when you are no longer beautiful

I am in a coffee shop in downtown Boston. There is, of course, background music. In particular, what comes from the concealed speakers is a song by a jazz chanteuse—a woman of whom I'm actually a fan. In it, she sings of being intrigued by someone she's just met. She approaches him (her?) in the knowledge that she will not be refused.

This is, of course, a fantasy common to us all. Not one of us living and possessed of hormones has failed to have it. It is the conceit that we might be so perfect, so fair, so beautiful and strong that anyone and everyone will accept our attentions. Or, at least, not turn us away contemptuously.

As I say, it is a fantasy. It is never our actual condition. And, most of us know that. We understand in our heart of hearts that we shall never be so magnetic.

There are, I confess, exceptions to this rule. Some of us are so narcissistic, or so deluded, that we never quite realize that we aren't Adonis or Helen of Troy. But, that's not such a bad thing…for the narcissist. She or he is never vulnerable to enlightenment. And so goes on forever in happy ignorance.

The other exception is far less fortunate. This is the person genuinely born with the seven beauties. Who comes from the womb designed to fascinate and compel even the most recalcitrant stranger.

Ah, but there's the rub. Such beauty is a temporary condition. Eventually it must yield to age and wisdom. But if wisdom does not come…what then? What is the fate of the formerly blessed? When the stranger is no longer charmed and the friend suddenly fair-weather?

When neither, in fact, feels compelled to benevolence?