The Old Man in the Club (26 page)

Elliott looked at her.

“Let me say that despite everything—divorce, not speaking to you, avoiding you—I never stopped loving you,” she said.

Elliott had longed to hear something like that from her for years. He gave her a half-smile and she continued.

“I really didn't want a divorce,” she went on. “I felt like that's what you wanted and you would not say it.”

“Lucy, that's bull,” Elliott asserted.

“No, it's not,” she said. “It's what I believed.”

“Since when was I unable to communicate exactly what I wanted?” he asked.

“Always,” she said. “You're a great communicator about most things. With me, you always hedged toward what I wanted.”

“Can I get an example?” he asked.

“When we got together and before we were married, you said you didn't want children,” she said. “After we got married, the thought of a family hit me strong. When I told you I thought I wanted kids, you immediately said, ‘Okay.' It made me feel like you wanted kids because I wanted kids.

“Then, when we bought our house, you went with my choice. Schools for the kids, furniture, vacation destinations.”

“You ever think that I agreed to those things because I actually
agreed with you,” Elliott said. “I wanted children for the same reason you did: To build a family with you. What do I know about furniture? I trusted you with that. We both liked the same house; that's strange? And if you think about the schools, I expressed my favor to them before you did.

“Still, all that is something different. I told you I didn't want a divorce. You said you did. Totally different from what you're talking about.”

“I felt like you wanted it but wouldn't say it,” Lucy said.

“Why are we even talking about this?” Elliott asked. “We're divorced because you wanted a divorce, and, to your point, I gave you what you wanted. But my question is: why are you here now?”

“Because, Elliott, I don't think we shouldn't be married,” she said.

“That was an awkward sentence,” he said. “Edit yourself.”“We should be together,” she blurted out.

Before Elliott could respond, the male nurse came in. “I have to check your blood pressure real quick.”

Elliott and Lucy looked at each other as the nurse did his business. When he was done, they nodded to him and continued their conversation.

“Lucy, I don't know how to take all this,” he said. “I never wanted a divorce. Never. I wanted to work it out. But you didn't. Now, almost three years later, you come back with this, out of the blue. What do you want me to say to that?”

“I know it's out of left field,” she said. “But I'm tired of not being honest with myself.”

“I hear you and I'm glad you're making that step,” Elliott said. “It's important and you should. But as much as I agree with you that we should be together, it's not that simple.”

“It can be, Elliott,” she said.

“I have seen you about three times now in three years, and because you want to get back together, I should drop everything and forget everything, too?” he asked. “It's not even fair to ask me that.”

Frustrated, Lucy packed up her things. “Well, I guess I feel like a fool.”

“A fool for being honest about your feelings?” Elliott said.

“That's what I feel like.”

“You shouldn't go.”

“I can't stay,” she said, and walked out. Down the hall, coming toward her was Tamara. They smiled at each other.

Tamara said, “Good to see you again.”

“You, too,” Lucy offered.

Tamara kept walking. Lucy turned around and watched her walk into Elliott's room.

“Tamara, you shouldn't be here, not now,” Elliott said as she walked in.

“I had to come by and see how you were,” she said.

“You told me you'd call me.”

“You remember that? You were in and out.”

“My son is going to be up here any minute. I really don't need him to see you here.”

“Why are you trying to hide me?”

“Really? I've got to go through this right now, in the hospital? You know damn well what the problem is. You're my kids' friend. They have a problem with that. I'm trying to rebuild our relationship. I can't have you in the middle of that. You shouldn't want to be in the middle of that.”

“I don't want to be, but I don't want to be some secret side chick, either.”

“I understand and you're not a side chick, whatever that is. Please, Tamara, come visit me tomorrow when I'm home. I can't have any drama in this hospital.”

“Well, can I leave these?” she said of the bouquet of flowers she held.

“Put them right there,” Elliott said, pointing. “I will call you tonight.”

Tamara begrudgingly left the flowers and departed the room without looking back at Elliott. She was perturbed that she had been dismissed. Elliott was relieved. He also was frustrated.

He had grown to enjoy his single life. In fact, the first thought he had after realizing he was so badly hurt was that he would miss the day party Sunday at Shout. Being the old man in the club had become a badge of honor in a sense. He pulled it off. And he was living the life he decided he wanted to live when his marriage ended.

It would help him recapture the years he missed while in prison and fulfill the fantasies of men his age. And as for Lucy, as much as he loved her, she had insisted on divorce and neglected him for years, and he did not feel good about that, no matter how much she meant to him.

“How does Lucy think I'm gonna come back because she said ‘Come back?' ” Elliott said to Henry over the phone. He blocked out that Henry was gay and focused on the fact that he was his friend.

“Women want what they want,” Henry said. “Why do you think some of the ones who seem to be the most upstanding still have affairs? I was in the middle of some crazy stuff with women you would never guess would be scandalous.”

“Let me ask you something,” Elliott said. “Let me know if I'm going too far.”

Henry knew then the discussion would be about his sexuality. “Go ahead.”

“Do you miss dating women?” he asked. “I mean, you dated women all your life as you tried to keep your sexuality a secret. Now you don't deal with women anymore. How does that feel?”

“It feels right,” he said. “I love women as people. I love their sensitivity and their kindness and softness. But I don't miss the physical part—I'm sure that's what you were talking about.”

“So, here's another question then,” Elliott said. “What's the difference between dating men and women?”

“You know what? In the end,” Henry said, “there isn't any difference. It's all about the person and how you and he or she get along. Simple as that. The values in people don't change based on their sex. It's about the individual.

“Some men are as bitchy as women. And some women are as petty as men.”

“So, as soon as I notice a bitchy, petty woman, I know I'm dealing with a lesbian,” Elliott joked.

