It can be very lonely when you are a woman of fifty-one and have no man around the house. Very lonely indeed. After my husband Frank died, I knew it was foolish for me to stay in this big, two-bedroom house, but I couldn't bear the thought of leaving the place I had been so happy at for so many years. So as you can see, I was ripe and very vulnerable for everything that happened.
Alice and Norman moved into the house next door a little over seven months ago. Both in their late forties, I was glad that someone near my own age had rented the place. Alice is only a tad over five feet, and although slender and petite, she causes many a man's head to turn when she passes by. Her husband Norman is an accountant at some downtown insurance company, and even though slightly balding with a little paunch, he has a great sense of humor and is a pleasure to be around. It was only natural that Alice and I soon became friends, finally getting to the point that she would come over almost every morning after Norman left for work. We would sit at my kitchen table with a cup of coffee, just chatting and enjoying the morning. It was on one such morning that it all began...
"Maggie? What are you? Fifty? Fifty-one? You look a lot younger than that, you know? Why don't you ever have a man over?" Alice was wearing her usual outfit of jeans and white blouse, and I still in my faded housecoat. It had a rip in the sleeve, but I had had it for so long it was like an old friend.
"Oh Alice," I said, laughing. "I'm too old to worry about meeting some man. Too old and too choosy I guess." I took a sip of my coffee. "Besides, I don't drink and go out to bars and such, so I don't have much opportunity to meet a man, even if I wanted to."
