Nights in Rodante and other places

I went to see crinkly sex the other night.

“It’ll do us good,” said a girlfriend of mine, also single, divorced and over 40. We were hoping to be inspired  – to have a little hope injection between the eyebrows.

We needed to see a middle-aged love story, Nights In Rodante, starring Diane Lane, the poster girl for non-Botoxed midlife beauty, and Richard Gere, the actor who is sexy no matter who he is trying to bed. It was billed as one of those love stories for when you think there are no second chances. Cue the tears, please.

Watching Diane Lane look weary as she picked up her kids’ laundry from the floor and confronted the teenage animosity of her daughter was rather satisfying, actually. She was even wearing sweatpants, and before she left for her getaway weekend, where she would run into the hunky, divorced Gere – what a lovely bit of serendipity!!! – she checked in the mirror to see if her grey roots were showing.

Oh, a midlife gal after my own heart!!!

But otherwise, the movie, rather than uplifting, just sort of confirmed some of the problems with trying to find love when you are of a certain age. In her case, her man Gere, who professed great love after battling through a storm together on said weekend – a real, weather-related storm but also a spiritual/emotional one – goes off and dies in South America, where he has gone to repair his relationship with his son.

Just her luck, eh?

Which got me thinking that about midlife love, and how rarely, it seems, that it all just happens effortlessly, if it happens at all.

First, an update: My desire to date Sir Likealot is fizzling – don’t ask me why. I decided to leave it for a while, and keep the ball in his court. If he wants to reach me, he knows how to. He hasn’t. I am not going to jump all over the opportunity, just because we had two lovely dates. There was nothing wildly romantic about them, but we did connect. I can trust my instinct on that. Still, I kind of got lukewarm after the second date. I just started to think that there were other issues he had not worked through, and I wasn’t going to fall over myself to solve them for him. I want smooth. I want effortless dating, a relationship that makes its way, like water to the ocean.

Next: a friend with benefits? On the weekend, I had a marvelous dinner with a male friend I have known for a long time. He is married, but his wife is away a lot. He was single after a failed marriage for many years, and it was in that period that I first met him. Sparks flew. But nothing happened. A year later, he decided to marry a woman whom he had dated, on and off, for a few years. The dinner a few nights ago was great – very flirtatious behaviour from both of us and thick sexual tension – but again nothing happened, although there was little doubt what we both were thinking. I am not interested in married men, I thought as I held myself back. Been there, done that. And I figure he was trying to uphold his gentlemanly demeanour. But gee, I was thinking at one point – maybe a romp in the hay with him would be a solution. Have a fling. Make a move. Enjoy his dessert, as it were. But why would I do this after working so hard to be clear in my life? My head was abuzz.

I was feeling confused. And partly the reason is that it is hard to find romance at this age – so you begin thinking of ways to find affection, to have sex, that are temporary fixes.

My Night In Rodante at my house wasn’t about to end happily, either, I could see. So I kept it all very friendly, and nothing more.

Meanwhile, my hairdresser, a lovely woman, told me a story about meeting a great guy when she was on holiday, by herself, a month ago. It was in Maui. She was alone. So was he. Coming up from the beach, she noticed him reading the paper and struck up a conversation. They had dinner that night, and after several drinks, ended up on the beach in the dark.

“I want to kiss you,” he told her.

“I want you to, too,” she replied.

He did. Major magic. So she quickly grabbed him, and said, “Come on, we’re going to find some condoms.”

They went all over until they found a drug store, and then went back to his room.

More magic.

The next day, he was leaving for Germany. “It was 24 hours of pure pleasure,” she cooed as she cut my hair.

Her Night in Maui. See?

Is that what we should do? Grab a night here. A kiss there. A tumble in bed as a one night stand. This guy she met lives in Europe. It’s unlikely that they will see each other again.

And yet, she savours it. It’s a lovely memory.

And that was the look on the face of Diane Lane, as she sobbed, in character, at the end of Nights in Rodante. It was a look of, well, at least I loved him. At least, I found someone, if only temporarily. You know love exists, even if it doesn’t last. That was the message about midlife love in that movie.

Next time the opportunity arises, maybe that is what I should do. Maybe I should try to seize a moment, any moment, with Sir Likealot, when and if I see him again.

The rules have changed, because I am older, and I see my own limitations.

I need to have a Night in Maui, like the woman who helps cover up my grey.