The Old Man in the Club Read online

  “I’ll pay for the drinks,” Elliott said. “Just come out and do something different.”

  “You tryna turn me into you?” Vincent said. “Ain’t but one you, that I know of. When you want to go to Ellery’s or some place like that, you let me know. I’m all in.”

  Ellery’s was a down-home place in Southwest Atlanta where folks had a good time and did not wear airs. They were real and fun and most of them dropped the sophistication at the door, if they had it at all. Elliott was a regular there years back, but when his interest turned to younger women, he needed to be somewhere else.

  So, Elliott went to Del Frisco’s alone. He executed his plan ideally: got there early enough to commandeer a seat at the head of the downstairs bar, which would give him a view of both sides of the room and everyone who entered the restaurant. Also, there was an area where most people gathered to talk near the bar, and he was right there, too.

  He gave up heavy drinking decades before, so he took to the wine list and decided on an Oregon Pinot Noir called Alexana. By heavy drinking, he meant consuming so much that he was sloppy drunk and unable to remember much of the night. He’d have an occasional Scotch, but turned to wine on most occasions.

  Elliott watched as the people came in, one-by-one, and he was in total bliss. He truly loved to people-watch. Although he had been released from prison twenty-nine years earlier, remnants of it remained in him, in one fashion or another, and he fought to counter them.

  In this case, one of the ways to affirm his freedom was to sit back and watch people function as free people. For twelve years, he watched people move and do as they were told. “Those kinds of limitations stick with you,” he told his therapist. “So I have to do things that take me away from that time and place.”

  His bar seat was the place to be that night. The crowd flowed like late-night traffic, and Elliott was in the middle of it all. He had his eyes on the hostess, a tall and sexy woman named Mary. They chatted briefly on a few occasions, and her sophistication and genuine nature attracted him. It did help, too, that she had a captivating body that worked well with her short-short natural haircut and infectious smile.

  But Mary was working, so his attention spanned the room. Television cameras and photographers came in and captured the so-called celebrities that came through. The crowd had to shift to make room for that scene, which pushed Stacy literally up against Elliott.

  “I’m sorry,” she said as she bumped into him. “It got crowded in here so fast.”

  “It’s okay,” Elliott said. In a nanosecond he surveyed her body. That’s all it took. He learned in prison that staring was not a good thing, so he taught himself to process whatever was in front of him in an instant, almost like speed reading.

  Stacy had dark eyes and a smile that spoke to you. It said, “I’m here.” Her breasts were plump and round in the deep-cut top she wore, and the large dangling earrings accentuated her roundish face and short hair with streaks of blond that indicated she was bold and daring.

  “Your smile woke me up,” Elliott told her. “I wasn’t actually falling asleep. But it gave me energy.”

  “Oh, yeah?” Stacy said. “Well, what can I say? Energy is my middle name. My first name is Stacy.”

  “I’m Elliott,” he said, extending his hand. “I bet you like margaritas, Stacy, and mojitos. And martinis. I see you on a beach, with sunglasses on, relaxing with something cold and refreshing in your hand.”

  “I like how you see things,” she said.

  “I’m ordering another glass of wine,” he said. “What can I get you?”

  Before she could answer, Elliott rose from his seat.

  “You should have a seat,” he said.

  “Being a gentleman can get you places,” she said.

  “That’s a good thing,” he said.

  He ordered their drinks and a flatbread. As the crowd loudly socialized around them, Elliott and Stacy shared in their own world.

  “You remind me of someone,” Stacy said.

  “Please don’t say your father or your uncle,” Elliott said.

  “Why not? They’re good men,” she responded.

  “You think that about me and you put me in a box,” he answered. “A box that limits where I can go with you.”

  “Well, I was going to say you remind me of a politician or CEO,” she said. “You have a presence.”

  “Well, I appreciate that,” he said. “I’m the CEO of me, that’s for sure.”

