Starting Over by Dan Wakefield

I’ve been fine.”
    â€œI’m glad.”
    â€œHow are you? ”
    â€œOh, I’m fine too. You know. Getting along.”
    â€œThat’s wonderful.”
    Potter shrugged. He sipped at his Scotch, concentrating on moderation. He was glad she was wearing a pants suit, and that she had worn her hair tied in the back, with a demure velvet ribbon. Sedate. They would talk. They would be Friends. He was perfectly prepared to graciously put her back on the midnight shuttle to New York. A kiss on the cheek; a pat on the shoulder; a handshake or a hug.
    After her third drink, Jessica began telling about this terribly nice man she was seeing. He was on Wall Street, but very sensitive. Widely-read. The most amazing thing—he didn’t drink. He worked out every day at his Club.
    â€œWhat is he,” Potter asked, “some kind of health nut?”
    Jessica laughed. “You’d probably think so.”
    Potter poured himself a new Scotch. “Really,” he said. “I didn’t mean to be a smart ass. As a matter of fact, he sounds like just the kind of guy I always said you should have.”
    She smiled. “Like you should have the hearty, healthy milkmaid with apple cheeks.”
    â€œMaybe in my next life,” Potter said. “No kidding; though, this guy sounds fine for you.”
    He felt a warm glow, really genuine, as he would for a troubled sister who had finally found Mister Right. He was glad for her, and proud he could feel glad. Maybe it only meant he was “over her,” and yet he hoped it meant, if that, something more, too; that perhaps it indicated, on his part, a new sort of … maturity?
    Jessica coughed, and lit a new cigarette.
    â€œTell me more,” Potter asked, with warm good feeling.
    â€œWell. He wants to marry me.”
    â€œOh?”
    â€œCan you imagine that? Marry me , a worn-out divorcée?”
    â€œCome on. Don’t badmouth yourself.”
    â€œWell—”
    â€œReally. You’re a lovely person. A beautiful woman.”
    â€œYou don’t have to say that.”
    â€œI know I don’t have to say that. I’m saying it because it’s true.”
    â€œYou’re very kind.”
    â€œI’m not kind, goddamn it!”
    â€œI seem to be upsetting you.”
    Potter took a deep breath. “I’m sorry,” he said. “Listen, this is terrific, really. Tell me more about the guy. No kidding. He sounds like what you deserve, after me.”
    â€œYou don’t have to badmouth your self, you know.”
    â€œI’m sorry. Come on. What are the plans?”
    Jessica stood up, slightly swaying, and said, “I plan to get another drink.”
    â€œFine,” Potter said. He looked at his watch, while she went to the kitchen. It was after seven. As soon as she finished this drink, he should get them to dinner. Civilization showed signs of crumbling. How goddamn shaky it always was. Always turned out to be. Apparently composed again, Jessica took a swallow of her new drink, and smiled. “Well,” she said, “what do you think?”
    â€œAbout this guy? Wanting to marry you?”
    Jessica lowered her eyes.
    â€œListen,” Potter said, leaning forward, intent, wanting to say it just right, no hooks or slices, all heart and maturity, “I want you to know I think it’s terrific. I think from what you say about this guy he’s really right for you, he could make you happy. If he doesn’t drink, you probably won’t drink. As much. It sounds like he’s stable, but not just a dummy. It sounds like a wonderful opportunity for you to have a real life, a contented kind of life. I am honestly happy for you.”
    She mashed out her cigarette, and took out a new one. “You approve then?”
    â€œ Yes . For godsake, yes. You have my blessings. A hundred percent.”
    Jessica finished off her drink. Tears blossomed at the corners of her