"You see," she said. "You're one too: a younger—than—you—looker."
"Alison," he said more firmly, "it has been nice to meet you, but I must be going. Much to do."
"Goodbye, Joe. Thank you for talking to me." He didn't want to wait for change, so he left a large tip and walked up Ala Moana Boulevard, relieved, but with the odd feeling that he was walking toward her rather than away.
At 4:00 that afternoon, the phone rang.
"Hi, Joe, it's Alison. I was bad this morning; I'm sorry. I don't know what got into me."
"What do you mean?"
"You were busy and I bothered you. I've been lonely, I guess. I didn't realize. I don't meet people like you very often." That was flattering. Joe made a soothing noise. "How about dinner, Joe? Dutch treat?"
He was surprised. "Uh, when?"
"Tonight, of course. I want to be high in the air and look at the city lights. I've never been to the Top of the I. Come on, Joe . . . You can tell me stories about the ancient old days. I will wear a skirt. We'll be normal for a couple of hours."
"A long stretch," Joe said, but then he felt bad. "Why not? O.K." They agreed to meet at 6:30. He ironed a pair of pants and an aloha shirt, mumbling to himself about what a pain in the ass it was, but by the time he stepped off the elevator he was feeling better; it was nice to be liked.