Second Chance Chapter 2 - A Lunch Meeting
As usual, I got up on Monday at 6 a.m. to ensure that I had time to exercise before going into the office. I had a schedule where I alternated between running and going to the gym. Mondays were running days, so I put on some shorts and a T-shirt, laced up my shoes, stretched a bit, then headed out. It was mid-September, so rather cool early in the morning, but running warmed me up quickly]. I headed straight up my street toward Lake Michigan. I took the path under Lake Shore Drive and headed toward the water, then turned left at Montrose Beach and headed north on the running path. I ran along the lakeshore up through Edgewater to where Sheridan Road dead-ended into Loyola University, then I headed back the way I'd come. It was a clear day, so I could see the Chicago skyline as I headed south.
I didn't run as far or as fast as I used to when I was younger, but I still enjoyed my morning jog. It kept me in good health and woke me up. I walked the last few blocks home from the lake to cool off, then stretched thoroughly in the lawn in front of my apartment building. I picked up the newspaper as I went inside and put on the coffee to brew while I jumped in the shower. After my shower, I took a grey suit out of my closet, a crisply pressed light blue shirt, and a tie with a dark blue and grey pattern. Although most professions had become quite casual in recent years, lawyers were still expected to dress up. I think that lawyers were single-handedly keeping the few dry cleaners that had survived the pandemic open.
Covid 19 had changed so many things in the business world. Lots of my colleagues worked from home several days a week, but I still preferred to come into the office. When Covid hit, in the spring of 2020, both Pablo and I had to work from home. For the immigrant families that Pablo worked with, the shut down was a major challenge, because many of them did not have secure housing situations or they lived in crowded accommodations with multiple families, they didn't have access to the internet, and their jobs usually required that they be out of their homes. Pablo actually had to go out occasionally to meet up with clients or to help people in emergency situations. For my part, Covid completely shut down the courts and the immigration system, so my work flow slowed considerably, and I could do everything from home. Then Pablo got sick that summer, and by the time the vaccine was available and things were starting to open up again, I was on leave from work to care for him. After Pablo passed, in the early summer of 2021, when I returned to work, I felt like it was important for me to get out of the house as much as possible. So, I started going back into the office, and I'd been going in ever since. There were occasional days where I worked out of my home office, mostly when I wasn't feeling well or on days when the temperature was below zero and windy or extraordinarily hot -- people do not live in Chicago for the weather. But ordinarily, I went into the office Monday through Friday.
I sat down to my coffee with skim milk and a bagel with cream cheese. I ate and drank my coffee while I read the paper.
After finishing my breakfast, brushing my teeth, and checking my tie in the mirror, I caught the Red Line L train at Wilson and took it down into the loop. Pablo and I had kept a car for a while, but we had decided years ago that we didn't really need it, so we sold it. I could have taken an Uber, but it seemed unnecessary when there was perfectly good public transportation available. The Wilson stop was not far from my apartment, and our offices were in one of Chicago's many glass towers that made up the skyline, just a block from an L stop in the Loop. It was honestly faster to take the train than to take a car.
I walked into the office at ten minutes to nine.
"Good morning, Mr. Ellis," Arlene said at the front desk.
"Good morning, Arlene," I said.
Arlene had been working at the firm for nearly as long as I had. She was a large Black woman who tolerated no nonsense, so she did a great job of screening calls and stopping people at the front desk to ensure they had an appointment. She had a kind heart, but her stern expression and imposing physical presence was enough to stop nearly everyone who tried to get past her without permission.
I headed back to my office, which was along one of the outside walls. When I'd stepped down as a managing partner five years ago, I'd given up my huge corner office, but my current office was still large, and I had a great view past the neighboring skyscraper out toward the west of the city. The interior of our floor was a maze of cubicles, but most of them were empty this early on a Monday morning. Even so, a few people greeted me as I walked by.
I spent the morning catching up on paperwork. My paralegal, Stephanie, was a smart young woman who had recently graduated from the University of Illinois at Chicago and was hoping to go to law school in a few years. She was efficient and careful with her work, so I appreciated working with her. She popped in and out of my office all morning to go over forms and reports for the cases we were working on.
