“You’re living here!” Estelle raised her eyebrows. “What’s dating like in your seventies?”
“I take it you haven’t tried it yet,” Albert said.
“I doubt I will,” Estelle told him.
“Well, it’s funny. The stakes are very low and very high at the same time. You know yourself almost too well, and you know what you can’t stand for. At the same time, I’m more curious about people than I used to be. It’s fascinating to watch the world change around you. It’s fascinating to exchange memories with people who’ve been living as long as you have.”
Estelle thought it was a nice answer. She sipped her wine and decided that he was a good conversationalist. Maybe he was the perfect person to meet in a hotel bar like this, late at night.
“Tonight was wonderful, by the way,” he told her. “You’re a brilliant reader and a brilliant orator. I could have listened to you talking about your books all night.”
Estelle blushed. “I’m sure at some point I started talking nonsense. But I love talking about my characters and my stories and the little worlds I’ve built. I don’t know if I’ll ever publish another book, so I’m trying to enjoy this last book tour.”
Albert looked taken aback. “No more books?”
“I don’t know what I would write about,” Estelle told him.
“But you met all those women tonight who hang on your every word and every experience,” he pointed out. “They’re all widows, embarking on the next stage of their lives. They needyou! I need you, too. But it’s only because I love your writing. I love your prose.”
Estelle blushed.
“No pressure, of course,” Albert hurried to say. “I know you need time. Space. You should enjoy your last book tour. You shouldn’t worry about people like me, who need your books to understand the world.”
Estelle felt vaguely flustered. It was an emotion she couldn’t understand at first, not until she saw the bartender looking at them again. She realized he thought that Albert was flirting with her. Was she flirting back? She realized that it was very possible. She was nearly through her glass of wine and considering ordering another. Would Albert stay with her for a second drink? Did she want him to?
“My books aren’t really based on real life,” she said, her voice shaking slightly. “But they’re based on real emotion, I guess.”
“I feel the full breadth of human experience in your books!” Albert declared. “I laugh. I cry. I imagine my life playing out entirely differently. No divorces. No animosity between family members.” He let his shoulders sag. “I was telling your granddaughter tonight that I haven’t spoken to my children in a few years. Now that I’m going through another divorce, I feel lost, empty. I mean, I’m seventy-five and living in a hotel!”
Estelle felt sorrowful for him. “Albert, that’s awful. I’m sorry. You don’t have to say so, but what happened? Why don’t you talk to your kids?”
“They’re angry about things that happened years ago. Their mother isn’t my most recent ex-wife, which, I know, sounds awful. They’re angry about my money. They’re angry about properties that they don’t have access to. They’re angry about things that were said and things that remain unsaid. And they don’t know what to do about the fact that they love me, and I love them. Despite all that love, we can’t seem to get along.”
“Tale as old as time,” Estelle said sadly. “My youngest daughter and I didn’t really speak for years. She and my husband couldn’t see eye to eye. It broke my heart.”
Albert squinted. “But they mended things?”
“A few years before Roland passed, Sam returned to us. Apologies were said. We had some brilliant years together before he died.” Estelle sighed. “Sam’s the daughter traveling with me. We’re going to go all over the place. We’re even going to Europe.”
Albert raised his chin. “You don’t say! I’m about to make my way over to Europe as well.”
“Is that so?”
“I have a few business meetings lined up. I’ll be in Brussels and Paris first. I know you probably think I’m too old to work. That’s what my children think, too. But I’d argue that you’re too old to go on a book tour, if so!”
Estelle laughed. “We aren’t too old to do anything.”
“Thank goodness for that.” Albert smiled.
For a little while, they spoke of other things, beautiful things. Albert talked about what it had been like to live in Manhattan for so many years. He talked about how much it had changed since he’d arrived. “Living in a hotel feels strange and anonymous,” he said. “It feels like waking up every day and getting to decide that you’re a different kind of person. Although by the end of the day, you wind up being yourself again.” He laughed.
Estelle said she understood what he meant.
When they finished their second glasses of wine, it was nearly one in the morning. Estelle couldn’t remember the last time she’d stayed up that late on purpose, although of course she’d struggled with sleeping since Roland died. Albert insisted on paying for her wine, which made Estelle feel strange. Did he think they were on a date?
No, she decided. She’d just told him that she didn’t plan to date.
In fact, two people meeting in a hotel bar to talk about the mysteries of being alive wasn’t a date. It was more sacred than that.
