The Last Resort

I arrived at eight-thirty and found Danny already there, sitting at a table, sipping a drink. He had cleaned up considerably—khaki pants, blue work shirt, and brown loafers. His hair freshly washed, coal black, and longish. His eyes flashed with recognition as he saw me and waved me over to the table.

“What would you like to drink?” he shouted, over recorded music coming from nearby speakers.

I started to say vodka martini—my drink of choice—reconsidered, and asked for a Michelob draft.

“Ah, cheap date, eh?” Danny smiled and waved to a waitress to take the order.

“Is this a date?” I returned the smile. Funny how easily the instinct to flirt came back after all those years.

“Nah, just two new friends getting together to listen to some great jazz.”

I can’t say I wasn’t disappointed, no matter what lies I’d told myself earlier in the day. Here was an attractive younger man, and me without a partner, on the road, ready for adventure. I tried not to let my feelings show, sat back, and sipped the cool draft.

The live music was everything my new friend had promised. The group consisted of a piano, a stand-up bass, a guitar, and a female singer who appeared every so often for a vocal number. I’m not an expert in any kind of music, jazz in particular, yet I loved the sound they made and fell into a kind of easy comfort helped along by at least two or three more drafts.

Danny, fully engaged in the music and smiling slightly, said next to nothing during the set. His eyes connected with mine once in a while to let me know he enjoyed the evening as much as I did.

The last set finished at almost midnight, late for this old girl, yet when he suggested a nightcap of brandy, I eagerly agreed. We bantered casually for a while about the music and the club as we sipped our brandies, so it came as a complete surprise to me as he suddenly leaned toward me and lightly kissed me right on the lips. An electric shock ran through me, the likes of which I had not experienced since the first heady days of dating Tom long ago. It worked some kind of magic on me, melting my inhibitions. When he whispered to me, “Come to my room tonight?” I nodded without hesitation.

I agreed to meet him at his room at a charming downtown hotel. I walked; he rode ahead on his bicycle. All the way, I kept having second thoughts. What in the name of all that was sane was I doing? I didn't know this man. He could be some kind of nut. And I hadn't had sex with anyone but Tom Ryder in years. Scratch that. Decades. I must be out of my mind, as my daughter suspected all along. But my feet kept making forward progress toward Danny's hotel. And my mind still reeled from that kiss.

That night became one I’ll remember for a long time. He answered the door wearing only slacks and ushered me into the room, beaming a warm welcome. I was nervous and probably looked it. He didn't rush me.