The Old Man in the Club (2 page)

It was legal prostitution, without a pimp. Essentially, they were dirty old men that could not handle an experienced woman who would challenge them or require them to make an effort. So they lured young girls with things.

That was not Elliott's
modus operandi.
He was a different kind of old man in the club. It wasn't so much that he liked it. He needed it.

It was hard to not notice the generation gap between Elliott and others at the lounge. Although Elliott was an attractive man, right around six feet with a lean body, the gray edges that shaped his chiseled face and the wrinkles around his eyes and neck were undeniable. They at least told he was older than everyone else. He was proud that he was sixty-one but kept himself together to where he was able to attract younger ladies; well, younger ladies with varying issues.

He noticed that the man in the bathroom called him “Pops,” and he heard the whispers when he showed up at clubs or bars frequented by adults half his age.

And he did not care.

Women his age called him a “dirty old man” and his buddies laughed at him and wondered about his lifestyle. He did not care.

Elliott Thomas decided to live his life in a way that pleased him, which was not what could be said by most. A lot happened for him to come to this place—dark, sad, regrettable experiences that shaped the man's adult life.

He was the old man in the club, and had no qualms with it. It was a blessing to be
anywhere
. And he liked it.

What was peeing on himself to a man who, when considering the totality of his life, very well could be dead? But there he was, alive and well, and refusing to live any way other than the way he wanted.

“What's happening?” he inquired of Tamara upon his return to their reserved section.

She handed him a glass of champagne. “What took you so long?”

“Ran into a few friends,” he lied. He squirmed in his seat because while his pants were dry, his polka dot underwear was wet—and uncomfortable.

“Here,” he said to Tamara, pulling a gift out of the bag that rested on the table in front of them. The box was flat and wrapped in purple paper. That was her favorite color. Elliott paid attention to details like that. It was necessary as he tried to connect with much younger women. It was one of his ways of standing out among his youthful competition—young men who were not nearly as skilled in the art of dating. Or just being a gentleman. Or thoughtful. That had to be his edge in gaining younger women's affections.

“It's so light? What is it?” Tamara asked.

Elliott did not answer. He did not think an answer was necessary. And she got his point: Open the box and see. And so she did, and was surprised by its contents.

“What's
this?”
she asked with confusion in her voice and on her face.

Again, Elliott did not respond. So, Tamara moved the paper closer and adjusted it so light could shine on it.

“A passport application?” she asked. “You got me a passport application?”

“What's that?” one of her friends, Bianca, asked, from the other side of Elliott.

Tamara passed it across Elliott and to Bianca, who used the flashlight on her cell phone to read it.

“Oh, wow,” she said. “This is a great gift, girl.”

“An application? How?” Tamara asked.

Elliott sat between the young ladies and turned his head toward each as they spoke.

“Why?” Bianca asked. “You don't get it?”

“Get
what?”
Tamara said, sounding a bit frustrated.

“You need a passport to travel out of the country,” Bianca said. “So he must be taking you on a trip.
Duh.”

Tamara looked up at Elliott. “Really?”

“Well,” he said, “we can't go where I want to go until you have a passport. So, get that taken care of and you'll get the second part of your gift.”

“At least tell me where we're going.”

“I'd rather surprise you when you show me your passport.”

“That's not right,” Tamara whined. Her cute face that did not require much makeup was scrunched, her forehead dented. She
poked out her lips and, for a second or two, Elliott thought he was looking at an adolescent.

“You have about a month to coax me into telling you. That's how long it should take for you to get your passport after you submit it.”

“Oh, well, I can get that news out of you before then.” She placed her hand on his leg.

Elliott grinned. “I like your confidence.”

They had met about six weeks before, at CineBistro, an upscale movie theater in the Buckhead section of Atlanta that had a full bar and restaurant-quality menu. Elliott noticed Tamara sitting at the bar, waiting on her date to return from the bathroom.

“I'm going to take care of that drink for you,” were Elliott's first words to Tamara, who had accepted a Blue Moon beer from the bartender.

“Why would you do that?” she asked.

“Just paying it forward. Someone paid for my lunch one day when I was at Flip Burger on Howell Mill Road. Sitting at the bar like you are now. Had lunch. When it was time to go, I asked for my check. Bartender told me the woman sitting a few seats down had paid for it and gone.”

“What? Really?” Tamara said.

“Yes, really.” He reached into his jacket pocket to pull out a business card, then handed it to her. “So, it's my turn to return that good deed.”

Tamara looked him up and down. He reminded her of a teacher she had a crush on when she was in high school. She pulled a business card out of her purse. “Well, thank you very much,” she said, handing over her card.

“I'm sure you're on a date, so I'll leave you,” Elliott said. “But I
will call you or shoot you an e-mail to see if you have paid it forward… Enjoy your drink.”

They smiled at each other and Elliott walked toward the theaters, right past Tamara's date as he made his way back from the bathroom. He turned around and saw that Tamara was looking back at him as she hugged the man.

That meeting led to an exchange of e-mails, a lunch date that Tamara did not consider a date a week later, and drinks at F&B restaurant a few days later that had the feel of a date.

By the time they arrived at Vanquish, Elliott and Tamara had seen each other seven times. Before they met that night for her birthday celebration, he made it clear his intentions, telling her, “This is a date. I like you and I have grown attracted to you. So please don't take it like I'm coming out just to support my friend. I'm trying to romance you, no matter our age difference.”

He had to put it out there. Elliott did not want there to be any misconceptions.

“You don't think I'm too young for you?” she said.

“Too young to do what?” he replied.

“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.”