Michael, Michelangelo Pt. 1: Twin Baby Girls

After I finished a three-set, one of the bouncers pulled me aside.

Bouncer: That guy wants to talk to you. I don’t know him, but he’s got money.

He pointed over to a black man with a blue and white plaid shirt. I recognized him from earlier when I was on stage. He had sent one of my friends to tip me. She was so kind as to do his bidding, even though it was a sign he was using her to get my attention.

Me: Thanks for telling me.

He was mixing vodka from a water bottle with a cup of cranberry cocktail and ice.

Me: Hello.

Him: Oh my! Okay Michael, take a deep breath, you are a big boy.

Me: Hi, Michael. I’m Selena.

He placed a hand on his heart. He had a stern face with puffy eyes and a mouth turned downward into a permanent frown.

Me: Breathe. It’s okay. I’m here.

I put a hand on his arm. He flinched a little, unprepared for my touch, then he softened a bit.

Him: You wouldn’t think a hard old man like me could get flustered like this. I’ve been through it all. I’m a veteran. But somehow you got me acting like a school boy, Miss Thang. My name is Michelangelo, but people call me Michael. I was named after the Italian owner of a produce market in Oakland.

Me: Michelangelo is a pretty name.

Him: You and those eyes of yours. Got me saying all kinds of things.

Me: There’s nothing wrong with getting nervous. We all get nervous sometimes.

Him: How did I know you would be this perfect? Oh lord, don’t look at me with those eyes. If you keep looking at me like that, I’ll give you anything.

Me: Would you like me to close my eyes?

I shut my eyes, like a cat, blinking to demonstrate trust.

Him: No. That’s no better. I can’t with you. After all I’ve accomplished, the money I made. When I was in school, they told me I was mentally retarded because I couldn’t read or write.

Me: Are you dyslexic?

Him: Yes! But back then, they didn’t know anything about that. They said I would amount to nothing, put me in detention because I couldn’t spell. But here I am now, and everyone calls me for help.

Me: I’m sorry you went through that. That sounds very painful.

Him: It was a different time. Sometimes I wonder what would have happened if they knew then what they know now.

Me: But you’ve been successful in spite of all that.

Him: You’re right. God has blessed me. I wish I had met you somewhere else.

Me: We’re here now.

Him: That’s true.

Me: Let’s enjoy being here, now.

Him: You’re right. I know you’re here to make money. I almost don’t want to take you for a dance because I don’t want to know you that way yet. But we’re here, and you need to make money. So what do you think about starting off with a three-set, then maybe going for a half hour? Or do you want to go straight for the half hour?

I wanted to go straight for the half hour, but I thought about it strategically. The man was clearly infatuated with me. He was hesitant to jump straight into being sexual with me. A three-set could be a useful teaser where I could hook him in for longer by being romantic and get both the short dance and the long dance. Recently I’d danced with a regular and went straight to the half hour instead of doing both the half hour and the three-set, and we got tired of each other too quickly in the half hour. I had missed out on the extra money. I figured it wouldn’t hurt to try a different strategy.

Me: Let’s do the three-set, then see how we feel. What do you think? I want you to be happy.

Him: Just being here with you is making me so happy. Okay, let’s do the set.

During the set, I mostly hold him. I massage his head and try to caress his face, but he flinches.

Him: My neck is very ticklish. I’m sorry.

Me: It’s okay.

I try to ease him into touch using the broad surface of my forearms, but he’s just as sensitive as if I was using just my fingertips.

Me: I’ll just avoid your neck.

Him: No! I want to relax with you. I’m sorry.

I wonder if someone held his neck to hurt him. Some people have visible trauma. I believed his hardness has an origin but I don’t know what burden he’s carrying.

Me: How did you get so sensitive there?

Him: I don’t know. My mother is the same way.

I second guessed my instinct. Maybe I was projecting onto him, concocting a fiction. We finished and he handed me a hundred.

Him: Before I forget.

Me: Thanks.

I tucked it into my purse.

Him: Are you ready for the half hour, or do you need a break? Are you tired of me yet?

Me: I’m fine. Let’s do it. No, I’m not tired of you.

I chuckled quietly to myself.

Him: Why are you laughing at me?

Me: I’m not laughing at you. I’m laughing at what you said.

Him: What did I say?

Me: Actually, I think I was laughing just to laugh, because I have a naturally stern face. I laugh to look less severe.

My resting face looks sad. My dad blames himself and my mom. He says, I was a happy child until they changed me. I don’t know, maybe this is the truth. Maybe I was born sad.

Him: You don’t have to worry about that with me.

Me: Okay. I won’t worry about it.

He paid for the half hour and the bouncer closed the door on us. I’m always nervous when I start a long room. I don’t know if what I do will be enough to satisfy the person I’m with. It’s exhausting focusing so much intimate attention on a stranger, feigning closeness when we’ve only just met. I lean across his lap so that I’m facing him. I believe that what he wants more than anything is my attention, so I start there.

