There was no particular topic of conversation. When they weren’t pondering “classic” movies and music, they were talking about Mt. Shasta, skiing, going to the beach, and their dream destinations around the world—Gretchen had always wanted to explore more of Latin America and maybe parts of East Asia, while Thelma had a very Euro-centric view of travel. They shared an appetizer, going as far as Thelma cutting it into pieces for them both, and Gretchen insisting on feeding her some bites for her trouble. They discussed the upcoming Thanksgiving holiday and how much Thelma planned to cook with Megan’s insistence that she’d help. Gretchen would come, right?
“Wouldn’t miss your cooking for the world. Even if it means putting up with Robert.”
Thelma didn’t mention the cancer, since it wasn’t her business to share, but she did mention meeting Becky and thinking her quite lovely. Gretchen talked about her conference and how dreadfully boring it was, even if her travel expenses were on the company’s dime. Thelma reminisced about her and Bill coming to visit Vegas as a highlight of their marriage, but that it had already “changed so much” that she barely recognized it. When she let slip that she saw Dean Martin live, she had to amend that it was an impersonator. And the more Gretchen joked about Elvis, the more Thelma reminded herself to research what happened to Elvis when she got home.I know he died. That’s it.
Gretchen didn’t ask invasive questions; Thelma didn’t offer any sad stories as she drank wine and her date had a beer. By the time their plates were taken away, it felt like they had been talking all night instead of only an hour.
“Are you two thinking about any dessert?” the black-clad waiter asked after taking away their dinner dishes. “Thetarte tartinis a popular one to share on dates.”
“You can tell we’re on a date?” tipsy Thelma blurted.
“When you’ve been doing this as long as I have,” he said, “you can tell.”
“Well, then…” Gretchen glanced at her date. “Guess we’re doing thetarte tartin.”
With a sly smile, the waiter stepped away. “Coming right up.”
“My gosh!” Thelma slammed both hands on her face before flinging them down again, laughing harder than before. “I’ve never been caught on a date before!”
“Me neither. And I used to go out every weekend with my ex.”
“Me too! Well, almost every weekend. Nobody knew, and that was how I liked it.”
Gretchen folded her hands on the table, locking eyes with Thelma as a cool breeze knocked some curls into her face. “Do you like people knowing that you’re out with me?”
Their knuckles lightly touched on top of the table. “Yes,” Thelma bashfully said as the breeze chilled her legs. “Do you like being out with me?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
After thetarte tartin,Gretchen covered the bill, and Thelma didn’t fight it. They then walked back through the Paris, now bursting with people. Before heading to the Ferris wheel, they popped into a piano bar for a quick drink, but quickly discovered a twenty-fifth anniversary party between a man and a woman and all the friends they had brought with them. More people were invited to join, and as Gretchen and Thelma ordered some cocktails at the bar, they watched as the man in a GROOM sash spun the woman in a BRIDE sash on the small dancefloor. She wore a tiara with her blouse and pants, and he looked like the happiest man in Vegas.
“That’s the real shit right there,” Gretchen said, as they leaned against the bar. “Not winning thousands of dollars or hooking up with the prettiest lady in Vegas. Just being with one person for a long time. Absolute true love.”
Thelma gazed at her from the side. “You believe in that?”
“Sure. Why not?”
“That’s so sweet.”
The piano player went on break. A playlist of prerecorded music blared over the speakers for guests to dance to, instead—the happy couple’s choice. They were country music fans, and Thelma yelped to hear Patsy Cline’sWalkin’ After Midnightthump so loudly through the intimate club.
“You like this song?” Gretchen asked as she grabbed their drinks.
“Don’t you?”
“I’ve never thought about it!”
In truth, Thelma didn’t really care—but she enjoyed anything that now reminded her of the late ‘50s, of driving her Impala down Hemlock Street while the radio played the latest hits from around America.Walkin’ After Midnighthad gotten considerable play on the country station, which Bill frequently switched to when he tired of everything else.Patsy Cline has quite a voice.As Thelma and Gretchen picked a tall table to have their drinks at, Thelma watched couples shuffling together on the dancefloor. It was difficult to talk over everything.
But two songs later, when Thelma was halfway through her watered-down, expensive drink, she heard a male singer crooning some familiar lyrics.
“What?” Gretchen asked.
Something had struck Thelma right in the beating heart.It’s not the Platters, but…Was that a country musician? Singing “Twilight Time?”
“This song…” She spun her tiny straw in her drink. “The version by the Platters just… really sticks with me.”
“I don’t recognize this song at all. But I’m pretty sure this is Willie Nelson.”
