The Gentleman – Robin Jones

May 26, 2026

The men had poached eggs on toast with dots of hot sauce for breakfast that morning. The toast was dry and both men thought to themselves that butter really would have made all the difference. Scott did the poaching while Albert prattled on in the background about the state of the business and how they must find a way to rescue themselves from abject poverty. Autumn was settling in. Scott listened as his friend pontificated and he wondered what his wife might be doing at this moment. He stared out the window and noticed the leaves were still green, but the sky was a hazy yellow and even inside the apartment he could smell a hint of smoke from a nearby mountain fire.

Three cups of coffee deep and sleep rubbed thoroughly from his eyes, Albert had tired of the sound of his own voice and suspected that Scott had tired of it too. Dishes were left in the sink to crust. Laces were knotted and at 8:58am, the old friends left Albert’s apartment for a day of sightseeing. As Albert locked the door behind him, he heard a small hiccup. He looked up to Scott who shook his head and looked past Albert, his eyes grew wide. Albert followed Scott’s gaze.

A toddler covered in grime and dangling a shoelace of snot from her snubbed snout, looked up at the gentleman from where she sat on the neighbor’s doormat. She hiccupped again. Her head was haloed in brown curls, her cheeks were tear streaked and after noticing the two old friends she went back to what she had been busying herself with, kneading the fullest part of her diaper with her chubby fingers.

A portly neighbor on the other side of the toddler exited his apartment, took one look at the child and the two men, turned on his heels and walked at a fast clip in the other direction. “Something isn’t right.” Albert said. “Maybe just give it a knock” Scott suggested and nudged the air towards the door and so Albert did. No Answer. Albert first pressed his ear against the door. “I hear something.” He put his hand on the knob. Hiccup. He looked to Scott for approval. The door opened.

Inside was a young boy, generously nine but more likely eight, pacing feverishly about the living room in frantic distress. His clothes were dirty, his hair wild. He leapt like a startled cat when he saw the gentleman, but when he looked down to see the toddler he was flushed with relief. The boy picked up the toddler, he gestured, trying to explain, to thank the men but it was clear they couldn’t understand the child’s accent. The apartment was furnitureless, giving it an undressed quality. No toys. The walls empty, only faint outlines of frames that once graced them and the yellowing paint beneath. The gentleman shut the door behind them leaving the children inside. They stood there for a moment, Albert’s hand still on the door, waiting for the other one to say something of the strange circumstance they had found themselves in, but neither spoke. Albert took a heavy step away from the door as if to say, “Well, that’s over now. Let’s move along.”

Scott watched the palm trees flit past; the check engine light dinged on. Albert mused about all the things they could buy once their genius was finally recognized. The car smelled like mildew and defeat. It was depressing to hear Albert go on like this, but Scott couldn’t quite place why. Perhaps it was that Albert’s words echoed and the void in which the echo rang seemed to have no end. It felt infinite, immeasurable. A deep well with no bottom and no one to hear the words. These searching words. This fatal optimism spat up from another hollow place deep inside Albert. These words he’d heard countless times to soothe a wounded ego, said to contradict a very simple and perfect truth that could not be accepted. That would not be accepted. Scott didn’t want to think about it. But there was an itch. A nagging itch. Maybe think the truth very quietly. He thought. So, Scott concentrated on conjuring the words like a whisper and suddenly there they were, the words that called up fear in the hearts of middle-aged men. They were not quiet words. They were bold, gargantuan, looming. And they did not fall into the deep well, they didn’t echo. They were stentorian, searing themselves onto the wrinkles of his brain. They were so ominous and dense that Scott feared Albert might be able to see them too. Now he could hear them. A low patter at first but repetitive like a leaky faucet in the next room. Growing louder. A bullfrog belching a warning. IT’S OVER. IT’S OVER. IT’S OVER. Scott felt his chest tighten, his hands were sweaty, he wanted a cigarette. He hadn’t smoked for almost fifteen years.

“Pull over here.”
“What?” Albert said confused. “Pull over, right here!”

They smoked outside the 7-Eleven and Albert pitched a story about a put upon man, let down by society and misunderstood by his wife and children. Scott watched him gesticulate angrily; he turned the volume down in his mind so that Albert was but an uneducated mime performing for no one at all. He turned his thoughts to the toddler by the door. The worried boy.

Cigarette crushed under foot he said, “You think they’re okay?”
“Who?”
“The kids.”
“Whose kids?”
“Those kids! The neighbors.”
“They’re fine. I got a place we can go for lunch. There’s this actress I’m supposed to meet there. Latina.”

