Parental Love

One of my recent regulars, Evan stopped in Saturday. I had met him once before, about a month ago, on a Saturday after a date. Evan had admitted it must have seemed surprising, to stop by the club right after a date, but he hadn’t been ready to go home and call it a night. He and his date had gotten an early dinner and allegedly she had been too tired to hang out longer, since she had been up since 4 a.m. and was on the verge of passing out. Evan is a tall, slim middle aged man with short dark grey and brown hair. His skin is tan and slightly pock marked from acne many years ago. I asked him how the date went and he told me it went well.

I wondered if this was the truth. Of course some days are long and you happen to schedule a date at the end of it, and tire out early on. But when a date is good, I’ve always somehow managed to summon the energy to prolong it. If a date is just fine, not terrible but also not inspiring, I’ll end early and schedule a follow up, because who knows the rhyme or reason of first impressions? I thought, maybe the date had been fine. He didn’t seem wild about her. He hadn’t mentioned anything about her intelligence or beauty, it seemed more of a fix for loneliness. But maybe his story was biased for my benefit, as most stories are tailored to an audience.

We danced and he tipped reasonably. He tipped me more to stay longer and talk with him.

Him: Do you have a gymnastics background?

Me: I don’t. I’m just naturally athletic.

Him: But you have to do something to be able to do what you do.

Me: I mostly do pole. And some yoga.

Him: I do yoga too. It’s great. How many days a week?

Me: One or two, depending.

Him: I do two or three days of yoga, and do cardio and power lifting every other day.

I touch his biceps, inspecting his muscles.

Me: You’re secretly strong under here, aren’t you.

He wore a loose fitting button down that managed to conceal any hint of a body, but underneath I could feel modest muscles. Evan was at that age where muscle retention was a more reasonable goal than growth. I thought this, but knew what he wanted to hear at that moment was affirmation. He was pleased I had noticed, even if he knew I wasn’t being entirely genuine. We all make concessions to stay in our fantasies.

When he popped in this Saturday, I was surprised. We hadn’t exchanged information or anything, and he hadn’t given off “potential regular” vibes. He hadn’t been generous. Every dollar I’d attained from him I’d had to convince him of. He wasn’t cheap, but he hadn’t shopped with romantic abandon. Still, there he was, and this time with a younger man who looked like a Latino Kit Harrington. Initially I gave them space to enjoy the club and situate themselves, even purchase a dance or two with some other girls, but eventually I made my way over and sat in Evan’s lap. He immediately embraced me in a tight hug and began kissing my neck and shoulder, inhaling deeply, trying to absorb me.

Him: Patrick, Selena. Selena, Patrick.

He said gesturing toward me with his face burrowed into my arm.

Him: Isn’t she just as gorgeous as I’d said?

I suppose this is kind of a normal introduction at the club, but I’m a bit embarrassed by his excessive familiarity. Of course we are somewhat intimately acquainted, but I hate public displays of affection. His hands are like the greedy suction cups of an octopus. I pried one hand from my breast and chastised him for his lack of discretion.

Him: I’m sorry. I keep getting ahead of myself. I know how you like to be private. You’re just so beautiful. I was telling him—

He gestured at Patrick.

Him: About how beautiful you are, and he agreed. So that must mean you’re beautiful.

He laughs, playfully.

Me: In a poll of two, 100% of participants polled agree that I am beautiful. Those are great stats. Experts agree, I must be beautiful.

Evan had just gotten back from a weekend getaway to Florida, visiting his friend and business partner. His friend owned a home on the beach with a private inlet. He showed me pictures of his friend’s home and dock with a pair of jet skis. He scrolled quickly past an image of himself naked, as if I couldn’t see it. Maybe he was proud and wanted me to see. He showed me a picture of himself on one of the jet skis, shirtless. His body was just a body, lumpy and soft, and I thought about how hard it is for my body to be just a lumpy soft body.

He had visited his friend and business partner, in part for the vacation, but additionally to consult him over the acquisition of a car wash. Evan is in part a real estate developer. Primarily he owns and manages a shopping center, but recently he’s developed a love for car washes after discovering how profitable they can me. Usually he flips them, but the car wash he was looking into this week had a personal draw for him. He liked the mod style of the wash, but wanted to re outfit it, invest in newer equipment and train a team to maintain quality control.

Him: But that’s probably all boring to you.

And it was boring to me, but most investments that make money tend to be a bit boring. I smiled and said nothing, trying to be assuring and noncommittal simultaneously. I took him for the same dance as last time and he tipped me the same tip as before. It was like deja vu, except with no new revelations or excitement. Again, he requested I sit with him after the dance. He’s a cuddler. I wanted to blame oxytocin for bonding him to me as he massaged my neck while I made sure he was tipping me. He handed me $20 and I settled in against him.

Him: My friend used to work here years ago. That’s how he knows everybody.

Evan pointed a thumb toward Patrick who was chatting up one of the bouncers by the VIP booth.

Him: He’s a good kid. Has the most amazing relationship with his parents. I swear they talk every day, and he visits them all the time. It was hard for me to believe that that kind of thing is possible, but then they invited me over for dinner. I’ve never seen a father look at a son with such love. They greeted each other with so much warmth, it was as if they hadn’t seen each other in years, even though they had seen each other the day before. I used to be jealous about it, you know?

Me: Yeah, I would be too.

Him: I don’t know about your parents, but mine were difficult. My father died early. He was into drugs and drinking, which left my mother. She was very Catholic. Could never let go of anything. She was always judging me. I think it’s a Catholic thing.

Me: I think so too. My mom was a similar way. I grew up Catholic too.

Him: I remember one time I brought a girl up to my room and she found out. She was so angry. She told me I wasn’t allowed to date or see anyone. I was just trying to be a normal kid!

Me: My mom did that to me too!

Him: Another time, I was an adult and I casually mentioned that I smoked weed before. I wasn’t high at the time and I didn’t even smoke that much. Now I don’t smoke at all, but since then she’s been calling me an addict. It’s like she doesn’t want to get over it. It’s not like she hasn’t done plenty of her own stuff, but I’m not bringing it up all the time.

I thought of one of my mother’s favorite scripture quotes: “You hypocrite! First, remove the beam out of your own eye, and then you can see clearly to remove the speck out of your brother’s eye.” It was her threatening parable. One day my sister and I would understand, that we were too busy criticizing her to perceive our own sin. But that wasn’t the case. My mother was a wrathful woman and there was no lesson in it.

Me: It’s a Catholic thing.

Him: I think if I’d gotten encouragement instead of all that negativity, I would have done something with myself. Of course, so was never a good student. I never much liked school.

Me: It seems like you’ve done a lot.

Him: Thank you.

Me: I loved school. If education wasn’t so astronomically expensive, I’d go back for grad school in a heartbeat.

Him: If you were my girlfriend, I’d pay for your grad school.

Me: I don’t think you realize how expensive it is.

Him: It doesn’t matter. I’d pay it. You’re the kind of girl I could fall in love with, who I would do anything for. Of course, we’re just talking and I know I’m too old and ugly for you. I’m just saying.

I couldn’t tell if he was the kind of rich where a couple hundred thousand dollars isn’t much to lose; if he was so enamored with me that he was making promises he couldn’t hope to keep; if he didn’t know the actual cost of education; or if he truly understood what he was saying and believed it. Maybe it was all of the above. Regardless, it was of no consequence to me, as much as the idea of sugaring through grad school danced into my mind for a moment. But as quickly as it danced in, it danced away. I gathered my bag and excused myself.