The Old Man in the Club

by Curtis Bunn

  “Hang out; there have to be women your age interested in you,” Tamara said.

  “Sure there are, but their interest isn’t my interest. Is my age too much for you to handle?” he asked.

  “I don’t know. I guess that depends on your energy level.”

  “Excuse me?” Elliott responded.

  She laughed. “Wait, that didn’t sound right.”

  “Yeah, well, you don’t have to worry about my energy level in any capacity,” Elliott said.

  She paused for a few seconds. “Okay, then. If you can handle it, I can handle it. And I’m talking about the age difference.”

  For Elliott, that meant he could help her celebrate her birthday in grand fashion. The bottle service at the Vanquish Lounge was $350 per bottle, and by 10:30, they were deep into their second bottle. And while the money did not mean anything to him, it would mean everything to Tamara on this night.

  “Thank you, Elliott,” she said over the loud music. “This is so much fun. And I can’t wait to find out about this trip. I’m not saying I’m going on it, but I am excited to know where you picked out.”

  “You’re going,” he said so confidently that it almost came off as a boast. “And you know why? Because by the time you get your passport, you’ll know me better and you’ll want to go.”

  “You’re pretty sure of yourself, huh?” All the drinking started to have an effect; she was looser, in mind and body. She slid to her right until her body pressed up against Elliott’s. “I may be young, but I ain’t crazy or silly. Don’t think you’re going to take advantage of me because you have more experience than me.”

  “Why would I want to take advantage of you?” he said. “That’s not fun. Whatever we do I’d like it to be mutually agreed upon. Now that would be fun.”

  Tamara had not heard a man speak to her in such a fashion, and it intrigued her. Men her age were fun, but the next guy seemed like the last guy; there was no discerning them. Elliott moved her because he was different. And to get her an application for a passport as a gift…who does that? And how could she not view it as charming?

  She had a unique quality for someone so young: she didn’t lie to herself. She understood her strengths, admitted her weaknesses and embraced criticism, even if it came off as “hating.” So, as the alcohol settled in and her inhibitions diminished, she was honest: If Elliott doesn’t mess it up, I’m gonna give him some tonight.

  She put the caveat of “if” in there, but she was pretty sure she would. He had the presence of someone in control, even in a crowd of people who looked at him and wondered why he was not at home. It was a powerful presence in a sense, one that put a woman at ease and drew her into him.

  “I appreciate you letting me spend some of your birthday with you,” Elliott said into Tamara’s ear.

  “I’m having a good time,” she said. “Thank you for all this. My friends are eating this up.”

  Just then, a young man came and stood over Tamara. She could feel his presence. When she turned and looked up at him, she screamed in delight. It was a friend she dated right before graduating college. Their careers took them in separate cities and they had not seen each other in the four years after graduation.

  Tamara hurried to her feet and she and Jacobi hugged a long time. Elliott reached for the champagne and refilled her glass as the old friends caught up, laughed and even took photos. They are a good-looking couple, Elliott thought. He’s more like someone she should be with, he admitted.

  They talked for up to fifteen minutes. She introduced him to her girlfriends and they shared a birthday toast. Elliott sat there, unfazed. He would not try to compete with a younger man for Tamara’s attention. He would not infringe on her fun. And he did not consider it an insult that she did not introduce him. Actually, he was relieved that she did not. It would only lead to inevitable questions that would put her and him in an awkward situation:

  Who’s that?

  Is that your father?

  What’s that old guy doing with you?

  Neither of them wanted to hear that. Finally, Jacobi and his friends left and explored the spot and Tamara rejoined Elliott on the couch.

  “Whew,” she said. “That was a friend from college I haven’t seen in a long time.”

  “It’s always good to catch up with old classmates,” Elliott said. “You should have offered him some champagne.”

  Tamara was not sure how Elliott would react to that scene, but his calm gave her reassurances about him and what she wanted to happen with him that night, when all the music stopped and the people went home.

