As this fictional story is too long for a blog post, it is published in three instalments - this being the first.
Sophie walked warily into the Cactus Club, crowded with lunchtime diners. It had taken her over 40 minutes to drive to the suburban mall her date had chosen for their first meeting. Waiting to be shown to a table, she scanned the room to locate the stranger she’d only seen in a photo. Under her coat, she wore a black cashmere turtleneck, black woolen pants, and a long rose-gold necklace.
For the last eight months, Sophie had been trying to meet someone by using online dating sites. Three previous relationships had started well and then fizzled, so now she stays realistic and guarded when meeting a new candidate.
At 73, she’d dyed her hair for the last 40 years, ash blonde with lowlights. Spending considerable sums at salons and estheticians was not an issue for her. Having a fresh hairstyle and manicure bolstered her self-image, along with working out in her home gym and watching her diet.
She followed the hostess to a table in the corner.
“Hello, you must be Sophie,” said Ray, getting to his feet to greet her. My goodness, you are even handsomer in person than in your photo, she thought. And you are the perfect height.
“And you must be Ray,” she smiled as they shook hands. She already knew he was only 61 and was excited that he wanted to meet in person – despite their age gap. Ray’s full head of silver hair, blue eyes, and ready smile reminded her of a movie star, though she couldn’t exactly recall which one. She liked his clothes, too – designer jeans and navy turtleneck, his puffy red jacket over the back of his
chair.
On this grey day in March, their first meal together was perfect. While he nursed a draft beer, her glass of Prosecco took the edge off her nervousness. He was charming, amusing, easy-to-talk to, and took the initiative to ask how she fills her days. What a nice contrast to other men, who are inclined to only talk about themselves, she thought. “Well, compared to your interesting career, there’s not much to tell. My husband George died three years ago after a short bout of brain cancer. The glioblastoma came out of nowhere and was inoperable. Losing him was like having my arm cut off. These days I try to keep busy with a couple of volunteer positions, but I have too much free time.”
“Where do you volunteer?”
“I have a degree in art history, so I’m a docent at the AGO and give tours to school kids. At Sick Kids Hospital I visit with little ones once a week.”
“Do you have any children? Did you ever work outside the home?” he continued.
“The answer to both questions is no. George was bank executive and we lived overseas a few times. Our longest posting was in Japan, so language was an issue – my focus was managing our social life, planning travel, and supporting him. His job was super stressful. What about you? Tell me about your kids and career. On the phone you said you worked in the travel business.”
They paused to scan their menus before chatting further. She planned a salad topped with salmon; he wanted a burger with fries.
“So, what happened to your marriage?” she asked after the waiter departed. Ray’s online profile listed him as divorced.
“Actually, I’ve been married twice. I had a daughter with the first, and a son with the second. My first wife had a lengthy affair, and the second was a shopaholic who needed psychiatric help. That one came apart seven years ago.”
Sophie filed this history away. Why is it that every divorced man says he’s blameless? But he’s attractive enough to get to know anyway. He’s the handsomest I’ve met so far.
“Where was your profile photo taken?” she asked, recalling his pose: navy blazer, striped tie, squinting in the summer sun with flags whipping in the background.
“Oh, that was the Boulevard Club. I used to run a travel agency and we hosted an event there for clients.”
After lunch, they discussed getting together again. She gave him her card with email address, promising herself to wait for him to make the first move. Two silent weeks went by, so she gave in and reached out via the dating site. Turned out he’d lost her card, which she chose to avoid reading as ambivalence. He seemed genuinely delighted that she’d made contact.
Ray accepted her invitation to a restaurant to celebrate his late March birthday. When he came to her house in Rosedale to pick her up, she gave him a tour of the downstairs. Sophie was used to visitors’ exclamations of wonder – it was an impressive mansion, with swimming pool and tennis court. The lot backed onto a ravine presently graced with leafless trees and a foot of snow.
After popping upstairs to get her purse, she found Ray slowly examining each painting in the living room, reading the artist’s signature. How nice that he’s interested in art.
“Wow, Sophie, you have a fabulous art collection!” said Ray.
“Yes, George was a knowledgeable collector,” she said. “Now that he’s gone, I don’t bother
with auctions, but he was obsessed with Canadian art, especially the Group of Seven and Tom Thomson. Let’s head out now as our reservation’s for 7:30.”
The Italian trattoria in Yorkville lived up to its reputation for outstanding cuisine. She ordered a bottle of Champagne to toast her new friend’s birthday. He explained that he lived in Mississauga, with a university student as a boarder, and told her what his kids were doing.
Sophie disclosed the reason for her childlessness.
“I had two ectopic pregnancies – which is extremely rare. And then, no matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t convince George to even consider adoption. You are so lucky to have children!”
In the taxi back to her house, they held hands. She felt calm and happy in his company. She rather hoped he’d kiss her good night, but he just gave her a dazzling smile and profuse thanks as they parted.
A week later, he called to invite her to dinner at his place. “I’ll cook. We’ll have steaks on the barbecue. Okay?”
“Sounds wonderful.” Her late husband George had been hopeless in the kitchen, and she found the prospect of being cooked for exhilarating. Plus, she’d learn a lot about this new man by seeing where and how he lived.
On an April Saturday afternoon, she drove to his house, carefully parking her Lexus in his shared driveway. The circa 1960s house was semi-detached and relatively well-maintained, although she disliked the beige shag carpet throughout.
It was sweet the way he’d set the table in the dining room using his best dishes and had gone to some trouble to please her. This charismatic man made her laugh – a welcome change from her late husband’s glum demeanor.
When later reflecting on the evening, she noticed two oddities. Ray had zero books on display in his house – the only reading material in view was travel magazines on the coffee table. When they sat on the couch after dinner, and began to kiss, the front door opened, and his boarder hurried up the stairs to avoid embarrassing them. Oh well, just overlook the differences and keep an open mind, she told herself.
Previous online romances had been lop-sided, with Sophie usually suggesting the next date. Now she
made a point of taking turns and invited him to dinner at her place, “This time I’ll cook for you.”
Finding him great fun and incredibly sexy, Sophie was thrilled when they ended up making love in her enormous bedroom. Focused first on her pleasure, he used the condom she produced without complaint. (Her doctor had recited statistics on STDs in people over 60.)
And so, the pattern began. Every weekend they met for dinner and a sleepover, alternating houses. They played golf together, took long walks, and visited wineries in the Niagara region.
Then he told her about a surprise thirtieth birthday party he’d planned for his daughter and invited her to come.
“Oh, may I help out?”
“That would be great! We’re golfing Saturday afternoon. If you came to the house and welcomed guests beforehand, that would be amazing. Ava’s coming to my house first. I’ll give you a key so you can let yourself in.”
Sophie’s heart twinkled in anticipation of meeting his family and friends. The party was delightful, and she made an effort to remember names. All appeared to welcome her with open arms.
Nine years earlier, George and Sophie had purchased a half-share of a house in Eyguières, near Avignon, France. Her UK-based brother-in-law owned the other half. She planned to use it in August, and invited Ray to join her. She saw spending a solid month together as a good test of their relationship.
To be continued…
Enjoy Instalment 2 on www.freshstartpress.com on May 6, 2024.