Stories: All-New Tales

We met Arthur on a seniors’ cruise that Yvonne took me on in honor of my seventieth birthday. It was her idea, and not a very good one, I must say—the room was cramped, the food was terrible, and most of the other passengers were pathetic old bores. When Yvonne gave me the tickets, she had said, “Who knows? Maybe we’ll meet a couple of nice widowers,” but there were three women for every man, and what men there were were bald, toothless and demented. I actually saw one of them trying to eat soup with his fingers. So when Arthur walked into the dining room, tall and unstooped, with his full head of silver hair gleaming in the light from the nautical-themed chandeliers, all the old biddies in the room seemed to sit up a little straighter. And when he sat down next to me, I thought, Watch me. I am going to charm the pants off this man. So I started up a conversation about current events—test him, I thought, see if he’s still in possession of a fully functioning mind—and he seemed to be able to talk about something more than what kind of medication he was taking, which automatically made him a better dining companion than anyone else at the table. He and I chatted and laughed all through the meal, and Yvonne just sort of melted into the upholstery, as usual. It’s always been that way; there’s a softness to her, a sleepiness, that I can’t stand. If it weren’t for me, the world would have eaten her up long ago.

So Yvonne sat quietly and picked her way through her prime rib—no appetite on that girl, never has been—while I began laying the groundwork for my grand seduction. Things were going quite well, and I was sure I had him in my pocket. Arthur and Arlette, my mind kept singing, Arthur and Arlette. I was ecstatic, and God knows I deserve some happiness. Yvonne knows how lonely I’ve been since my Stephen passed away. She doesn’t mind being alone; she’s used to it. But I was made to be married, and in my mind I already had the church decorated, the flowers arranged artfully on the tables.

And then at the end of the meal, something odd happened. Arthur rose from his seat, helped me out of my chair and said, looking right at me, “Might I interest you in a walk in the moonlight, Yvonne?”

I felt a little prick of acid in my stomach, and my whole body tightened. I saw Yvonne raise her head hopefully, but I shot her a look. “Well,” I said to Arthur tartly, “I’d be a lot more interested if you tried calling me by the right name.”

For an instant, Arthur’s face turned cool as he flicked his eyes between me and Yvonne. Then he widened his eyes in a gentlemanly show of shock and proceeded to fall all over himself apologizing. “I’m so sorry,” he said. “I must have misheard the introductions. So Yvonne is your sister?”

“That’s right,” I said. I drew my wrap around me, closing myself up. It’d take a little more wooing to make up for a flub like that.

“Please forgive me,” he said. And then, as if this had anything to do with anything, “You two look so much alike.”

Well, that was a fatal misstep on his part. Our whole lives, Yvonne and I have been told we look like twins, but I don’t see it myself. I don’t see it at all. True, we’re only thirteen months apart—and oh! how often I’ve wished I could go back and recapture the glory of those precious thirteen months when it was only me!—and we have similar coloring, but my features are much more graceful. Any person who thinks that comparing me to Yvonne is a compliment has a lot to learn. And the lessons might as well begin as soon as possible.

“Sorry,” I said, my voice as icy as the wretched frozen swan sculpture defiling the buffet. “But I’m feeling a bit tired this evening, and I think I’ll pass on your kind invitation.” And I swept off to bed, my dowdy sister in tow.

My plan was to keep Arthur at arm’s length for another half day or so, and then gradually let him win me over again through much hard work and flattery. But at breakfast the next morning, I could see I’d made a tactical error. Arthur ignored me completely and began doting on Yvonne as if she were some rare bird he’d been hoping to spot for years. By midmorning, they were heading to the onboard casino together; by late afternoon, they’d signed up for a ballroom dancing lesson. And I was left sitting on my deck chair, stewing in my fury, watching the waves pass me by.