  “Can I ask you something?” She again slid up close to him.

  “Only if you can accept the answer,” Elliott responded.

  “I like that when I ask you something I’m not sure what your answer will be,” Tamara said.

  Elliott smiled, and when he did that he looked exponentially younger. “Go.”

  “What does it feel like to be in this place with people so much younger?”

  “It feels liberating, to be honest,” Elliott said. “There’s an energy around young people that I need. I’m where I want to be, where I need to be. I have an energy and appreciation for life that make me want to be places where people are living. I read somewhere that every day is a celebration of life, and that’s how I live it. I don’t have to be in a club or out every night. But I do have to do things that celebrate being alive because life is a gift.”

  Tamara put her hand on his leg, which alarmed Elliott for a second because it was the side he soiled with urine. He gathered himself quickly.

  “That’s a good answer, Mr. Elliott,” she said.

  “Oh, I’m ‘Mr.’ now?” he asked.

  “Yes,” she said. “When I call you ‘Mr. Elliott,’ it’s a sign that I see you as an authority figure, and authority figures are very attractive to me. I never told you that you remind me of one of my old high school teachers, Mr. Nutt. What a name, right? But he was dignified and handsome and I wanted to throw myself at him.”

  She sipped some more champagne. “Actually, I did throw myself at him,” she added. “But I wasn’t as developed as I am now. He basically let me down easy.”

  “So, you like older men?” Elliott said. It was so loud that he had to virtually put his mouth to her ear, and she leaned in so close that his lips and her ear came together. It was just what Tamara wanted.

  “You have soft lips,” she said.

  “You have a soft ear,” he quipped, and they both laughed.

  “I like men who can teach me something, who can add something to my life,” Tamara answered. She was in Elliott’s ear now, and every few words, she kissed his earlobe. “Boys my age don’t do anything for me; that’s why I went to my high-school prom with a college sophomore.

  “And now, at twenty-five–wow, I’m a quarter of a century old—guys my age can’t hold my attention. If one does, he’s got about three or four other women, too. But you’re a first for me. You’re old enough to actually be my grandfather. But it doesn’t turn me off. Most sixty-one-year-old men definitely would not hold my attention. But you, I don’t know. There’s something mysterious and interesting about you. You’ve made me very curious.”

  “About what? How an old man looks naked? What I can do in bed?” Elliott asked as he kissed her on her ear.

  Tamara nodded her head. “Yes. Aren’t you curious about me?”

  “Not at all.” Tamara looked confused. “But,” Elliott said into her ear, “I am fascinated by you.”

  Tamara flashed a big smile. “I’m gonna be ready to go soon. What you wanna do when we leave here?”

  “Move the party to my house. Private party.”

  “Just me and you?”

  Elliott nodded his head. “Me, you and some candles and champagne and gourmet cheese.” He picked up a champagne flute and tapped glasses with Tamara, who then moved to the other side of Elliott and told her girls she was about to leave.

  “Y’all can stay,” she s
aid. “We’re gonna leave in a few.”

  Elliott could not hear her friends’ responses, but he paid the bill and asked the server to add a third bottle of Veuve Clicquot.

  Tamara told Elliott she was ready. “Okay,” he said, “but let your friends know I have another bottle coming. If they’re going to stay, they might as well have something to sip on.”

  “You’re so sweet.” Tamara shared that information and her friends turned to Elliott and waved as they mouthed “thank you.”

  “I have to go to the bathroom,” Tamara said. “Wanna meet me by the front door?”

  “Meet you there.” He made his way through the crowd and posted up near the front exit, which also was the entrance. He watched the young people come and go—a fun pastime for him. Sometimes he would go out to places in Atlanta and not say a word to anyone; he’d just watch. And that was a good night for him.

  So he was not mad that Tamara had to make a bathroom run. It was his opportunity to get some sightseeing in without feeling like he might disrespect her in the process. The women came and went in impressive fashion, one young lady’s skirt shorter than the next.

