“Another woman at my table,” Margaret says, “is named Evelyn, and she comes from a wad of dough. She’s always talking about her family members, what degree this one has, and that one. And saying that she taught the ballet. Well, maybe she did.” Margaret leans in closer to me. “But I taught with Martha Graham.” She stands back, nods. “Yes, I did. One of the women who works at this hotel, she knows that and she told Evelyn that I taught with Martha Graham and that I have a bit of education myself. So now Evelyn won’t talk to me or anyone else at the table; she eats her meals without saying a word.” She shrugs. “What can you do with someone like that?”

I smile. “I don’t know.” I can see Evelyn, head held high, staring pointedly away.

“The other woman at the table is always talking about people stealing from her. Betty’s her name. Every day, it’s another story of what ‘they’ took from her. Today at lunch she said someone had taken her girdle. Now, who in the hell would want to steal a dirty old girdle?”

And now, I can’t help it, I start laughing. “Well, I know,” Margaret says. “Exactly.” She laughs herself. “I’ll tell you. As soon as you give up your car, you’re done for. Oh, you have some friends that say they’ll take you out, but they get tired of it, and they fall off. Your world gets very narrow.”

I look at my watch, then say, “Listen, I’ve got to get going now. But how would you like to see a movie with me tonight?” I’ve never done this. I feel so nervous, like an adolescent boy asking for his first date.

Margaret stares at me. “What’s your name again?”

“Myra. Lipinski.”

“Well, Myra, I would love to go to a movie. And I don’t care what we see. It can be trash—I’ll just be so happy to be sitting in a theater and smelling that popcorn.”

“I’ll pick you up at six,” I say. “We’ll have dinner first.”

As I open the door to leave, she says, “Oh, wait just one second!” She goes into her kitchen and returns with a paper bag full of cookies. Gingersnaps, I can smell them.

“Thank you, but I don’t want to take your cookies,” I tell her.

“Please,” she says. “I bake every day, I just love to bake. And I can hardly ever find someone to take anything. Their diets, you know, or this, or that. There’s nothing worse than having all this stuff you want to give away and then not being able to find anyone to take it. You finish these and I’ll give you more, any kind you like.”

“Well,” I say. “Thank you.”

“Thank you.”

• • •