Everybody Loves Richard

***I’m on vacation, y’all. i’ve needed a break for so long, and i’m finally getting one. here is a story from the archives in the meantime.***

Richard has been making more and more frequent appearances at the club recently, often looking tired, usually wearing the same purple-gray Champion sweatsuit set. It took some time before he recognized me consistently, but now we’ve gotten to the point we wave at each other and share a quick conversation. It’s our BSE, “big Scorpio energy,” I like to think. This time I saw him speed walk across the club to the men’s room. He was on his phone with one hand clamped over his ear and the other pressing the phone against his temple with his elbows out. I moved to a spot by the bar, because I know Richard’s migratory patterns. He ping ponged around, trying to find a quiet spot in the strip club, but eventually ran outside. He reappeared after ten minutes and walked up to me.

Me: Finished that urgent phone call?

Him: What? Oh! Yeah, I didn’t even realize I was talking for so long until my arm went limp and died, so I told him I had to go.

Me: I hate it when my arm falls asleep. So unnerving.

Him: Tell me about it.

Me: How are you? Good to see you.

Him: Likewise. Let me think, when was the last time you saw me? Oh! I was a complete vampire. You must have thought I was a total nutcase with my eyes half shut as a flew off into the night flapping my wings.

Me: You had just eaten six dinners, so it was understandable.

Him: Oh that’s right. Well, I did that again tonight, which is why I’m not feeling good.

Me: Wow, again? Was it more four-course fine dining with sexy ladies?

Him: I can’t believe you remembered that! You’ve got a great memory. I should know because I’ve got a great memory too. It’s amazing what I can recall, from years and years and years ago! No, it wasn’t fine dining this time, oddly enough. Let me show you a picture.

He whips out his phone and opens to a picture of a large sushi platter. I’m famished. I haven’t eaten anything solid all day, and my period is about to start. All I can think about is how much I intend to eat at the end of my shift.

Him: This is from a few days ago. This is the highest quality sushi you can get in LA.

Me: Is it Nobu?

Him: It’s better than Nobu. That one’s fatty salmon, it’s falling apart because of the marbling; that one’s pink Alaskan tuna; this one is a crab roll with tempura flakes you’re supposed to roll it in to make a crunchy roll...

He continued naming each of the rolls in his sushi platter as if I’d never eaten sushi before.

Him: And that wasn’t even the main dish. In Japan there’s the highest quality cows in the world. Every day, farmers massage their stomachs from the day they’re born.

Me: Are you talking about Kobe or Wagyu?

Him: I’m surprised you know. Wagyu isn’t as good quality. For Kobe beef to actually be Kobe, it has to come from Kobe...

Then he explained Kobe beef to me. Even though I ate Kobe and Wagyu beef respectively in a traditional restaurant, on tatami in Tokyo, served by two Japanese grandmas. But I didn’t bring it up, because Richard likes to explain things, especially fine dining.

Him: Wait a second, I have to show you something.

He opens to a video folder and plays the first file. It’s a hot young woman sitting across from him at a restaurant, holding a little white ceramic syrup pitcher. In front of her is what looks like a white chocolate balloon on a plate. She starts pouring a hot raspberry syrup over the white chocolate balloon, and the chocolate melts open to reveal a slice of cake in the center.

Him: I’ve got so many of these!

He does. He has ten more videos shot from the same angle, each with a different hot young woman pouring raspberry syrup onto white chocolate balloons.

Me: This could start a whole fetish community.

Him: You think this is my fetish?

Me: No, I was saying if you posted all of these you could inspire a new fetish. What is this restaurant?

Him: You know what, it doesn’t even exist anymore. They went out of business.

Me: Damn. That’s so sad. Now I’ll never get to try it.

I don’t know if it actually went out of business or if Richard wanted to guard his secret date night spot, but I knew he wasn’t telling me. One of the chefs in the kitchen glimpsed Richard and poked his head out to wave. Richard waved back.

Him: I came here this morning for breakfast.

Me: Again?

Him: Did I already tell you this?

Me: You mentioned it Tuesday when I saw you.

Him: Wow. Nothing slips past you. Yes, I was here again, for the—

He looks up at the ceiling and starts counting on his fingers.

Him: — thirty-seventh? Thirty-eighth day in a row. Every morning I come in and order the same thing: eggs, bacon, toast and potatoes. But every time Rico screws up the bacon! I don’t want hard bacon.

Me: You like chewy bacon?

Him: I want bacon that isn’t burnt to a crisp! I tip him $40 and beg him, “man don’t burn the bacon!” I want to hire him to do some catering for these events I do. He wants to open a catering company. But I can’t hire the man if he can’t cook bacon right.

Me: You were here this morning and now you’re here and it’s almost midnight?

Him: I know! I keep being drawn here like a moth or something. I can’t explain why.

Me: So you had breakfast here; then went to work; then ate six dinners; and now you’re back?

Him: I didn’t exactly work. I don’t consider what I do to be work exactly because I don’t have to leave my house. It’ll be two in the afternoon and I’ll be walking around in a robe and pajama pants avoiding the mailman. I am working. I’ll probably work until I die because that’s what they don’t tell you. As soon as you stop working, you die.

Me: It’s important to have purpose.

Him: I was one of the first from home workers. But today I didn’t stay home. I had a bunch of errands, so I was running around all day. You wanna know something annoying?

Me: Always.

Him: I complimented this woman on her jacket or something, I don’t even remember at this point, and she was like, “I wore this for my husband. I’m waiting on my husband. My husband is on his way. My husband is meeting me here. Husband husband husband!” Like, I get it lady! I wasn’t even interested in her, I just liked her coat or whatever it was, but after she went on and on, I didn’t even like it anymore. It was like she was trying to cast out a demon! And of course, demon that I am, I transformed into a bat and escaped into the night, screeching with red eyes.

Richard curled his fingers into claws and bared his teeth, then flapped his arms for emphasis. I mirrored him and made some bat noises.

Me: Lightning was striking in the background while the woman and her husband screamed.

Him: There you go! You got it.

A few other dancers looked back at us baring our teeth, screeching at each other.

Him: I need to get a massage.

Me: What kind of massage?

He raised an eyebrow at me.

Him: Just the normal kind. Why, what kind do you like? The crazy Thai massage where you get a tiny Asian woman to walk on your back and twist you into a pretzel?

Me: Well, I mean there’s various kinds of massages. There’s Swedish, Shiatsu, Russian, Thai, Korean scrubs, hot stones, cupping, and a million other kinds.

Him: I just get a normal one from a wellness spa in Santa Monica. I don’t think massages should be too complicated.

Me: I like Thai massages.

Him: Have you seen the video of that six-hundred pound guy getting the Thai massage with like three little Thai women stepping on his back? It was like: popopopopop! And then afterwards he felt a lot better.

Me: I’ve never gotten a Thai massage where they stepped on my back, but it sounds nice. I’m not against it.

Him: What time is it?

He looked down at his watch then produced his wallet and handed me a couple twenties.

Him: I feel like I’ve been taking up all your time.

Me: Naw, it’s always great to see you.

Him: Likewise!

Another girl came up behind him and gave him a hug.

Her: Sorry babe, Richard and I go way back.

Me: Don’t worry about it. Everyone loves Richard.