Being unwed was inconvenient at times. Divorcee was a polite enough title, and she found it comforting that she did not, in fact, have to state she was a divorcee twice, nay three times over to her emanate employer.

“Divorced? Yes, three times to date,” seemed crude rather than caviler. Besides, when asked of her marital state: “Single, married, divorced or widowed, ma’am?” She felt a 1940s pause and with a downward glance, as if in sorrow, she answered: “Single.” Her answer to the nasal, narrow-faced man with the scars of bad complexion during adolescence didn’t seem to phase him, but she knew better. It was his task to find her the next perfect position in which she could work her way through life.

Oddly enough, it wasn’t until she was on the bus, destined for somewhere in her busy life, did she admit she to herself that ‘single,’ may have been a tad bit deceptive. The word single is desultory. She had been close to being married and subsequently divorced three times. She may make it to the altar yet; one never knew.

The first was close-encounter to matrimony bliss was her first employer. He was old enough to be her father or a young grandfather. Gregory was stoic, down to business and marginally successful. The look on his face when she fell upon his shoulder weeping for no apparent reason, and then her abject apology awakened his long dormant gallantry and he invited her out to dinner.

He became intrigued by her solitary life, and perhaps he even had her followed. She couldn’t be sure, but during her walk from the bus stop to her studio apartment, she felt a man following her. She told this to no one. Well, one person, but she had been on her third sherry and he was shouting directions to the bartender and throwing her sideways glances. It was closing time. Decent wait staff is hard to find.

Gregory died in his bed before he could propose.

The second possible matrimonial offer was with Gregory’s younger brother, Howard. She felt sure he had her followed her after his brother’s death. Howard retained her for two weeks until another lawyer could take over the practice; that lawyer didn’t want her. The brother, Howard, seemed always angry with her, but she kept her professional decorum, understood the anger of pent up attraction (or morbid curiosity Gregory did die in bed) and worked until the practice no longer needed her.

The night after she lost her job and was mourning her late employer, she heard a rapid knock upon her door. When she opened the door, Howard began speaking immediately. “Did you sleep with my brother? You know he had a diseased heart. You slept with him and killed him.” She attempted to close the door in his face, but he shoved it in and… well.

Howard helped her find another position. She found the work satisfactory, and she was content in her relationship with Howard. He was so much like his brother; pot bellied, thinning hair and lonely. The problem with their lasting happiness was that Howard was married. She did not hound him about divorcing and they continued seeing each other discreetly for five years. His death frankly was a little more profitable; he left her his apartment uptown. The view from the apartment was glorious and his wife purple during the reading of the will. Oh well, the neighbors were not friendly, so she sold it for a nice tidy sum and remained in her old neighborhood. The sherry was fine just down the block, despite the rude owner and shy bartender.

A third attempt at marriage threw her into despair. He being just a few years younger than her made his advances awkward. What could she do when he headed for the elevator at the same time? He started using the stairs just when she decided she needed the exercise and started using the stairs as well. She became concerned when his late nights at the office often coincided with her.

Once, on the way out, alone in the elevator, he remained stoically silent, looking straight ahead. She, too, remained silent and said nothing. When the doors opened, she stepped ahead at the same time he did, and they collided. Apologizing profusely, he stepped back and allowed her to walk through first. She caught the eye rolling of the security guard and the young lawyer stopped to talk about the baseball game and walked out of the office building alone. She understood the young man’s dilemma. He a junior partner in a large law firm, she a secretary with profound experience. She had no choice but to hand in her resignation.

The scarred young man with the nasal voice left a deadpan offer on her voice mail. Another law firm; smaller, with only one lawyer to look after. His secretary left for maternity leave and just couldn’t return. He needed her in a hurry. The bus ride was a little longer, but she had her books and crochet to keep her occupied. She accepted. The practice is rather dusty with old wills, old furniture and an old lawyer. This suits her.