“Man,” he continued, “I'm in a situation here. My ex-wife who I love wants to get back together. The young girl I'm dating is cool, but she knows my kids. My kids are coming around, but how will they handle it if I refuse their mom or if I admit to being involved with their friend?

“And how will Tamara handle me basically dumping her for my ex? And how would Lucy receive me dealing with a twenty-five-year-old, a twenty-five-year-old who is a friend of our kids?”

“I can't even keep up with all that,” Henry said. “You know what my advice is: Be true to yourself.”

They chatted some more, but when Elliott hung up, he could not decide what being true to himself meant. Daniel knocked on the door before coming in, giving Elliott a chance to let that thought go, at least temporarily.

“So what's happening, Dad?” Daniel asked. “How you feeling?”

“I feel like it's great to have family,” he said. “Your sister was up here bright and early and your mom left a little while ago. Now you. I feel good about that.

“As for everything else, getting better. Gonna sleep here tonight and go home tomorrow to really heal.”

Daniel pulled a chair near the bed. “I saw your doctor down the
hall and he told me things are coming along good. You remember what you said to me last night?”

“Perfectly,” Elliott said.

“So who was it?” Daniel asked.

“Some guy named Brian,” Elliott said. “He's obviously crazy. At Compound one night—“

“Compound? The club?” Daniel interrupted. “You were at Compound? Doing what?”

“Just hanging out.”

“Dad, that's crazy. You're sixty-something years old.”

“You want to hear about this or not?” Elliott said.

“I do, but…”

“I was at Compound because I was invited to a party,” Elliott said. “I met a woman and we started talking. I went to the bar to get us a drink, and when I came back this guy, Brian, was talking to her.

“He acted like he was offended when I came back with the drinks. I told him I was her bodyguard. That was it. He finally left, but he looked at me like he had a problem. But once he left, I never gave him a second thought.

“So, the other night at STK, I saw someone I knew and he was with her. She introduced us and he looked familiar, but I couldn't place him. After I walked away, he came up behind me and reminded me that we met at Compound. Then he threatened me. I told him to back up off me or he'd be sorry.

“After that, I started feeling paranoid because the place was packed and I started to feel like I did in prison, like something bad could happen at any time. So, I left. When I got to my car, a text from your mother came in. I stopped to read it. And that's when he came up from behind me and hit me.”

“Dad, what's going on?” Daniel said. “You having a mid-life crisis
or something? Compound? STK? I saw you with my own eyes at Vanquish. What are you doing?”

“I'm exercising my rights as a free man to do what I want to do,” Elliott said.

“But hanging out at young people's spots is a fail for you,” Daniel said.

“A fail?” Elliott asked.

“Yes, a fail, messed up, wrong. We should not be hanging out at the same clubs. That's crazy.”

“That's beside the point,” Elliott said. “This guy tried to kill me—and for no reason.”

“The police said it had to be personal because whoever did it kicked you when you were unconscious. And he didn't take anything.”

“Exactly,” Elliott said.

“So, how we gonna find him before the police find him?”

“Well, I'm alive, which means the police won't put as much effort into it as they would if it was a murder case,” Elliott said. “Plus, they don't know who they're looking for. I do. And I have the contact information of the woman he was with.”

“How'd you get that?”

“I met her at Frank Ski's one night when I was drinking wine and she gave me her card,” Elliott explained. “I never called her, but I saw her card in a kitchen drawer last week.”

“So how do you want to do this?” Daniel asked. “I mean, we find him and I can take care of him the right way.”

He stood up and looked to make sure no one was entering the room. Then he raised his T-shirt to expose a gun in his waistband.

“Daniel, why do you have a gun?” Elliott said. He was shocked and concerned. “Why? What's going on?”

“I've got to protect myself and Danielle,” he said. “These days, you better be carrying or you're ready to get carried out in a body bag.”

“What are you, a tough guy now?” Elliott asked. He had heard it phrased that way in
The Sopranos
and other movies featuring the Mafia and it just came out that way.

“Now?” Daniel said. “You taught me to be tough a long time ago.”

“Tough means being able to handle any situation with your mind first and then with your hands, if necessary,” Elliott said. “I never, not once, said anything about getting a gun.”

“Times change,” Daniel said. “You see what happened to Trayvon Martin. That punk George Zimmerman wouldn't have been so eager to get in Trayvon's face if he didn't have a gun. The gun gave him confidence. He started the fight, Trayvon fought back and was kicking his butt and Zimmerman shot him to end the fight.

“That was enough for me. You're not gonna have an advantage over me when we start fighting. You said being tough is using your head. I looked at what happened to Trayvon—and how Zimmerman was found innocent—and I used my head. I got a gun.”

“Listen, I hear you on that,” Elliott said. “You know where I was when the verdict was handed down last month? At a Hooters. It was a mixed crowd, but mostly white. Black people were angry, white people were happy. That was sad; a kid was dead and they were happy that the guy responsible for his death got off.

“I never looked at it like if Trayvon had a gun, it would have been a fair fight. I looked at it like if George Zimmerman did
not
have a gun, not only would it have been a fair fight—a teenager would be alive.”

“So what do you want to do to this guy, Dad?” Daniel asked. “Break his legs?”

“I'm not trying to kill him, I can tell you that,” Elliott said. “I'm not a killer. And neither are you. What's this all about? And you're not old enough to purchase a gun. So where did you get it?”

“I know people,” he said.

“So I ask again: You're a tough guy now?”

“I do what I have to do.”

“And what did you have to do?”

“Dad, you haven't been around the last few years.”

“Wait, don't put that out there like it's the truth,” Elliott said. “I was always here. You didn't make yourself available.”