by Curtis Bunn
“You look nice,” he said when she arrived. She wore jeans with heels and a top that was sexy but not too revealing. “You want to sit at the bar?”
“Yes, I like sitting at the bar sometimes,” Nikki said.
They ordered drinks: Nikki had a peach martini and Elliott a glass of Malbec.
“So why aren’t you on a date tonight?” he asked her.
“I am,” she said.
“I like that,” Elliott said. “You like this place?”
“I do,” she said. “I haven’t been here in years, back when Friday nights used to be packed. Live music with Quinn and his band. People everywhere. It was a good time.”
“Yeah, it’s nice like this, too,” Elliott said. “Not so many people. And I don’t have to scream into your ear for you to hear me.”
“So why did you say you wanted to meet for a drink or two and then go home?” Nikki asked. “Somebody there waiting on you?”
“Nah,” Elliott answered. “I’m having my son and daughter over for dinner tomorrow and I have some preparing to do. Haven’t cooked for them in a long time, so I want it to be nice.”
“That’s nice,” she said. “They’re lucky to have their dad around. I lost mine when I was in high school. Still miss him.”
“I bet,” Elliott said. “I haven’t hung out with my kids in a while. They’re in college in Michigan.”
“You haven’t? Why?” Nikki wanted to know.
“Basically, their mom and I got a divorce and they never forgave me for it,” he said. “That’s what it comes down to. They feel like I broke up the family.”
“That’s tough; sorry to hear that,” Nikki said. “I hope you all figure it out.”
“I’m trying to figure you out right now,” Elliott said.
“How so?”
“Well, two things on two different subjects,” he said. “One, I’m probably twenty years older than you. Why would you be out with me? The other one is why haven’t you gone to Ghana to see your mother?”
“Wow, you remember I said that to you?” Nikki asked. “Do you know I have friends I’ve been knowing for a long time, good friends, who never asked that—or anything about my mother. Wow. Anyway, I haven’t gone to Africa because she hasn’t asked me to come.
“And I will admit that bothers me.”
“Why don’t you tell her you want to visit her?” Elliott suggested. “My situation is not good with my kids, but I know one thing: I’m going to tell them what I want. If I don’t, I will never know where I stand.”
The drinks came.
“That makes sense,” Nikki said. “I don’t know; I guess I just need an invitation from her to feel like she wants to see me.”
“You’re scared of what her answer might be,” Elliott said. “Not if she says yes, but if she says no.”
Nikki looked at Elliott. “You’re psycho-analyzing me?”
He smiled. “Just call me Dr. E.”
“Okay, Dr. E, to the second part of your question,” Nikki said, “I’m here with you because I really enjoyed my conversation with you Saturday night. It was interesting and fun, and, if you didn’t know, getting that these days is not that easy.”
“What about the age gap?” Elliott asked.
“What age gap?” she answered. “You don’t know how old I am. I don’t know how old you are. If we never tell each other our age, then there’s no gap to overcome.”
Elliott laughed. “That’s a first,” he said. “I have dated younger women in the last couple of years. It’s been fun. It’s been interesting. It’s been needed.”
“Needed? Why?” she asked.
“I’m regressing,” he said, laughing. “What was that movie when the guy started off old and got younger?”
“The Curious Case of Benjamin Button,” Nikki answered.
“That’s it. That’s me,” Elliott said. “I’ve had some things happen in my life that made me decide to live my life. Don’t talk about living it or daydream about living it. Live it. So, younger people have more energy and an attitude that I like.”
“Well, in my case, I’ve never dated an older man,” Nikki said. “I don’t have any real hang-ups about age. But I have girlfriends who have dated older men, white men, younger men. They talk all the time about it being about the person and not anything else. I guess hearing it enough has worn off on me.”
“Why is it so difficult to get a good conversation from a man?” Elliott said.
“You’re asking me?” Nikki said. “I was hoping you could tell me.”