Me: I like you shirt. It’s very crisp.

Him: It’s Hugo Boss. The belt is Hugo too, and the pants. Hugo Boss was my favorite brand for a while.

Me: You look nice and you smell good, like fresh laundry. Where are you from?

Him: Originally from Oakland. Now I live right outside of San Jose. What about you?

Me: I’m from Oklahoma.

Him: Oklahoma! Long way away.

Me: What are you doing out here?

Him: I’m in real estate. I’m working on a project out here.

Me: How long have you been in real estate?

Him: Oh... let me think. Since I turned twenty-one. God came down on me and let me know I had to change my ways or else, so I started flipping properties. I made my first million a year later.

Me: What did you mean when you said, “God came down on me”?

Tears welled in his eyes.

Him: Dear Lord, I didn’t think you would ask that question. How did God come down upon me? Please Ma, kiss my eyes. I want you to feel the wetness your question caused me. Kiss them, and I will tell you.

I reached out to wipe his eyes with my fingertips. I regarded him. I could see the pain etched into the creases in his face. We had just met, only an hour prior, and now he was tearfully confiding in me.

Him: I was nineteen. I didn’t know my brother was a hustler. He used to take me out. He would tell me, only have one drink. That night I had two. He was talking to this woman, she had a high up job at Coca Cola. Her friend came over to talk to me. We were talking, chatting it up, I thought we were having a good time. Next thing I know she’s taking me up to her hotel room. I’d been saving myself. I’d wanted to become a preacher.

Me: What faith are you?

Him: I’m a Baptist.

Me: Oh.

He chuckled quietly.

Him: Why? What faith are you? Do you follow the Buddha?

Me: I’m an atheist.

Him: An atheist? I don’t think I’ve ever met an atheist before. If you don’t believe in God, what do you believe in?

Me: I believe life is an amazingly improbable occurrence. I believe I am very small in the endlessness of the universe— well actually there is an end to the known universe.

Him: You believe in the universe.

Me: Sure. Anyway, what happened?

Him: She took me upstairs, and I thought I had a girlfriend. I remember calling my momma as soon as I woke up. She was out getting groceries when I called, so she didn’t pick up. I left a message on her machine saying, “Ma, I’ve got a girlfriend.” I didn’t know. I hadn’t even seen the note or anything.

Me: What note?

Him: She had left a note on the side table, thanking me for a “good time,” and tucked inside was three hundred dollars. I never would have— if I’d known. Three hundred dollars was a lot back then, more than I’d had at once before. I shouldn’t have had that second drink. After that, I spent the next two years tricking until one day I almost drove my Porsche off a cliff. I can’t believe I told you that story. I’ve only told it to maybe two or three people in my entire life.

Me: What happened after?

Him: I never went back to school because they said I was mentally retarded and incapable of learning, so I went into real estate. Do you know much about flipping homes?

Me: I know a little. General stuff.

Him: I got into the flipping business, renovating properties and selling them. I made millions of dollars, then lost a bunch of my properties, investments, and most of my retirement when the markets tanked.

Me: In the 2008 financial crisis?

Him: Yes, that’s exactly right. How did you know?

Me: I listen to the news. Why did you lose the properties? Were they all purchased with loans?

Him: Yes, they all had loans, and the market was stagnant. No one was buying properties, so the values went down. We were losing money, so we had to sell.

Me: Cut your losses.

Him: How do you know so much? Are you trying to make me want to marry you?

Me: I just care to know things about the world around me.

Him: May I speak freely?

Me: Sure.

Him: Are you sure? Because you might not like what I have to say.

Me: Yes, you may speak freely.

Him: You are going to mother my twin girls. You may think, “oh he’s crazy”. But I’m not. I love you— your face, your hair, your skin. And I’m not even looking down at those. Lord, I am trying to control myself and not look down at them.

Me: At my breasts?

I gestured at my breasts because I didn’t know how to handle all this baby fantasy talk. He’s planned an entire life with me already, pasted my likeness into the narrative he’s spent years crafting. I didn’t want to be so important in his life, but I did want him to like me enough to spend on me and come back every now and again.

Him: Jesus, how you tempt me. You know how it’s going to be?

Me: How?

Him: You’re gonna have one girl on that breast and Michelangelo on the other. The other baby girl is gonna have to wait because Michelangelo doesn’t share.

Me: You’re too much.

Him: Don’t say that. Don’t break my heart like that. Why would you say such a thing?

Me: Because you’re too much. We’ve just met and you’re already talking about babies.

Him: Okay, you’re right. That’s a fair assessment. I can calm down. I didn’t even ask you what you want! I’m sorry Selena, for overstepping.

Me: It’s fine. I’m not upset.

Him: That’s good. Why are you so kind to me?

