Maureen walked into the bowling alley, the vulgar crashing of pins and annoying electronic tones from a bank of arcade video games assaulting her senses. “Perfect,” she told herself as she sought the bar. Adjusting to the dim light within, she stood at the doorway, shedding her raincoat, pitching it onto the seat of the nearest vacant booth which was the one nearest the door. Her umbrella already collapsed, she leaned it against her raincoat-bearing bench seat, unconcerned that they both be stolen. By then, she could see that the bar was all but deserted, but for the bartender and one passed-out customer. A regular, no doubt. Otherwise, the bartender would not have served him to inebriation, and would also have called a taxi, or the law. “Perfect,” Maureen repeated to herself. She settled onto a barstool, laying her plain clutch on the bar.

“A martini,” she said as the bartender approached, saving him the trouble of polluting the airspace between them with the obvious. “Oh, gin, not that James Bond stuff. And two olives, no bitters, but just whisper vermouth over the top.”

The bartender to anyone else would have either offered his pet name of the drink, or repeated the order. Or he might have replied with some endearing, to him anyway, remark in an effort to increase his tips. For Maureen, unsmiling, he tipped his head, nodding understanding. She didn’t want conversation. If she wanted to hear his voice, she would ask a question. He mixed the drink at one-half part dry vermouth to two full parts gin instead of the standard recipe. She didn’t present herself as a lush, a dame intending to get as drunk as possible as quickly as possible, but simply as someone who wanted a stiff drink. Her clothes were ordinary enough, but her haircut wasn’t. Neither was her makeup from a thrift store, but professionally applied. Tennis shoes, but she walked as if in three-inch heels. Jim didn’t see class often, but he knew a Rembrandt from a factory print.  

Maureen didn’t pay for her drink and Jim didn’t ask. From the corner of his eye, he watched as Maureen palmed the glass, casually raising it for her first sip. Jim involuntarily nodded affirmation. In a previous life, he’d served the elite.

“A little less vermouth next time, Sam.”

Jim accepted the Sam, a nod to an old Humphrey Bogart film noir movie. “Casablanca,” he thought. He started toward her, intending to take it back and make another until she waved him away with a Royal four-finger double pump.

With only two small sips left, another lady walked into the bar, diverting Jim’s attention as he was about to tend Maureen. “Hello, Elise. The usual?”

Elise scanned the room. “No, Jim.” Elise walked toward Maureen. “I’ll have what she’s having. Bring two.”

Maureen gave Elise the once over, immediately accepting the intrusion as acceptable once noting that Elise had neither the vulture, nor the shark look about her. An off-the-rack pantsuit unprofessionally opened at the neck, maybe a size too small for a Fortune 500 front office, but definitely too lightweight for ….

Before Maureen finished sizing her up, attempting to figure whether or not she was a threat, Elise dropped her purse toward the bar and stuck out her hand, lady-like. “Elise, with an E and an s, not Alice. Do you mind?” Elise made herself comfortable on an adjacent stool. “I haven’t talked with an adult in, Lord, weeks, it seems.”

“Maureen,” Maureen said shaking fingers with Elise.

As Jim placed the drinks in front of the women Maureen did a little back and forth hand motion indicating that Jim should put both on her tab.

“No, no. Put ‘em on me, Jim. Only right,” she said to Maureen. “I’m the one broke up your party.”

“That, you did,”

Elise gave Maureen a quick look in an effort to read the comment.

“No, it’s fine, dear.”

Elise squinted at the endearment, unsure how to take it seeing as the woman appeared about her own age, maybe a bit older.

“You work with children?” Maureen asked.

“Worked on the Street until a few weeks ago. I have a barely-functional, autistic son. Strangest thing, though. He absolutely excels at bowling. Gets along great with his team. Hence…” Elise spread her arms and hands as if in explanation of her presence. “Anyway, Billy’s between situations, so…”

“So you are it, as they say.”

“I’m it.” Elise gave a slight shiver after tasting her drink. “Haven’t had one of these since… My last boyfriend thought he was James Bond.”

Maureen chuckled. “You said street…”

After a second’s pause, Elise realized how her word might be mistaken. She laughed with a blushing familiarity. She recalled seeing a couple street walkers a block away as she drove up. “Oh my lands! I’d starve to death!” She laughed. “Oh, no. Unlike Julia Roberts, if I can’t kiss ‘em on the mouth… huh-uh.” Elise shook her head convincingly.

