There are plenty of pros and cons of social media platforms like Twitter, Facebook and Instagram. The biggest pro for those of us over fifty is reconnecting with old classmates from high school and college.
I belong to “groups” for the dorm I lived in one year, my fraternity, and another for those in the Greek (fraternity and sororities) system. While I’m in close contact with about a dozen frat bros and another six girls in the Greek system, I was surprised to get a recent birthday party invitation for a frat bro whom I shared a room with in the fraternity for one semester.
Doug Allen and I, along with two others, all shared a large second-story room in our old 1919 Victorian frat house. The theory was that it was the master bedroom since it was by far the largest room at nearly twenty by twenty feet.
In early December I received a Facebook message from Doug’s wife, Cindy, about his 60th birthday party. It outlined the date, time, and location, and how the restaurant and bar would have specials for those of us with the party, but that it would still be open to the public. Cindy’s note also said she hired a DJ from 9:00 pm to 1:00 am for dancing. She also included two hotel names and website links for us out-of-town guests.
The last time I saw Doug was about eight years ago at the small memorial gathering we had for another frat brother who had passed away, so I thought it would be a good opportunity to reconnect with Doug and hopefully a few other guys. The drawback was that Doug lived in Silicon Valley and I was in Sacramento, so I was going to need to book a hotel room. I went with the hotel that was in the same parking lot as the restaurant and a couple of fast-food places.
The day of the party I made a day of it driving over to Silicon Valley and visiting a frequent location from my youth, Stanford University. Growing up playing water polo I must have gone to Stanford twenty times for Junior Olympic tournaments. It was nice to walk around the campus, especially the giant eucalyptus groves.
I checked into the Marriott hotel at about 4:00 pm and had time to kick back and watch tv for a while before jumping into the shower to get ready for the party. The invitation said it would start at 6:00 pm, which seemed early if it was ending at 1:00 am, so I waited until 7:00 pm before making the short walk across the parking lot to the restaurant.
Upon entering the restaurant, I noticed it was one giant room with a long “L” shaped bar, the kitchen behind the bar, a pool table, an area for dancing, and a small stage where the DJ was set up. There was a table with balloons and a banner reading, “Happy 60th Doug!” At the table, there were pre-printed name tags for the guests, with a small note about how we knew the birthday boy. Mine read, “Jack, frat bro & roomie.”
As I began to mingle, I saw several other fraternity brothers and a few of their wives/girlfriends, and then finally Doug and Cindy. They were with two of his three kids, Lori, 33, and DJ (Doug Junior), 30. I later met the younger daughter, Melissa, 28.
Cindy was a Little Sister in our fraternity, so I had known her just as long as Doug, so I felt comfortable asking her, “Any chance you can introduce me to a few single women?”
Laughing, “Yes, Doug had told me a few years ago you got divorced. Let me think,” she said. After a short pause, “There are a few, maybe two or three, in our age range.” She continued by telling me their names so I could look at their name tags.
After having my first beer I decided it was time to grab a bite to eat so I ordered an entrée at the bar and looked for a spot to sit down while I waited. Doug’s daughter, Lori, noticed and waved at me.
“Jack, you can sit with us,” she said. Lori was with another young girl about her age. “I want to hear some stories about my dad in college.”
After I sat down the other girl introduced herself, “Hi, I’m Marci,” she said extending her hand.
“Marci?” I said. “I bet your full name is Maricela.”
Smiling, she said, “Yes, it is. How did you know?”
“I know a lot of Latinas,” I said. “A pretty name for a pretty young lady.”
“Oh, you’re smooth,” joked Marci.
They told me they had just ordered dinner too, so we chatted away before, during, and after eating our meals. Lori quizzed me about her Dad’s fraternity days, and I learned that the two young ladies had been best friends since first grade. They lived around the corner from each other and even went to college together at UCLA a decade earlier.
Lori was like a “mini-me” of her mother Cindy. Average height, dirty blonde bleached hair, blue eyes, with average looks. Her bestie Marci was another story. She was taller at five-ten, a sexy curvy size ten-twelve, with average 36D breasts, long black hair, and dark brown eyes. Marci was extremely pretty all dolled up like a Kardashian, with long nails, fake lashes, great brows, and perfect makeup. She was “curvylicious.”