In the afternoon, I had a meeting with some potential clients outside the office. I grabbed a quick chicken gyro at a lunch place on the ground floor of my building and are it standing up at a counter. Then I took a taxi to the immigrant center where I was meeting the family. As it happened, this meeting was at the center where Pablo had worked. I always felt a pang of sorrow when I went there, because it brought back memories of him, but I also knew that he had loved his work and was committed to it, so I was happy to continue working with immigrants and providing the support that I was able.
Today's meeting was with a Haitian family who had recently arrived in Chicago from Port-au-Prince. It was a married couple and their two young children, who I guessed were both under five. Through a translator who worked at the center, they told me a harrowing story of their experience being attacked by gangs and fleeing the city before making their way to a port where they paid someone to transport them to Mexico. From there, they walked for three weeks to the US border in Texas, then they'd been put on a bus and dropped off in Chicago late one night. I recorded our conversation so that Stephanie could type it up later, but I also took notes on some of the key points. They were seeking advice on how they could stay in the US, whether they should apply for asylum or temporary protective status. I met with them for almost two hours. The mother broke down in tears several times. I felt terrible for them, but I assured them that I would do whatever was possible to get them legal protection.
I finished up with the family and headed out. I paused for a moment by the door to the office that had once been Pablo's.
A voice came from behind me. "You know we still miss him." It was Margarita. She had been Pablo's assistant for much of the time when he was director of the center, then she had succeeded him after his passing.
"Good to see you Margarita." I pulled her in for a hug. She opened the door and ushered me into what was now her office. "How are things here?" I asked.
"It's been crazy, of course," she told me, "with these busloads of immigrants being dumped on our doorstep." She sighed deeply. "I can't believe how cruel politicians can be."
We chatted for a while.
"I hear you're having a birthday party this weekend. I don't know if I'll be able to make it, but I'm going to try."
"I hope that you can," I told her. "It would be good to have you there."
We said our goodbyes, and I gave her a hug as I left. It had been good to see Margarita, but it was also emotionally difficult.
It was late enough now that I decided to go straight home rather than back to the office. I considered calling an Uber but decided to take the L instead. I needed the walk to the stop, and I looked forward to the comfort of the anonymity of riding in a crowded train full of strangers. On the ride home, I watched the neighborhoods of Chicago pass by me and thought of nothing. I felt suddenly exhausted.
I got back home and changed into comfortable clothes. I watched the nightly news as I made dinner, a simple chef's salad with a hard-boiled egg and chicken breast. I finished the newspaper while eating. then after dinner, I grabbed my book from the bedside table and went to the living room, where I curled up in my favorite comfy chair, wrapped in a blanket, sipped on a glass of Zinfandel, and read until I started feeling sleepy. Then I got up and changed into my pajamas and watched a little TV in bed before going to sleep.
Tuesday was a gym day, so when I got up the next morning, I changed into my workout clothes and headed up a few blocks to the fitness center where Pablo and I had been members since it opened. It was a local spot, not a big national chain, and it was nothing fancy, but I liked it. The staff knew me and smiled and greeted by name me when I came in, but they mostly left me alone, which is what I wanted. I did a circuit of the weight machines, then walked on an elliptical machine for 25 minutes. I didn't push myself too hard, but it was a good workout, and I was sweating by the time I had finished. I went home to shower, rather than showering at the gym. It was easier to shower and then get dressed for work than having to change again when I got home. I also didn't think that the hot young guys at the gym would want to look at my old body in the showers, and I didn't want to risk seeming like a dirty old man if I couldn't keep my eyes off of them.
