A story of intergenerational love between two women.

People enter our lives, perhaps only for a moment, a few months, or a few years. One may need more than the other, but often there is still a meaningful exchange. Sometimes those people come wrapped in unexpected packages.

It was late fall, and I went with Carolyn, who was well on her way to becoming my ex-girlfriend, to an over-forties lesbian dance on Capitol Hill in Seattle. Many who appeared to be throwbacks to the age of masculine appearing butches danced with femmes in dresses and heels. Afterwards, several women suggested we go to a nearby restaurant for a midnight snack. I was reluctant (as a physician, I was used to early mornings, not late nights) but Carolyn wanted to join them. Ten of us crowded around a long table, drinking, eating, and laughing. An older woman sat across from me with dyed red hair, and perfect makeup. She was in the middle of a story.

“I cajoled his secretary at the front desk to tell her boss that there was a gorgeous buxom blonde on her way up to see him,” she said, her voice low and raspy. “When I popped my head into his office, he looked surprised. I said, “Oh, you were expecting the blonde? Sorry, she is off today.” She cackled at her own joke. “But I sold him hundreds of dollars of advertising.” 

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