NOVELLA: HAPPY HOUR AT THE EMPIRE WAY-STOP
Chapter 2: The Man, the Light, and Amy
Happy Hour @ The Empire Way-Stop
I always found meeting available men difficult. At 63 years of age, it’s nearly impossible. I’d tried all the old standards: Church, special interests classes, sports events, a couple of new on-line dating formats for men who prefer largess. I’ve found men who were married, a little too special, myopic, poor as church mice, and the ubiquitous Nigerian prince with a minor set back.
Despite my name, Loreli, which means enchanting seductress, I am unlucky in love. My parents liked the sound of the name and had no clue what it’s root meaning was. Yet, I am hopeful about this evening and this encounter with “The Man.” I already had a stamp of approval from the daughter of his first and true love who was quick to assure me “The Man” was not her father.
The daughter of his first and true love, was my instructor for a three day course on becoming an environmental teacher for Project Wild. This course had two goals for me. Primarily, I was looking for something productive to do when I retire that would capitalize on my interests and skills set. Secondly, yes, I hoped I might meet a fellow in class.
As my instructor got to know me, she felt I should meet the “not-father” former first lover of her mother. She had discovered he and I lived in the same town-even better. Like her mother, she wanted “The Man” to be happy. She explained that referring to Steve as “The Man” was code to spare her real father’s feelings. She excitedly introduced us through Facebook.
“The Man” and I had several witty digital exchanges on FB and I was intrigued. We shared a love of live music, especially the porch concerts at The Empire Way-stop.
I went to The Empire Way-stop to finally meet “The Man” face-to-face. I had no formal invitation to come, just a, “Say hi if you ever stop by.” I decided to stop by. Besides, there was bluegrass being played on the porch. My love of bluegrass could be my cover-story. I spotted “The Man” right off. Steve was tall, the kind of tall that has spent a lifetime hunching over to hear and be heard. He wore his fresh pressed lightly starched best Luau Shirt and wrinkled cargo shorts. I’m afraid to admit, but yes, Birkenstocks with socks.
His one turquoise earring matched the turquoise in the mostly red and black tattoo that snakes out of his shirt collar and up the curve of his neck nipping at his hairline. Typically I am turned-off by tattoos, but this one paid close attention to the curves and muscle movement of his arm and neck. It was captivating and beautifully designed.
Steve, for a man of his late sixties (I presume) had a magnificent head of grey hair, still thick and wavy. One unruly lock kept drifting into his right eye. He’d lift his hand rippling his tattoo, batting the curl back with an unconscious grace. He wasn’t irritated by this unruly lock. He projected a calm, “It is what it is” attitude with his easy smile.
He was thin, but strong. Arms that have raked and hoed and pulled weeds from magical flower beds. Hands that have crafted and painted and cooked peace into the lives that surround him. I presume. My data set includes the flecks of paint caught in the hair on his arms and the fringe of black dirt in his nail-beds from toiling in the garden even the hardest scrubbing won’t remove. He exuded a rich long cooked smell of rosemary, oregano, and garlic. The smell of Sunday supper at Nannas.
“The Man” held his glass of beer as an extension of his hand, as though he has had 10,000 conversations holding a beer. Me, being shy, couldn’t just walk up and say, “Hi, I’m Loreli, we’ve been chatting on Facebook.” Even though I’d rehearsed my opening over and over as I dressed, as I drove, as I sipped my drink.
I try all my magic tricks to pull his attention my way. From my days of dabbling in Esoteric enlightenment, I send a wide ribbon of white-gold light from my heart chakra to his. He reacts by touching his chest and rubbing a circle around his heart, but does not turn to see me.
From my days of reading Carlos Castaneda, I pull a vale of glamour over me-casting an image of a 156 pound women in blue turquoise and red shoes with black hair. I had pulled the image from his tattoo, figuring this women meant something to him.
