Chapter 1

She hated these cocktail parties. The women, dressed to kill in the most revealing dresses they could find and/or dare to wear, each trying to capture the attention of the men, standing or strutting, showing off the fact that, even at middle age, they still had bodies which could bring second looks; pairing off with each other and making catty remarks about the other women, then tearing into each other when they parted, circulated around the room and formed temporary alliances with the other women about whom they had just been talking.

And the men, in their tuxedos, looking like a cross between a penguin and a rooster, strutting about, drinking too much, laughing too loud and trying to impress the women with their inane jokes or stale come-ons.

Charlie enjoyed these gatherings however, so here she was. She and Charlie would have a good laugh later when they got home, she thought. The only man to approach her this evening for small talk was George Tyree, a junior executive with one of the large shipping companies. He had been a polite, even witty and... yes, interesting conversationalist. It was not that she had not enjoyed his company. What was humorous was that it was common knowledge that George was gay, but still in the closet. He still made pretense of being straight which she found amusing. He had made the obligatory compliments concerning her dress and how beautiful she looked, but underneath there was an unease, one he had learned to mask reasonably well, but one which any halfway observant woman would pick up on immediately. He was a sweet man however and deep within, Laura felt sorry for him -- not so much sorry for his homosexuality as for the fact that he felt he still needed to hide it, even when so many gays had openly embraced their sexuality.

At last, having fulfilled one of two or three conversations he would have with women during the course of the evening to keep up appearances, he prepared to withdraw. They exchanged a smile and for but a moment, their eyes held and he knew she was looking into him, seeing through his facade, yet he read no threat, no animosity or derision in her eyes -- only acceptance.

"It's been a pleasure talking with you," he said, shaking her hand gently.

"I've enjoyed it," she replied, watching him walk away.

He's a good man, she thought to herself, kind, gentle. Why must there be so much intolerance in the world?

Her thoughts were interrupted by the arrival of Helen Van Stilling, a transplanted waitress from a small town in Georgia who married into money and now never missed a chance to flaunt her wealth and position. She even spoke now with a rather affected accent, as if everyone had forgotten her redneck roots and should be impressed by her ostentatiousness. Her favorite pastime, so the rumors went, was collecting and then discarding lovers behind her husband Richard's back. Laura's relationship with her had never been cordial since Helen looked on every woman as a potential rival, even those much older and who showed no interest in anyone other than their own husbands.

"Why Laura dear, how nice to see you."

"Hello Helen."

"You seem to be all by yourself this evening."

"Oh, Charlie is about somewhere."

"Yes, well I saw you talking with that George... what's his last name?"

"Tyree."

"Yes. He's very polite, but then I guess his kind can't afford not to be."

"What is his kind, Helen?"

"Oh, you know dear... queer." There were times when Helen's less than sophisticated upbringing still surfaced.

"He seems nice enough to me."

"Well, I suppose he would," remarked the elegantly clad woman. "I mean the two of you have spent the evening virtually alone."

Laura smiled. She wasn't about to take the bait.

"Interesting conversationalists are hard to find."

"Yes, well I can't imagine what the two of you would have to talk about."

"You'd be surprised."

"Don't normal men interest you?" asked the younger woman. "I mean you are reasonably attractive... .for your age, and..."

"Charlie doesn't complain."

"No, I guess not. But then, I wouldn't think he'd be too hard to please."

"Helen," said Laura, lowering her voice even further, "let me put this in terms you'll understand. I really don't want to get in a pissing contest with you. I don't know why you don't seem to care for either Charlie or me, but I really have better things to do than..."

"Feeling a bit insecure, Laura?" sneered Helen.

"Not at all. I just have better things to do than cat fight with you, now or in the future."

"I don't blame you. It's bound to be hard for you to compete with a real woman."

With that the younger woman turned on her heel and walked off. Laura shook her head in disgust, but, as she always seemed to do in these skirmishes, Helen had scored some points.

Laura began to wonder, did she dislike these cocktail parties simply because they were inane or did she actually wish to avoid being compared with the other, she had to admit, gorgeous women who seemed to attract men like bees to honey? She caught her reflection in a nearby window. Her dress was in good taste if a bit conservative. Her shoulder length ash blonde hair was styled well for someone her age. She showed a few wrinkles around her steel gray, expressive eyes, but her face was still attractive, possessed of soft delicate features. Her figure was no longer hour glass shaped, but she was possessed of full breasts and hips and shapely legs. She might not be cover girl material, but Laura Branson was still a lovely woman. Why then she wondered was Helen right about men not seeking her out. Not that, being married happily to Charlie, she would be interested, but it might be nice to be noticed, to know that men still found her attractive.

Shaking off her insecurities, she sought out her husband. She saw him with a group of three other men, standing just inside the next room. As she was moving toward them she saw one of the men make a crude gesture when a young woman in a very revealing dress walked by. The others, all married, including Charlie, laughed, so instead of joining them she stood just around the corner, out of sight, but within earshot.

"Damn, she was nice!" offered one, obviously talking about the young woman who had just passed by.

"I'll say. She could eat all the crackers in bed she wanted. It wouldn't bother me one bit!" laughed another.

"How about it Charlie? She look like something you'd like to handle?"

Laura's mouth flew open when she heard her husband reply, "Yeah, she does have a nice ass and legs."

"As nice as your wife's?"

"There was a time when Laura..." mused Charlie, then let his voice taper off before finishing, "... that is... Laura is..."

The other men laughed when Charlie couldn't finish. "Hey, Charlie, you got the used to be blues," chuckled the taller man in the dark suit.

"The used to be blues?" he asked.

"Yeah, you know, we all get 'em about this time in life. You're stuck with thinking about how good your wife used to look, how good she used to be in bed."

There was an embarrassed silence, then Laura heard Charlie say, "... Yeah, guess you're right."

Laura felt as if she had been run through with a poker. Her heart fell into her stomach and tears misted her eyes. She leaned back against the wall, closed her eyes and tried to regain her breath, only inches from the man to whom she had been married the last twenty-nine years.