No one wants to hear negative things said about one’s family, and I assumed Saul regretted mentioning the subject of Dad’s affair once he learned who I was. It was quiet at the other end of the phone. I was sure Saul was mortified. I felt somewhat responsible for his faux pas, however. It wasn’t nice of me to let Saul continue talking about the subject knowing where the story was going. It was like watching a person walk toward a pile of dog poop without warning them to step aside.   Finally, Saul broke the silence.

“Yeah—him and Bobbi,” he said. “They were an item.” It was my turn to be surprised. Why would Saul continue with this taboo topic at all…adding names to the guilty parties? It was like throwing salt into my open wound. Had he said what he said and felt sorry about it—because maybe it hurt my feelings– I could understand. But he wasn’t embarrassed or sorry at all. Saul was insensitive and didn’t miss a beat.

“Hey, Saul,” I asked, “can we just move on from this subject?  I don’t need details.  I know them all.”  

 We got into a  conversation about horse racing.  Saul was a wealth of knowledge when it came to thoroughbreds.  I never learned how to handicap or read the Daily Racing Form.  I just love to watch athletic equines.  My daughter rides jumpers, and it’s fascinating to attend the competitions.  And thoroughbred racing—those animals are beautiful.  I don’t go to the track often, and I only bet two dollars per race when I do.  But the excitement is incomparable.

“I’ll tell you what,” said Saul. “Meet me tomorrow evening for happy hour at the pub in town. I’ll bring some old daily racing forms, and I’ll show you how to read them.” I agreed to meet him.

Happy hour is typically a good starting point for first-time daters.  Two people physically meet for a cocktail when drinks and small bites are cheap. It’s like the early-bird special.  If the couple agrees that the other looks okay, they stay for dinner.  If not, it’s one drink; you split the bill, and see you later.  I arrived at the established time, and Saul was already seated.  I knew it was Saul because he stood up when I walked in, recognizing me from my online photos.  Luckily, he recognized me because I didn’t recognize him from his ten-year-old profile picture.  I could tell Saul was pleased to see me.  He immediately ordered drinks and appetizers. As we waited for the food and beverages to arrive, we talked about online dating and its difficulties.  

“We aren’t that different in age,” stated Saul. “You’re almost 70, and I’m 80; Ten years isn’t a lot, right?” I thought about that. I was pissed about his ten-year-old profile pic.

“Would you date a woman ten years older than you?” I asked. I guess that was mean, but he’d made an assumption that seemed arrogant. Saul’s expression went blank for a moment. He stared into my eyes without a response—like he was sizing me up. The silence was awkward. I changed the topic.

“You’re very articulate, and you write very well,” I told Saul. “That’s what impressed me about you. You are well educated and qualified to be more than a club manager. What kind of work did you do before coming to Connecticut?”

Saul, still looking directly into my eyes as if trying to decide something responded. “I was an attorney,” he said. 

“So you just chose to stop practicing?” I asked.

“No, I had to,” said Saul. “I can’t practice anymore. I made a mistake.”  

© Miriam Greenberg, and the blog Love In The Time Of Corona, beginning April 2022 to the Present. Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this site’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to Miriam Greenberg and Love In The Time Of Corona with appropriate and specific direction to the original content.