Have U ever been lonesome?
........she whispers to Linda!
I noticed, Linda answers. Just watched him spilling his wine as he walked away from the table and spitting bits and pieces all over Joyce when he stopped her in the hallway to tell her about the dance he is organizing.
Bertha popping into their conversation, Did he get her double chins too?
Ana laughing walks away looking for a place to sit and enjoy her goodies. Yeah, yeah, she admits to herself we can make as much fun of this as we want to but can’t take away what makes it all worthwhile: Hope. Just watch our eyes, men's, women's. Following the new members––the younger the better. Like the new shy guy that showed up tonight. Our faces lose their tension, a smile lightens them. Briefly, for looks aren't always returned. Of course we are thinking, a daddy for the kids, a provider? That might be going too far. They seem to be an extinct breed. Oh! well a partner? Is that too much to ask? And we’ll be back next Sunday. Her thoughts are interrupted.........
Someone is filling the doorway, it’s The Weasel.
His name is Warren but his sullen face, the beady eyes, the puckered mouth resembling a muzzle make him look like a rodent. And his actions make him deserving of the nickname. The meanness with which he treats the vulnerable women that accept his invitations has become known. Worst, the insults he spits at his ex-wives, and talks about freely every chance he gets. Because when he was a merchant marine he married women in other countries, brought them to the United States and dumped them. Now calls them pigs and laughs at what he calls their foreign ways. And if he drinks one too many, goes an and on, none stop. It doesn’t bother him that, often people just walk away and leave him talking to the walls.
Ana takes inventory without meeting his eyes that are burning holes all over her shapely body. The Weasel is wearing slacks held by a belt low over his hips to keep the blubber of his gut from hitting his knees. He’s in a bright sports jacket and shiny dressy shoes. Suddenly she’s lost her appetite. You weasel! she mutters under her breath on her way to dumping her plate in the garbage can.
In the dining room she passes some fiftieths plus women coming back for seconds and thirdssss. They are wearing freshly applied makeup. Their Sunday’s best, bright dresses, fine jewelry................what r their hopes? Do they still dream? We'll find out nxt sunday..........I can hardly, well, just hv 2 wait 2 tell U........