The Old Man in the Club (28 page)

But as he rested, he thought of Tamara for a while, too. Having a twenty-five-year-old seriously interested in him massaged his ego. He enjoyed the fact that he could attract a younger woman's interest. The other two much younger women he dealt with were more of a passing thing, something to do to see if he could do it.

He saw more in Tamara, and it made him feel youthful and accomplished to have her feel something for him. It was the type of feeling he had hoped for but did not really expect when he decided he would try to recapture the years he missed.

The other young women he met gave him the confidence to continue his old man in the club ways. But Tamara confirmed that he had arrived. She was a catch for any man, and to beat out the much-younger competition was something he did not take lightly.

He smiled to himself that he had so sexually pleased her that she was coming back for more
. I put it down,
he said to himself.

After dozing off, he discovered a text message from Tamara that read: “See, this is what I'm talking about. Ignoring me. That's not cool. Call me soon. Or I will be over there.”

He rested his head back on the pillow and thought:
She's bringing too much drama.
He wondered how long he could take her insecurity and threats. And he faced the reality that they had little in common. What could he have with her? By the time she was thirty-five, he'd be seventy-one, and surely of a different mindset of chasing a young woman around Atlanta.

His soul-searching went on for another hour or so—until Tamara called.

“Why can't you call me?” she said when he answered the phone.

“That's some greeting,” he said. “And hello to you, too.”

“This is not about pleasantries,” Tamara said. “This is about showing me respect. You can screw me when it's convenient for you. But you can't do me the common courtesy when I'm looking to check up on you, make sure you're all right?”

For all Elliott had hoped for in Tamara, that rant gave him serious pause. Everything was about her. He was the one who suffered a serious blow to the head. He was the one in the hospital for two days. He was the one recovering. And yet she made it about her.

He quickly prayed his prayer of peace, and she even interrupted that. “I see you don't have anything to say to all that,” Tamara interjected. “This is what I'm talking about with men. Whether you're twenty or sixty, you all are all the same.”

And that was the tipping point for Elliot. “What the fuck are you talking about?” he started. “I have tried to be patient with you, but you think the world revolves around you? I'm over here in pain trying to get settled, and you calling me up with this bullshit. I ain't got time for it.”

Tamara was taken aback. Elliott had not erupted on her, had not shown any signs of the potential for an explosion, so she was thrown off.

“This is why you don't have anyone,” she said. “You can't handle when someone cares about you.”

Elliott laughed, angering Tamara.

“There's nothing funny,” she said.

“No, actually, it is hilarious that you believe you know me and can tell me about myself,” he said. “All you know is I fucked you good.”

Elliott regretted the words as they flew out of his mouth. “I'm sorry—”

“Why are you sorry?” Tamara said. “You said what you mean. Yeah, you did fuck me good. You fucked me over, that's what you did. I'm sure you're happy. I'm sure you go to the senior citizens home, take out your dentures and laugh with the other old farts about your conquest. I'm glad I gave you a good memory before you keel over, you old fart.”

Elliott laughed loudly. “What's so funny?” she said.

“You,” he admitted. “That was funny as hell. And I deserved it. I see you're witty when you're angry.”

Tamara's fury declined rapidly. “I shouldn't have said all that,” she said. “I…”

“It's okay,” Elliott said. “I shouldn't have cursed at you. But I do think we probably should back up a little.”

“We're just getting started,” she said. “I went to the airport today
and paid the express rate of three-hundred dollars to get my passport. We have a trip to take, remember?”

“Yeah, I remember,” he said. “We have to talk about that—and everything else. I'm pretty much gonna stay in the house much of the week. Maybe you can come over after work tomorrow.”

“I was supposed to go to a fundraiser at Bar One. I can come over after that, around nine.”

They agreed, and Elliott dozed off to sleep. He dreamed of Tamara coming to visit him. In the dream, she rang the doorbell, and he opened the door to find her in a long, flowing white gown. He opened the door wider and she entered a house that was not his. It was lit with dozens of candles, with wax overflowing.

She walked through the house with Elliott following her, a breeze blowing up her dress. In that moment, he felt attached to her, attracted to her, in love with her.

“Wait, come here,” he said. She stopped and slowly turned around. But she was in darkness and he could not see her face. “Come here,” he repeated.

She walked slowly forward and into the light. When she became visible, he was startled to see Lucy.

Elliott woke up then and wondered what his dream meant. He had not had a dream about Lucy in more than a year, and all of those were confrontational dreams about their breakup.

He was hungry, so he got himself together and ate some of the meal Danielle prepared for him. His home was quiet: no TV, no music, no conversation. He did not have many times like that, and it allowed him to clear his head.

Problem was, he did not know what to do, but after he ate he sat out on the balcony with a glass of sweet tea and was honest with himself. Dr. Nottingham had told him he'd come to a cross-road
in his life, and the way to get beyond it would be by being honest.

“I say this knowing that being honest with yourself is among the hardest things to do,” she said. “Our tendency is to justify our behavior. We want to believe what we have done or said or even think is right. We need that. We're comfortable with that. To be honest, we have to face some discomfort. Who wants to be uncomfortable?

“But when you are ready to be uncomfortable, to speak the truth, then you can clear that crossroads and come out on the other side renewed.”

And so, Elliott Thomas decided he needed to be honest with himself before he could be honest with his family. He hoped, when all the discussion was done, he would find the person he should be at this juncture of his life.

H
is life had been something far different from what he imagined when he was twenty. As he sipped his tea and looked out at the Atlanta skyline, Elliott assessed his life as challenging instead of fulfilled.

