When I set out to learn about my mother's bridge club, the Jewish octogenarians behind the matching outfits and accessories, I never expected to fall in love with them. This is the story of the ladies, their game, their gen, and the ragged path that led me back to my mother.
Metronorth. 7:33 to Manhattan A man calls a woman and says he has two things to tell her, not three, no four. First, he loves her. Second, contrary to what anyone tells her, he is going to take care of her. Third, she has to trust him, and fourth, it’s going to work out; does she believe him?
How does the story end?
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Betsy Lerner 
This reminds me of a movie starring Meryl Streep and Robert De Niro. I believe the name of it was, Falling in Love…but I saw it in Italy and the title was “Innammorarsi” if memory serves. Any call of reassurance done on a train lacks sincerity. If those words can’t be said in person, but are uttered in front of strangers it doesn’t seem genuine. I think the woman, desperate to believe him, will continue to live the lie and in perpetual fear. Maybe the man is just buying time. Time until he can figure out whether or not to leave her for a younger woman who is much more exciting and attractive. But he’s afraid she will eventually find out that he’s a washed up bore. Maybe the younger attractive woman is really a man…
It ends like every other story. In death, of one sort or another.
The train goes off the rails and the guy is killed.
Months later the woman gives birth to the guy’s child. She lives a long and lonely life and eventually dies of a broken heart.
The kid becomes a You Tube star who perishes as a result of an infected “MOM” tattoo.
How’s that for uplifting?.
Wow. Baileys goes in the coffee right now.
Ahoy Frank. Yup, I shoulda had some.
Badly. What does “taking care of her” really mean?
Woman on train. I assume she’s going to work at that precise hour, so presumably a career woman. From Westchester or lower CT. Okay. Who calls? Lover? Married man? Father? Ex-fiancee? Why does she need taking care of? Pregnant? Why does she need convincing that she has to trust him? Red flag. And fourth, hollow words: it’s going to work out. He’s a douche. She’s a fool to believe him. I have no ending…
I’m a nonfiction writer. (But she’s wearing a short sleek navy dress, red Jimmy Choos, Valentino tote. Tresses of flame-colored hair. Let’s make her 37. Successful business woman, but still single and the New York social scene sucks. She’s agitated. Who calls, anyway? The douche probably texted her. He’s newly divorced with four kids. Very rich. Hedge fund. He’s been playing her. She’s had her eggs frozen and is dying to find the right man. It’s not him. She texts back.)
The man is sincere in his declarations at the moment, but the love is complicated. First, she loves her husband and children. He’s indifferent to the sanctions of his marriage — it’s been two years, for goodness sakes! He will take care of her, but really he’s domineering and controlling and eventually she’ll resent his possessiveness. Trust won’t be an issue until he meets someone else. He’ll join a gym, but will rarely go. And finally, he’ll realize he dialed the wrong number, but what the hell? and the pair will meet for lunch at a new Thai place that opened up not far from Penn Station. He’s smitten and the new woman has a package she’d like him to deliver. She tells him if he succeeds, she’ll introduce him to an organization that will change the world.
Does she believe him?
Yes, because he’s her son.
Whoa…snap.
He picked out her nursing home huh?
I guess I should have finished how the story ended. No nursing home. He’s going to take care of her, no matter what.
Very nice, donnaeve.
Thanks, Mike!
NOT well…..
Sent from my iPhone
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The man’s call went to voicemail which was unopened and deleted because she was sooo busy studying for her college boards and really dude, stop stalking and get a life.
mid-life crisis. this is a man who is attracted to other women, other than his wife, and he’s scared about what that means.
he’s working out too much, too hard. extreme martial arts taught be ex-military in Israel. and he’s bought new clothes: Japanese denim and Italian knit sweaters. he’s calling a message into his office number.
what’s really happening is death is knocking at his door and it’s freaking him out.
He’s still talking as she walks through her front door, kicks off her shoes, then heads straight for the kitchen to pour herself a glass of wine. She’s barely listening.
“We need to talk,” he says, as he has for the past two months, though she’d hoped the phone calls would stop now that she’s been clear about this thing she has with Robert. And she was, she really was absolutely clear. She made comparisons; she gave details. No one could accuse her of prevarication or of stringing him along, and if, as her shrink Dr. Kelly has suggested, she’s been guilty of such hedges in the past, then it should stand to reason that last night’s moment of brutal ultra-clarity should have set things right.
Given the way they left it, it seems odd that he’s called again today, that his arguments haven’t shifted but have settled instead into a pattern, his voice tinny, vibrating, as though he’s reached some conclusion on her behalf and has grown exasperated at having to find so many ways to explain it.
“Come talk to me,” he says, and, “I love you, you know that, this can still work out,” and she hears her own voice in quick retort, barbed with impatience at being forced to yet another lie: “I’ve been home all day, I’m in my pajamas, haven’t even showered, for God’s sake, and anyway I told you I’m not—not—”
He emits a bubble of high-pitched laughter as if she’s surprised him with something outrageous. “Home!” he cries. “Oh, man.”
He’s still laughing as she pushes open the bedroom door. Something is blocking it. An upturned shoe, some heavy laundry.
Robert?
She puts her head around the door.
It was raining when he got to the city.
A good story never ends.
How does it end? She eventually realizes he is a complete fraud. But not after she has spread her legs repeatedly for him and in a drunkun argument one evening, she pulls out a little lady’s derringer from her red garter belt and blows him to fucken Pluto. How’s that? Now, do you want a follow-up? She goes on to write her first novel about the incident from a woman’s prison and earns early release so she can promote her book.