Free Nine Women, One Dress by Jane L. Rosen Page A

letting her try. I drew the line the week before at a pair of glasses from a place called Warby Parker. She said my current glasses made me look like Warren Buffett and I should be going for Warren Beatty. I was happy that for once I understood her points of reference but still did not succumb. I like my glasses; my wife picked them out.
    You don’t have to tell me how ridiculous this all sounds. I’m fully aware that I’m dating someone young enough to be my daughter and that we have very little in common. I mean, take tonight, for example. This reservation at the Four Seasons for our anniversary was not selected for any of the wonderful reasons one would select the Four Seasons to celebrate a special occasion. It was selected because Sherri told me she’s always wanted to go there, which made me happy until she added the reason why: “Because my favorite
Real Housewives of New York
star had her wedding there on TV!” This made me laugh, more at myself than her, as I pictured the future negotiations that would have to take place every time the two of us ever watched television together.
    I’m not a fool, although I know I must look like one. I don’t much care. I lost the love of my life, and this girl Sherri is about as far from Marilyn as I could have gone—not one thing about her reminds me of my Marilyn. And that’s fine with me.
    I didn’t set out to meet a girl as young as Sherri. I met her on a double blind date, when my recently divorced college roommate asked, “This girl I’m seeing has a sister—want to double?”
    I wasn’t really ready to date, but I was beginning to fear that I might never be, so I agreed. I figured it was a good opportunity to get my feet wet—starting with a table for four would prove infinitely less intimidating than starting with a table for two. When I arrived, lo and behold, my friend’s date was twenty years his junior, and her younger sister, Sherri, looked around the age of my daughters. I was a bit mortified, but I tried not to show it. Sherri didn’t seem to notice or care. The wine flowed and the conversation was light and easy. I laughed out loud, and for the first time since Marilyn’s death I was not awash in guilt about it. When the sister mentioned wanting to see Tony Bennett and Lady Gaga at Radio City and my friend offered to get us four tickets, I agreed. Sherri seemed so excited about it, and I liked them both, actually. Two dates led to a string of dinners and eventually overnights and brunches, and suddenly, without any plan or agenda, here I was, celebrating the four-month anniversary of that first date.
    I arrived excited to show Sherri the Four Seasons, even if she wanted to see it for reasons I couldn’t relate to. Julian greeted me with a regular’s welcome and escorted me to my date, who was sitting at the bar with her back toward us. From behind I saw the little black dress that I’d had sent from Bloomingdale’s—but the back wasn’t Sherri’s. The woman in the dress stood and turned to face me. She smiled a warm smile. She was stunning. She was Felicia.
    I was speechless and doubly confused. Not only was this not who I was expecting, but she looked so different from what I was used to. She greeted me with a kiss on the cheek.
    “Hi, Arthur. You look so stunned to see me!” I was silent. “I know, I look different than I do at the office.” Silent still. “It’s just a little makeup and—”
    I got myself together and interrupted her. “No, you look beautiful, Felicia. It’s so nice to see you out…at night. I’m just not used to it.” I gave a quick look around the room, making sure Sherri wasn’t sitting anywhere.
    “Well, you’re the one who invited me!” She laughed. “You even sent me the dress—I assumed I should wear it!”
    “Of course!” I took her arm, totally perplexed but, inexplicably, not at all unhappy about the turn of events. “Let’s go to our table.”
    She grabbed her purse. “Thank you. I’ve