Cold rain whipped my face as I stepped from the train into the brisk November evening. I had left my car parked at the station knowing that I would not need it anymore.
It was several blocks to my destination, a dingy strip bar where I would drown my sorrows and prepare for the inevitable. It was wet and miserable, but I was oblivious to the discomfort as I trudged along. Why a strip bar? Sex had been my downfall, the cause of this pain, but I felt compelled to do this. It was the first strip bar that I had ever entered as a young man. I guess that if I could just to feel the good times I had had then, good times that I would not feel again.
Once inside I found an empty booth in the dingy little room. I removed my coat, being careful not to let the cold steel that would bring my final peace in a few hours, fall from the pocket.
"What will it be Mister," the waitress demanded. She was an average woman, kind of pretty, but she was well worn by the trials of life as was I.
"I'll start with Chevez on the rocks, "I replied; hardly able to contain the depression that enveloped my being. "Here is my card, just keep the drinks coming, and tell the bar tender to put on two hundred in tips for each of you."
"Well, thank you," she exclaimed. "We don't get many big tippers in here much anymore. In days past things were really booming here, but now that "the block" has decayed, the big spenders have gone to other clubs."
She returned in short order, placing the drink in front of me. "My name is Betty, would you care for some company Mister," she asked.
"No, I didn't come here for that Betty, just keep the drinks coming," I replied.
She didn't pay attention to my reply and slid in the booth next to me. She must have felt the lump in my coat because she stiffened slightly. "You look like you need to talk, Hon," she stated. "Why do you have the hardware?"
I looked into her eyes, and a tear leaked onto my cheek. I did want to vent my feelings one last time, but in a male like fashion, I could not bring myself to ask for compassion, nor could I explain my intentions. "I will be all right," I advised, "just keep the drinks coming."
As I reviewed my life my thoughts drifted to my childhood. My Dad died when I was two, and I was left at the mercy of a Mother and five older sisters who felt as if my Dad had deserted them. I quickly learned that my survival depended on pleasing them, and I gave into their every wish. I had little self esteem, and I almost failed in business, despite my high degree of talent in the financial analysis field. Finally I took on a partner who could negotiate with confidence, and our business prospered.
Several hours passed, as I drowned my sorrows. I drank the scotch, and some brandy, finally settling on Beck Dark to complete my night. My bar maid danced a few numbers, but I didn't pay much attention. She tried several times to talk, but I was still unwilling. Nothing could change what Camille had done, and without her or the kids, life was just not worthwhile.
I heard "last call" and Betty brought a last beer. "Please talk to me Mister. I don't want you to leave here like this," she pleaded almost in desperation. I won't ask for anything. Just tell me what is the matter and after you are done, you can go do whatever it is that you have in mind."
"It is closing time, time to leave, there is no time to talk now," I said.
"You could let me buy you some breakfast, I would like the company" she volunteered.
"Isn't it your job to get a guy to buy you breakfast?" I asked.
"Sure, I am just some old worn out whore, but I am a person, and I can tell you are hurting. I can forgo tonight's trick for you," she said.
"Why?" I asked.
"Because I care, damn it," she screamed in frustration. I have my coat, so let's go. I will not take no for an answer, and what is your name, I am getting tired of Mister."
"My name is Bill, Bill McKee," I said. The reason I am here is because I am pussy whipped, now I am letting you do it too," I said angrily. But it was useless, she had her coat and I was following as ordered, just like I always have.
*********
The rain had stopped, but it was still cold. We walked in silence to the harbor plaza, where the lights of an all night cafΓ© poured onto the street. The inside was bright and cheery, but it was also empty. "We can talk privately here," she advised. Let's sit back in the corner. Now why are you so depressed?"
"My wife left and took the kids to San Francisco. It will be ages before I get to see them again," I said as the tears started to flow freely.
"Why," she asked tenderly.
"It's a long story," I replied.
"We have all night. Tell me everything; I want to know," she stated
"How graphic do you want it?" I asked.
"I want every detail. Tell me everything, and I'll try not to interrupt. I want you to tell me the whole story," she said.
*****
And so I started." It was Sept 9th1999 when I came home for work. I was exhausted and looking for some peace and quite. Camille, that's my wife, greeted me at the door in a very sexy outfit, and she had a martini in her hand. She led me to the sofa and took off my shoes. I am not really used to this kind of care, but I must admit I enjoyed it.