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asked me to dinner.”
    Again, Helen’s mouth opened like an automatic door. “You. Are. Kidding. Me.”
    Millie smiled.
    “Stop the presses! When was the last time you went on a date?”
    Millie thought a moment. “Thirty-five years ago, I think.”
    “Sam Levering,” Helen said, “is a notorious ladies man.”
    “I’m a big girl,” Millie said.
    “You’re a lamb in sheep’s clothing.”
    “Don’t be silly,” Millie said, but she felt a little heat rising on the back of her neck.
    Helen looked at Millie. “The truth now,” she said. “What on earth made you say yes?”
    For a moment Millie hesitated. She was not one for massive self-reflection. She had settled interior matters long ago. But this was Helen, the closest friend she had.
    “I really don’t know for certain,” Millie said. “Maybe it was insane. But the man is handing me the greatest prize a judge could ever have. How could I say no?”
    Helen raised and lowered her eyebrows. “It might be kind of fun, if you know what I mean.”
    “Oh, stop it,” Millie said. “You really are insufferable.”
    “But this is Senator Sam Levering, Millie dear.”
    “A nice dinner is enough for me.”
    Helen huffed as if she didn’t quite buy it. “Just watch your backside, honey. And your front side, too.”
     
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    Millie looked at herself in the mirror and said to the reflection, “You have got to be joking.”
    She was actually dressing up to go out on a date. Was the dress she held against her body too fancy or not fancy enough? She had the right clothes for official dinners, and speeches, and appearances. But this was different, radically so.
    Was the color right? Was the length out of fashion? If only Helen were here to help her, but that would have been a cure worse than the disease. Helen would have taken her on a dress-buying binge and quantum makeover for what was supposed to be a simple dinner for two.
    Millie lowered the dress and considered her body. It wasn’t so bad, was it? She was not thin nor heavy, though she would have preferred a little less in the thighs. Her lower body seemed to have developed a mind of its own lately, issuing dissenting opinions to her desire for firmness. The treadmill and basketball helped, along with a sensible diet. But she knew she would never be one of those middle-aged women who could wear bicycle pants to the market with impunity. Not that she would ever do it. But the option would have been nice.
    She had never considered herself pretty; reporters were fond of describing her “dignified” face. What exactly did that mean? A face to be etched in the side of a mountain? Terrific. Right up there with Teddy, Tom, Abe, and George.
    She wished now she had said no to Senator Levering. What on earth had she been thinking? Going out with a United States senator? One who had a reputation with the ladies? How could she have let herself get into this?
    She remembered vividly the last time she went on one of these gruesome social rituals called a date. It was a memory etched in stone, like the words on the Supreme Court building. It was only her second time being asked out by a boy. She’d said no the first time. But this time it was Marty Winters, the second smartest kid at Santa Lucia High. She, of course, was the first, and that was one reason she didn’t get asked out.
    She had actually liked Marty, had been drawn to him, unlike any other boys she had met. Growing up brilliant made her extremely self-conscious and withdrawn in a way that worried her parents. She had never given boys a serious thought — who would ever find her appealing? — until Marty.
    They went to the movies. Romeo and Juliet was the big sensation. Marty had placed his arm around her the moment the coming attractions started and did not remove it until Romeo and Juliet were quite dead. She knew Marty was in more than a bit of arm pain after the movie, but she didn’t mention it.
    He took her to a burger place afterward. They saw