The Last Place She'd Look by Arlene Schindler Read Free Book Online Page B

their age, no one makes their dicks hard, but they blame us. Without a little blue pill, most mid-life men are limp noodles. The main reason men get married is because they can only hold their farts in for so long,” I laughed. “Men who are hot to marry women our age are ready for adult diapers. During foreplay, instead of moaning 'Oh baby,' I'll moan, 'Grampa, still breathing?'” Feeling sad, I added, “Yet, I want to find someone…”
    “After last night's group hug about your love life, I thought you wanted to take things easier. New birthday, new beginnings. The very things we were afraid of and running from all these years might offer great comfort and joy when we least expect it.”
    “I'd like to lose some of my cynicism—or at least believe it's not too late to be happy. I have one last bit of hope left,” I added, walking back to dunk in another pool.
    “That's a good wish. That's my wish for myself. May I share it with you?” Lila asked, while adjusting the straps of her suit. We each found a spot in the mineral pool.
    “Sure. I want to believe that at our age, if we fall in love, we won't break a hip,” I joked. Was my wish realistic or a dream? Last night I agreed to just let life surprise me—could I do it?
    “Today is about celebration—birthday, joy, and beauty. So lighten up!” she said.
    “At 16, I could enter a room and everyone looked at me,” I remembered aloud.
    Lila splashed me with warm water and said, “Honey, if you want to go into the way-back machine, I was at Woodstock, shirtless, boobs bouncing in the breeze, listening to Janis Joplin. I was from the peace and love crowd, the free love generation! Now I can't give it away.”
    “I stopped dating bald men,” I said triumphantly. “I liked going to the movies with them because if I needed to pee in the middle of the film, I'd always find my way back. I just used their head as a row marker.”
    “Age has a cruel sense of humor,” Lila said. “My boobs are racing so fast to my knees, my bra needs a speedometer.”

Chapter 6
    Out-Night Girls
    With less than a half century left, I wanted to cram a lot of living and loving in before I was in desperate need of a walker and/or my only companion was a home health aide.
    Still recuperating from the Ack debacle and the close encounter with Molly the relationship counselor, I was having a restless, lazy Saturday, so I called Beth. She always had boundless energy—enough to lead a double life as a married bisexual, making it look effortless and highly desirable. I'd have to get one fully baked life before I could even consider a second.
    Beth was free for dinner, so I threw on sneakers and a jacket and ran out the door to meet her at the Burbank mall. As soon as I parked near our designated spot by the muffler repair shop, I saw her dirty forest green minivan, fingerprinted windows and all. She honked and I ran for the passenger door.
    Before I could buckle my seat belt, I blurted, “I have so much to tell you.”
    Beth kissed my cheek and giggled, “Careful, we're not alone.”
    I looked in the back of the van—and there sat Adam, Beth's teenaged son; his girlfriend Jane; Ricky, the drummer of their band; Fred, the guitarist; and all of their instruments. My eyes widened with surprise as everyone laughed.
    “You forget I'm a mom,” Beth said, laughing, driving, drinking soda, and brushing the bangs out of her eyes. “I'm taking the band to their sound check for tonight's show. I thought we'd hang for a while, listen to a few songs, and then go off on our own.” She winked slyly.
    “You're the mom. The mom with the most-est,” I said.
    “She's a cool rock 'n' roll mom,” Jane exclaimed. The band nodded in agreement.
    Beth and I helped the kids unload their instruments. We all marched into the dimly lit bar; the kids made a beeline for the stage. I watched the boys unwrap cords and connect guitars to amplifiers. As we watched the band set up, I reminisced, “Beth, I