Maureen smiled as she sipped her drink. “That’s better, Sam.”

Elise looked from Maureen to Jim, who just smiled.

“I’m afraid… Julia Roberts?” The connection was lost on Maureen.

Elise gave Maureen a quizzical look. “Pretty Woman? Julia Roberts and her girlfriend would hook, but not kiss on the mouth. Like they were saving that degree of intimacy for…”

“Marriage. I get it.”

Elise took another small sip, following it with another shiver.

“Sam, bring Elise her usual, would you please? And put it on mine.” Maureen slid the martini away from Elise toward Jim’s side of the bar.

“Uh… well, thank you, Maureen.” Elise gave her her warmest smile.

“So, the Street?” Maureen asked.

“Langstrom-Walsh.” Elise replied, expecting Maureen to understand that it was the accounting firm of Langstrom, Walsh, Wellsworth, and French.

Maureen did, but offered no indication that she had.

"I don’t know if I’ll be going back, or hanging up my own shingle.”

“You’re a CPA?”

Elise smiled. “So you do know Langstrom.” She smiled a gotcha. “You might’ve gotten your outfit from the Salvation Army store, but not your hairstyling, or your earrings, or your manicure. You didn’t fall off no turnip truck in front of a bowling alley.” Elise grinned as she sipped her white wine.

Maureen chuckled.

“So you?” Elise asked. “Hiding from Daddy Warbucks?, Or …” She started to say the mob but stopped short since it might be the truth.

“No, nothing so nefarious. And not the mob, either.” Maureen smiled as she leaned her shoulder toward Elise with an air of comradery. “But that’s not to say that you aren’t too far off.” Maureen saw Jim’s slight gesture. “Not just yet, dear,” she said, causing Elise to snap a look to Jim, looking to see how he took the blandishment.

“Oh, is that a faux pas?” Maureen asked, her sincerity real.

“Jim’s alright,” Elise replied. “He used to work in DC.” Whispering so faintly she might as well have been pantomiming, Elise said, “He’s in the witness protection system. He overheard some stuff he testified about.”

Maureen wrinkled her eyes. “So, you know this…”

Elise pinched back a grin. “You know the…” She put her finger tips to her mouth, moving them a bit as if kissing.

Nodding understanding, Maureen smiled. “You’ve kissed him on the mouth.”

Elise blushed, fanning herself with her hand. “Might again, too.” She laughed through a closed mouth.

“He is kinda cute. In a turnip truck sort of way.”

Elise couldn’t contain her laughter this time, bursting out loud enough to awaken the drunken sleeper.

Calmed, Elise told Maureen that the drunk was George, a stock market thousand-aire. A day-trader who did very well. Jim would call him a cab now he was awake.

“So what do you do with your time, Elise. Surely your son doesn’t require hands on all day?”

“A lot, but no. I’ve been known to write some.”

“Oh?’ Maureen asked, her eyes asking as well.

Elise pulled her face inward.

          “And through sanctimonial hue, passion brazen

          Sensual rawness rent askew, unbridled, craven

          Search of truth, abyss of heavens unforthcoming

          Stand I naked, pleading mercy, unforgiven."

“I’ve heard that. I know that. From the National poem! You’re the National Laureate! Elise…”

“Palmer.” Elise finished for her, thanking Jim for the refill with a nod.

“You were at Nichols’ inauguration!”

Elise smiled.

“Well, you and Jim aren’t the only ones with secrets, and secrets,” Maureen said as she finished her drink, sucking in the two olives.

Elise gave her a questioning eyebrow face, waiting for the goods.

Maureen opened her clutch, extracting what Elise guessed was a gold credit card. Instead, Maureen laid it before her as she waved for Jim to bring two more drinks.

“M. Lynn Peelston. M….” Elise’s mouth gaped as she stared at Maureen. “You’re the, the richest person in the world!”

“Well, the richest woman,” Maureen replied.

“And you…” Elise looked Maureen up and down.

“My driver took me to the Holiday Inn where I changed clothes and came here by cab. A body likes to remember they’re human once in a while.

“Put that card in your purse, Elise with an E and an s. And I always answer that number myself.

Elise did.

“And this is between us?” Maureen nodded toward Jim. “I’d hate to have to move a good kisser to another undisclosed location.”

Elise and Maureen toasted one another. “A human to an adult,” Elise said.

Maureen repeated the toast, “An adult to a human, may their friendship flourish.”