by Curtis Bunn
“I hope that’s not true.”
“I can tell you some stories.”
“I’d rather hear about you.”
Her cell phone that she glanced at often vibrated. “Excuse me a minute,” she said while reading and then sending a text message.
“My friends are in there for the concert. They said Chris Brown just got on stage.”
“Don’t let me stop you from enjoying the show,” Elliott said.
“You’re not going in?”
“I was, but it’s going to be too loud in there for me. Plus, I don’t know any of his music. Now, if it were the Isley Brothers, that would be something different.”
“Well, maybe I’ll stay out here with you. I’ve seen Chris Brown before. He puts on a good show. But I don’t have to see him again.”
“You’d pass up Chris Brown for me?” Elliott asked, smiling.
“I wouldn’t put it that way,” she answered. “But let’s go get that drink…I mean water.”
They went into the building where Chris Brown was performing and Elliott asked Nikki to wait on him as he went to the bathroom. When he came out, he maneuvered his way to the front of the bar and handed the bartender a five-dollar bill as he asked for two cups of water.
With the cups in hand, he returned to Nikki, who was confronted by a guy who liked what he saw. She seemed uncomfortable as the young man moved closer to her. He seemed drunk and overly aggressive.
Elliott stepped in. He said, “Here you go, honey,” as he handed her the water. “Sorry it took so long. It’s crazy at the bar.”
The guy stepped back and looked hard at Elliott. “This is your man?” he asked Nikki.
Before she could answer, Elliott said while giving the man a stern look, “Her bodyguard.”
The guy looked back at Elliott, but detected something in his look that said he was in danger. In his time in prison, Elliott became a master at defending himself and intimidating people without saying a word.
“Her bodyguard?” the young man said, shaking his head. “Yeah, right.”
“I appreciate you keeping her company for me,” Elliott said, again staring deep into the man’s eyes.
The guy looked Elliott up and down and finally turned and walked away.
“See, you need me around,” Elliott said.
“You might be right,” she said.
They went back outside and found a bench and sat there and talked for forty minutes. It was difficult for Elliott to stay focused on Nikki because he was often distracted by the constant passing of attractive young women.
He thought he was being discreet.
“Would you like some Visine?” she said with sarcasm.
“Sure,” Elliott said. “It’ll help my eyes. I don’t want to miss anything.”
“So you admit to staring at every woman that passes while sitting here with me?”
“I’m people-watching. Nothing more, nothing less.”
He wanted to tell her that more than a decade in prison had engrained in him the importance of watching his back, of understanding who was around him and figuring out where trouble could come. He was perpetually concerned about someone having an angle on him, who was around him. Without that paranoia, he believed he would not have made it in prison. Sharing this with Nikki having just met her would have been too much.
“A lot of times I go out and I don’t say anything to anyone,” he went on. “I watch people, how they interact, what they do, how guys accept rejection, how women deal with men constantly approaching them. It’s very interesting.”
“You ain’t slick, Mr. Elliott. People-watching? You mean girl-watching.”
“Can’t put anything past you, huh? Would you rather I watch men?”
“There’s enough of that going on in Atlanta without you joining the madness. It’s so rampant—I’m speaking about the number of gay men here—that it makes you scared to date. You don’t know who’s who.”
“Well, I have a story to tell you about that subject.”
“I’m listening.”
“Well, it’s too long and I’m about to go,” Elliott said. He wanted to stay but Tamara had texted him while he was in the bathroom letting him know she would be leaving shortly to head to his place. He did not want her there without him for too long, but he did want her there long enough to feel comfortable and to get comfortable.
“This isn’t a trick to get your number; I really would like to tell you about this situation,” he said. “But I have to leave.”
“It’s not that late,” Nikki said. “But then again, you’re old.”
They laughed. “I’ll let you get away with that…for now,” Elliott said. “How about I give you my number and you call me if you’d like to hear my story and/or get together again?”
“You’d better take my number,” Nikki said. “I’m old school. My mom and dad taught me that the man should pursue you and should make the first phone call. I’m a woman of today in most instances. But in some ways I’m 1950s.”
“Well, that’s my era, so I can relate and respect that point of view,” Elliott said, pulling out his cell phone. She recited her number and he programmed it in his phone.
“Do me a favor and text me to let me know you made it home safely tonight. I will text you my number now. Is that too forward of you, to let me know you’re safe? It doesn’t matter what time it is.”
“Oh, wow, you’re a gentleman, I see. I gotta watch out for you.”
CHAPTER SIX
Beyond Her Years
On the ride home, Elliott called one of his closest friends, Henry. They met when Elliott was released from prison and moved to Atlanta. Both were at the Division of Driver Services and struck up a conversation during the endless wait, and became friends. They shared a passion for women, golf and long drives.
“I met another one,” Elliott said when Henry answered the phone.
“Yeah, hello to you, too,” Henry said.
“Oh, my mistake,” Elliott said. “Just had to tell you before I got home about this girl.”
“How old is she and where did you meet her?” Henry asked. Those were always his first two questions.
