“We’re having a few friends over tomorrow evening. Why don’t you join us?”

The invitation had been last minute, offered out of sympathy. She accepted nonetheless. Marjorie didn’t really know the young couple. They had never exchanged more than pleasantries in passing. They’d lived in her building for less than a year; she had been there for thirty-eight. But yesterday the three had ridden in the elevator together and she had cried. Her husband had recently passed away, and such is grief. To be nice and fill the awkward silence, they had invited her to a gathering they were having.

Being far older than they, she assumed she’d be older than their crowd, but was grateful to have the diversion. Standing outside their apartment door holding a small box of chocolate mints purchased as a thank you, she brushed away wrinkles from her dress and listened, trying to decipher the sounds permeating into the hallway. Marjorie could hear a commanding male voice inside, followed by laughter so forceful it might be explained best by some law of physics. She waited a moment before knocking. “Hi, Lila,” she said, handing her the box of chocolates.

“Marjorie, hi. Welcome.” Lila looked at the gift. “Thank you. You didn’t need to bring anything.” She ushered Marjorie into the apartment.

“Sorry I’m late,” Marjorie replied with a touch of embarrassment. “I move slowly.” She walked into a living room jammed with guests, most crowding around a rectangular table stacked with plates and trays of food. Marjorie noticed that nearly all the other women were wearing slacks.

Several large abstract paintings decorated the walls but, other than that, this room was furnished in a manner far more spare than her own, with its overstuffed sofa and two large lounge chairs, as well as piles of books and magazines scattered on the floor.

“I’m so glad you came. How are you doing?” Lila’s empathy flowed thick as syrup.

Marjorie wrinkled her nose. “I’m fine, really. I apologize for my behavior. Henry’s passing wasn’t unexpected. It had been a long time coming.”

Lila led Marjorie toward a counter bedecked with stemware and wine bottles. “Red, white, or a martini? Josh is the bartender.” She pointed past the counter and into their kitchen. “Go on in. He’s pouring.”

Marjorie raised her hand in greeting as she entered the kitchen. “I understand you’ve made martinis,” she said, accepting a tentative peck on the cheek from Lila’s husband.

“Up or on the rocks?” He pointed at two types of glasses.

“Rocks, please. I’m a lightweight. I love them, but the best solution for me is a lot of dilution.” She chuckled. It was a line that Henry had coined. He’d had such a good sense of humor. Josh poured her a glassful over plenty of ice and dropped two olives into it. She took a sip, hummed her approval, and thanked him before returning to the living room.

She wandered among the guests, smiling politely whenever she caught someone’s eye, while surveying for a place to park. It was awkward being among so many new people, and was happy to spot an empty chair beside a pleasant-looking young man, sitting quietly by himself. To fortify herself before walking over to him, she drank more of the martini, and then speared one of the pimento-stuffed olives and ate it. “I’m Marjorie,” she said extending her hand.

“Mind if I sit?”

“Please.” He stood and held her chair.

“I live on an upper floor,” she said.

“I’m Ward.” He shook her hand, softly. “I’m Lila’s brother.”

“Oh, how grand. You two must be close. I don’t really know Lila or Josh well. Their invitation to join you all tonight was a delightful surprise.”

He smiled. “I don’t get to see them nearly enough. I’m visiting. I live in London.”

Marjorie set her drink on the window sill and clapped her hands joyfully. “My husband used to promise that we’d live overseas someday.” Her smile faded. “We never did. He was sweet, but a fearful man who didn’t like to change his patterns. What is it that you do in London?”

“Teach at the university. American literature. Works by Twain, Fitzgerald, and Lewis.”

“Lewis? Alice in Wonderland? Wasn’t he English?”

Ward nodded. “You’re thinking of Lewis Carroll. I meant Sinclair Lewis, who wrote Babbit and Elmer Gantry.” He looked across the room and raised a hand, waving in the direction of a woman wearing jeans and a spangled sweatshirt, and a young man with broad shoulders and light brown hair.

“Is that your wife?” Marjorie asked before taking another sip of her drink. It not only tasted good, she felt good. Better than she had in years––socializing, having a cocktail, and being eighty-six and able to step out of her apartment on a Saturday night.

The young man’s expression melted into an affectionate, warm smile. “No, he’s my husband.”

Marjorie looked at Ward for a moment. “I’d have never guessed,” she said, intending to compliment him. “I mean––it’s not obvious.”

“What isn’t?” he asked, holding her gaze.

She took another swallow from her glass and then cleared her throat. “Forgive me if I put that wrong. Things are so different these days. I don’t mean to offend. I adore gay men.”

“Really? All of them?”

She chuckled nervously. “Well, they do make the best girlfriends.” One look at his face and she could tell that hadn’t been the right thing to say. Hoping to shift the trajectory of their conversation, she said, “It may be hard to believe but, long ago, before I got married, I used to dance on the stage. Big musical numbers. I wore bustiers with lots of feathers and sequins, and seamed nylon stockings to show off my legs. Legs are the last thing to go on us old gals, you know. Mine are still in pretty good shape.” She hiked up her dress.

He glanced at her legs and nodded.

“All the boys I danced with back then were gay. They were such fun––lively, silly, and so cute. I loved them.”

“You make them sound like puppies.” His fingers started to fidget and he began to stand.

She placed her hand on top of his. “Don’t let me scare you away,” she said. “All I was trying to say is that I’m really very open-minded about that.” His dark eyes had the look of a trapped rabbit. What did she expect him to say? Why should he care what she thought?

“So you gave up dancing for marriage?” he said, slowly sinking into his chair.

She mouthed the word ‘No,’ drawing it out. “I wasn’t nearly good enough to be a star. But I had the time of my life. They usually put me in the back line. I wasn’t the prettiest, but I was a good kicker. And all of us girls had bright white teeth showing through big smiles.” After finishing the remainder of her drink, she stabbed the second olive and smiled at him. “Back then, I worked with plenty of gay men. And most became my friends.”

“I presume you were friends with some normal people, too?”

“Now you’re making fun of me,” she said, becoming demure.

“My apologies” he said employing an intentionally milder tone of voice. “It’s just that being gay may be the least interesting or defining thing about me.”

She took a deep breath and raised her index finger. “This is good. I appreciate a frank discussion. It immediately puts us on a different plane––beyond two people who’ve simply chatted at a cocktail party. We’re actually learning about each other.” She paused. “And, sorry, I didn’t mean to categorize you.”

“Even a positive stereotype is still a stereotype.” Ward caught himself before saying anything more. He’d been abrupt, if not rude, even if righteously so. They were merely strangers at a party, and she lived in his sister’s building. Lila would have to see her tomorrow. He knew what she was trying to say, even if he wanted to make a point, rather than let her off the hook.

Marjorie appeared stunned. After trying unsuccessfully to get a last sip from her empty glass, she turned toward him. “You are absolutely right. I’ve not only learned something about you, I’ve learned something about myself.” With more effort than she might have wanted to display, Marjorie struggled to her feet. “Thank you for sharing that with me, Ward.” He joined her in standing. “This is my first social outing in quite a while,” she said. “It’s not only been enjoyable, its been enlightening. This old lady is happy to have gotten out of her apartment and to have had a drink among interesting people.”

“No, wait,” he said. “Seems defensiveness has become a reflex. Forgive me.”

She smiled and took his hand. “Told you I like gay people.”

He continued to hold her hand. “Stay,” he said and took the empty glass from her other hand. “Let me get you a second something to drink and we can continue educating each other.”

“If you’re sure,” she said and lowered her head slightly. “Charmed.”