She smiled at the woman, transferring her glass from her right hand to her left so that they could shake hands. Roberta knew that her interest in this woman wasn’t like that of a man on the mating hunt, but she certainly noticed the other woman’s sparkling eyes, charming smile, well-looked-after figure, and sense of classic elegance in her attire that matched her own. Personal introductions were exchanged, confirming to Roberta what she’d always known, that the simplest of verbal greetings made much more sense than did the business card thing. The woman’s name was Helen. Roberta liked her instantly.
Roberta and Helen hit it off from the get-go. They had so much in common that it seemed a little freaky to Roberta, even though she’d intuitively guessed such a thing when she first saw Helen. Both of them had Psychology practices in the same city, both were divorced mothers, both had sons still living at home while going to college, and both were delighted to find an oasis of friendship in the wasteland of insincerity which surrounded them.
Ten minutes later they left the ridiculously overcrowded meeting room, together. The man in the dreadful tuxedo, who had tried unsuccessfully to pick up Roberta earlier, saw them leave and felt a rush of relief in knowing that his failure with Roberta was clearly due to the fact that the bitch was a goddamn dyke. He was wrong about Roberta, but then he’d been badly misjudging women for most of his life.
* * * * *
Roberta and Helen found a small table in one of the hotel’s lounges. They sat and talked and laughed and took turns signalling the waitress for more rounds. They talked about movies they’d seen, restaurants they’d been to, books they’d read, clothes, and the challenges of raising their sons. Roberta realized that it had been too long since she’d last had a fun talk about ‘girl’ things with anyone.
Their conversation was light and casual and wonderfully comforting to both women. It made both of them feel totally relaxed and very much at ease with one another, almost as if they’d known each other for years. When their hands accidentally touched on the tabletop, or their legs accidentally brushed together underneath it, the contact was strangely exciting even though neither of them consciously felt any romantic or sexual bond with the other. It felt strange, but strangely nice, too.
Helen’s cell phone sounded its musical phrase. Helen took the phone from her purse and, after glancing at it, told Roberta apologetically that it was a call she had to take.
“Hi, hon,” said Helen to the caller. “I’m fine … I should get away from here tomorrow afternoon … I’ll see you tomorrow night … I love you too … Kiss … Bye.”
“That was my son,” Helen explained, as if some explanation was necessary. “He’s over at a friend’s house watching a late movie and he didn’t want me to panic if I tried to reach him at home and couldn’t.”
“Mine called me earlier,” said Roberta. “I don’t know how they survive without us,” she added with a laugh.