“I don’t date men, so I can’t say,” he said. “You should be telling me.”
“Well, my theory is that the men—especially in cities like Atlanta where there are so many women-—don’t have to really engage you. To engage someone takes time and effort. But the men I have met—I don’t want to generalize and say all men—have been sort of like, ‘If you’re interested, let me know now so I can move on to someone else if you aren’t.’
“I really feel that. They have become arrogant because so many women are so desperate that they will tell them they are interested even though they don’t really know them. So when they come across a woman like me, who is not desperate and who insists on getting to know someone before sleeping with them, they’d just rather move on than actually engage me.”
“Wow, if that’s true, then that’s sad,” Elliott said. “I really enjoy getting to know women. That’s the fun part. Hearing opinions, learning about people’s lives, feeling someone’s presence.”
“See, I’m like that, too,” Nikki said. “I’m a people person and I like to meet people. I’ll talk to almost anyone in a social setting. You can learn a lot just through talking to people.”
With that, she excused herself and went to the bathroom. Elliott pulled out his iPhone and sent Tamara a text message: “I hope you’re having a good date.”
He also ordered another round of drinks after checking his watch. It was only twenty minutes to nine. He figured after another forty-five minutes with Nikki, he would head to Publix to purchase items for the dinner he would prepare for his kids.
When she returned, she leaned into his ear. “You have an admirer,” Nikki said.
“Plenty,” Elliott said.
“I mean here, right now,” she said. “In the bathroom, this woman comes in and says to me; ‘Is your father married? I noticed he wasn’t wearing a ring.’ I was, like, ‘Excuse me. Father? Who?’ She said, ‘That’s not your father you’re sitting with at the bar?’ I said, ‘No, not my father. We’re friends.’
“So she goes, ‘Well, can you introduce him to me? Or let him know I’d like to buy him a drink.’ I told her I would, and so I am.”
“Who was the woman?” Elliott asked.
“She’s attractive. Might be too old for you, though,” Nikki said. “She looks to be in her mid-to-late forties. That’s her over there. But you probably consider that Bingo game material, huh?”
Elliott looked to his left and saw the woman in the distance. She was attractive and smiling. Classy. “You’re right; she’s too old,” he said to Nikki.
“Are you serious? That’s a mature woman, Elliott,” Nikki said.
“She is,” Elliott said. “But I’m here with you and interested in you. I’m surprised you would even tell me about it.”
“Well, it only seemed the right thing to do,” Nikki said. “You should at least go over and say hello to her. Her name is Darlene.”
“Nikki, you’re taking nice too far,” Elliott said. “How do I look leaving you here to go meet another woman?”
“We don’t have anything going,” she said. “We’re out having a drink.”
“That may be true and that woman may be cute, but I can’t do that,” Elliott said. He was showing restraint he did not know he had. The more he glanced at the woman, the better she looked and the more curious he got.
But he did not move from his seat. He dismissed it with enough conviction for Nikki to let it go.
>
“I appreciate the way you handled that situation,” Nikki said as they waited out front for their cars to come up from valet.
“I like you, Elliott—a lot,” Nikki said. “But we should be friends. The age difference is real and you probably have a bunch of women—young women—you’re dating. I’m intrigued. But I won’t do that to myself.”
“I respect that,” Elliott said. He was disappointed. Nikki looked better the second time he saw her and her mind interested him. But he made a rule of never overpursuing.
“You’re doing yourself a disservice, but okay,” he said.
“A disservice?” Nikki said. “I don’t want to do that. We can be friends.”
“That works for me,” Elliott said.
They hugged and Nikki jumped into her Jeep and drove off. Elliott headed to the Publix near Georgia Tech to grocery shop for what he considered one of the most important evenings of his life. He wanted to regain his good standing in the lives of his children, and he hoped having them over for dinner would be a significant step toward his family uniting.
