Mr. Sinclair

Nicole quickly rushes downstairs to the door. She peeks through the blinds she always had closed and groans. She opens the door. "Hey, Mr. Sinclair, did you try turning it off and back on again?" She asks her routine question for greeting the elderly man.

"What? Oh, oh no, Nikky, heh, that's not what I'm here," he rubs the back of his neck and looks around, "may I come in for a moment?"

Mr. Sinclair had never asked to come into her apartment. Ever. That was highly unusual. "I don't know. I'm in the middle of work," she lies.

"I'm sure, I'm sure. You're always such a diligent worker, Nikky, and so when it comes to computers. But, I assure you, I won't be a moment."

Nicole had a soft spot in her heart for the man. He reminded her of her pop-pop on her Mom's side of the family. He passed away when she was in her teens. "Sure, do you need some tea or something?"

Mr. Sinclair enters her apartment. "No, that won't be necessary," he looks around the apartment as if searching for something. He pauses and quietly stares at the big living room window which faces out toward the parking lot. The blinds are still drawn from the incident yesterday with the man. Mr. Sinclair is quiet as if he's lost in thought.

"Um, Mr. Sinclair, what did you need?"

He jumps as if startled back to reality. He begins to walk around the apartment. Nicole's breath catches in her throat when he heads toward the dining table and he takes a seat. He's directly in front of her bottle of lube. She doesn't know what to do.

"Nikky, would you mind calling me Sam?" She'd always called him by his last name and in the three years they've known one another he's never offered his first name.

"Sam? Sure." Nicole walks toward the living room hoping to divert Mr. Sinclair's attention away from what was sitting directly in front of him.

It doesn't work. He smiles before tapping the table by the bottle. Clearly he hasn't noticed what it is. Maybe he wasn't familiar with lubricant. She figures that was likely due to his age. Did they even have lube when he was having sex. "It's so nice to hear a young lady like yourself say my name," he says, "now please sit for a moment. I have something I want to ask."

Nicole releases a long breath before taking a seat. She's chooses the one on the far side of the table hoping he'll need to look past the lube bottle. "Is everything okay, Mr. Sinc...er...Sam? Pardon me saying, but you're acting a little unusual. Should I call Billy?"

For some reason he sighs when she says the name of his grandson Billy. "No, no. I'd rather not bring Billy into this. Because, well, Nikky, may I ask who the man is I saw..." he pauses "...leave your apartment around 5 a.m. yesterday morning? And the day before around 3ish?"

Nicole's eyes go wide and she stammers unsure how to answer. Mr. Sinclair was a bit of a busy body for his age and was always coming and going. Of course, he'd be the one to see the stranger. Did he see him at the window, too? "Gosh, Sam, that was just...a...repair man."

Mr. Sinclair shakes his head. "Nikky," he reaches across the table and places his wrinkled hand on hers, "5 a.m. is a little early for repairs and..." he pauses for a long time "...I didn't mean to pry but I happened to be coming back from walking around the mall around noon yesterday and, um, well, if he was a repair man I question his uniform choice." He squeezes her hand.

Nicole hangs her head. She was incredibly embarrassed. Of all the people, well, as she thought about it none of the people would be good to see the stranger naked with an erection in her window. However, Mr. Sinclair was so sweet to her all the time. "I'm so sorry you had to see that, Sam."

"Is he your boyfriend?"

Nicole can't help but laugh at that question. Partially because of the stress of the situation but also because of the absurdity. "No, no, definitely not."

He nods slowly. "Yes, I understand. You, young people, like to date lots of people until you find the right one. Honestly, the first time I saw him, Monday, I thought he might be your father, but yesterday well..." Mr. Sinclair trails off.

The humiliated woman tries to pull her hand away, but Mr. Sinclair has a surprisingly strong grip for a 72-year-old. Mr. Sinclair shakes his head. "Nikky, the man is vulgar. He's unkempt and those stickers he has on his truck. I guess I don't understand what you see in someone like that. Is it that you need a..." Once again he trails off and this time releases a huff.

"I need a what, Sam?"

"Nothing, nothing. I thought my Billy might be a good fit for you, but it's clear he's too young." He squeezes harder. "Nikky, it's been a while since you've been over for dinner. Will you do me the honor of joining me in my apartment on Friday evening? I'm serving oysters, venison steak Diane with truffles, and a Pear Tarte for dessert. We can talk more about your situation over wine and food."

Nicole finally smiles. She could never ever say no to this man's dinner. She was sure back when he was a chef she would be paying more than $100 for his meals. "Yes, sure, I'd be honored to do you the honor, Sam. Will Billy be there?"

Mr. Sinclair slides his hand away and as he does it bumps the lube. His eyes clearly move to the bottle. He clears his throat and stands up quickly. "Um, Billy, um, yes, of course. Of course, um. Well, good. I should be going and see you at 6 p.m. Right, okay." He continues rambling nervously as he makes his way to the door and out of it.

Nicole puts her head in her hands. She was so ashamed that Mr. Sinclair saw the man. Dinner would surely be delicious, but all she could imagine was the old man scolding her for bad life decisions. Ugh, and in front of his dweeb of a grandson, Billy. This really couldn't get any worse.

She decides to try to focus on some work, but barely 20 minutes after Mr. Sinclair left her apartment, a key unlocks the door and it opens. The stranger stumbles into her kitchen looking more ragged than usual. He throws a bag of Taco Bell and four-sixths of a PBR tall boy six-pack on the counter.