  “I hear you,” she said. “What brings you out here tonight? This doesn’t look like your crowd.”

  “No, it’s my crowd,” he said. “Any crowd where people are out, enjoying each other and life is my kind of crowd.”

  “How old are you?” Stacy asked, and Elliott liked that. His position was: You want to know, ask.

  “I’ll be sixty-two in a few months,” he said. “Was that what you were thinking?”

  “Honestly, I didn’t know, but I felt around fifty or so,” Stacy said. “You’ve taken good care of yourself.”

  “If I don’t, who will?” he said. “But thank you. I get my cardio in and try to eat right. I want to enjoy my life as a healthy man, not someone limited because I didn’t do what was right for me.”

  Before Stacy could respond, her friend, Sophia, emerged from the crowd. She was the anti-Stacy—attractive but pompous, self-centered and demanding.

  Stacy introduced them. Sophia said, “Hi,” to Elliott and turned her back to him.

  “Come here, Stace,” she said.

  Stacy turned around in her barstool. “What’s up?”

  “Why are you wasting your time talking to this grandfather?” Sophia asked.

  Stacy said, “He’s a nice man. Don’t hate.”

  “Hate? Please,” Sophia said. “Get him to buy me a drink.”

  “What? No,” Stacy said. “What do you want? I’ll buy it.”

  “Let him get it,” Sophia insisted. “That’s the least he can do.”

  “I’m not doing that,” she said. “What do you want?”

  Elliott heard Stacy and interjected. “I’ll be glad to put it on my tab.”

  “Thank you…whatever your name is,” Sophia said.

  “Whatever my name is?” Elliott responded. “Excuse me, but that’s pretty rude, Sophia.”

  “It’s not rude; I don’t know your name,” she said. “I didn’t hear Stacy when she said it. You can’t blame me because it’s loud in here.”

  “Well, you’re right; it’s loud in here,” Elliott said. “Not sure how that has anything with you being rude.”

  “We were having a nice conversation,” Stacy jumped in. “I’d like to get back to that.”

  “Well, are you going to get my drink so I can leave you back to your nice conversation?” she asked Elliott.

  “If they had class by the bottle I would order one for you,” Elliott said. “But since they don’t—that’s something that you either have or you don’t—no, I’m not getting you a drink.”

  “See what I mean,” Sophia said, turning to Stacy. “Loser.”

  “No, I can’t let you say that, Sophia,” Stacy said. “He’s been a perfect gentleman—and he offered you a drink. Instead of being grateful, you insulted the man. I know other men who would have had some nasty words for you.”

  “I would have respected that more than him trying to be cool about it,” Sophia countered. “Trying to impress you. He’s about seventy years old. Damn shame you’re even out. Don’t you need to be in bed?”

  “What did you say?” Elliott said, acting as if he did not hear Sophia. “You need me to go to bed with you? I’d rather not. Thanks for asking, though.”

  “Wait, wait,” Stacy said. “Let’s stop this now. This is a fun time. What’s going on?”

  “You should respect your elders,” Elliott said to Sophia. “I’m sure you know better.”

  “How many drinks did you have over there?” Stacy asked.

  “As many as that guy was buying,” she a
nswered.

  “Then you’ve had enough,” Stacy said. “I’m getting you some water.”

  “Thanks, anyway,” Sophia said. “I know who will buy me a drink.” And she walked away from them.

  “I’m sorry, Elliott,” Stacy said. “She’s really a nice person. But when she drinks…”

  “Yeah, well, I hope she’s not driving,” he said.

  “She’s riding with me,” Stacy said. “Hopefully, she’ll calm down. I can’t believe how rude she was.”

  “You can only be responsible for you,” Elliott said. “Anyway, before she came over, you were talking about how glad you are that we met.”

  “Funny that I don’t remember that conversation,” Stacy said, smiling. “I think you’re remembering what you want to remember. Or is it an early sign of dementia?”