After our meal, I excused myself to go talk with a few of my college buddies, while also trying to find the fifty-plus single women Cindy mentioned. I did meet one woman, Debbie, but she was not my type at all, telling me that “I don’t drink,” as I held my double Old Fashioned.
As the DJ started at 9:00 pm I questioned if I should just call it a night and head back to the hotel, but I decided to stay for at least another hour. As I drifted through the crowd of onlookers, I ran into Lori who was now with her boyfriend of eight months, Chase. She said they were headed to the dance floor.
“Why don’t you go ask Marci to dance?” Lori suggested.
I rolled my eyes, “I’m old enough to be her father,” I said.
“Who cares? Have some fun tonight old man!” she said in a sarcastic tone. She pointed towards the far end of the bar and told me, “She’s down there with my brother.”
As I approached the two, DJ nudged Marci. She turned and instantly smiled when she saw me. “Hey, Jack!”
“Marci, would you like to dance with this old geezer,” I joked.
“I’d like that, but don’t have a heart attack when you see my moves,” she fired back. “DJ, get ready to call the paramedics.”
The tall curvy Latina and I mixed it up well on the dance floor for the first three songs with no issues. Then came an old slow song from the late 70s, “Beth,” from KISS. I looked at her and asked, “Slow dance?”
“Sure,” she said with a smile.
As we started to slow dance, I was replaying our dinner conversations in my head. “Was she flirting with me?” I thought. “We do have some chemistry,” I continued. “Am I making this up?
I started slow, with a few innocent whisper questions as I held her waist. “So, a pretty young woman like yourself must have a boyfriend, right?” I asked.
“No. I’ve been single for almost two years. Dating in Silicon Valley is difficult. The tech guys are such nerds,” she said.
“Really?” I questioned. “But you are so attractive. If I were half my age, I’d want to date you.”
“Aww, thanks Jack,” Marci said. “But what about the fifty-nine-year-old Jack? Would he date me?”
My eyes widened and I pulled my neck back a few inches to get a better look at her. I’m sure the expression on my face showed my confusion. I let her statement bounce around in my brain.
“What do you mean?” I said playing dumb.
Marci smiled, “Would you date me?”
We came to a complete stop on the dance floor as we were having this whispering conversation. I’m sure some people noticed, but we did not care.
“Well, it would be unpopular, but yes, I would date you,” I told her. “We seem to get along well, you’re educated, fun, and very attractive.”
“Aww, thanks Jack,” she said once again. “You’re not bad looking yourself for an older gentleman. You’ve kept in shape. Most sixty-year-olds have a soft Dad-bod.”
Marci was correct, I was in good shape. I admit that I had yo-yoed with my weight over the years, especially when my kids were growing up. Time was precious so we ate a lot of easy-to-make unhealthy meals or fast food when the kids had sports and activities.
When I sensed my marriage was over seven years ago, I started to eat better and walk twice a day. After dropping twenty pounds I joined a gym and started a weight routine along with cardio. Over sixteen months I dropped fifty pounds by the time I moved out when we started our divorce paperwork. I was now two-hundred-twenty-five pounds, six-two, and I was wearing pants only two inches bigger than I did when I graduated college. My blue eyes still sparkled, but my sandy blonde hair did have the widow’s peak. I’d like to think I still turned the heads of women my age.
“Well, if I’m being totally honest Marci, you have the curves this man desires,” I admitted.
Right then the KISS song ended, and we caught ourselves. I asked her, “Would you like to go talk outside where it’s a bit more private?”
“Or we could go back to your hotel room,” she said with a smile.
Stunned, I asked, “Really?”
Stopping near the bar, Marci looked at me, smiled, and whispered in my ear, “I like you, you like me, let’s go have some fun.”
“I’d love to spend the night with you Marci, but I’m a bit concerned about the appearance of us leaving the party together. And what are you going to tell Lori?” I asked.
Marci laughed, “I already told Lori I wanted to sleep with you. She’ll figure it out. Actually, I better text her when we get to your room, so she doesn’t freak out.”