Less than four hundred men knew what it was to be imprisoned for crimes they did not commit and eventually be exonerated. His world of hopelessness became one of access. The remnants of that dozen years in prison remained in him, though, no matter how far removed he was from it—in time or space.

Moving to Atlanta separated him from where he was wrongly convicted and the passing years made the memories of prison less clear. But whether innocent of the crimes he was convicted or not, Elliott had been an inmate, and with that came trauma that seeped into his soul.

He discussed with Lucy and his therapist and, to a lesser degree, Henry, how it all impacted him. But as transparent as he tried to be, he could not fully convey the pain and suffering and heartache and misery he endured. There were no good days in his life for nearly twelve years. There were days that were better than others, but none of them rewarding.

And as adjusted as he became over the years—completing his degree, serving as somewhat of an ambassador for the Innocence
Project, finding the love of his life in Lucy and raising a family—he could not escape his past.

When cancer invaded his prostate, he concluded that his life was destined to be lived in distress. He even questioned God.
How
can I go to prison for crimes I did not commit, survive that and then get cancer? Why am I being punished this way?

What he learned was that he had a zest for life, and giving up without giving his best was not an option. He beat cancer. And he admitted while sitting on the balcony that beating prison and beating cancer gave him a feeling of invincibility.

Although he survived his divorce, it was devastating. He had beaten prison and beaten cancer and thought he had life made. The divorce, though, was something else for the depth of the disappointment and because it came when he had relaxed and believed only joy was in front of him. And that was the driving force behind living the life he decided he wanted—he needed to distract himself from his pain.

Trying to recapture years gone by seemed to be the sensible way to do it…at that time.

Battered and bruised and alone with his honest thoughts, he regretted so much, starting with not fighting for his marriage. Lucy bullied him into divorce when the decision should have been theirs to make, not hers. But he had an urgent need to support her, to give her what she wanted. He also concluded that he did not want to be married to someone who insisted she did not want to be married to him.

So he chased young women under the guise of catching up on years missed in prison. The reality was that dating younger women was a safe way of not meeting someone who might remind him of Lucy. Elliott admitted that the years after his divorce were full of
pain: pain at how the marriage dissolved and pain that it
had
dissolved.

He and Lucy connected in a spiritual way, a sort of kindred spirits who endured life-altering events when they both were twenty…and came out on the other side scarred, but sane and ready to take on the world.

Many a night he cried with her when she dreamed of being raped or when it became a heavy thought. She could sense any angst in his demeanor and would hug and comfort him before he would express any distress. That's how connected they were.

Trying to fill the void Lucy left was futile, an attempt by a desperate, disconsolate man to distract himself enough to get over it. It didn't work.

He forced himself to dismiss ever reconciling, but now there was his life's only love expressing her desire for him. Elliott could not help but be resistant, though. She took him through hell, refusing to consider not divorcing and limiting her contact with him over the years. He got over being angry with her, but he considered her treatment of him some kind of warped punishment that he did not deserve.

So, while he loved her still, he wondered if he could trust her. He made it through prison, survived cancer and kept his head up after divorce. But to have her lure him back only to shun him again was a prospect that scared him.
That's big,
he thought
. I admit that I'm scared.

His head began to hurt, and he swore it was about the thoughts running through it and not the concussion. He finished his tea and slid into bed, hoping sleep would alleviate the pain and fear.

It did not work. His head felt okay—and his ribs were better, too—but rejection from Lucy still scared him. He got up and
brushed his teeth, and it occurred to him to call on what he felt in prison. He used his fear to become brave. He was so scared of what might happen to him that he became braver than he ever had been to protect himself.

In this case, his bravery led him to call Lucy.

“So how are you feeling?” she asked.

“Not so good.”

“Really? What's wrong?”

“Physically, I feel fine. But with you, I don't know.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean we need to talk. But not over the phone. We were supposed to have lunch tomorrow. We should have lunch tomorrow.”

“But your head is wrapped up; you want to go somewhere like that?”

“You can come here or I can come to you.”

They decided on Lucy coming to Elliot. “You shouldn't be driving or doing much at all,” she said.

They hung up, agreeing to see each other the next day, which seemed like a long time for Elliott since he was stuck in the house. He could not go for his daily walk, could not go to Sutra, a club on Crescent Avenue that was popular on Tuesday nights.

The day picked up when Henry came by for a visit. Elliott was glad he did, for in his quest to get to the other side of the crossroads, resolving his feelings about his friend's sexuality became a priority.

Henry brought lunch with him from Mango's Caribbean Restaurant: curry chicken, rice and peas, cabbage and plantains. They sat at his dining room table and chatted about sports. When they were done, Elliott elevated the conversation.

“So, who was this you brought with you to the hospital the other day?”

“Why?”

“Why? Because my son asked me about him. It raised some questions in him that he presented to me.”

“Questions like what?”

“Questions like, ‘Why is Mr. Henry hanging out with a guy who is obviously gay?' Not exactly like that, but something like that.”

“Look, I don't have to get your approval for who I spend my time with, Elliott. But for your information, that was a friend and business associate, Harold. You met him before.”

“Yeah, I did. And I recall saying to you that he was suspect. I also recall you blowing it off.”

“That was then, this is now, Elliott,” Henry said. “What's the problem?”

“The problem is my son now questions your sexuality because no straight man would hang out with a gay man,” he answered. “So, since he questions your sexuality, that means he questions mine. And I can't have that.”

“I can't believe we're back at this,” Henry said. “You can tell your son that I'm gay. That's fine. Or I can tell him. My point is, I don't care if he knows. Now, as far as him associating you with being gay because I'm gay, that's something you have to address.