  Elliott laughed. “That makes us getting together as soon as possible more important,” he said. “With dementia setting in, I might not remember you if we wait too long,” he cracked.

  She laughed. Then she said, “I’m unforgettable.” And she said it in a way that could be perceived as flirting. Elliott was not sure how to take it; he liked to err on the side of caution. But he processed quickly that she stood up for him with Sophia and, beyond that, was sitting there engaging him.

  “Confidence is attractive,” Elliott said.

  She finished a second margarita. “So what’s your deal? Really,” she said. “You told me you’re sixty-one. I’m thirty-two. What could you possibly want with someone my age? Better yet, what would I want with someone your age? I’m not being rude. I’m just being real.”

  “I’ve dated women younger than you,” Elliott said. “That’s not to impress or turn you off; it’s a fact. I like the energy of younger women. And I’m not talking physical energy because, believe it or not, there is very little difference in that department if the older woman has taken care of herself. I’m talking about the spirit, the liveliness, the zest for life and feeling that the world is in front of you.

  “Having that mindset makes you project a different energy, a different vibe. My friends my age, well…we’re on the other side. We’ve lived longer than the years we have left. And there’s a resignation that comes with that. People get more conservative, more responsible. I promise you I’m not saying there’s something wrong with that. I’m saying dealing with that regularly does not inspire me.”

  Stacy got the attention of the bartender and ordered another round of drinks. “These are on me,” she said. “That’s the least that I can do after that answer. Wow. I hear you. My uncle Charles, he likes to chase young women. When I was little I was too afraid to ask him why. When I did, he said, ‘I just like young girls.’ That was it. He had no real reason. And then you tell me all that…”

  “Everyone is different, you know?” Elliott said. “You also asked me why you would have an interest in me.”

  “You have an answer for that, too?” Stacy asked.

  “No. You do,” he answered. “But if the only reason you wouldn’t is the age difference, then…well.”

  “Well, what?” she said.

  “Then you don’t really have a reason,” Elliott said.

  “That is a reason,” Stacy countered.

  “Is it?” he said. “I’m not trying to convince you of anything. But we got along great here. There was definitely some chemistry. If I were your age, you’d be interested. If I were white, you might be interested.”

  “I don’t do white boys,” she shot back.

  “Why? Because of what your friends and others would think?” Elliott said. “That’s my point here. You could have been anywhere else in this place tonight. There are young men your age all over. But you’re here and you have had a good time and there is a spark—don’t deny it—and yet you don’t see a need for us to get closer?”

  “You might be right about all that,” Stacy said. “But whether it’s next week or next year or in five years, the age would matter. The gap is too big. I can’t get into you—and I know we just met, but women think ahead; that’s how we are—when there is such a gap in who we are.”

  “As I said, I don’t want to seem like I’m trying to change your mind,” he said. “But you don’t really know if there’s a gap in who we are, what we like, how we like to live. It could be that we’re kindred spirits. But we’ll never know, I guess.”

  “We can be friends,” Stacy said. “Let’s exchange numbers. We can have a drink sometime. I’m glad we met. I don’t reject good people in my life. But…”

  Elliott considered exchanging numbers a way of Stacy subtly keeping open the chance of something. That was a case of him massaging his ego. But he was intent on not pushing. Young women had rejected him in the past. That tweaked his ego, but sparked his determination more.

  They punched in each other’s numbers in their cell phones and engaged in small talk before Elliott excused himself to go to the bathroom. On the way and back, he marveled at the legion of attractive young women who pranced about seemingly without a care in the world. The sights energized him.

  “I’m not sure how much longer I’m going to stay,” Elliott said to Stacy when he returned to the bar. “I can only stand rejection from you for so long.”

  “You can’t handle the truth,” Stacy said.

  “I can handle far more than you know,” he responded.

  They smiled at each other as Elliott felt someone behind him. When he turned, there was Tamara, looking as elegant as he’d ever seen her.

  “So this is why you didn’t want to have dinner with me?” she said. There was no attitude in her voice.