As always, I set the coffee to brew while I showered and got dressed, and then I sat down for a quick breakfast of yogurt and cereal while I read the newspaper. Today, I chose a dark blue suit with a slightly lighter blue shirt and a green and blue striped tie. I felt that this was one of my sharpest outfits, formal but not intimidating. This suit was tailored so that it highlighted my physique, and Karen said that this shirt and tie brought out the green in my eyes.I felt a little silly that I wanted to look good, but it seemed like meeting a young gay lawyer for the first time, I should try to look at least modestly put together. To be honest, I was feeling a little nervous, because I wasn't sure what Susan had told her friend, and I didn't want to disappoint my niece.
I spent the morning going over a couple of client statements that Stephanie had drafted for me. She had done a good job organizing them and including all of the relevant information in a believable narrative. She would make a good lawyer some day, I thought.
I left the office at 11:30, giving myself plenty of time to walk over to the restaurant where I'd made reservations. The Bistro Monadnock was a nice spot with classical French food. I had considered Prime and Provisions, a classic Chicago steakhouse, but that was a little too formal for this kind of meeting and better for dinner anyway.
I arrived at the restaurant ten minutes early but decided to go ahead and get seated anyway. I could look over some emails on my phone while I waited for Julio to arrive. (Having spent so much of my life speaking Spanish, I had to repeat in my mind, Julio, with a hard J, not an H sound).
But when I checked in with the maitre'd, she said, "Welcome Mr. Ellis. Your guest is already seated." As she walked me over to the table I'd requested, one of the banquets along the wall where we would be better able to talk, I saw that someone was indeed already seated. Julio saw us coming and rose to greet me.
I immediately noted how tall he was, well over six feet, probably four or five inches taller than me. He was dressed in a suit that I could tell was just slightly too small for his lanky torso, but I was impressed that he had dressed up for what was meant to be more a casual mentoring session than a formal business meeting. He stuck out his hand and I shook it, as the maitre'd set down my menu and walked away.
"Mr. Ellis, sir, thank you so much for meeting with me." He had a firm handshake, which I appreciated.
"Call me Judah, please," I told him as we sat down. Since he had arrived first, he sat on the interior banquet, while I took the chair across from him.
"Okay, Mr. Judah, sir, thank you." He looked me directly in the eyes and smiled, then a serious expression crossed his face, and he started to get up. "Did you want this seat, sir? I didn't mean to ..."
"It's okay," I told him. "I'm fine. And please dispense with the sir. It makes me feel like an army officer."
"Yes sir," he said, then caught himself. "I mean, yes, of course."
He seemed rather nervous, which for some reason I found quite charming.
We picked up the menus and looked them over.
"Everything is good," I told him. "The steak frites is fantastic if you're hungry, and the muscles are nice. And all of the sandwiches are good."
"What are you having?" he asked.
"I'm going to have the jambon beurre. It's just a fancy ham sandwich on a baguette."
"I can have that too," he said.
"No need. Order what you want. Get the Steak Frites. It's very good. I just don't want anything that heavy."
A waiter came up to our table with a couple of glasses of ice water.
"I'm Michael, and I'll be your server today. Can I bring you anything to drink?"
Michael was young and handsome, and I noticed him checking Julio out, though Julio himself seemed oblivious to the attention.
"Thank you, Michael. Just the water for me for now. Julio?"
"Oh, a Coke?" he said tentatively.
"You can have wine if you want," I told him.
"At lunch?" He seemed scandalized. "No, a Coke is fine."
Michael walked away, and I took a moment to assess my dining companion. I was not surprised that Michael had noticed, because Julio was strikingly good looking. He had a fairly dark complexion compared to other Brazilians I'd met. His skin was a warm chocolate color and beautifully smooth. He looked more African than European, which I knew of course was common in Brazil, even if most of those who made it to the United States looked more white. Julio had close-cropped curly hair, high cheek bones, and eyes that were warm and sparkling. There was something about how all of the elements of his face came together that was stunning. And when he smiled, the smile seemed to spread across his entire face.
"So, tell me a little about yourself, Julio," I said.
"Oh, Mr. ... I mean, Judah, nothing exciting. I come from Salvador in Bahia. I'm the youngest of five kids, the only one to go to college. I went to an international school in Salvador, and I got a scholarship to attend Penn. After that, I went straight into graduate school at Columbia."
