Old Man Abe Gets a Girl
Ronnie Weiss has a special talent for spotting rich men, and lonely widower Abraham Kurtz looks like he might be the jackpot she’s been waiting for. What begins as a chance encounter at the 92nd Street Y quickly turns into a courtship fueled by shared complaints, hidden motives, and one very memorable night at Abe’s apartment in the Dakota. But somewhere between calculation and companionship, Ronnie may discover that getting close to Old Man Abe comes with more than she bargained for.
NICOLE JEFFORDS FICTION
Ronnie Weiss could identify a rich guy no matter what he was wearing or what he looked like. If he was old and bedraggled, looked like a bum – yes, she could spot him almost as if she had a special radar for such things. So when she saw Abraham Kurtz having a cup of coffee at the 92nd Street Y she knew he was a live one. Tall and thin, mostly bald but not bad-looking, he sat with his bony knees akimbo as he stared at his phone. Hmmm, she thought. Aloud, she said, “Mind if I join you?” This was a brave move on her part, because there were some free tables.
“Sure,” he said, glancing up at her.
She was sixty-five, but still quite pretty. Abe was in his late eighties.
Once seated, she asked how he was doing.
“Fine, fine,” he said. “Though I’d be happier if my children were in town.”
“Oh. Where are they?”
“Connecticut.”
“Well, that’s not far away.”
“They’re always too busy to see me.”
“I know the feeling,” Ronnie said. “My son lives in California and I only get to see him every two or three years if I’m lucky.”
“So we’re both in the same boat. Makes me feel a little bitter.” As soon as he said them, Abe regretted his words. He didn’t even know this woman! But she had a kind and sympathetic face and he couldn’t help but want to unburden himself to her. So he talked about his children and how he felt betrayed by them. “I mean I’m not a young man. They could spare a day to come and visit me, or they could invite me to Westport to see the kids’ games.”
“Mmm,” soothed Ronnie. “I hear you.”
I hear you. That phrase was enough to open the floodgates, though Abe controlled himself so there was only the faintest sheen of tears. Ronnie patted his arm and told him everything would be okay. Then she introduced herself. Abe assumed she was Jewish, like himself, and she didn’t disabuse him of the notion. After all, her last name was Weiss. And the more he looked at her, the more Abe thought she was actually very pretty. The kind of reddish-brown hair many women her age had, but beautiful dark brown eyes filled with compassion, and a soft, intelligent mouth. He liked the way her lips parted to show even, white teeth. And her body … but he couldn’t tell much because she was sitting down. She had nice big boobs though, and for a moment he pictured himself burying his face in those boobs. What comfort might lie there! His eyes actually began to water and he had to brush his hands over them so no one could see. Ronnie asked him where he lived and he hesitated a moment before saying the Dakota. People could get the wrong idea if they knew you lived there because so much wealth and history was associated with the building.
In truth, Abe had inherited the apartment from his wife, Ellen, who had died several years earlier when something had gotten stuck in her throat and no one, save the cleaning lady who didn’t speak English, was around to apply the Heimlich Maneuver. She was found on the bedroom floor, blue in the face, eyeballs popped out as if she’d just seen something appalling. Abe was haunted by the memory and in some ways was still in mourning – he wished he could wear a black band around his sleeve so people would treat him with constant courtesy. Ellen had been outgoing and social while Abe was a bit of a droner. Plus Ellen had been bossy – she wore the pants which made sense to Abe since she’d come from money and was an only child. But Abe hadn’t minded the bossiness. He’d known how to stonewall her when necessary and otherwise took her overbearing behavior as a comforting trait. It wasn’t that he was meek, but rather that he immersed himself in the details of his work – he was an accountant – and was happy to have someone else run his day-to-day life.
And now Ellen was gone and Abe was painfully lonely. He did all the right things – went online to meet women (always a bust!), went to concerts and lectures and theatre, but, unless he could snag one of his kids to go with him, the seat beside him was usually empty. At intermission, he would cruise the theatre lobby to see if there were ladies to talk to, but nada – they were all accompanied and too deep in conversation to notice him. He even went out to the street to find someone to pass a little time with, but that’s where all the smokers were and Abe detested cigarettes.
“You don’t smoke, do you?” he asked Ronnie now.
“No, never. Why? Are you gonna ask me out on a date, or do you need a lighter or something?”