I received acknowledgement the spell was working when all the morning glories on the trellis turn their lovely heads toward me in unison. I admit this enchanted and frightened me. He swayed and two-stepped in place to the music, but did not turn his attention toward me. From my days in the church pew, I called on God and Jesus (if it be your will) but no prayer answered there.
I was careless in my incantations however, and did catch the eye of the married man, and the adult/child with downs syndrome, as well as the lady bar tender. I was so out of practice, I realize I needed to hone my skills a bit before I try this again. I released all the incantations, sat back into myself, and watched the rest of the evening unfold like a movie script in front of and all around me.
I learned much by sipping and listening. “The Man,” Steve was 68. He had been a lineman in New York City. He had spent summers in Upstate, NY visiting cousins and swimming in the lakes. He decided to move to one of the lakes, the wife, who was not his first and true love, decided to stay in the city. They remained married.
I realize I didn’t have a chance of breaking through to Steve. Besides the wife, there was a harim of eleven 60 plus year old women vying for his attention. It appeared to be a game of who ever gets him first gets to keep him. “Steve, the 68 year old and his harim of newly 60 year olds” was the story I was writing in my head. The plot twist was Steve’s eye was on young Amy.
In my intentional listening, aka eavesdropping, I heard Amy was exactly 39 and nine months today. A fact that seemed very significant to her as she mentioned it numerous times.
Because I had switched on long dormant esoteric skills I was seeing and hearing things typically filtered away. I noticed an invisible wall on the porch. Steve would retreat almost to where I was sitting at the outside bar (and not see me) and the ladies of a certain age would not cross the line.
It turned out I was in the smoking section, though happily for me, no one was smoking. Nonetheless, the ladies would not step into that world. So Steve, found it to be his safe space. Occasionally a hand would reach in and touch him and occasionally he would waltz through the wall and dance on the other side-clearly he wanted the attention but only on his own terms. I listened as he was mothered by his eleven ladies of a certain age, “Come, I ordered you a dinner” “Come, your food will be cold.” “Come, sit by me. Saved you a space.”
I watched as he was seduced: “Hey, remember the boogaloo?” “Hey, that shirt makes your eyes shine.” “Hey, my hip replacement really worked!”
I witnessed him send back all these volleys like a badminton champion. Effortlessly lobbing and smashing — keeping interest in him afloat. But mostly I watched him watching young Amy.
Amy had a raw sexual appeal. She was not a beauty, but beautiful. She was not stunning, yet she was mesmerizing. She moved from her core, had a low center of gravity giving the illusion of power and control. She sipped her red wine slowly.
In between sips of wine, Amy danced to a hidden rhythm created by syncopation in the bass player’s left hand. I found myself watching her and not “The Man.” Occasionally she would toss me a smile and I would chair dance with her. She at least saw me.
As Amy and I formed a light bridge held up by movement in perfect harmony with the hidden baseline, I felt “The Man’s” sea blue eyes train on me at long last. He was following Amy’s gaze and there I was. Just as I was about to speak, introduce myself, a hand came through the vale, “Come your food will be here soon.” He spoke to Amy and to me, “Sorry, the ladies need my attention. Yes, dears coming...”
And off he waltzed in his berks through the wall.
Coming soon:
Chapter 3 “No” he said bringing a chill to the lovely summer’s eve.
To Catch up:
To my medium friends who enjoyed chapter one -Thank you for the feedback and encouragement. Frances A. Chiu, Ph.D. | writing coach | editor, Zivah Avraham, kaermorhen97, Bella Smith ⭐, Angie Mangino, Bella of Thoughtsnlifeblog, Lucinda Munro Cook, Gratiela Grigorini, Kristin Gunner, Heaven's Healthy Healing, Dr. Preeti Singh, Becca CO 🌵, Carolina Smith, Thief.
A few other’s who might enjoy this Novella Kris Downey, Aslynn Roe 🐈, PegMeg Cypher, Rolinda LeMay.