It’s March in Phoenix. I’m shoehorned into a row of folding chairs in center left at Chase Field, looking up at a Jumbotron, watching Billy Joel’s hands glide effortlessly across his keyboard. Strangely, they look bruised and scraped, as if he’s been in a brawl.
I’m lukewarm about the musician known as the piano man. I like his music well enough, but I’ve never put out even ninety-nine cents to download one of his tunes. I prefer baseball to Billy, so I’m taking time to appreciate what it takes to drive a ball this far from home plate.
My friend, Ryan, offered me a free ticket to see Billy, so what the hell, I thought, why not? I rarely get to concerts anymore, so it seemed like a good way to spend a Saturday night.
Ryan and I are sitting together. My wife — a good sport — is at home, watching television, while Ryan and I are on a date. More accurately, I’m with Ryan and his date, but she’s sitting in center right field with her best friend, Dirk.
Ryan has been on the dating scene for about a year. After thirty-odd years, he sought a divorce from his wife, who preferred playing Words with Friends to having deep, candid conversations about love, life, liberty, the pursuit of happiness, and other such things.
Faced with similar situations, most older guys I know would just ride their marriages to their death beds after calculating the effects a divorce can have on living quarters and bank accounts. Not Ryan, though. A serious heart attack set him searching to find his soul mate before he checks out for good. His wife couldn’t fill the bill, so he shook her off and headed over to Match.com and OKCupid.
I think he made a reckless decision, but I don’t tell him so…. I know Ryan is going through a lonely adventure.
I think he made a reckless decision, but I don’t tell him so. I also resent the collateral damage: his ex-wife no longer invites me to play Words with Friends. But I know Ryan is going through a lonely adventure, and I don’t complain to him about cramping my game.
So, here we are at Chase Field with Amber and her friend, Dirk. (Amber is a perfect OKCupid name, I’m thinking to myself.) Our journey here started with a sweet gesture from Amber. Even though she and Ryan have been dating only a short time, she decided, for his birthday, to treat him to the Billy Joel concert. Ticket prices are in the triple digits, so she’s laying out some serious cash to make this happen.
Dirk has known Amber since grade school, and when he decided to come out, Amber was the first person he told. Until Ryan came along, Amber and Dirk did everything together. When he heard about Amber taking Ryan to the concert, Dirk threw a fit.
Amber, apparently unconcerned that third wheels can ruin a birthday date, tried to buy an extra ticket for Dirk, but they were available only in pairs. She asked Ryan whether he’d mind going on the date but sitting with someone else during the concert. Ryan acquiesced, so Amber sprang for two more tickets, and I end up watching Billy Joel with Ryan. He’s either a better man than I, or he really sees some potential in Amber. If I were he, I would have said goodbye and headed back to OKCupid to pull another name out of the virtual hat.
The evening of the concert, I follow Ryan’s instructions to get myself over to Amber’s house at six p.m. The plan is for Ryan to pay for a round-trip Uber ride so we don’t have to hassle with parking once we arrive at Chase Field. When I get to Amber’s, no one is home. It’s dark, it’s cold, and I’m outside her house, worried that the longer I stand there, the more likely it is some neighbor will call the cops, thinking I’m casing the place. After about fifteen minutes, Ryan calls to apologize, explaining that he, Amber, and Dirk have been trapped in a busy restaurant. They’ll be at Amber’s in just a few minutes.
About ten minutes later, they arrive. I’m ticked off, but I let it pass. Amber unlocks the door to her cute little bungalow of a house as I get my first good look at her and Dirk.
Amber looks good beside Ryan, who’s wearing a sport coat and stands about six foot two. He played some football in college, and for a sixty-something guy, he’s still in good shape. Amber is about six inches shorter — about my height — and I’m guessing she’s in her mid- to late forties. She’s attractive in her dark jacket, skirt, and heels, and she has a confident, professional air about her. She says she’s a life coach with a psychology degree from Wayne State University.
Dirk is about Ryan’s height but markedly frailer. He’s wearing a sleeveless pullover sweater and khakis. He seems timid, meeting my overtures to strike up a conversation with as few words as possible. I ask him what he does for a living, but I don’t really get a clear answer, just something about research.
When the Uber XL arrives, I sit to one side in the back seat, and Ryan sits between Amber and me. Dirk sits in the row ahead of us.
For about a decade, Ryan worked as a Presbyterian minister before becoming a financial planner. He manages our money, but he and I spend more time talking about politics and theology than we do about markets. As we’re riding to the concert, he tries to get a conversation going between Amber and me, saying Amber has a real interest in theology.
“Really!” I say, and then I innocently ask her which theologians she enjoys reading. She stammers for a bit but finally comes up with “Khalil Gibran.” There’s nothing wrong with Gibran, who wrote things like “We are all like the bright moon, we still have our darker side” and “To belittle, you have to be little.” I enjoyed him in college, but from a lover of theology I expect an answer more like Soren Kierkegaard or Paul Tillich. I feel bad, hoping I’m not embarrassing her. The moment seems to pass without much damage being done.
Once we leave the Uber, we stand in line for a bit to get into the stadium. I’m trying to engage Dirk in conversation so Ryan and Amber can have some time together. He tells me he, like Amber, is originally from Detroit. I tell him I was in Detroit for only one weekend in college, visiting a girl I thought I could be serious about. Her father sized me up as unworthy of his daughter, and he signaled his displeasure in no uncertain terms.
At the time, I thought I was going to be an elementary schoolteacher, and he said straight out I’d never make enough to live comfortably, implying I could never properly support his daughter. The girl and I drifted apart shortly after that visit. Today I take some pleasure in knowing I went on to become a vice president of a Fortune 500 company, which is exactly what the girl’s father was when he was making me feel so small. Dirk seems to enjoy the story. I tell him I ended up with a woman who makes sure I never feel that way.
Once we get inside, we split up and head to our seats. Ryan and I say almost nothing to each other. It’s nearly impossible to talk above the noise of Billy and his band.
When Billy launches into Piano Man, the lyrics come through more clearly than most of the songs I’ve been listening to. Near the end of the song, some bar patrons ask the piano player, “Man, what are you doin’ here?”
I know what Billy’s doing here — making money. I know what I’m doing here — trying to help a friend in what seems to me a bizarre situation. I think I know what Amber is doing here — trying to find a love connection. I think I know what Dirk is doing here — trying to make sure his security blanket named Amber doesn’t slip away. I guess I know what Ryan is doing here — trying to see whether OKCupid has delivered his soulmate. On that question, I keep my skepticism to myself.
Billy closes with We Didn’t Start the Fire. I look up again at the Jumbotron and see his beat-up hands. Then I look at Ryan, hoping he can weather the ambiguity he’s going through and can find something approaching Billy’s obvious enjoyment of life.
When I get home, my wife asks me about the evening. I met Amber and Dirk, an interesting duo, I tell her. I think Ryan has a way to go before he finds what he’s looking for, I tell her. And, I say, I’m glad to be home.