leslie and linda

Leslie is the name she was almost given when she was born. So that's what I'll call her. She's more private than I am.

Leslie is a very close friend whom I rarely see, though I speak to often. She lives in the city, but our schedules frequently don't align. But tonight she is taking me to dinner before we  see the play Linda at Manhattan Theater Club. I suppose it's worth noting, in the spirit of name reveals, that Linda is the name my parents chose for me after a popular movie star of the time named Linda Darnell. And it was also the name I went by until I left for college. My mom and some friends from home still call me that.

I meet Leslie at a restaurant she's chosen near the theater. Neither one of us has ever been. It's called Molyvos, and the menu is described as rustic Greek cuisine. This 20-year old restaurant is not new, but feels it. It's sophisticated without being pretentious. 

The waiter is accommodating and attentive; the decor is warm and Mediterranean; and the food — every single thing we order — is outstanding. Of particular note are the multi-colored roasted beet salad with whipped mizithra (a type of goat cheese),  the citrus seafood souvlaki, and the sundae dessert with baklava ice cream.

Leslie and I have been friends for over twenty years. She's a constant in my life. Someone I can always count on. Someone who will always give me honest, unbiased advice. She knows so much about so many topics. And is the only woman I know who is adept at sewing and carpentry, and is the handyman I wish I knew how to be (or that I wish Alexander knew how to be). She astonishes me with her knowledge of both the arcane and mundane, and catches me off guard with her thoughtfulness. 

Needless to say, dinner is perfect.

And I love Linda too — a play about an older woman who is a successful marketing executive, married with two kids, and presumably has it all. But she's 55, and aren't these woman invisible to the world? Not listened to as much as before? Not looked at as much?  Not taken as seriously? Are all their best years behind them?

Is Linda like the playbill design?  Unadorned? Uninteresting? A just-there kind of person?



I leave dinner feeling great; I leave the play wishing I weren't an older woman named Linda.