“I’m not sure about her age; she wouldn’t say,” Elliott said. “I’m guessing she’s thirty or early thirties.”
“Oh, a seasoned woman by your standards,” Henry cracked.
“She looks about twenty-five. But she has a good spirit about her. Great conversation. It shows you can still get a good conversation out of a young woman.”
“I’m sure that’s not what you’re really looking to get from her.”
“No, but I will take it. I’m leaving Compound. This place is crazy.”
“Yeah, I’ve been there. Nice. But what are you going to do about all these women you keep meeting? I’m just saying. You can’t go on this way forever. You’ll be sixty-two in a few months. I think that’s when you should retire, find one that you like and settle down.”
“That sounds nice…like a fairy tale. Meanwhile, in the real world, I’m pulling up to my garage. Upstairs there is a young lady who turned twenty-five yesterday, waiting on me. Remind me to tell you about that tomorrow.”
“Yeah, let’s meet for lunch. Call me.”
They hung up and Elliott made his way through the garage and up to his apartment. He opened the door and found a scented candle burning on the coffee table, near her purse, but no Tamara. There was music playing on the iPod. He peeked into his room and the second bedroom and she was not there.
Only place left for her was the balcony, and there he found her leaning on the rail, looking over the city with a glass of wine in her hand…totally naked.
Elliott looked around and was glad his balcony wrapped around the apartment and had no connecting balcony.
“You should see your face,” she said.
“I see your everything,” he said. “And it looks damn good.”
“I feel so free,” she said, raising her arms above her head and spilling
some Pinot Noir on her shoulder. “Totally liberated.”
“Shit, seeing you like that out here makes me feel liberated—and I still have my clothes on.”
“Not for long, I hope,” Tamara said.
Elliott went over to her and they embraced. “It’s a nice night to be nude on the balcony,” he said into her ear. “I’ll be right back.”
A few minutes later, he returned dressed in a silk robe, holding a glass of Glenfiddich on the rocks.
“You need to take that off,” Tamara said. “It’s not the same.”
Elliott did not resist. He handed her his glass, slipped out of the robe and tossed it on the chair alongside hers. She handed him his Scotch and Elliott made a toast.
“To being naked on the balcony,” he said.
“And to feeling totally free,” she added. And they tapped glasses.
“My neighbors…”
“What about them?”
He scanned her tight body. “Too bad they don’t have the same view I have.”
“I feel so good.” She placed her forearms on the railing and looked north toward the Buckhead section of Atlanta. Elliott sidled close to her and did the same.
“Thank you for cutting your evening short for me,” she said, her eyes transfixed on the images in front of her.
“I had a good time,” he said. “But I knew a better time was awaiting me here.”
“On my way here, I thought about it,” Tamara said. “What makes you tick? What really can you see in me; I’m so much younger than you? There can’t be a future with us. How can I be friends with Danielle and Daniel? They’re your children. What am I doing here?”
Elliott sipped his drink. “Wow, you had quite a drive over here,” he said. “I’m surprised you didn’t smash into the back of someone’s car. My head would explode with that many thoughts rushing through it on a fifteen-minute drive.”
“I’m serious,” Tamara said.
“I know you are, and that’s the problem right there,” he said. “There’s a time for being serious and this doesn’t seem to be one of those times. We’re out here Butterball turkey naked on the balcony, a beautiful night, sipping on drinks…and you want to talk about questions that can be answered at another time—or can’t be answered at all?”
“I want it on the record, even as I stand out here in my birthday suit—hey, that’s right, technically, it’s still my birthday because women celebrate all month or at least all week. Anyway, I want it on the record that I had stuff on my mind.”
“Duly noted,” Elliott said. “We will get to those questions, I promise you that. I don’t want you having any doubts or questions or discomfort.”
Tamara looked at him with admiration in her eyes. That alarmed Elliott, but he dismissed it. There was a lot going on at that moment, and his hang-up about women needed to go somewhere.
“How was the party at Compound?” she asked, helping Elliott’s thoughts move on.
“That place is nice. Huge,” he said. “It was like a campus of clubs on the grounds. I had fun. Met some good people.”
“By that you mean women, don’t you?” Tamara tried to sound casual about it, but she didn’t succeed.
“Of course I met women; men, too,” he said. “That’s what socializing is all about. But mostly I people-watched.”
“Do you have a girlfriend?” She wanted an answer before sleeping with him the night before, but the moment escaped her to ask. She knew that was a big mistake to not inquire before sex.
“This was one of those questions you pondered on your way over here, wasn’t it?” Elliott responded.
“No. This was a question I had on my mind last night, but you got fresh with me and made me forget,” she said, smiling.
“I don’t have a girlfriend,” Elliott said. “I date. But even with that, I only date women I feel good about. I don’t date for the sake of dating.”
“I didn’t think that,” she said.
“Well, I wanted to put that out there. The assumption has been made to me that because I go out a lot—or not even a lot but that I go out to places with much younger people—that I’m on the prowl. Well, I’m on the prowl for a good time. That’s it. Whatever happens in the course of that, well, that’s okay, too.”
