Free Pearls for Jimmy by Maureen Gill

I know you: You’re a middle-aged woman and terrified.
    You’re terrified your beauty and sex appeal are fading fast, even though you know you’re really better in every way than you were decades ago – but at your age that story is hard to sell, both to yourself and others.
    Yes, I completely understand: No one believes women our age feel like we feel or, more specifically, desire sex like we desire sex. Our society has everyone convinced sex is for people under thirty; we’re told it’s definitely completely over for women over forty.
    Most of all, no one believes in romantic love anymore, not even you. Yeah, I know: it’s hard to believe love is possible when you’re a middle-aged woman whose heart has been torn from her chest and trampled to death.
    What? Oh, no: you misunderstand. I don’t give advice. I commiserate… No, really, I can’t do that; I don’t give advice.
    As I already said, I just commiserate.
    Alright, alright… maybe just this once, just for you.
    Hmmm… where to start? Well, first of all, I’d like to suggest that you always believe in magic.
    Yes: I said magic. No, don’t practice it ; just believe in it – be open to it.
    Secondly, always believe in lightning.
    No, not lighting … I said lightning. Don’t take it for granted, OK? And don’t ever believe it doesn’t strike twice.
    Finally, you might want to seriously think about wearing pearls.
    Yes: I said pearls.
    You’re looking very confused. Magic, lightning, pearls?
    OK, look: let’s do this… it’ll probably be a helluva lot easier for both of us if I just told you about what happened to me…
    ~ ~ ~
    I was one of five middle-aged women meeting at one of the many great restaurants in Chicago’s Greektown. We arrived pumped and ready for fun. It had been a long time since we’d gotten together and we told Jimmy, the owner, we were old high school friends, it was a Special Girl’s Night Out , and we didn’t want to be rushed.
    “Is that possible?” we asked in unison, each doing our own version of the “Madonna-whore we could be your little sister but we’re sure as hell not so it’s OK for you to think about fucking us” look that only an experienced – shall we say mature? – woman can effectively lay on a man and which always knocks the poor bastard dead.
    Doreen leaned over the dais-pulpit-like-thing that usually stands sentinel at the front door of places like Jimmy’s and placed a beautifully manicured hand over his much larger man-hand. Sue, Therese, Gail and I watched in amusement as Doreen let her generous breasts brush against his arm while talking him up with the chummy familiarity she does so well.
    Doreen is truly beautiful and she is also stacked so it was no surprise when Jimmy happily bent down sideways to offer her his ear – as if to say whatever she was babbling about was the most damn fascinating thing he had ever heard.
    Doreen moved in even closer, purring so close to his ear she could have easily slipped her tongue inside and given it a whirl. “Honey,” she cooed with just the right amount of breath sounds, “my friends and I haven’t seen each other for years and we want to have a special night out and not be rushed. Would you please put us somewhere special, sort of where we could be out of the way and by ourselves… please, honey …”
    Jimmy had the air of a well experienced man who loves women and was obviously getting a major kick out of Doreen’s brazen attention but he wasn’t going to slobber over her. I knew you could flirt with this guy but couldn’t play him and my guess was he’d graciously accommodate us even if Doreen didn’t vamp him. But what would be the fun in that, right?
    Jimmy moved slightly away from Doreen and scanned us as a group. Then he did something I’ve never seen any man do before or since – the guy took a really deep breath and actually sniffed the air.
    That’s right: Jimmy sniffed the air.
    It wasn’t like an animal on a scent; it