Michael, Michelangelo Pt. 2: Tammy, His Ride Or Die

I offered to plug his phone into the charging station by the bar and Michelangelo accepted. I put the phone on the charger, then I took him back to the same room as before, cradling his drinks in my arms. He had four in total: he carried two, I carried two, plus a room temperature water bottle for myself.

Him: After this I’m getting out of here. I’ve got to get out of this f— place.

He was biting his tongue. I knew he’d meant to say “I’ve got to get out of this fucking place.” I heard the “fff” cut short.

Me: You don’t have to censor yourself around me.

Him: But I do. I’m trying to be good.

Me: Using expletives isn’t bad.

Him: Well, if you want me to, get ready. I’ll cuss up a fucking storm.

Me: Go ahead.

When we left the room, it took a moment for my eyes to adjust to the lights. I felt dazed, as if I’d awoken from hypnosis.

Him: Could you grab my phone?

Me: Yeah, of course.

It had charged to about 30%. I handed it off to him. Two missed calls from Tammy.

Him: Give me a second, please.

Me: Are you sure you don’t want to call on the patio? It’s a lot quieter there.

Him: No, this is fine.

Tammy picked up immediately.

Him: Tammy? My phone died... I’m still at the bar, but I’ll be leaving soon... Is everything alright? They took my phone to charge it... Don’t worry, I’m taking a cab... Okay... Okay... I’ll call you when I get to the hotel... Buh-bye.

He hung up and studied me thoughtfully.

Him: That was Tammy. She was worried because I didn’t respond. She’s a good woman. I couldn’t leave her.

Me: I wouldn’t want you to. How did you two meet?

Him: We were working together at a company. She was my superior but worked in a different department. We were friendly, but I didn’t know her that well and didn’t look at her that way. Then one day they gave me her position. It didn’t seem right to me, and I thought to myself: if they could do her like that, they could do the same to me. We started talking after that, commiserating. Then one night she was stressed so I offered to give her a little massage. I was massaging her shoulders. She has some big ole tiddies. Well, things went from there, and we’ve been together ever since, through thick and thin.

Me: She’s your ride or die.

Him: She is.

Me: Sounds like a good woman.

Him: Are you working tomorrow? I need to see you again.

Me: I could work again tomorrow. Here, take my number and we can coordinate.

I sent a message to myself from his phone, then plugged in his contact info as I do with all my clients: name followed by the initials of my club. I was wary of the exchange. Of course I love being able to communicate with regulars, but some people abuse the privilege by treating access to my number as a sign we’re dating. They send me messages about things in their day that remind them of me. They call me randomly just to hear my voice. They pester me with questions of where I am and what I’m doing. I had a feeling Michelangelo might become a nuisance of this sort, but we exchanged numbers anyway.

Him: Do you know how happy you’ve made me? Tell me you know how much you’ve got me wrapped around your little finger, Ma.

Me: I understand. You should go to your hotel now, and get some rest. I know it’s past your bedtime because I’m getting tired.

Him: May I come see you again tomorrow?

Me: Yes, you may.

Him: May I call you?

I hate taking calls. If I’m on the phone, I’m either talking to family, which is stressful in one way, or I’m on hold paying one of my numerous bills. I feel like the split panel Marie Kondo meme: beside the icon of an unread message she says, “this brings joy,” then beside the icon for a missed call she says, “this does not bring joy.”

Me: I hate calls, but if you can’t text, sure. You may call.

I didn’t want to force this man with dyslexia to write me texts because I’m a millennial.

Him: Thank you, beautiful.

Me: Now call a cab, and get home safe.

I was exhausted and I’d made my nightly goal. After focusing all of my emotional energy on Michael, I couldn’t imagine psyching myself back up to talk to the handful lonely men scattered around the mostly empty club. I put on my clothes and left as soon as Michael’s taxi arrived.