  Tamara was gone for up to ten minutes because of the inevitable line in the women’s bathroom. Right before she returned, Elliott noticed someone out of the corner of his eye approaching from the entrance. When he turned to see, he almost lost his breath.

  Standing before him were Daniel and Danielle. They were twenty-one and Elliott had not seen them in almost two years. But they were not particularly happy to see him, which was evident since there were no smiles and no hugs.

  “What are you doing in here?” Danielle asked, looking him over.

  “Hi, Danny,” he said. “Hi, Dan.”

  Neither responded. They looked at him with disdain.

  “What are you doing here?” Daniel asked. There was anger in his voice and posture.

  “I’m so glad to see you,” he said. “Have you received my letters or e-mails?”

  “Yeah, we got ’em,” Daniel said. “And…?”

  “And how are we going to get beyond all this if we don’t communicate?” Elliott said. “It shouldn’t be this way.”

  “What are you doing here?” Danielle wanted to know.

  Before he could give an answer, Tamara walked up from the bathroom. “Okay, I’m ready.”

  Elliott looked at her and then the other two young adults.

  “Tamara?” Danielle said.

  “Danielle, I didn’t even see you,” she responded. They hugged.

  “You know Elliott?” Tamara asked.

  “You’re leaving?” Daniel said to Tamara. “We came here for your party. And how do you know him?”

  The awkwardness was palpable, and Tamara sensed it.

  “Everyone is still at our section over there,” she said, pointing. “There’s another bottle coming. But I’ve been here a long time, so we’re leaving.”

  “How do you know him?” Daniel asked again.

  Tamara was confused. Daniel’s and Danielle’s reactions was more than about the age difference. It was something else.

  “What’s going on?” she asked.

  “Nothing,” Elliott said. He clutched her hand and started toward the exit. “Let’s go.”

  Daniel grabbed Danielle’s hand and pulled her in the opposite direction.

  “Are you dating him?” Danielle yelled.

  “Why does it matter?” Tamara asked.

  “Don’t worry about it,” Daniel said. He pulled Danielle into the crowd.

  Elliott stood there looking in their direction as Tamara looked up at him.

  “What was that about?” she asked.

  He continued to look off in the distance.

  “Elliott…” Tamara said.

  He turned to her and had a look on his face she had not seen, a look of humiliation, which was big because he seemed to be impervious to embarrassment.

  “That was my son and daughter,” he said.

  CHAPTER TWO

  Life, As He Knows It

  “What? Danny and Danielle are your children?” Tamara asked as they walked past the line of people outside that extended along Peachtree Street to Eleventh Street. “I went to college with them.”

  And that fact shook her. It was one thing to cavort with Elliott around people who did not know him. It was quite another for her to know his kids. It was a connection she did not embrace.

  Neither did Elliott. He placed his hand on the small of Tamara’s back and guided her across Eleventh Street and into Café Intermezzo, a light-night dessert place that was an after-party haven.

  “I thought we were going to your house?” Tamara asked.

  Elliott responded without looking at her: “We should talk first… and then see if you still want to go.”

  She nodded her head as they were led to a table on the patio that ran along Peachtree Street. Tamara decided she would not say anything and let Elliott take the lead. She was frustrated that the events had diminished her birthday buzz.

  “How about some champagne?” Elliott surveyed the extended menu.

  “More champagne?” Tamara asked. “What are we celebrating?”

  “It’s still your birthday.”

  “Yeah, but it’s not like what happened didn’t just happen.”

  “I’m glad it did, in a way.”

  Tamara gave him a look.

  “I haven’t seen them in two years,” he said. “That’s not the good part. They looked good, didn’t they?”

  “You know how crazy this whole thing is for me?” Tamara asked. “How can I look them in the face again?”

  “Easy,” Elliott said. “What you and I do is none of their business.”

  “That might make sense for you,” she responded. “But it’s bigger than that for me. Danielle and I are friends. And I know Danny. And I’m running around with her dad?”