Abe’s cheeks reddened. “Actually, I was gonna ask you out on a date. You seem like a nice lady.”
“You’re very kind. If you can put up with a hardbitten woman like me, I’d love to go on a date.”
Abe didn’t question her use of the word “hardbitten.” He thought she was putting herself down to seem sympatico. But then he changed his mind and told her that in his opinion she was gorgeous.
“You really need glasses!” Ronnie chided.
“Nope, I’ve had cataract surgery. Since then my vision’s been perfect.”
Ronnie doubted that because of the way he squinted, upper lip scrunched as he studied her. “Where would we go on our date?” she asked.
“Theatre,” Abe said.
“Can’t stand theatre! I just don’t like to sit that long anymore.”
“Okay, then how about dinner? Or would that mean sitting too long?”
“I like Italian,” Ronnie said. “But not tonight. Tomorrow night.”
The dinner was a success. Abe and Ronnie had plenty to talk about – politics, life in New York, their unappreciative children – it was a regular grouse fest. So they went on a second date, and this date (Thai food) was as successful as the first. Abe hadn’t physically been with a woman since his wife’s death, impossible to believe as he loved having the warmth and comfort of another body in his bed. As for Ronnie, she thought she might have hit the jackpot. This guy lived in the Dakota, which meant he had big bucks. Her own story wasn’t exactly the one she had told Abe. First off, she wasn’t Jewish. Her mother was Mexican, where admittedly there were quite a number of Jewish people due to the Inquisition. But her mother, Fernanda, wasn’t one of them. Instead she had worked as a housekeeper for a wealthy Jewish family and Ronnie, who often sat in the family’s kitchen while Fernanda was mopping the floor or dusting the shelves, had managed to absorb certain aspects of Jewish culture. Passover, for instance. Ronnie could have run a service on her own. She knew the prayers and what foods and wines to serve. She also knew when to light candles on Friday nights and how to wave her hands around the tiny flames. So she could pull off being Jewish. On top of that, her second husband, whom she quickly divorced due to his many infidelities, had been Jewish and she’d kept his last name, Weiss. Abe had no reason to believe she wasn’t the real deal. And of course, his assumption that they shared the same religion, even if neither of them practiced it, caused him to be more open and trusting of her.
Ronnie’s goal was marriage. Oh to inherit an apartment in the Dakota! And all that money he’d earned as an accountant: that could be hers too if she kept harping on the indifference Abe’s children showed toward him. On their third date she told him she’d love to have a sleepover at his apartment.
“Really? Wow!” exclaimed Abe.
“I think we’re ready for that, don’t you?”
“Yes,” Abe said a little uncertainly.
He wasn’t sure how he’d perform and so he searched online for a medical outfit that would prescribe Viagra. Accordingly, he put Ronnie off a few days till the pills arrived, claiming he had a cold. When the medication showed up in a little packet on his doorstep, he called Ronnie to say he was better and looking forward to their sleepover. He didn’t think to try out the magic blue pill first.
What he did was pop it a short while before the concierge notified him that there was a Ms. Weiss there to see him and should he send her up? Then he paced the front hall, wondering how long it would be before the pill took effect.
Abe’s front door flew open the moment Ronnie pressed the buzzer. Had he been that eager to see her? He looked a little sweaty. Ronnie wasn’t sure she wanted his hands on her and had to remind herself of the payoff: $$$$$$ and the possibility of living high on the hog in this very building. Oooh, that would be sweet! She held her head a little stiffly as Abe kissed her on both cheeks. Then he led her into the apartment, which was huge and gorgeous with views onto the park and the buildings on Fifth Avenue that stood in an unwavering line across the expanse of trees and lawns and wooded passages where people walked, some of them hopeful of trysts. At least that was what Ronnie imagined. But it was the apartment itself that captured her attention. Everywhere she looked was furniture, couches lined up with other couches, dozens of settees and sofas and loveseats, end tables plonked for no reason in the middle of the living room floor. A chandelier with brilliant crystals cascaded over the fat arm of the couch on which it had been laid.
“What is this, a furniture depot?” Ronnie joked. In that instant she realized she was dealing with a hoarder, no surprise there as Abe was practically ninety and old men had their frailties.
“Ha ha,” laughed Abe. “When I see things thrown out on the street, I want to save them — you know, kind of like orphaned children.”
