The Older Woman

(images from Models 1)

I hadn't been in New York City long. Long enough that the $40 seersucker trousers I was wearing were well past their expiration date. It was early October and I was with college friends at the Surf Club on the upper east side. I was introduced to a red head and was told she worked at Shearson Lehman. She asked if I would buy her a drink. I went to the bar and bought her a gin and tonic and ordered tonic for myself. Not because I didn't want a G&T. But because I couldn't afford it.

Three more gins and tonic for her. Three more tonics for me. We slow danced to Susie Siouxsie and the Banshees, Kiss Them For Me, and since our legs seemed to be getting along so well - - I kissed her. She broke off the kiss and just as I was going to apologise she asked where I lived. "18th between 8th and 9th." I said. "I'm closer." she said. Pulling me by the hand off the dance floor she suddenly stopped and said, "I don't even know what you do." "I'm a park ranger." adding proudly, "At the Statue of Liberty and Ellis Island." less she think I worked for the city or state.

She looked at me and touched my cheek. "Oh, sweetie. I didn't move to Manhattan to meet a park ranger." "So, we're not going to your place?" I asked. "No." she said. "I'm taking a taxi home." She did ask that I call her if that afternoon's job interview at 20th Century Fox worked out.

A week later I sat at the bar in the Plaza Hotel waiting for a college friend to come down from his room. He had a real job with Epcot and was going to abuse his expense account and buy me dinner. A woman came in and sat at the bar a couple stools down from me. I didn't notice her at first but when the bartender asked what she wanted I heard her say, "Whatever he's having looks pretty good." I turned to her and smiled, "It's a Beefeater martini." She smiled back and said, "Perfect." turned to the bartender and said, "I'll have one of those."

A couple of nights later she took me to dinner. She was in her late 50s, divorced, her only daughter in college. She owned a dress shop on the west side and her apartment had a terrace that overlooked Central Park. She had more style than any woman - or man - I have ever known. There was a natural grace about her. Not just in the way she walked but in how she opened a door. Put her keys in her purse. Picked up a phone. Opened a window.

She had a favorite Italian restaurant where the owner knew her. The tables were close and it was hard to move through the room without bumping a table. A woman, who looked the same age as the red head from Shearson, shot me a look from her table as we walked by. A look that said, "She's old enough to be..." And I thought, "Hey, I tried it with your age group."

I'm an older man today. And I still love older women. Although, the older woman has become just a woman. In some wonderful way our aging paths have crossed.