“Sounds amazing.”
I hear Leo pad away on the tile, but then footsteps draw closer again.
“You are going to kill me, aren’t you?” I ask.
“Not yet. I was going to squeeze some fresh grapefruit juice, too. The Ruby Reds are amazing this year. Is that okay?”
The water suddenly feels as if it’s turned ice-cold.
Leo’s question is worse than death for men of a certain age. If you don’t understand, Leo is asking—in the most polite way possible—Hey, can you drink grapefruit juice, or are you on a statin?
I let the water pound my head.
Leo might as well ask if I’d like grab bars installed in the shower.
Suddenly, all the sexy has rushed down the drain.
“Hello?” he asks.
“Grapefruit juice is fine!” I say in a chipper tone.
“Really?” he asks. “Great! I’ll see you in a few.”
As soon as the bathroom quiets, I get out of the shower, dry off, wrap my towel around my body, find my phone and text Esther.
SOS! Need some help! ASAP!
Text bubbles immediately appear.
Oh! Let me turn down QVC so I can focus. I just ordered a Jaclyn Smith wig. They promised I’d look like one of Charlie’s Angels. I’m just hoping it’s not Bosley.
I just had sex with the Hot Jew!
You buried the lede! He’s a journalist! Was it good? Did you remember what to do? Is your back okay?
It was amazing.
Oh! I can die now. Wait. Is that why you’re in distress? Are you having a heart attack? I’ll be right over. Do NOT tell the Hot Jew to get dressed!
No, I feel fine. Physically. But he just asked me if I could drink grapefruit juice.
Oy vey. The kiss of death. Wait. Can you?
Yes. That’s beside the point. The point is that in the light of day he realizes I’m an old man.
Honey, I think he realized that in the dark of night. That glint in your eye was not due to longing, it was due to your recent cataract surgery. I mean, when he caressed your skin and thought he was at a petting zoo...
I GOT IT!
I consider flushing my phone down the toilet, but it begins to ring. I roll my eyes, take a deep breath and walk back into the oversized shower with fabulous mid-century tile.
“What, Esther?” I whisper.
“So truly? Was it good sex?” she asks, her voice high with excitement. “I mean, I know you can’t compare it to any otherencounters because you haven’t had any since call waiting was a thing, but was it as good as—say—Sherman’s coconut cake?”
“It was like a hundred pieces of Sherman’s coconut cake.” I smile.
Esther screams. “I have to tell Talia!”
