My friend, Marlys, sets down her latte, turns her most penetrating gaze on me and asks, “What do you think of Jerome Simmons?”
“Never met the man. Why do you ask?” I’ve heard of him, for sure; patron of the arts, successful entrepreneur, etc. Just never met him.”
“ I sat next to him at a dinner party last weekend. I gather he’s lonely. His wife died four years ago. He implied he’s getting weary of going out on his own.”
“Hum,” I say. “How old is Mr. Simmons?”
“Oh, he might be around 70. But a young 70. Tall, slim and straight, silver hair. Think Ted Turner.”
“Hum,” I think. “I could see being the younger girlfriend to a Ted Turner,” I think.