herself, not wanting to pre-judge. She’d only used Cupidsbow.com once, and the man never showed up. 

Sasha had been a Rhodes Scholar and was a member of Mensa. Good credentials. On Cupidsbow.com Ellie wrote about her literary translations from four languages into English. Twenty-odd best-sellers: literary fiction, biographies, historical fiction and a couple of thrillers, plus a couple of essays in The New York Review of Books and the London Review. She felt a rush of pride as she headed out the door toward the bus stop. Todd’s Cavern…..yes, downtown. 

Her mother had tried to teach her discretion, which in her mother manifested as withholding and which Ellie disliked. She wanted to be ‘out there’ now she was single: warm, happy, affectionate, and above all honest. That was the secret to a good partnership!

Kenneth had left her, she couldn’t recall the exact reasons he’d given, but he’d taken care of things so she’d never have to worry. A good man, but not a partner for life.

Ellie found a comfortable place near the front of the bus. Physically fit for 50 according to Dr.Thomas, Ellie always found a seat for the disabled if no one was waiting. That way she could ask the driver how many more stops to the cross street for Todd’s. Safer all in all, you never knew.  She gazed at the Manhattan buildings filing past the dirty bus windows. She was well-to-do, but a bus was an omnibus, a bus for all. Even slow in traffic, it got you there.

The driver waved his arm towards the door at the right stop, and Ellie stepped down onto the sidewalk, still processing images of the passing city, the modern buildings, the renovated buildings, the shells of buildings to be replaced. It was slow but sudden when you thought about it - just yesterday buildings of the seventies were novelties, replaced overnight by giants in glass.

Sasha stood up when she walked in, shorter than Ellie had imagined, but still good-looking, with an open smile. Full head of hair with a bit of salt-and-pepper gray. She could see he liked what he saw, which was reassuring. But what would she say? Perhaps she could talk about her garden, her little Eden in the city. But it could be complicated. She wanted him to bring his story to her, to fill in all the gaps, enrich her world.

Ellie found him marvelous. She listened to Sasha describe the people for whom he had ghost-written autobiographies – rock musicians, someone jailed for a murder he didn’t commit, an actress who became mute after an attack in her apartment but could communicate by writing bullet-point descriptions which Sasha filled in with his own words. Two weeks back Ellie had bought one of his ghost autobiographies about an heiress who was scammed and recovered her fortune by scamming the scammer, a brilliant ‘business-woman’, but Ellie hadn’t re-read it to fix on the details. So little time to read.

They ordered more cappuccino (her) and beer (him). How long had they been here? What would she present from her own life? Agitated, she glanced up at the wall clock and flashed back to her test:  draw a picture of a clock. She had failed somehow, but the smiling assistant didn’t explain what exactly she had gotten wrong….. It was what it was. She wasn’t prepared for this.  

Ellie began sobbing gently and looked around for the exit. This was not going well. Sasha leaned across the oak table, concerned, solicitous. Was she OK? Was there anything he could do? Had he upset her with his stories? Had he gone on too long about himself? Was she in pain? Did she feel ill? Could he bring her home in a cab?

She shook her head, stood up and headed for the door. But it was the way to the Ladies Room, not the exit. Humiliation. She would not be reaching out on Cupidsbow again.

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