Indeed, the old lady said, smiling. And I insist you call me Gloria.

Ginger nodded, but was growing uncomfortable trying to keep eye contact with Mrs. Needleman, whose stare had intensified. What in the world did this lady want from her?

Mrs. Needleman sighed deeply. You've given up on love, I take it.

You could say that.

Why?

Ginger laughed, wondering how she could possibly sum up this tragedy for Mrs. Needleman, especially since it was a topic she and her friends had spent entire eveningsno, yearsdissecting.

Mrs. Needleman stared, waiting.

Okay, well, I recently turned forty, Gloria. I have two teenage boys and an ex-husband who behaves like one. The newspaper where I've spent my entire career is on the edge of insolvency. By this pointand I admit it's taken me long enoughI've learned a few lessons.

I see.

And I can assure you that if some man came up to me and told me he's been waiting for me, I'd dial 911.

Mrs. Needleman's eyes narrowed. Tell me about those lessons you've learned.

Ginger looked up at the ceiling, silently pleading for patience. Oh, you knowlessons about life. About men, she said, returning her gaze to her swinging sandalanything to avoid the lady's laserlike eyeballs. The difference between reality and fantasy, basically.

Go on, dear.

Ginger shook her head, adjusting her bridesmaid dress to give her a little more room to breathe. She didn't want to be rude to Mrs. Needleman, because she'd been raised to respect her elders, but she certainly wasn't in the mood to be analyzed. All she wanted was to get back to her room in the guesthouse, ditch the increasingly tight dress, and chill out before they went to dinner. She was thinking shrimp linguine and a big, crisp salad.