Only Coffee

He pulled out her chair, taking her hand and seating her like a solicitous gentleman in a Regency romance. Catherine peeked at him sideways. Grey hair, white beard, wire-rimmed glasses, neat features. Typical of all the other aging white guys in this retirement town. In fact, the man resembled Catherine’s husband of forty years, but with one important difference.

No beam of interest ever shone from her husband’s eyes.

Catherine fidgeted with her coffee spoon and looked around the café, hoping not to recognize anyone.  She and her spouse had moved here recently so the odds of remaining incognito were in her favour. But one never knew.

It was ridiculous to feel guilty. They were only drinking coffee. Not cocktails. And they were sitting in a prim cafe, not dirty dancing. Surely, a lady of a certain age could enjoy a non-alcoholic beverage and a chat with a male acquaintance without stirring up gossip.

Catherine put the spoon down and glanced across the table at Douglas, who was regarding her with an intensity that caused flame-tipped chills to ripple over her shoulder blades. 

“. . . and superior talent,” Douglas was saying.

“Mm, hmm.” Catherine hadn’t been listening closely and couldn’t venture an opinion. Under the table, she gave herself a sharp pinch on her right thigh. Snap out of this. Grow the hell up.

“ . . . lucky to attract such a stellar performer. Don’t you agree?”

She still wasn’t sure what Douglas was talking about but all she needed to do was smile in response. And ask an innocuous question to show she was paying attention.

“Yes, Douglas. Are you a dedicated Arts patron?”

There. That made sense. And he was nodding, moving on to tell her about his interest in the local musical scene. Good.

She held her steaming latte with both hands, occasionally sipping it, hoping her rosy pink lipstick was as indelible as it was advertised to be. Pink was flattering on an aging face, wasn’t it? Steam curled upwards, tickling her nose. She inhaled the earthy, deep tones of the coffee and imagined where the beans had come from. A humid jungle, remote and untamed. Where men are men and women are satisfied. Fiery iciness once more cascaded over her shoulders. She closed her eyes, relishing her fantasy.

When she became aware Douglas had stopped talking, she reopened them. Oh dear. Now what was he saying?

“Are you feeling all right, Catherine? You seem distracted.” Doug’s brown eyes conveyed concern and something more. Was it affection? Desire?

He wants me.

“More than all right, Douglas. Terrific, in fact.”

She put her coffee cup down and leaned forward so her bosom was accentuated.  Smart of her to wear a black turtleneck. Her crepey neck skin was covered up and her curves were displayed to best advantage.  I’ve still got it. She squeezed her elbows to her sides and felt her breasts push against the restraining fabric.

Douglas had started talking again. Catherine locked eyes with him, brown on brown, soul on soul. It was such a pleasure to be with someone interested in her, who looked at her and her alone.

“Can I count on you, Catherine? This means the world to me.”

“Oh, yes, Douglas, absolutely.” She put her hand on her heart. Too much? She dropped it, and reached for the bill.

“No, no. You must allow me.”

“Thank you, Douglas.” What a gentleman.

“My utmost pleasure. And I promise I’ll be in touch soon.”

Catherine walked home in her dress shoes, not even feeling a pinch from the four-inch heels that she’d been ordered by her podiatrist never to wear. Later, she ate dinner with her husband, uncaring when he turned the television on at full blast, mid-meal. For two nights, she dreamed of Paris and chestnut blossoms and romance.

On the third day, she received an email from Douglas. Her hand shook as she pressed “enter.” She took a deep breath. This was it. She’d thought the situation through. This was the moment she’d cross the psychological line into infidelity.

“My dear Catherine.” What a lovely way to open.

“It was such a pleasure to enjoy a coffee with you.” Oh, yes. For me, too.

“Without doubt, we are kindred spirits.” Go on.

“I am grateful you have agreed to sponsor our Arts Council.” What?

Douglas thanked her on behalf of the local theatre group,. He looked forward to her active participation in fundraising activities. He lauded her for her personal commitment of two thousand dollars.

By now, her heart had dropped, and along with it, her libido.

As she walked to her bedroom, past her husband who didn’t even grunt hello, Catherine felt an overwhelming loneliness. She was just another indistinguishable aging woman. I’ve been such an idiot. Douglas hadn’t seen her at all; he’d only been attracted to her well-rounded finances.

Catherine fetched her check-book and fulfilled the pledge she hadn’t known she’d made. She didn’t bother to fix her hair or put on lipstick before she left for the post office. As she walked, her feet ached in their sensible orthotic shoes.