"Cute. Like a little rock." She was compact, a high energy type.
"What's your name?"
"Joe Burke." He took evasive action. "Alison, I'm too old for you." She
looked downcast for a moment and then raised her eyebrows hopefully.
"Can you walk?"
"I can."
"There," she said winningly, taking a large forkful of potatoes. "What
you mean, I think, is that you think I'm too young for you. It's a
compliment, really. Men have trouble saying what they think,
sometimes." She seemed pleased, like a teen-ager.
"What are you studying?" Joe asked.
"Buddhism. I have a doctorate in comparative religion. I was a pastor
for a while and then I worked at a seminary. I was canned."
"Fired?"
"Yup. They were hypocrites," she said sadly. "What do you do?"
"Nothing right now. I used to program computers, design software. When
I lived here I did a lot of stuff: drove a cab, delivered newspapers,
managed a tennis club . . . I ended up going to the university." Alison
sipped coffee.
"Let's get this over with," she said, "I'm forty-four. How old are you,
Joe?" She noted his surprise with equanimity.
"Fifty-three."
"You see," she said. "You're one too: a younger--than--you--looker."
"Alison," he said more firmly, "it has been nice to meet you, but I
must be going. Much to do."
"Goodbye, Joe. Thank you for talking to me." He didn't want to wait for
change, so he left a large tip and walked up Ala Moana Boulevard,
relieved, but with the odd feeling that he was walking toward her
rather than away.
At 4:00 that afternoon, the phone rang.
"Hi, Joe, it's Alison. I was bad this morning; I'm sorry. I don't know
what got into me."
"What do you mean?"
"You were busy and I bothered you. I've been lonely, I guess. I didn't
realize. I don't meet people like you very often." That was flattering.
Joe made a soothing noise. "How about dinner, Joe? Dutch treat?"