My parents were together for 54 years, and madly in love. Even right before my mom died last year she would look at my father with love in her eyes and proclaim, “He is movie star handsome. Like Cary Grant.” And my dad saw her the same way. As she aged and got sicker and sicker he still thought she was the most interesting and beautiful woman in the world.
Women were waiting for my dad as my mom ailed and eventually passed away. He grieved, and then they started throwing themselves at him, sometimes literally. As he sat in his beautifully tailored clothes at the Pai Gow poker table at the Wynn each evening, dealers and cocktail waitresses, neighbors and rich divorcees, gorgeous Asian women and girls in their 20’s with perfect bodies vied for his attention. Sometimes two or more showed up to see if he would take them to dinner that night, and he watched quietly as they assessed their competition.
My dad is 79. He is gorgeous, no doubt, but he is 79. He is a true gentleman, which is a rarity these days, especially in Vegas. He is fit and interesting, a man who enjoys every single day as if it were his last.
He took them to dinner. It was a revolving door, a dinner rotation. He was lonely, glad for the company and the conversation. “I can only have dinner with my kindle so often without going crazy,” he told me. I totally understood.
My father has found love again. He is 79 years old. She is 52. She is beautiful and accomplished, interesting and bright. He works out every day and even does Pilates now, thanks to her. They are madly in love with each other. I watch them kiss, and whisper, “I love you,” to one another at each hello, each goodbye.
There are a lot of disappointed women in Las Vegas right now. Men like my dad don’t come around often. The other women still circle around like hawks, throwing dirty looks her way. Go Daddy!