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The cheap roadside motel just west of St. Louis was a godsend. Finally, I got a good night’s sleep. Not that I’m complaining about what happened with Marnie and Paula, it’s just that I needed some real sleep.

I’m certain that there are women in St. Louis who I would have enjoyed. It was my loss.

Back on I-44, I planned on sleeping in Oklahoma City this evening. I only made it to just west of Tulsa. I was still tired from Paula. She’d worn me out.

In a quick Google search for a hotel, I found one but I also found that Oklahoma is one of the most religious states in the country. I assumed that I wasn’t going to get laid here.

I was wrong. The women in Oklahoma may spend a lot of time on their knees, but Louisa May Aldrich wasn’t praying.

It started when I found a small hotel with an attached restaurant. It wasn’t one of those big chains like where Paula worked. After a shower, I was surprised that the restaurant was packed, and on a Tuesday evening.

I was escorted by the hostess to a small table for two, packed among a number of other small tables for two. I ordered a beer while I perused the menu.

“Excuse me, young man, but you’re not familiar. Are you from Tulsa?”

“No ma’am, I’m from Boston.”

“I’m always curious. Why would you choose my restaurant? Are you staying at my hotel, too?”

“Yes ma’am. This is your restaurant and your hotel?” The woman I was in conversation with appeared to be close to seventy. Fashionably dressed and her grey hair perfectly done.

“I inherited it when my husband died. If you want to get a sense of the local cuisine try the chicken fried steak. It’s something I’m sure you won’t get in Boston.”

“Have you been to Boston?” I asked because although chicken fried steak was not on most restaurants’ menus, there were restaurants that served dishes common south of the Mason-Dixon Line.

“I went to Wellesley.”

“I live in Newton.”

“I’m Louisa May Aldrich, and you are?”

“I’m Adam Moore.”

“Well, Adam, won’t you join me? I’d love to talk about Back East. I miss Boston so much.” She didn’t wait for my answer. Instead, she signaled a waiter to move our tables together.

He was right on it. After we ordered and ate, “Adam, I’m much too old to entertain a young man in my suite at the hotel, but why don’t we continue this conversation up there?”

I wasn’t thinking about anything. I didn’t know what she meant by entertain. She was almost a decade older than Mrs. Rikman.

Our conversation in the crowded restaurant was interesting but it was too noisy to hear some of it. “Sure.”

“Give me about twenty minutes. The waiter will bring you another drink. At the front desk, they’ll direct you to my suite.”

I still had no idea what, if anything Mrs. Aldrich had in mind except for good conversation. She wanted to know about the Red Sox and the Celtics among other topics.

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