Nadine: Geriatric Romance 

Nadine is an older woman; I’d say in her late sixties whereas I am in my mid seventies.

That makes me kind of old, you might say, but... Yeah, mid-seventies is old but it’s all in the way one feels and looks and, other than occasionally forgetting what I’m talking about in mid-sentence and occasionally needing a bathroom every half-hour or so – and one other problem that bothers the hell out of me, that I am not going to talk about right now – still having most of my hair, although it is now more gray specked than brown specked, my face is... for some unknown reason my face is fairly wrinkle free and, other than some hanging flesh beneath my chin and much more of a belly than I’d like, I think I look pretty much as I did in my fifties.

Nadine? Nadine is one of those older women that maintains the shadow of her youthful beauty while her elder beauty, at least to me, shines through the wrinkles on her face and the thickening of her body as one that, easily to see, Nadine was a raving beauty in her earlier years.

I have a minor home service business and, having been in Nadine Foster’s home four times over the past ten years, while waiting for her to write a check, I’ve had occasion to see framed pictures of Nadine in her youth and, though tempted to say, “You were really beautiful then,” – as I look at this as a back-handed complement, meaning ‘you were beautiful once but now that you’re old you’re no longer beautiful’ – I never did complement Nadine on the face of her pictures or past beauty.

Nadine, her face now, though a bit on the haggard side and her soft looking white hair though a bit on the disheveled side, big busted, her body, now thickened and appearing as what one may consider as “matronly”, Nadine, to me... Me, who’s body has also thickened – men, as they grow older, so they say, lose their butts and gain what they’ve lost behind in front giving men, as they grow older, bellies, while women gain in their hips and behind and – between Nadine and myself, this rule of thumb certainly appears to ring true .

On this day, having finished the service hired for, coming into the living room, seated on the sofa, Nadine appeared to be gazing through the patio door. Looking as though day-dreaming, “Nadine,” not wanting to startle her, “Nadine,” I said softly. “I’m finished.”

Her head jerking in my direction, “Oh, sorry,” she said, “guess I was day-dreaming.”

Coming nearer, I handed her my invoice.

“Hold on a sec,” she said, rising a bit wearily, “let me get my check-book... If I can remember where I left it.”

Watching as she went into the kitchen...

Okay, so I’m old but, as I’ve said before, as a mater of fact as I’ve said on many occasions, ‘I’m old, but I’m not dead.’ Because, wearing jeans and a cardigan cashmere sweater,  standing above Nadine I could see the creased flesh of the swell of her ample  breasts and, as she walked from me, although now a bit on the large side, I watched her backside as she walked into the kitchen.

From my, “So I’m old but not dead” file, I sincerely believe that man is programmed to look at, watch and, usually, silently appreciate women. My “So I'm old but not dead” file also tells me that the day I stop watching and appreciating women is the day that I will begin the process of dieing, and as this was not the day that I began the process of dieing... I watched, and appreciated Nadine’s ample backside as she walked into the kitchen.

“How have you been?” Nadine called from wherever she was hunting down her elusive check-book.

“Fine,” I answered back.

Nadine knew my wife had been suffering from acute Diabetes along with a number of related symptoms and that she had passed away five years earlier.  

“Still a bachelor?” she asked, returning to the living-room with check-book in hand.

“Yes,” I answered.

Always on extremely – customer related – friendly terms,  sitting again, patting the space alongside her, “Sit, why don’t you!”  

Sitting two feet to Nadine’s left, “How’s your husband?”

Staring out the patio door once again, a blank expression coming to her face, “He’s... Nate’s been in a nursing home the last two years.”

“Oh, I’m sorry to hear that,” I said sincerely.

“Yes,” she said, looking at me. “Alzheimer’s.”

“I’m so sorry.”

Writing a check, tearing it from the check book, handing it to me, “I tried taking care of him here, at home, but after a year it got so bad we... my kids and me,” said sadly, quietly, “we thought it best to place him in extended care.”

Not knowing what to say, placing my hand onto hers, “I’m so sorry.” I repeated.

Nadine’s eyes shifted from my face to our two hands.

Thinking I’d overstepped my bounds, “I’m sorry,” I said once again, this time for touching her as I was. “Maybe I’d better go,” I said as I moved my hand.

“No!” Taking hold of my hand. “You know I’ve always thought of you as a perfect gentleman,” she said, adding, “and I like you.” Hesitating again, “and I’ve had the impression that you like me, too.”

My hand now held within her two hand. “Of course I’ve always liked you! You’ve always been very nice to me.”

“No, I mean I’ve had the impression that you like me more than as 'just a customer'.”

“Nadine, you’re a beautiful lady and I’m a guy and, yeah, because I’m a guy I always did... do like you more than ‘as just a customer’.”  Thinking now for sure I was overstepping my bounds, “Do you want me leave?” I asked.

Ignoring my question, “You think I’m beautiful?” she questioned. “I used to be, but not now!”

“Nadine, you are! Trust me!” I said emphatically, “You are still beautiful!”

Quiet a number of seconds, my hand still held tightly within her two hands...  Turning her body to me, “I love my husband, you know,” she said. “But he’s no longer the man I knew. He’s...” swallowing a sob, waiting until she found her voice.  “Nate’s a stranger to me, and to him,” her eyes becoming glassy, looking away, “He doesn’t know who I am and to him I’m a stranger.”

Feeling a bit uncomfortable with my hand held by hers, “Alzheimer’s a terrible disease,” I said. However, wondering where this may be going, and, of course, the man in me – not wanting to take advantage of this woman’s sorrow – but the man in me wanted this to go to the rear of the house, to the bedroom, but wanting no mistake in this, again I asked, “Would you like me to leave, Nadine?”

Speaking hautlingly, weighing her words, “I miss Nate... the old Nate. Living alone like this... Oh, my kids and friends try to keep me occupied and take me out and have me to dinners, and I try to keep myself occupied, but...”

Her eyes on me again, my eyes meeting her eyes, “I miss a man,” she said emotively, “I miss being held by a man and the feeling of  a man’s body next to me, and....” Her eyes shifting away, looking onto her lap, onto our three hands, then up again, into my eyes, “Maybe I’m being forward, but... If you don’t mind...

Knowing what she was about to say, moving my face to her face, my lips to her lips, barely touching, we kissed.

“Would you hold me?” Nadine asked, her words no more than a whisper. “Would you lay next to me.”

Truly feeling a fondness for this beautiful lady... Quite possibly feeling more than merely a “fondness” for this beautiful lady. Well knowing where this was going. At my age needing pharmaceutical assistance to “get things going”. On this day however, realizing that on this day, really, on this day I wanted nothing more than to hold Nadine.

Standing, my hand now holding her hand, bringing Nadine to her feet, my arms about her, “I’d love to hold you!” Hugging her, “I’d like nothing better than to lay next to you!”

My hand in her hand, silently, Nadine led me to the rear of her home.