The Last Place She'd Look (26 page)

Beth's eyes widened. “Get out of town, really? Good for her. Does Diana know?”

“Have you seen Lila?” I asked.

“Her car was right behind mine. Wait until you see Lila.” Beth offered.

I glanced over my shoulder, and there was Lila, regal, and very close to her was another woman. The two gave each other a knowing glance. The younger woman, Janna was tall, with thick, shoulder-length amber hair framing her face with a fringe of bangs. She touched Lila's shoulder and held her cane while helping remove her jacket.

As I strode towards Lila, she smiled at me. “Happy birthday, dear. Congratulations on the house! Do you remember Julia and I talked about the marketing class we took? Janna was our teacher.”

“Glad Julia invited you, Janna,” I said.

“Julia didn't invite her. She came with me, cookie.”

“That's nice. You two have become friends?” I said, surprised.

“More than,” Janna said, shaking my hand.

“You and Janna spent time together since class?” I asked Lila.

Janna chimed in, “A lot of time. She's getting all A's, or should I say O's.” Grinning mischievously, she kissed Lila's cheek and then walked to the bar.

Lila looked at me, beaming. “I'm taking a page from Beth's book. Keep up your yoga, Sara, it pays to be flexible. And I have you to thank.”

“Me? I don't understand.”

“When you were seeing April, I saw that a really great part of you was shining through. You made it safe for me. I got to see someone I knew be in a different kind of relationship and find happiness. So that's what I'm trying to do.”

“Oh? Oh! I'm glad. I envy her. I've wondered what it would be like to kiss you.”

Lila stepped closer to me. She put her index finger to my lips, saying, “Hold that thought. I'm delighted you considered it in the first place. I adore you, always have.”

A wave of warmth surged through me. Looking around I saw my dear friends, drinking and laughing in my new home. I exhaled, feeling joy and contentment.

When I overheard Janna talking to Lila, the two looked into each other's eyes. To see Lila look so engaged in the moment, happier than I'd seen her in years, was a great gift to me. They walked holding hands, peaceful; confirming to me that women were great companions for other women, not a consolation prize for male disappointment.

Strolling in the opposite direction, I spotted Beth. “Did you talk to Lila?” I said.

“And her new
friend,
Janna?” Beth chuckled, knowingly. “It happens to the best of us…I'm waiting for it to happen to the rest of us.”

As we both walked towards the bright light, Jessica wheeled out the cake while everyone sang. Enthralled by Jessica's illuminated face, my heart was full.

I mumbled a wish for myself, “I wish to stay happy.” I gazed around the room at the group of bright gals, confident, loving their lives—this was a club I'd recently become a member of —and delighted to be here. I glanced at Julia, Lila, Beth, and Diana. We all loved each other. But marriage or partnership was a different kind of love. Lila might be on the brink of that; Beth was disengaging from it.

In this moment, my answer became clear! I had something I'd searched and researched for in my life and in my work—love—with someone who was my best friend, who knew and accepted me and made my heart sing. I'd found someone to laugh me out of bad moods with silliness, to trust, who can cope with the “for better or for worse” challenges of the AARP years. And she'd made this big party today, and wheeled out a giant birthday cake—because she loved me. I saw her smile behind the bonfire of candles on the cake. As everyone sang happy birthday, love flowed through the house and through me. I blew out the candles, and they re-lighted. To me this was a sign that I'd gotten a second chance in life, at happiness. This was my first birthday as my new self. It took more than half a century, but I like me and my life now.

Finally, the candles were blown out. Jessica cut the cake. She stuffed the first piece into my mouth, the way a bride does to a groom at a wedding.

Diana walked to the side of the pool with her camera, for a clearer view of me and Jessica arm-in-arm. The fact that Diana wanted to take this photo meant to me that she'd finally accepted my life with a woman.

Then Diana fell into the pool. Others took off shoes, jackets, and jumped in too.

Julia caught my eye and cocked her head for me to join in. I shook my head no.

Friends jumped into the pool, laughing, and eating cake, all carefree celebrants. I was reluctant to jump in and join the crowd. Beth and I looked at each other, hesitant.

Diana swam in front of me and said, “Sara, this is the best party ever. I'll remember this day the rest of my life!”

“Me too!” I thought to myself, joyously, still watching the others, averse to jump in, more of a reporter than a participant.

“Any more wine?” said Diana. “Where's the corkSCREW? I love that word.”

“It's Sara's birthday! Pop the champagne!“ Lila insisted.

Jessica passed out glasses to everyone, who rallied in a semi-circle, as Beth popped the cork and filled everyone's glasses.

“To the happiest of birthdays,” Jessica gushed, raising her glass. “To Sara, my best girl. Her writing, tenacious ways, and big dreams have brought us to this day.”

Beth added, “And this great house. May you be happy here together.”

“Thank you all. You've known how to surprise me, overwhelm me, happy-end me, and leave me speechless,” I said, eyes welling up with tears of happiness. “A toast to my best girls! You are my love, my family, my everything. I may have forgotten to have children, but I was smart enough to have all of you in my life.” As I reached for Jessica, she put her arm around me, held me closer, and kissed me firmly on the mouth. Exhilarated by the day, “You, holding me is the greatest birthday gift.”

“I hope you're happy,” she said, joking. “Clean-up tomorrow will be a bitch.”

Arm-in-arm, gazing at the splashing and water hijinks of friends frolicking in the pool in their party clothes, like children, I said to her, “What a rowdy bunch of old broads.” We laughed, hugged, and kissed again.

During my breathless sprint through 341 blind dates, a gnawing hunger ravaged my sensibilities and self-worth. I'd had enough blind dates to last all of the lifetimes of all of the people in that pool. Now with an abundance of love in my life, my plate was full and my hunger satisfied. I had no idea that the best part of my life would begin after 50.

What do you call a 50-year-old woman who buys a 40-count box of tampons?

An optimist.

What do you call a 60-year-old woman who buys a 40-count box of tampons?

A woman who takes good care of her younger lesbian lover.

What do you call me?

A woman with a bendy body, flexible attitude, and a truckload of hope—enough to last the next half century.

The day after the party, back to work, I dashed off a short piece about relationships for one of my self-help editors. The article practically wrote itself:

Diving Into a Relationship Head First — Have You Found the One?

How do you know if you've met the person you feel confident about spending the rest of your life with? That's a question and answer that lives deep inside of you. But here's some helpful points to ponder:

As you look into the future, do you see your love there, sharing similar life goals? You both want a business together, travel, same point of view regarding family and children?

Can you two talk for hours without being bored, having good communication and sharing common interests? Conversely, can you be quiet together, experience the silence without being bored, comfortable in knowing that good silence can be better than good conversation?

For you, “I have never loved like this before,” is not a clichéd song verse; it's how you really feel. Do you miss each other when not together? Did you trust each other immediately, and feel safe with them? Can you make each other laugh? Are you warmed by their voice and smile? Like each other's friends? Do you want to be together all the time? If most of the above are applicable to you, stop reading an article about how to be in a great relationship. Go and enjoy.

Biography:

Arlene Schindler, born in Brooklyn (N.Y.) originated the comedy review column for
The New York Post
, writing reviews and profiles of comedians appearing in New York City. She was a Relationship Expert/Guest Guru for America On-Line’s Love-on-Line, and a writer/editor for WOMAN Magazine and Playgirl, also writing for The Los Angeles Times, Daily Variety and Creative Screenwriting.

Arlene is a regular on the spoken word circuit in Los Angeles, telling raucous tales about women’s secrets and desires; a riotous romp through the hidden sex lives of today’s "mature" woman.