Amanda looked wistful. “There’s so much to read, but all I do is watch Netflix and play Candy Crush. I feel like I’m wasting my life.”
“It’s hard to concentrate after a long day at work. Sometimes you just want to turn your brain off.”
“I guess. But even on the weekends, I’ll read five pages, and then I have to get up and check my phone. It’s not that I want to, it’s that I have to. It’s a physical urge, like the phone is part of my body.”
Eve was a little too old to have that sort of relationship with her phone, but she understood the larger point all too well. It was mortifying to be an adult and not be able to control yourself. She didn’t used to be like that.
“Hey,” she said. “Maybe we could find a retired English professor to talk about Dickens or Jane Austen. We haven’t done anything like that for a while.”
Amanda’s nod was grudging at best. “We could. But I was hoping we could maybe try something different. Get outside the box a little.”
“Like what?”
“I don’t know. There are a lot of fascinating topics out there. Let’s hear about global warming or immigration or the rise of feminism or the history of the birth control pill. The anti-vaccine movement. I mean, just because you’re old doesn’t mean you can’t handle a new idea, right?”
Eve heard the implicit criticism in these suggestions. Her policy, ever since she’d taken charge at the Senior Center, had been to avoid controversy when booking the lecture series. No religion, no politics, nothing divisive or threatening. The series, as currently conceived, leaned heavily on nostalgia (FDR and the Greatest Generation, the Titanic and the Hindenburg, the Civil War and wagon train pioneers), continuing education (Backyard Wildlife, Know Your Night Sky), and uplifting human interest stories (a mountain climber with a high-tech prosthetic leg, an ex-nun turned cabaret singer), with the occasional author appearance or travelogue sprinkled in.
“I hear what you’re saying. But you know who we’re dealing with. A lot of the seniors are set in their ways. They don’t like anything upsetting or unfamiliar. Trust me, they don’t want to hear about global warming.”
“I get it.” Amanda nodded ruefully and tossed back the last swallow of wine in her glass. “I didn’t mean to rock the boat.”
“It’s okay. That’s why I hired you. Sometimes the boat needs to be rocked a little.”
*
In the lesbian MILF videos that Eve liked best, there was only one basic scenario: a confident woman seduces a reluctant one. Many began with the reluctant woman grumpily washing dishes or mopping the floor when the doorbell rings. The visitor—the confident one—usually arrives with a bottle of wine, a sympathetic expression, and a bit of exposed cleavage. Cut to the two women on the couch, deep in conversation, usually sitting close together. Often their knees are touching.
It is so good to see you, the confident one says, stroking her friend’s thigh or upper arm in a comforting, arguably nonsexual way. But you look a little sad.
The reluctant one doesn’t deny it.
It’s been a rough day, she sighs.
Maybe she lost her job. Maybe her husband left her. Maybe the bank turned down her loan application. But whatever the problem might be, it’s nothing that can’t be solved by a backrub and some cunnilingus.
*
Eve relaxed a little once they relocated to the restaurant section. They hadn’t planned on eating, but they’d polished off the first two glasses of wine in under an hour, and neither of them wanted to drink a third on an empty stomach. It was only seven o’clock—way too early to call it a night—and a table happened to be available, so here they were.
“I love these potatoes,” Amanda said.
“Should we get another order?”
Amanda dabbed at her mouth with the stiff cloth napkin, leaving a smudge of lipstick on the white fabric.
“That’s very decadent of you.”
“I don’t get out much,” Eve explained. “Might as well take advantage.”
“You should’ve come to Foxwoods the other night,” Amanda teased. “I could’ve used the company.”
Eve grimaced. “Was it horrible?”
“It was actually okay,” Amanda said. “I just felt sorry for Frank Jr. It must be depressing, doing an impersonation of your dead father. At least Nancy got to wear go-go boots and sing some songs of her own.”
“She did look good in those boots,” Eve said. “But I really don’t think they were made for walking.”
She glanced around, trying to get a bead on their elusive waiter. Aside from the iffy service, Casa Enzo was as good as everyone said, a cozy tapas place—the first ever in Haddington—with a dozen tables packed into a room that wasn’t quite big enough to accommodate them. It was even louder here than at the bar, but at least Eve wasn’t experiencing the restlessness that often plagued her in restaurants, the nagging sense that she was marooned at one of the boring tables while the interesting conversations were happening elsewhere.
“We should do this more often,” Amanda said. “I’m usually just sitting home on the weekends, eating too much chocolate.”
Eve plucked an oily green olive from the bowl. “So you’re not seeing anyone?”
Amanda shook her head, more in resignation than sadness. “It’s kind of a romantic wasteland around here. There aren’t a lot of single people my age. At least I haven’t figured out where they’re hiding.”
Feeling a little self-conscious, Eve removed the olive pit from her mouth and placed it daintily on her plate. There were six of them now, lined up like bullets, with bits of stray flesh stuck to the surface.
“These things are addictive,” she said.
“What about you?” Amanda asked. “Are you involved with anyone?”
“Not even close. Haven’t had a date in six months. Haven’t had a good one in at least two years, and even that one wasn’t all that great.”
“Really?” Amanda seemed genuinely surprised. “How come? I mean, you’re a very attractive woman.”
“Thanks. That’s sweet of you.”
“I’m serious,” Amanda insisted. “I hope I look half as good as you when I’m your age.”
Eve forced herself to smile, hoping it would hide her irritation.
“Hey,” she said. “Did I tell you about the class I’m taking?”
*