The Old Man in the Club (12 page)

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 answered.

“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.

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.

“Why? He's married or something?” Tamara asked.

“Or something,” Elliott said.

The valet pulled up Tamara's car with Elliott's behind hers. He tipped the valets and they hugged and he kissed her on her neck and shoulder. “See, you know I have to go to work in the morning,” she said. “Don't get me started.”

“This weekend,” Elliott said. “Maybe we can start
and
finish. Your place. Dinner. Saturday.”

“I'll call you,” Tamara said.

Elliott jumped in his car and cruised down Peachtree Road. He did not play music or the radio. He wanted to spend the drive home in quiet. But then his cell phone rang.

“What do you mean, ‘Or something'?” Tamara said on the other end.

“Huh?”

“You said that when I asked about your friend, Henry,” she reminded him.

“Yeah, I did,” Elliott said. “I should have just let it go.”

“Why? What is he, a womanizer?” she asked.

“Not exactly,” he responded.

“So what's the deal then? Why are you being so cryptic?”

“Look at you, using big words on me,” Elliott said.

“Don't try to avoid the question,” Tamara said.

“I'm pulling into my garage, so I'm going to lose you. I'll call you when I get upstairs,” he said.

“Whatever, old man,” she said.

Elliott had about ten minutes to decide if he was going to sully his boy's reputation or lie. He elected to not call Tamara. Maybe she would get home and forget about it.

But just as he was beginning to feel he would not hear from her, she called him.

“Oh, hey,” he said. “I dozed off.”