Dave stood in front of his bathroom mirror, lights blazing. Although it was only four-thirty in the afternoon he was starting to get ready for an early dinner date with Milly.
“Not bad,” he thought, evaluating his reflection. He patted his reduced and hardened stomach, the reward of all those hours of working out at the gym. His teeth looked good, too, with that sheen and evenness that good dental care had bought.
When Dave moved to this retirement community after losing Helen, one of the first women he met was Milly. She was easy to talk to, nice-looking and an excellent cook.
He dated others, but invariably he came back to her. He wondered what was for dinner. Her rolled cabbage was unsurpassed. She used brown rice instead of the usual hamburger and baked it in a rich, dark sauce of raisins, cinnamon, brown sugar, all topped with an orange glaze.
The phone rang. It was Milly.
“Hello, honey,” he said. “What’s cookin’? She had a lovely telephone voice.
“No, don’t tell me! Let me be surprised… Oh, you darling. It’s my favorite… It really is. I never told you?… A movie later would be fine. You pick it out… in about an hour; is that okay?… Me, too. Bye, sweet.”
A feeling of sheer gratitude swept over him. “When you wish upon a star,” he though as he adjusted the living room blind to deflect the late afternoon sun. Then he saw her. The Walker. He caught his breath. A stunning woman, she held herself erect, chin up as she strode along. More than once he had longed to join her.
Staring down from his third floor window, he recalled what he had once read about mental telepathy. If a person concentrated hard enough they could make someone look their way. Dave stood tautly, keeping his eyes riveted on her, but like a moving target, she kept up her pace, looking straight ahead. So much for kinetics.
Later, when Milly greeted him at the door, he hugged her warmly. The fragrance of the stuffed cabbage permeating her immaculate apartment was sweeter than memory. After dinner and the good wine he had brought, they took their time getting to that movie.
Monday at the gym, a new lady presented herself to him.
“Hi, I’m Anita. Who are you?”
“Dave,” he smiled.
“I’ve noticed what great shape you’re in. Have you always looked this way, or is there hope for someone like me?”
“It takes a lot of work,” Dave told her, noting her vital statistics.
They chatted a while. When he left, she turned and waved.
Not exactly my type, but interesting, was Dave’s summation.
The following morning at tennis he and his friend Harry had to wait for a court while two ladies were finishing their game. At first Dave’s head idly swiveled back and forth, watching the ball. The he took a closer look at one of the players. Whew… what a serve! And what a figure! Maybe the mental telepathy was working this time because the figure walked over to him.
“Care for doubles?” she asked.
The two men looked at each other.
“Sure.”
“Why not.”
After a couple of games the ladies surrendered the court.
“Maybe we’ll do it again sometime,” Miss Dynamite said, looking directly at Dave.
“Not bad,” Harry said, after they left.
“I didn’t notice,” Dave quipped, with a grin.
Running from one activity to another made the days rush by. I was now Saturday evening and dinner with Milly. This time she had prepared her specialty. Tsimis. It was vegetarian, made with cubes of rutabagas, white potatoes, baby carrots, pitted prunes, dried apricots, large slices of yams all richly flavored with hone, cinnamon, orange juice and thickened matzo meal.
It was not long after that, Milly and Dave announced their engagement. They arranged for a little gathering at her apartment for their friends. A variety of drinks were served along with hors d’oeuvres, sandwiches, coffee and cakes.
Everyone was enjoying themselves, basking in the joy of the newly engaged couple. Dave knew them all except, across the living room he saw a lady, a stranger who yet looked familiar. It bothered him so he walked over to her.
“You look like someone I must know from somewhere. I’m Dave Freedman.”
“David Freedman!” she exclaimed. “Not the David Freedman from Eggleston High!”
It was Anne Sugarman. She hadn’t changed all that much. Still shapely, still charming.
“You look wonderful, David,” she said, her eyes twinkling.
“So do you, Anne.”
They talked and talked, catching up o news about people they both knew. He couldn’t believe how young she looked. When Milly called to him, twice, he didn’t hear her.
It was two months later that they were married. While on their honeymoon they sent postcards to everyone: “From Bimini with love, Milly and Dave.”
Florence Liberfarb writes poetry, short stories and plays. You may freely republish this story for non-commercial use provided you follow the Publisher Guidelines and provide a hyperlink (electronic media) to the Wordly Web Site. You may not alter the copyright notice or edit the content of this story. Please notify the author of your intent to republish. Commercial use of this story requires written permission and payment of a royalty.
Romance by Florence Liberfarb
Copyright © 2005-2007 All Rights reserved
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Poems, Stories, and Plays byFlorence Liberfarb