In the store, which was filled with college students, Elliott took his time shopping, watching the coeds as much as he was scanning the shelves. He thought of Nikki for a moment and then Tamara and finally he pushed the cart up the aisles with thoughts of what to prepare for dinner.
He remembered his kids’ favorite meals, and decided on them: Cornish hens with macaroni and cheese, steamed broccoli and warm bread. His son loved Elliott’s homemade cheesecake with strawberry topping, so he picked up the necessary items to bake that, too.
The more he shopped, the more excited he got about seeing his kids in his home. The way to a man’s heart is through his stomach, he thought. I hope that works for a man’s children, too.
The shopping experience was uneventful until his cell phone chimed, indicating he had a text message. It was from Tamara, responding to his earlier text.
“I see you were at the 12 Hotel on a date. Just can’t sit home, can you? SMH”
Elliott was miffed. How could she know I met Nikki at the hotel? Was she there, too? He had looked around and would have seen Tamara because there was one way in and one way out. And he was quite observant.
“How do you know where I was?” he texted in return.
He waited for a response as he checked out, but received none. So, he carried on, but frequently checked his phone. After unpacking the bags—leaving out the materials to bake the cheesecake—Elliott sent text messages to Daniel and Danielle.
“Just came from shopping. Excited about spending time and cooking dinner tomorrow. See you at 8.”
Danielle responded almost immediately: “See you then.”
But there was no response from Daniel. It was approaching 11 p.m., but Elliott sent a text to his ex-wife, Lucy, anyway. Instead of responding, she called him.
“What’s going on?” she said when he answered the phone.
“I’m—again—trying to get right with the kids,” he said. “They’re coming over for dinner tomorrow, and I wondered if you had some thoughts on how I can get us back together.”
“I have told you from the beginning,” Lucy said. “Tell them the truth. That’s what they want to hear. Tell them the truth and let them deal with it.”
“I can’t do that and you know why,” he said. “There’s a limit to what they should be informed about our marriage. You agreed with me and promised to not say anything. That’s what I need from you; to keep your promise.”
“I have kept the promise, Elliott,” she said. “As much as I don’t want to, I have. On one hand, I agree with you about it really not being their business and that them knowing specifics could be something they don’t want to hear. But I also think it’s the best way for you to restore your relationship.”
“I’m worried about Daniel,” he said. “With Danielle, she’s following her brother’s lead. She wants us to be right again; she does. But she does not want to be disloyal to Daniel, which I respect.”
“Maybe you should focus on Danielle then,” Lucy said. “I know you think Daniel has a hold over her. But, really, she has the influence over him that even she doesn’t understand. If you won’t tell them the truth, then getting Danielle to move on might be the easier route to go. Daniel is stubborn, much like his mother, I admit.”
Then she said something that shocked Elliott. “What if I came over for dinner, too?“
“Excuse me?” he answered.
“Just think about it: If the kids see that we are okay, then that has to make them feel like they should be okay with things, too,” she explained.
“I don’t know, Lucy,” Elliott said. “It might make them more upset that we’re not together as a family anymore. And that would make things worse.”
That was the fastest logical answer he could create without notice. The additional reason was that he was not sure how he would handle being around Lucy again after so long apart. He wanted them to work out the marriage, to go to counseling and figure out a resolution that could keep the family together. She wanted no part of it. Above all that, he still loved her.
“It was just an idea,” she said.
Elliott moved on to Daniel to minimize the awkwardness. “Have you talked to him? How do I make inroads with him?”
“Talk about you, your life, what you’ve overcome,” she said. “He needs to know the man you are and not the man he thinks you are. Once that happens, he’ll lighten up. He’s definitely stubborn, but he’s not mean.”
“I don’t like talking about that too much, especially to the kids.”
“You asked me and I told you my opinion,” she said. “Up to you how you actually go about it.”
He thanked his ex-wife and ended the call. He then got dressed in some loungewear, turned the radio to WCLK, the Clark Atlanta University jazz station, and turned up the volume. Then he went into the kitchen to make the cheesecake.
