Elaine was late again. I sat, aimlessly twirling the red straw through the dregs of the White Russian I had ordered, feeling wealthier than I was. Subsequently, I now wondered if Elaine would get drunk enough to pick up the tab, and if that was the case, should I order another? Down at the end of the bar, a handsome man sat with whisky or scotch or some other sophisticated dark liquor, staring at something important that no one else could see. I was not fooled. I had seen him give me several once-overs. I had to admit this gave me a little rush of pride. I was wearing clothes from a store that bore my age in its name but catered to teenagers exploring their sexuality. Everyone else's clothes in the bar (do you call it a bar when you aren't disgusted by the peanuts on the counter?) must've cost several hundred dollars more than mine.
Lost in my internal debate over how many drinks it was socially acceptable and economical to order before Elaine arrived, I failed to notice that the silver fox at the end of the bar had stood and walked over to sit next to me. This irritated me. Say hello first, and then move over. Wait for an invitation.
"Hello," he said. His mouth curving into a smile displaying the whitest teeth I had ever seen on a grown man. He was devastatingly attractive, in the way that older men are. The hair around his temples was going grey, giving him an air of wisdom. The wrinkles around his eyes bringing to mind days spent laughing with friends, crying at loss, and squinting into the hot sun of distant lands of adventure. He was easily twice my age. Yet, his smile was intriguing. I decided to give him a chance.
"Hey there," I said, in my best attempt to sound serious and mature. It didn't work. I sounded very strange to my own ears. Like a child attempting to mimic their chain-smoking aunt. I felt my cheeks flush as he smiled again.
"You drinking alone tonight?" He asked, and then leaned over to the bartender and said, "Two more White Russians please." Again, I was irritated. Now, by obligation I was required to sit through at least one drink that I had not asked for nor accepted.
"Waiting for a friend," I replied, "Late as usual."
"Well that is no way to treat a lady like you," his voice laced with a kind of sympathetic camaraderie. "Your time is very valuable."
"It is," I said smiling. "But how could you know that? You only just met me?" I hoped my remark came off as flirtatious teasing, not scolding. I sat up straight and turned attempting to give him a subtle, yet sensual view of my cleavage. My boldness fueled by a combination of the one and a half White Russians I had consumed in less than half an hour and the cigarettes I had smoked on the way over.
***
A week previously, Charles, my boyfriend of nearly two years had found me smoking on the fire escape. He lost it - a vice to me, a deal breaker to him. He had given me too many chances, he said, and not just with this. This is the straw that broke the camel's back, he grumbled, stuffing a suitcase with clothes. He had come by while I was at work to get back the rest of his things. I still felt numb.
***
"You can tell her time is worth something when a woman holds herself the way you do," he replied smoothly, snapping me back to the present. His age and silky voice almost made me believe that he mistook my poor posture for a sexy slope of the shoulders.
"And what do you do," I asked, feeling bold "that makes you confident enough to hit on young girls in bars?" Immediately, I regretted the words, fearing I had gone too far. To my relief, his face split into the widest smile I had seen so far.
"I help rich people get richer. Investments mostly."
"Charming," my tone did not match the word.
Then, out of nowhere, Elaine appeared. "Hello darling," she drawled. Her southern roots showing. The man's eyebrows shot up. But as they floated back down, his smile slid into view again.
"I am so glad your friend has arrived," he said, sliding a business card across the bar to me. "Next time you are looking for a little fun..." He paid the tab and left.
"Who in the world was that?" Elaine asked, unwinding herself from a menagerie of expensive winter layers.
"I have no idea," I replied, and then glancing down at the card. "Byron. Who the fuck names a baby Byron?"
"Byron who, dear?"
"Byron Keats."
"Hmmm. Never heard of him. Well maybe you should give him a call, God knows you deserve a bit of fun." With that she launched into a slanderous depiction of Charles, which quickly evolved into an account of her lovely marriage and adorable anecdotes concerning her one year old.
***
Elaine was six-months older than me, but it felt like 200 years as far as where we were in our lives. We had met in undergrad at the rush party I had felt obligated to attend based on the dramatic social structure of our university. I had not pledged, she had. Yet the friendship forged when I aggressively discouraged the frat boy who had lured her into an unoccupied room had been long lasting. There are some bonds that can't be broken. Hitting a would-be rapist over the head with a pledge paddle is one of those bonds.
She was engaged graduation weekend and had a beautiful blonde baby girl a year after the wedding. I, on the other hand, had tried and failed at the job market for a year as a freelance writer before returning to grad school to get a "practical" degree. I met Charles there and endured a rocky relationship until a week ago. I was alone, broke and professionally lost.
***
After a night being, unintentionally, reminded what was wrong with my life by seeing what was right with Elaine's, I was a wreck. On top of the White Russians, three martinis, paid for by a tactful Elaine, further fueled my post-breakup distress. An additional a quarter-pack of cigarettes and a joint later, I sat on the bed in the apartment I would be vacating at the end of the month, twirling Byron's card (what a fucking old money name) in my hands. Why not text him?
"Hey," I typed and sent. And then quickly realizing my error, "It's the girl," I quickly corrected, "It's the woman from the bar." Sent.
10 minutes. Another cigarette.
"I am so glad you reached out. Are you free tonight?"