“You told me last night that you wanted sex with me,” Tamara said.
“I also told you I wanted a whole lot of other things, too,” Elliott said. “And the other things I said were just as important as sex. But you choose to ignore that.”
“I might be young but I’m not dumb,” Tamara said. “Sex is more important than the other things you said you wanted because of what’s involved. I don’t just have sex with anyone. I hope you don’t think that.”
“I have no reason to believe that,” Elliott said.
Tamara said, “I slept with you last night—”
“Because you wanted to sleep with me,” Elliott interrupted. “There’s no other reason. You wanted sex and you got it. You either like me or were curious about me because I’m so much older or you were horny and I was around…whatever the case may be. But you wanted sex.”
Tamara wanted to say she was insulted, but she couldn’t because he was right. So she sipped more of her wine and Elliott went on.
“And there’s nothing wrong with you wanting sex,” he said. “In general, you’re right: Sex is more important than the other things I mentioned. But for me, for my life and what I have gone through, I need more than that. I’m not Denzel or that guy Idris whatever his name is, but I can get sex if that’s all I wanted.
“But my dick has eyes—and a conscience. I need more than physical beauty in a person to desire sex.”
The combination of the wine, the night air, being naked and Elliott’s words made Tamara wet.
“Your dick has eyes?” she said. “Well, let me see.”
She set her glass on the balcony floor and sat on her robe on the chair. “Mr. Thomas, you and your dick with eyes are needed over here.”
Elliott did not hesitate. He stood before her with his manhood dangling in the breeze. “Let me see about these eyes,” she said as she clutched and stroked his instant erection. “I see only one eye, and it’s dripping a little something.”
Then she covered his erection with her mouth as he stood there, sipping his Scotch. She had one hand between her legs and the other on his third leg, beating it as she went up and down on it in a fury. Elliott was surprised; he did not expect this oral gift from Tamara, but he enjoyed it.
He used his free hand to push her head down so he could go deeper into her mouth. Tamara did not back down. She took as much as she could. After several minutes she stopped, but only to take Elliott’s drink from his hand and pour some of it on his throbbing meat. He flinched.
“You’re trying to turn me out, huh?” he said between groans.
She looked up at him while bobbing down on his manhood. She winked. Elliott shook his head. He liked Tamara more than he expected.
She stopped sucking but kept stroking. “I want you to cum.”
“Where?” he asked.
“You decide,” Tamara answered and went back to providing oral pleasure.
Elliott sipped his Glenfiddich and looked to his left at the skyline. He wanted to savor the event. Finally, he could feel an explosion coming, and grabbed hold of Tamara’s hair and thrust his hips forward. Elliott let out a loud gasp, and felt the energy in his body release with his semen. Tamara kept sucking.
“You’re amazing,” he said. “You’re too young to be that good at that.”
She reached up for his Scotch again, this time taking a swig as she swallowed his juices.
“The best Scotch I’ve ever had,” she said, leaning back in the chair.
Elliott, who prided himself on having a response to most everything, had nothing to offer. He placed his robe in the other chair and sat down across from Tamara.
“You’re ahead of your time,” he said.
“Actually, I’m behind t
ime; I’ve got to go,” she said.
“What? Go where?” Elliott said.
“Home, then church.”
Tamara was a faithful attendee of her church, and was scheduled to be an usher at the 6 a.m. service.
“I’m sorry, but I have to be there at five-thirty,” she said. “It’s almost two o’clock now. I’ve got to get my uniform ready and get at least a little sleep.”
“So why did you come over here then?” Elliott asked.
“I did what I came to do,” Tamara said as she walked inside. She grabbed her clothes and a small toiletry bag and went to the bathroom, where she brushed her teeth, gargled and freshened up.
“You really are far more advanced than your age,” he said as they rode the elevator down to the garage, where her car was parked.
“Why? Because you think I got skills?” she asked.
“No, because you were not concerned about pleasing yourself,” he said. “Younger women usually haven’t learned enough to be selfless. And to leave after pleasing me, that’s a very mature thing. Most younger women—or most women, period—would need to stay just to not feel like they sold themselves short.”
“I see what you’re saying, but doesn’t that speak to their insecurities?” Tamara asked.
“Exactly,” Elliott said. “Clearly, you’re as secure as they come.”
At her car, he hugged and kissed her before she got in. “Maybe one day you’ll take me to your church,” he said.
“You have to slow down; I don’t play when it comes to church,” she said, rolling down her window and putting the car in reverse. “You come to my church, then that means we’re serious—and we know you don’t want that. Besides, your kids go to my church.”
She backed out of the parking space and drove off as Elliott watched, unsure if he should feel great about having been pleased as he was or down about the lack of relationship with his kids.
CHAPTER SEVEN
The Future Has A Past
Elliott did as he was supposed to do on Sunday: he called Tamara. No matter how mature she seemed, she would be upset if he did not call her the day after sex. Any woman would be upset.
“Good to hear from you, mister,” she said when he called her in the afternoon. “If you hadn’t called me, you would have had a problem.”