Elliott became a master of prison cell cooking, fashioning tasty offerings of Oodles of Noodles and other meals that required little fanfare because prison was no place for a wide array of food or seasonings. But when he was released, Elliott pursued cooking and became stellar in the kitchen.
When he cooked, he made it an experience and fun, for himself if no one else. His kids loved his theatrics, and he planned to use them when they got to his house. But first came the cheesecake; he wanted it prepared the night before so it would be completely settled and cool for the next day.
So, with nice jazz playing, Elliott took to the kitchen. He pulled the covering off a Keebler graham cracker crust. He unloaded eleven ounces of cream cheese into a mixing bowl and covered that with a half-cup of heavy whipping cream and three-quarters cup of sugar in the raw. He cracked an egg and added it. Finally, he dropped in a splash of vanilla extract.
He turned on the mixing bowl and let the contents come together over less than ten minutes, until it formed into a smooth, fluid mix that he poured neatly into the graham cracker crust. He admired its pristine look while enjoying the remnants that clung to the side of the bowl with his fingers.
That made Elliot smile. He used to let his kids finish off the bowl of cheesecake with their fingers when they were small children. He hoped cooking for the kids while at his house would make them feel nostalgic, too.
As he waited over twenty minutes for the cheesecake to bake, he received a text message response from Tamara. “Facebook” was her reply.
Elliott was confused. He had asked how she knew he was at the 12 Hotel. What does she mean, Facebook? he asked himself. Then he recalled that he had set up an account on the popular social media site, but hardly visited it. Tamara was one of his “friends” on Facebook.
Before responding, he fired up his laptop. It took a minute to see that Nikki had “checked in” at the 12 Hotel with the note, “Drinks with Elliott Thomas.”
He was confused. He was not “friends” with Nikki; they hadn’t even discussed Facebook. But when he visited her page, he n
oticed that she was “friends” with Tamara. His mouth flew open.
He had heard younger men who really engaged in the Atlanta social scene talking about how the city “could close in on you.” This was the first case where someone he dated knew someone else he dated—or tried to date.
Elliott did not attempt to run from the situation. “How do you know Nikki?” he texted back. “And why are you texting me? I thought you were on a date.”
He put his feet up on the coffee table and waited for a response. It did not come, and he drifted off to sleep and dreamed of the days when he was still married and his family was intact. It felt good to see the four of them smiling and enjoying each other, even if it was in his dream.
The ring of the oven timer interrupted the joyous moment. The cheesecake was ready. Elliott placed it on the granite countertop, where it would reside for a half-hour, at which time he set it in the refrigerator to chill overnight. When he first learned how to make the cheesecake, he was less patient and would place it in the freezer for an hour or so to indulge in right away.
His patience improved through occasional yoga classes and plain effort and discipline. He had been patient in allowing his kids to drift away from him—too patient, in fact. Elliott thought allowing them to vent and to separate themselves from him would give them the space they needed to see things clearly over time. Instead of them gravitating back to their father, they—especially Daniel—grew to hold strong animosity toward him.
Elliott went to sleep with that on his mind and awoke with it there the next morning, too. And that made him nervous. He was nervous about spending quality time with his kids for the first time in a few years. The occasion seemed like a make-or-break, the more he thought about it. He played the “What if?” game with himself: What if they are coming here to tell me they hate me? What if they say they will never forgive me? What if I lose my patience and tell them off?
After a breakfast of oatmeal mixed with blueberries and strawberries and a cup of coffee, Elliott went on his walk. It usually served as the antidote to a clogged head. This walk worked, too. He took a different route, up to Peachtree Street, where he turned left toward Midtown instead of toward downtown. When he approached Gladys Knight’s & Ron Winan’s Chicken & Waffles, he slowed down; there was the usual crowd of people waiting outside to be seated.