“Mmm hmm,” said Ronnie. But oddly the remark endeared him to her. There was a kind of nobility and thoughtfulness to his hoarding behavior and she liked that. So she allowed him to kiss her, tongue as thin as blotting paper as it probed her mouth. But it wasn’t the thinness of his tongue that alarmed her. As he held her close, she could feel that he had a full-on erection. Oh Jesus, she thought. This was the last thing she had expected. She’d imagined cuddles and kisses, not a stiff phallus poking into her midsection.
“Let’s go to the bedroom,” moaned Abe.
Ronnie took his hand as he motioned his chin toward the hall that led to the bedroom.
That room, too, was filled with junk from the streets. The king-sized bed had only a small place to lie because most of it was covered in newspapers, charging cables, apple cores, multiple pairs of reading glasses, stray bunched up socks. Ronnie swept all this to the floor and lay down, pulling Abe down on the bed beside her.
And then, focused on all she could gain, she unzipped his trousers. Boing! Out popped his penis, pinkish and tumescent, standing straight and tall as a palace guard. She couldn’t say this didn’t excite her. If she looked at the member itself, divorcing it from the person it belonged to, she could feel a definite stirring in her crotch. “I’m gonna sit on you,” she said, fondling his engorged member.
It wasn’t the best sex she’d ever had, but it satisfied her and her body underwent a series of hard spasms as she climaxed. “Oh my god!” she cried, waiting a moment before climbing off him. She felt as if his penis was lodged right against her heart, and that was, momentarily at least, a delicious sensation.
However, once she was off him his erection remained. At first, this may have been a matter of pride for Abe, but then it became alarming: his penis simply wouldn’t soften as it was supposed to. He didn’t want to talk to Ronnie about this. He just wanted her to go home.
“Uh oh, what’s happening here?” Ronnie exclaimed.
“Don’t know,” muttered Abe.
She studied his erect phallus. “This could be serious,” she said.
“I think I just need to lie here for a while. Maybe you ought to leave.”
Ronnie rose from the bed and walked naked into the living room where she’d left her handbag. She fished out her cell phone and looked up what to do if you had an erection that wouldn’t go away. Priapism is what it was called. If it lasted more than four hours, go to ER.
It was now nine o’clock, already dark and cold on this late October night. By Ronnie’s calculations, Abe had had an erection for two hours – probably more since he’d already been erect when she arrived at the apartment.
She returned to the bedroom. “Did you take anything?” she asked Abe.
“Huh? What are you talking about?”
“Your erection. Did you take meds to, uh, facilitate it?”
Abe groaned. His stiff penis really hurt. “Viagra,” he muttered after a moment.
“Okay. Then we’re going to the ER.”
“What? No!” Abe retorted feebly.
“Yes!” cried Ronnie, gathering his clothes from the floor. She was already dressed and she bundled him into a shirt and pants, although she couldn’t close the zipper. She threw on his overcoat to hide everything. The doorman whistled for a cab and Abe moaned all the way to the hospital. Thank god they didn’t have to wait long. Abe was hustled into an exam room and Ronnie went with him. After the doc (actually a resident) had a look at Abe’s tumescent penis, he placed a needle and syringe on a tray and asked Ronnie if she’d like to step out during the procedure. “No, she stays here,” groaned Abe.
“I need to hold his hand,” explained Ronnie.
“Okaay,” said the doc. “I’m going to withdraw blood from his penis. Won’t take long.”
But it seemed like it took hours instead of a few minutes. Abe squeezed hard on Ronnie’s hand as she kept reassuring him with words of endearment. “It’s okay, sweet heart.”
“We're in this together, darling. You can do it.”
“Will you marry me?” Abe gasped as the syringe filled with blood.
“Yes, I will,” promised Ronnie.
“You hear that?” Abe wheezed to the resident. “She’s gonna marry me.”
“Mazel Tov,” said the resident, a thin, young man whose mop of curls was mostly hidden beneath his cap.
When the procedure was completed, Abe held up his hand for a high five.
Ronnie slapped her hand against his. In that moment she was flooded with feelings of love for Abe. They had gotten through this ordeal together which meant they were truly aligned, truly meant to be with one another.
“Partners?” said Abe.
“Yes, partners,” agreed Ronnie.
Against Abe’s children’s advice, the two were married at a registry office a few weeks later. Ronnie wore an off-white silk dress that showed off her bosoms. For the rest of his life, Abe would bury his head in those bosoms and be comforted.