He had a deep and melodious voice that seemed slightly incongruous with his soft face and lanky physique.
"But a PhD AND law degree?"
"I couldn't decide. And I had an advisor who told me about the joint program at Columbia. Chemistry wasn't really part of it, but I petitioned, and they let me in."
"Impressive," I said.
"I'm sorry," he demurred, "Was I bragging?"
I laughed heartily, and he looked bashful. "You weren't bragging. You were just telling your story." His voice had just the slightest touch of an accent, which I probably wouldn't have noticed if I didn't know he was from Brazil. I had always loved accents.
"I don't want to seem... Well, it can be a bit too much."
"Julio, you're fine. You should be proud. You've accomplished a lot."
Michael came back with Julio's soda and my water and took our food order.
"So, why did you want to meet? It sounds like you have everything quite together," I said.
"Hardly," he said and sighed deeply. "My personal life..."
He didn't continue, so I tried to encourage him. "Yes?"
"Well..." He paused again, so I tried to help him.
"Susan said that you're worried about being out at work."
"Well, yes," he said. "I've never really been out at all. Just to a few friends, like Susan. And I've never really dated, and it seemed like there was really no reason to be out if I wasn't dating anyone."
"I suppose that school was too demanding to leave time for guys?" I suggested.
"Oh, well I had plenty of hook ups!" he said enthusiastically, then looked bashful again. "I'm sorry. Am I being too crude?"
"This IS what we met to talk about, being gay in Chicago," I assured him. "Don't hold back."
"Well, I didn't want to date anyone from school, but as a young gay man in New York, it was really easy to find sex. Grindr and all. But it was never more than hook ups. I was ... not what guys expected. So it never worked out, even with guys I liked."
"In what way?" I probed.
"Well, as a Blatino guy, and an immigrant, they don't expect you to be working on a PhD at Columbia. The Black and Latin guys thought I was uppity, and for the white guys, well, I didn't fit their ghetto fantasy. So... "
"You sound like my friend, Karen. Most people find her too intimidating, so they run away." I tried to give him an encouraging smile. "But you don't seem intimidating." Then I added, "Though you ARE awfully good looking. Some people might find that intimidating."
"You think?" He asked tentatively.
"Yes, some people definitely are intimidated by someone as attractive as you," I said, and then I realized that I was probably being too flirtatious and so regretted having spoken in such a forward manner.
"I mean," he continued in almost a whisper, suppressing a small smile as he leaned across the table to whisper, "you think I'm good looking?"
"Well, of c....
Our conversation paused as Michael brought our food. Michael looked Julio over again, but Julio remained oblivious. I caught Michael's eyes and shrugged, and he blushed as he walked away. We were quiet for a while as we ate.
"And then there's my family!" he said, without introduction. "They're very religious. Evangelicals who think that all gay people are going to hell. I could never come out to them. I'm not close to my father or my brothers, but still..."
He was building up his momentum now, talking faster and more enthusiastically. "And both science and law are still very homophobic. I'm on a H1-B visa. I can't afford to get fired from my job. But I'm tired of being in the closet!! I'm tired of hiding. I'm tired... I'm just tired."
He fell silent, looking rather upset. I reached across the table and patted his hand, trying to comfort him and hoping that the gesture wasn't too awkward.
"In terms of work, things have changed a lot," I told him. "There is still a lot of machismo in law firms, it's true, but there are also tons of out gay men and lesbians. It's very uncool to be openly homophobic now, even if lawyers are as prone to locker talk as frat boys. And I don't know science very well, but I'd be surprised if it's not similar there. Chicago isn't San Francisco, of course, but it's pretty progressive."
We had not eaten much of our meals, so we paused our conversation for a bit to eat.
"And I'm ready to date, but I don't have any idea how," he said, gesturing with a piece of steak on his fork. "I'm finally done with school and ready to date, and I feel like my life has passed me by!"
I couldn't help but laugh, which made Julio look slightly hurt, but I just smiled at him and patted his hand again.