  “When you put it that way, it doesn’t sound so inviting for me, either,” Elliott said.

  “Let’s get to the real point then,” Tamara said. “I like you. I do. You’re very intriguing. The fact that you’re older—much older—has not bothered me that much, until now. I need to know: what do you want from me? I mean, what do you really want from me? No bullshit. Why are you pursuing someone close to your daughter’s age?”

  Elliott ordered champagne, and then he got right down to it.

  “What do I want with you?” he started. “Sex. Fun—”

  “Did you say sex?” Tamara jumped in, sounding insulted.

  “If you’re going to be in a grown-up situation, you can’t be surprised that a man wants to engage in sex with you,” Elliott said. “I’m not trying to be your mentor on relationships or anything. We both have something to offer each other. But if you think I’m not interested in sex with you, then you’re being naïve. You’re pretty, sexy, smart, fun…why wouldn’t I want to have sex with you?”

  At twenty-five, Tamara’s relationship experiences were far less than Elliott’s, but she had never heard a man (or boy) admit his sexual intentions. The funny part was that it turned her on. His candor justified why she believed guys her age were not ready for her. She wanted something different from her girlfriends, something that would open her up and enlighten her. Grow her.

  She wanted the truth.

  Tamara shook her head while staring into his eyes. “I can’t figure you out.”

  “No need to try,” Elliott responded. “We’re all more complicated than we realize. Figuring me out would only confuse you.”

  Tamara smiled.

  “What I was going to say,” Elliott continued, “was that besides sex, I want fun times, interesting conversation. I want to be taken out of my comfort zone, to have new experiences. I don’t want to feel my age or do things people my age do. That, for me, is living my life.”

  “So what have you been doing up to this point?” Tamara asked. “Sleeping?”

  “Sleepwalking,” Elliott said. “In some cases sleepwalking, in some
cases, struggling…Where do you want me to begin?”

  “You know what? Can we save this conversation for your house? I get the feeling you’re about to go in, and we should be chillin’ at your spot instead of around all these people.”

  “I’m about to ‘go in.’ Is that what you said?”

  “Yes. It means, in this case, to get really deep,” she explained.

  “See, this is what I’m talking about,” Elliott said. “You can keep me up-to-date and I can show you old-fashioned things. Balance. I’m not young and hip, but I like to be around young and hip people.”

  “But why?” Tamara asked.

  “Because it keeps my spirit young,” he said.

  Tamara had no response, and after several minutes of chatter about passersby and her birthday, they made their way to Elliott’s car and took the five-minute drive to his high-rise condo in the W Hotel in downtown Atlanta.

  “You live here, at the hotel?” she said, trying but failing to conceal her amazement.

  “There is a resident portion to this place, too,” he said, trying and succeeding at sounding unimpressed with his digs.

  They took the elevator up to the twenty-seventh floor, where Elliott opened the door to his condo that had a breathtaking view of the Atlanta skyline, and beyond, via floor-to-ceiling windows. Tamara was mesmerized.

  Elliott threw the keys on a table and offered her a drink.

  “Whatever you have will be fine,” she said.

  He lit some scented candles that rested on a pair of shelves next to photos of family members. “Make yourself comfortable.” He turned on some music. “You can get what you want. I’ve got to take a shower. Take off your shoes. Relax. Be right back.”

  Elliott disappeared to the right of the kitchen into his bedroom, eager to discard his urine-stained pants and freshen his body. Tamara slipped off her heels and took in the majestic view of his place and the city. She opened the sliding glass door and stepped onto the balcony. A breeze cooled the summer night air and added to her calm.

  She looked down at the traffic flowing on Interstate 85 and out at the buildings that illuminated the sky. She was a long way from her hometown of Waycross, Georgia, which was closer to Florida than it was to Atlanta. It was a friendly place, a wonderful place to grow up—but a place one had to escape to truly grow. At least that’s how she felt.