The Lady at the Bar
Age provides a new perspective on a stranger
Soon after my divorce was finalized, I headed downtown with girlfriends to mourn the loss of my role of “wife,” and attempt to celebrate an uncertain future. Our first stop was a jazz club in New York’s Greenwich Village, a dive that would’ve been a dime a dozen in the 1950s but today is considered an endangered gem. The entrance led to a steep flight of narrow stairs, and the washed-out guy who took our cover payments probably didn’t see much daylight.
In that room full of college kids and tourists, one woman stood out. Perched upright on a wooden chair in a far corner of the room, she wore bright red lipstick and sported a long mane of wild gray hair. If I’d been in my twenties, I would have thought her half-mad, moving her shoulders in time with the music, her eyelids closed. I might have elbowed my friend and looking for a cheap laugh said, “Check her out, that’s us in fifty years.”
But this particular evening I was in the last year of my forties. Gravity was pulling down the corners of my mouth enough that I had to perform a half-smile just to look neutral, while nightly hot flashes and adrenaline surges left me weak. Getting older was no longer theoretical.
My fears of aging were nothing new. Having sprung from a family of genetically tall, thin beanstalks, I remember the first time the question “Are you a model?” morphed into “Were you a model?” Both questions are pretty awesome, no doubt about it, but even the latter had died away about a decade ago.
I studied the woman in the bar more closely. The red slash of lips was sexy, not garish. Same with the silver curls surrounding her finely-wrinkled face. I wondered what her life had been like at my age. A couple of days later I headed to the Barnard College library to do some research on an article I was writing and discovered shelf after shelf of back issues of women’s magazines from the early 1950s.
As I pored through articles from the period, I was amazed that anyone had emerged from that era without multiple personalities. One article extolled the virtues of taking a part-time job, since working full time cut too deeply into the “satisfactions of housekeeping.” Another offered advice to the newlywed along the lines of “Put on lipstick and comb your hair before coming down to make the coffee.” Or the jaw-dropping, “The first time your baby cries and your husband calls for you at the same time, go to your husband.” It made me take a sobering look at the trials of my mother and others of her generation. As well as what it meant when, like me, you were now neither wife nor mother.
That night at the bar, I saw that woman — a creature without shackles or shame — as a model for my future self.
And I liked what I saw.
I vowed to take advantage of my newfound independence by figuring out how to fly solo. My best friends and I promised to live in the same apartment building and share wine-filled happy hours and home health care aides when the time comes. Using the Barnard articles as a jumping-off point, I wrote a work of historical fiction about a woman in the 1950s who’s determined to forge a successful career and remain single. A year later, I celebrated three milestones: buying an apartment of my own, making the leap from journalist to author, and selling my first novel. Today I write fiction full time, using my books to explore the way women’s roles have changed over time, as well as the ways they’ve remained the same.
And a few decades from now, when I’m the grande dame sitting in a bar, clapping hard as the last note fades out, I’ll turn to the forty-something staring my way, raise my glass, and pass on the inspiration.
Fiona Davis is a nationally bestselling author of historical fiction set in iconic New York City buildings. Her book, The Dollhouse, is available now.
Love this!!! Love, Linda Xo
This is an amazing piece. Cheers!
As usual Fiona – Perfect! I love it❤️
Love It!!! I can definitely relate!
As always, Fiona hits the mark!!! I often think back at my younger years and what I thought of as “old.” Cherish every year we are given as they are precious gifts.
I just love Fiona’s writing!
Such a beautiful story made from a sad situation. Bravo and congratulations on owning yourself and looking forward, what a lovely change it made for you. And, thankfully we can all read and relate your ideas and thoughts through your novels.
I’m 67 and enjoying a “second blooming,” so I loved this. And all your books❤️❤️❤️
How fabulous. I made my single life a priority after my divorce, really thinking about what I wanted. With grown children my time was mine, although I see them as much as possible. I have my own house, make time for my writing, (7 books published), have a meeting of female friends every month where we go on trips, craft, enjoy potlucks and chat. And I go on regular road trips with my BFF, enjoy my writing group meetings and workshops and do what makes me happy.
That’s what this time is for Mandy! Glad you’ve found your bliss.
Love it, Lady!
Irena Choi Stern
After reading this, I want to grow up to be like Fiona (and the woman at the bar)! Fiona is an inspiration and her books are wonderful.
We agree! We are lucky to have Fiona write for us.
I will be using this article as I lead a book club discussion on “The Masterpiece”. I was trying to find more information about Fiona Davis. This about sums up about what and why she is now writing.
Love this! I went through a divorce when my kids were young and focused on them for so long. Now in their twenties, it is my time.
I have read a few of your books and being born in 1936 coming to the USA in 1956 as a married “GIRL” to a GI, I could so relate to your books about the 50s. The arguments as a Swedish girl with an opinion with people my age at that time were monumental. Even my father in law would stalk away and state that I had to call and apologize for my opinions or he would not talk with us.
As a result we ended up living in Canada after my husband graduated from university.
I am now a widow but wish I had your talent for putting in to words all I have lived through. I am telling my children a lot but they have very active lives that do not really have time for my reminiscing. I think you are an amazing author and keep on writing about the 50s.
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