My not replying was an answer in itself. "Why me?" I asked, sounding ludicrous, even to myself. "We have virtually nothing in common. I'm not some raving beauty that men lust after and I'm certainly not worldly. I'm not stupid. I went to a small college, nights, but I'm no intellectual. I'm Sarah Blanding, widow lady, school teacher, in a boring job and an unexciting life. What attraction could I possibly offer to you?"

He shrugged. "I'm Paul North who was born to more money than any one person should control and my only talent is making more. That I'm good at; it's spending it where I suck. I'm not a male model and if women lust after me, the attraction is more my bank account than my good looks. I graduated from an Ivy League college but my parents assisted in the admission process by donating a dormitory or two. If traveling the world is worldly, hardly ever leaving the hotel room isn't. I have no hobbies and few interests besides business. I may appear self-confident but it's all an act. I have two kids I love beyond reason but I don't have a clue how to raise them. No, I'm not soliciting a mom. I'm just being honest. Believe me. I'm not a great catch."

I was flabbergasted at this highly successful man's low self-esteem and his candor in admitting it but he hadn't answered my question. "Why me?" I repeated.

"You fascinate me. You're charming and self-assured. In spite of what you say, I think you're beautiful. Mostly I just enjoy being with you. You didn't know a whit about me or my money but you spent hours in my company at the reception and I think you had as much fun as I did. I know nothing about your world but that doesn't mean I'm not curious."

I stood up to quell my shaking knees and took a deep breath. "Come on," I said. "We haven't seen The House of the Seven Gables. It's just off Derby Street."

"If they charge admission, we don't enough of the fifty bucks left. We'll have to sneak in."

"Screw it," I said. "My treat."

We toured the site of Nathaniel Hawthorn's literary masterpiece, creeping down the secret passageway with the ghost of Hephzibah Pincheon peeking over our shoulders. We thoroughly enjoyed ourselves.

There was no further discussion of a personal nature and there seemed to be a new understanding between us. We dined on Yankee pot roast at a nice restaurant with reasonable prices. While I didn't tally the total, Paul was well below my imposed limit, even with our desert. It was over apple pie I asked the first significant query in hours.




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