Henrietta Cosentino: My Divine, Two-Timing Mama

My mom turns ninety in July and she's a hottie. She had fifty-four years of devoted wedlock to my father. Then he died and after a period of ardent mourning, she kicked up her heels.

Though she never boasted, I knew she'd been hot in school--the way I never was. If I came across a mystery photo in an old album, she'd say: "dear gorgeous Josh...we were 'an item' for three years in high school..." or "oh yes, Max--he was desperately in love with me, once he drank champagne from my shoe..." And when she spoke of her junior year in Paris, her eyes glistened. In the 1960s she returned, with me, and we called on Margot, who'd been her mère de famille back in 1937. Margot, now a scheming widow, flung open the door and exclaimed, "oh ma Didi, mais tu es aussi belle que jamais, toi qui as enflammé tant de coeurs." Margot had invited a certain 'Pierre' for tea, hoping to reignite one old flame. She drew the drapes and placed my mother "à contre jour...pour te mettre en valeur, tu sais." Pierre arrived and the flame flickered for one tea-time. Then my mother flew home to Massachusetts and spent three more decades as a passionately faithful wife.

Four years after Daddy's death, Mom acquired a gentleman friend named Norm. A sweetheart arrangement: she had her retirement community and he had his, an hour away. She would never have to make his bed, do his laundry or fill his idle time. They saw each other once a week and except for the fact that he was a knee-jerk Republican and she a fierce Democrat, it was perfect.

Their first trip together was a minor 'scandal'. Our daughter Delia happened to be living in Mexico City. My mother, seeing opportunity, asked her to find suitable hotel accommodations. Delia phoned me in a panic: "Mom, help! Should I reserve one room or two?" We decided on a suite with interconnected rooms. The traveling couple arrived and praised the arrangement. But the next morning, over huevos rancheros, they announced with glee that they'd "scored a coup"--trading their separate rooms for the 'honeymoon suite'--a huge corner room with a king-sized bed.

For a decade they kept genteel company and we grew very fond of Norm. Granted, once or twice, over dinner with us, Mom despaired of men in their eighties: "hopeless! they just want to cuddle--no action!" Trying not to choke, my husband deftly steered the conversation elsewhere and we filed this away as TMI. On the whole, wasn't everyone happy?

Not so fast. Last September Mom expressed another simmering annoyance. Norm and she wanted to go to abroad together. She couldn't afford the fare. He had real means and always traveled first class. Yet he wouldn't offer to pick up her economy fare. And she could no longer bear his politics.

Meanwhile, it seemed that a new man was "giving me the rush." Lou had wild hair, a booming voice, and a big advantage: daily access (he lived in mom's retirement community). Mom had a new glint in the eye.

"Sounds like an uprising of the adolescent self," said my best friend. "It'll probably pass."

But next thing we knew, she was planning a trip with Lou. "He has a time-share in Kisimee and he's paying my way!"

"But mom," I protested, "you hate the Florida climate. What will you do there, anyway?" (Did Lou promise 'action'?).

"Well, it's right next to Epcott Center," she said.

"Mama!? When we went to Disneyland you said it was hell on earth."

"Yes, dear," she said, "but this is not rides, it's history. Lou says it's very well done. And the condo is air-conditioned."

Quel désastre! Mom wilted in the heat, loathed the packaged history, found Lou a flawed travel companion: her heart fibrillated, her blood pressure soared out of control. No sooner home than she was hospitalized. As I helped organize her formidable new array of meds, I made her vow never to travel with Lou again.

But within days of returning from hospital, I found Mom holding court in the dining room of her retirement community, Lou at her side. Two more men had joined her inner circle of cocktail and dinner companions--Mom's 'salon'.

Later she patted my hand: "Dear, don't blame Lou for what happened, he feels badly enough. I'm a big girl, I should have known better."

"And what about Norm?"

"Don't worry, dear. I'd never give up Norm for Lou. Or vice versa."

About that time, Norm returned from a birding expedition in Asia. He took Mom out for their traditional mussels and martinis.

For her gala 90th birthday, Mom has made a guest list. Her two boyfriends are at the top. "I trust they'll behave themselves," says Mom, with a twinkle in her eye.