"How old are you Julio?"
"I'm 31," he said.
"I think that may be too young to say that life has passed you by."
He pouted slightly. "You're making fun of me."
"Yes," I said. "I'm making fun of you, because you're really just starting your life. And you have so many opportunities ahead of you. When you're an old fart like me, then you can say that life has passed you by."
"But how do I even date? I'm not sure how to go about it!"
It was my turn to sigh a bit. "Well, that's a topic that I'm probably not the best person to advise on. I was with the same man for thirty years, but ..."
Julio's whole demeanor changed. Now it was his turn to reach across the table and give my hand a squeeze. "I'm sorry. Yes, Susan mentioned that your husband had passed a few years back. That must have been hard."
I looked at him sadly for a moment. "It was." I sighed again. "It was very hard. But I was so fortunate to have Pablo in my life for so many years. I can't give you any advice on dating, because I haven't dated for more than three decades!"
"But that's what I want!" Julio cried. "I want to find a love like that!"
We worked on our meals for a while.
"So obviously, my experience of dating is very outdated. But it does seem to me that Grindr is probably not the most likely place to find love, even if it is good for hook ups. I mean, I do hear of people who've met through apps. It does happen. But I met Pablo through work, and it still feels like it's more likely to find a lasting relationship through friends or work or some other kind of personal encounters."
I had to laugh at myself.
"Good God! Listen to me dispensing advice like I know anything! I'm a hundred years old. Why should a handsome young guy like you listen to me?"
"You're not that old. What are you? 50? 51?"
"Julio, my dear, I am turning 65 this Sunday," I said proudly.
"Really?!" he said. He seemed genuinely surprised.
"Really," I assured him.
"Well, you've clearly done something right. You look good," he said.
"For an old man," I added.
"No," he said. "You just look good. You're quite handsome."
I blushed a little. "Thank you," I said. "It warms an old man's heart to hear you lie like that."
"Stop it," he insisted. "I'm not lying. You are quite handsome. Stop cutting yourself down."
I let the point rest. I was flattered but skeptical.
Michael came by, and we ordered coffees.
"To be honest, I don't even know how to make gay friends," he said. "I'm really not that interested in guys my age. They seem so immature to me. I need people with more experience."
"Back in the day, we'd meet up in bars," I told him, "but that's not really the thing anymore. Most of the bars have closed."
"I'm not really a bar person anyway," he said. "I'm ... well, I'm not all that social. And I don't really drink. I'm better at books than people."
"You seem perfectly charming to me," I said, and then I realized how that might sound. "I mean, you don't seem to have any trouble maintaining a conversation."
"Thank you," he said, lowering his eyes demurely, before he looked up again. He looked straight at me, with a hint of mischief in his eye. "Neither do you."
I laughed. "I'm a lawyer! Of course I can talk!"
We sipped our coffees for a while in silence.
"Thank you for meeting with me," he said finally. "I know you must be busy."
"The break is welcome. You got me away from paperwork," I said.
He just looked at me and smiled warmly, and I felt a strange awkwardness wash over me. There was an unexplained flutter in my stomach as he looked me in the eyes.
"You're quite something," he said. "Not what I expected."
"Me?" I asked. "I'm not the lawyer with a PhD! But what did you expect?"
"Well, your niece made you sound like some kind of saint. But you're really very human."
I laughed heartily again. "All too human, as you seem to have already discovered."
"That's not a bad thing," he insisted. "I was intimidated before I met you. But now I'm .... comfortable."
The bill came, and I paid and we got up to walk out. Outside the front door, I went to shake Julio's hand, but he pulled me into a hug, which surprised me a bit.
"Thank you," he said quietly into my ear. "I hope that we can be friends."
We pulled a part.
"Why would you want to be friends with an old man like me?" I joked.
He just smiled at me and shrugged.
"I'm very selective about my friends," he said, then turned to walk away.
I walked back to my office feeling a bit confused about our encounter but also strangely elated. Back to reality, I told myself as I got onto the elevator to ride up to our floor.
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