Me: Because you deserve kindness.

Him: Oh lord. Of course you would say something like that, Ma. You know just how to push my buttons. Tell me you want to carry my twins. Do you want children?

Me: I don’t want kids. I never saw myself giving birth. I mean, maybe one day I’ll adopt, but I won’t give birth.

Him: Oh. I want you to give birth to my twin baby girls.

Me: How do you know they’ll be twins?

Him: Twins run in my family. My aunties were twins. You have some nephews who are twins. Y’all are about the same age. They were supposed to meet me here, but I guess they abandoned me.

Me: Don’t call them my nephews. I don’t want to be involved with your family.

Him: Fine, fine. Okay, Michelangelo will slow down. You said you’re an atheist. I never imagined I would fall for an atheist.

Me: Is faith important to you?

Him: It is. But I would never want to go against what my wife believes in. We would have to be in agreement with how we raise our children.

Me: Faith is important to people. It’s reasonable to want to raise your children with your belief system.

Him: But they wouldn’t be just my children. They would be our children.

Me: Fair enough.

The bouncer knocked on the door, signaling our time was up.

Him: Don’t leave me yet.

Me: Okay. Want to go sit at a table?

Him: I would, if that’s alright with you. I want to show you pictures of my project.

Me: Of course. Follow me.

I guided him over to a table and sat beside him. He squinted down at his phone, trying to read his messages. I wanted to help him, I couldn’t help myself even though I knew it would hurt his pride. He had three messages, all from a “Maya”. He saw me looking and explained.

Him: Maya is the desk assistant at the Hyatt, where I’m staying. She’s twenty-one, so about your age. She bumped me up from my suite to a bigger room, a premium suite. Of course I asked her, but she did it and I appreciated her help. We got to talking and she said she wants to learn about real estate, so I said I would help her, teach her the trade. Because I believe more women should—

Me: Own land?

Him: No, I mean yes, but no. I believe more women should know how it works, because too many people believe you have to use your own money. I’m here to tell you that you should never use your own money. Find someone else to finance it.

Me: Is that what you do?

Him: I’ve got investors for all my properties. I don’t put any of my money down.

He opens his phone and taps the messages icon.

Him: Help me find the right one. I’m looking the one with pictures in it.

I take his phone, relieved I can make the process run more quickly. We open a conversation with pictures of his most recent renovation project: a two bedroom house with a garage. Initially the place looks utterly dilapidated. There’s a plywood board covering the window at the front of the house. There’s visible mold on the walls inside and outside of the house. There’s a pile of trash stacked in front of the back door. Additionally, there’s a sizable charred impression on the floor in the living room. Over the course of the images, the windows and doors are changed out; the walls are treated and receive a fresh coat of paint; and the flooring is covered with new wood finish laminate floors.

Him: I bought it for two-twenty-five.

Me: That’s a great price. How much did the renovation cost?

Him: All together, about fifty-thousand, plus another five for professional staging.

Me: So in total two-eighty? That’s not bad at all. How much are you hoping to sell it for?

Him: I plan to list it for three-ninety-nine. Hopefully we’ll close somewhere around four-ten.

Me: Wow, go you.

Him: If you were with me, I would give you part of every sale I make. A couple thousand here, a couple there. You would be my pimp.

Me: I don’t want that. I don’t want to be anyone’s pimp.

Him: You’re so sweet, you would be the kind of woman a man would want as his pimp.

Me: Thanks?

He leaned toward me and inhaled deeply.

Him: Your breath smells like Carnation Milk.

Me: Oh no, I’m sorry.

I covered my mouth.

Him: No! Why be sorry. You smell fresh and wholesome like Carnation Milk.

Me: Oh, I guess I won’t get a mint. I like to smell neutral or minty.

Him: You could not be more perfect for me. If you said the word, you would be the only woman in my life. If you were serious about me, it would all be yours. I’d buy you an apartment somewhere nice with a view where I could visit you. Do you live with your family or have your own place?

Me: I have my own place.

Him: Is it in a good area?

Me: I think it’s a nice area, but you probably wouldn’t think so.

Him: I don’t mean to discriminate. I’m just at an age—

Me: I get it. You don’t have to explain.

Him: I’m the man your mother warned you about. I won’t lie, I have other women now. I’ve got a white girl back at home. Tammy’s big as a house now. I can’t stand it. She’s always trying to get me to eat healthier, try this instead of that, but meanwhile she won’t do the same for herself. It makes me sad that she won’t care for herself as well as she cares for me.

Michael is a large man himself. I felt bad for Tammy, to be talked about this way, but I didn’t want to weigh in. His phone started buzzing. Speak of the devil. Tammy was checking in on him.

Me: There’s a patio that way, if you need to take the call.

Him: Don’t worry about it. I’ll call her later.

He bought another half hour with me and his phone died.