  Elliott did not answer her. Instead, he hugged her. “Hi, Tam,” he said. “I’m glad to see you.”

  Stacy looked on, curious. Tamara looked younger than her and yet it was clear Elliott had something with her that was more than friendship.

  He introduced the ladies and was upfront with Stacy about his connection with Tamara. He was accomplishing two things: Easing Tamara’s mind and luring in Stacy. Men found it puzzling that many women found a man more attractive by the female company he kept.

  More than twice Elliott met women primarily on the strength of them having seen him with attractive women. He talked to other men about that phenomenon, and they came to the conclusion that women thought: “If she’s with him, and she’s pretty, he must be about something.” And so they were interested in him, too. Elliott figured with Tamara looking so wonderful, it would have to have an impact on Stacy.

  “I’ve had a good time, Stacy; this is my friend, Tamara,” he said.

  The ladies exchanged greetings. “So, who are you with?” Elliott asked.

  “I’m with you now,” Tamara answered.

  Elliott played it as nonchalantly as possible, while Stacy, her straightforwardness increased by the margaritas, was not delicate.

  “So you two date?” she asked.

  Elliott smiled at Tamara, who said, “Yes, we do. He didn’t tell you?”

  “Actually, he did say he dates women younger than me,” Stacy said. “I guess he was talking about you.”

  Elliott hugged Tamara again. In that moment, he had to make a decision, and he chose to make Tamara feel totally comfortable. If it helped attract Stacy, fine. But he could not risk putting off Tamara for the unknown that was Stacy.

  “You want to order a drink?” Stacy said to Tamara.

  “Well, it looks like you all have had a few. I guess I have to play catch-up,” she answered.

  “I’m going to let you sit here,” Stacy said, rising from the barstool. “Here’s the money for the drinks I bought. I had a good time, Elliott. Nice to meet you. And nice to meet you, too, Tamara.”

  She and Elliott shook hands and she went off to find her friend, Sophia.

  “So you out picking up women again, I see,” Tamara said, getting settled in the seat. “Can’t leave you by yourself for a minute.”

  “You know me,” Elliott said. “I’m a people person.”
/>   “A people person?” she asked. The bartender came over and she ordered a glass of wine for each of them. “A people person? Tell me, how many men have you met when you go out? I can answer that. None. So, no, you’re not a people person. You love women.”

  Elliott was in no mood to lie or even cushion the truth. The wine opened him more than usual. “Anything wrong with that? I mean, I am a man, right?” he said. “I like feeling free to do what I want more than I like women.”

  “I can’t even imagine, even though I have tried, what it was like to go through what you have,” she said.

  “People are out having a good time. You look incredible. We’re sipping wine,” Elliott said. “This is no time for sad talk. Let’s have fun.”

  “I’m good at that,” Tamara said.

  “Me, too,” Elliott added.

  CHAPTER TEN

  A Friend In Kneed

  On their way out of Del Frisco’s Grill, a woman who was coming into the restaurant recognized Elliott.

  “Hi. You remember me?” she said.

  Tamara was tipsy and was not in the mood for another woman infringing on her space.

  “Hi, I’m Tam,” she jumped in.

  “Yes, I remember you, but I don’t remember your name,” he said.

  “I’m Rochelle,” the woman said. “I’m a friend of Henry’s. We met at that party at Ventanna’s last year.”

  “Oh, yeah,” he said. “Tamara, you haven’t met Henry yet. He’s my closest friend here in Atlanta.”

  “How is he?” Rochelle asked.

  “You haven’t talked to him in a while?” Elliott responded.

  “I haven’t, but I’d like to catch up with him. A really nice guy,” she said.

  “I will tell him I saw you and to reach out,” Elliott said.

  “Please do,” she said. “We had some unfinished business.”

  “Wow, she’s trying to be down with your boy,” Tamara said.

  “Yeah, well, she might as well cool it off,” Elliott said.