Friday Flashback: As the Elyse Renaissance Begins ...
All about the men - older, younger ... and dead
I feel the need, as this week draws to a close, to comment on our beloved Miss Comportment’s reporting on Monday.
NOT that it’s any of her - or anyone else’s business - but, yes, I did have a drink with our new neighbor Carson … but that was all it was. Just a drink.
It didn’t occur to me that tongues may start waiving as a result, and if not for her, I’d argue, very few in this town would give a damn what man I sat with nor how old he was.
I mean, I don’t look 61 … they tell me. I’m not sure who “they” is … the “royal they,” I imagine.
On good days, the ones where I remember my moisturizer and actually brush my hair, I think I can pass for 45 … maybe even 40. But those are on the best days, and those are the people who are not here in Middle Valley.
That would be impossible. Everyone knows who I am here. Everyone knows my story, and Bernie’s, the fact that we wanted out, the fact that we never go there. The fact that he is a selfish ass.
Everyone except, it turns out, Carson.
Not so much with the reporting, that one - nothing like Bernie when it comes to stuff like that.
Creative, yes, visionary even. The word ‘revolutionary’ comes to mind. But not good at the scuttle-butt, which I have to say is oddly refreshing given the events of the past week.
It isn’t every day that a 40-something uber-wealthy guy moves into this town. And it isn’t every day that a 40-something uber-wealthy guy asks a 60-something woman like me out for a glass of wine.
“How long have you been working at the clinic?” Carson asked, innocently.
I smiled, appreciating The Riverside’s low light and tempered ambiance. “A long time.”
He smiled back as Cassie placed two wine glasses on the table, wordlessly. Immediately, he straightened in his chair and raised his glass.
“Well, to new friends … or colleagues … or …”
I nodded and raised my glass, smiling to let him off the hook. “Here’s to whatever.”
We clinked glasses, each sipping simultaneously and leaning forward.
“So,” he said. “What is Middle Valley most known for?”
I laughed and sipped my wine. Gulped may be a better word.
“Well, of late, it would seem we’re known for dead people. You’ve heard about all that, yes?”
Carson nodded. “Bits and pieces … uh, no pun intended.”
I smiled. “None taken. … Yeah, it’s pretty gruesome when you think about it. Nothing happens here. I mean, literally nothing, but to have all this with the body parts being found, and then Mick … jeeze. Don’t even recognize the place anymore.”
Now I hadn’t been out on many dates in my life - Daddy made sure of that - and the ones I remember most clearly are those with Bernie who, of course, had no game whatsoever. Subtle he was not. Coy he was not. Romantic, well, he certainly was not.
But this guy …
“Are you from here?” he asked, innocently I thought.
“Yes, yes … grew up right out on River Road … about a quarter-mile West of your place, along the banks.”
He smiled. “Idyllic, I imagine. What was that like? Small town, prom nights … I bet you had your pick of suitors.”
An ache went from my throat down to my stomach. Suddenly, this didn’t feel quite so innocent.
“Well, enough certainly.” I didn’t want to tell him that, being 20 years his senior, dating when I was a kid meant a 9 p.m. curfew and no going out until the parents met the boy. I couldn’t imagine his generation worked that way.
“What about you?” I was desperate to change the subject. “Are you from California originally?”
Carson smiled politely. “You didn’t read the epic dossier that your director put together on me, did you?”
I’d been caught. “No, no I did not.” I took a nervous sip and motioned to Cassie at the bar for another round.
He looked me in the eyes. “No worries. I don’t have anything to hide. Palo Alto, born and bred. The blonde hair is completely natural, sun-kissed even.”
He tossed his floppy bangs up over his head as Cassie approached with the wine.
“Well, you two look like you’re having a nice time!”
I nodded and passed the empty over to her. “Yes, very interesting. Cassie, this is Carson. He’s new with the clinic. Carson, meet Cassie. She owns The Riverside and she … and …”
Cassie extended her hand to Carson. “And I was once married to one of the dead guys you’ve no doubt heard about.”
Carson nodded slowly as he shook her hand. “Oh, my … well, I’m so … sorry for your loss.”
“Thanks … enjoy.”
I put my face in my hands and shook my head. “I lost my train of thought and went right there, I’m so sorry … I’m sure you know all about it already anyway …”
I laid my hands in front of me on the table and, just as I did, Carson put his on mine.
“I do … it’s okay.”
He started to chuckle. “I mean, unless she did it.”
I shook my head. “No, she didn’t do it. He was in some trouble. Big trouble from the sounds of things.”
He nodded and laced his fingers with mine. “Okay … so, where were we?”