Albert was trying to flick a particularly sticky booger from his fingers. The wind was picking up, the car swayed a bit on the freeway. Albert’s knees were practically to his chest while he drove, making the car feel much smaller than its actual size. Scott’s phone buzzed in his pocket. A message from Anne. Anne who had woken up at the same time every day to make the coffee for them both before her yoga. Anne who had called around to all their mutual friends when Scott’s father had died because he couldn’t stomach spreading the news. Anne who had supported him until he sold his first script and then continued to support him when he didn’t get the next gig. Anne who wanted kids. Anne whose 40th birthday he had forgotten.

“I don’t want to keep kicking the can down the road.”
Anne who approached conflict with a level head.
“I know, I’m sorry. I’m with Albert, can I call you later?”
Anne who deserved better.
“Please.”

Albert had substituted his talking with singing, working his way through a rather off-key rendition of Kryptonite by 3 Doors Down. Scott felt suicidal. The actress lowered her breasts for visibility’s sake to take their order. Albert fondled her rump with his eyes as she walked away. “I like em skinny like that.”

The gentleman spent the rest of the day wandering in and out of bookstores and coffee shops Albert loved. They talked about how lucky they were to have come up when they did, when things were good, how sorry they felt for the men trying to break in now, how easy it was to be cancelled, what medications they were taking for their depression and erections.

They returned to the apartment later that evening. The lights were out in the neighbors’ apartment.
“Should we check on them?”
“What?! No. I’ve seen the mom, I think she likes me. I don’t want her thinking I’m going to call CPS or something. I’m pretty sure she’s single.”
Something about Albert was beginning to bother Scott. “I’m going to smoke and call Anne.”
“Yeah, when you come inside, we’ll watch the director’s cut of that flick I found. I’ve got the bluray. It’s brutal.”
The smoke trailed blue-grey into the atmosphere, the air was eerily still now.

“Hey.”
“How’s the trip going?”
“Good. Good. I miss you.”
The line was silent. Scott could hear her breathing and the dull sound of the television in the background.
“What’re you watching?”
“I’m seeing someone.”
“What the fuck?!”
“I don’t want to upset you, but it’s been a year since you moved out. My therapist said it’s been enough time.”
Scott’s anger wilted into heartache and regret.
“I know, it’s okay. I’m sorry.”
“It’s fine.”
“I want you to be happy.”
“I know.”
“So, who is he?”
“I’d rather not talk about it.”
“Right.”
“Scott, I really need you to sign the papers.”
“Right.”
On the other end of the line Scott heard the familiar sound of the door to his old house opening.
“I have to hop off, but can you sign them by the end of the week?”
“What’s the rush?”
“Please. Just sign them.”
“Sure.”
“Safe travels.”
“Yeah.”
Scott lit another cigarette with the cherry from the first. Everything about the action felt arduous. It was dry out here. His hands were clay.
Albert was bent over some lines on the table with a rolled-up bill.
“You ready? This movie’s going to make you question everything you thought you knew. I wish I had made this. It’s exactly like a novel I wrote ten years ago that never saw the light of day. I wonder what happened to that. Hey, you all right man?”
Scott felt the tears well in his eyes, his throat choked.
“Buddy! You’re fine. Come here, sit down. I got you dude. We’re gonna have a blast. Trust me, we’re better off. They never appreciated us. They didn’t understand us. It may have been subtle, but it was there. Only a matter of time. Guys in our age bracket do well on the apps.”
Albert handed Scott a tumbler of whiskey.
“We’re gonna be kings. We’ll take over this town.”

Scott downed the whiskey and looked out the window wistfully. He saw a mother in a crop top jostling the dirty toddler in one arm and holding the hand of the little boy. It was 1AM and Scott wondered if it was normal for children to be out so late. Albert caught Scott’s stare.
“See? Totally fine. I’ve seen dudes come in and out of her place. I think she’s some kind of call girl. She flirts with me. I might hit it.”

They lay on the couch in the blue glow of the television too big for the living room. They’d fall asleep there and wake in the morning to eat eggs with dots of hot sauce and dried toast because they had forgotten to pick up butter on the way home. One of them would rouse in the early dawn and realize there was no toilet paper in the bathroom. He’d make do with a piece of paper towel he found in the trash. He wouldn’t wash his hands because there was no soap and what was the point. Scott would buy a plane ticket home tomorrow. They would say their ‘goodbye’s’ and ‘see you soons’ and Scott would grab an uber to the airport because nobody likes to drive to LAX during rush hour on a Monday. Scott knows this. Scott knows not to bother asking. Scott knows that nothing waits for him back home.
IT’S OVER. IT’S OVER. IT’S OVER.