I knew my rent was not enough to cover anyone’s mortgage. I knew it was too good to be true. And it is. My landlord’s house–my home–is in foreclosure. I am faithfully sending rent payments to someone who is not faithfully making her mortgage payments.
“Don’t worry,” said the handsome lawyer who showed up at my locals bar at the behest of a patron who had heard about the missive I’d just received in yesterday’s mail. “The bank will probably be happy to let you stay there, you know, until the place is sold.” Oh good. Great.
“I’ll make a call and see what’s up tomorrow,” said the handsome lawyer who now had my cell phone number. Smooth.
“You have to let me pay you for your time,” I urged. Handsome or not, no charity work would be done by this lawyer for this gal. Especially because he was handsome.
And suddenly it was three hours later. The handsome lawyer and I had covered all the ground it usually takes to cover in three weeks.
You were a writer in D.C.? You owned a chain of restaurants?
You lived in Fort Lauderdale? You went to law school after how long in the restaurant biz?
You have grown children? You have grown children, too?
You snorkeled in Australia? You loved Amsterdam?
Who’s your favorite writer? Who’s yours?
You’re gluten intolerant? You’re a vegetarian?
You’ve never been fishing? You almost drowned while fishing last week?
You are incredibly interesting. So are you.
I’d love to take you out on my boat. I’d like that.
No really. I know.
You’ve been separated for how long? Almost two years, and you?
Um…. Oh, you’re married–married?
Yes, yes, I am.
Oh. Well. Gee. Thanks for the drink and great stories. Let me know what the bank says, and what I owe you for your time.
I really enjoyed meeting you.
“You’re how old? How old?” asked the wide-eyed young man who claimed to have met me weeks ago at another spot.
“I just told you,” I said.
“No, you’re lying,” he said.
“Ha!” I laughed.
“You’re lying,” he said again, not laughing at all. “And now I know why you wouldn’t give me the time of day when I first met you.”
“Because women of a certain age–older women–you just tell it like it is, right? Like you’re telling me to fuck off because you’re sooooooo much older, right?”
“Oh I get it. You smiled and talked to me then, but now you’re just too old for me, right?”
Uh, right on every count my insane and scary little man.
“Fine. Fine! But you could have told me. You should have told me!”
“I don’t even believe you. Lemme see your ID.”
I gotta go. Run, actually, really fast.
“She is so sweet. So cute,” he said to his friend who told a friend of mine that he’d said it. “And I’d like to hang out with her and all, but I know I’ll end up breaking her heart.”
“Yep, that’s what he said,” laughed my friend. “Don’t worry, I told him to tell him your heart was just fine because you already hang out with so many other guys–old and young. SO MANY! Didn’t he know that?”
Wait, what? Break my heart? I’ve never even been out with him. What?
“Ha! I think it’s funny as hell,” laughed my friend. “God, it’s fun to watch these guys with you. They don’t have a clue, do they?”
These are the times that keep a gal happily single.