The Client

Originally Posted Wednesday, July 31, 2013

I spent a long time getting beautified last night, but I don't think it worked. After such an ordeal, one expects miracles in the morning. It seems to have been by and large a simple extraction of cash from the coffers. But for the first time in over a month, I did not suffer the pain of sciatica in the normally ferocious way. Is it a tradeoff? I wondered if there were some cosmic rule on this. I would have to take the freedom of pain over beauty, but must one choose? Those are the sort of mind games we must play simply because we are human. Internal queries such as these are inevitable, I think.


I've fallen into that bad pattern of staying too much alone again, bad for writing, I mean. I don't wish to become Knut Hamsun writing about endless internal miseries. I like external action and romance.


I did go for a drink and a demi-dinner with my beautician last night. She is a dark, gypsy-looking Russian Jew who says she is a mind reader. I'm sure she can read my mind. That should be easy. I've been trying to get her to read mine for years. But this was a misery tour, of sorts. She is leaving her husband or he her. It is a difficult call to make. But they have a child which makes it all the more so. We went to a very romantic restaurant I never go to, one where she knows the owner which is always best. In order to make it more interesting than romantic, of course, we sat at the bar. Over wine and many plates of hors d'oeuvres, she told me that she was already over the pain of the split. She told me that for over an hour. I agreed, of course. When the owner, who had been serving us, went home, the beautician introduced me to the bartender who took over. She felt the need to introduce me as "a client."


"Maybe you should clarify that," I said. Either way, though, I didn't care to be the fellow who must be introduced in such a manner. She was correct in many ways however. I ended the evening by picking up the check.


Introductions that cast you as something, as a category of thing, have always been irritatingly awkward for me. I think a name is enough. Why do people need to know some small sliver of your life upon meeting you? Is it for safety's sake? Are people that afraid of the unknown? I love a mystery. But maybe I should practice introductions and find my niche.


"Hello. This is Kathy. She's a really good cook. This is Joan. She really enjoys drinking. This is Fred. He's hooked on that new HBO series. This is Joe. He's a big fan of the rap music."


Why not? It could be good fun. . . for me. Just saying things like "the rap music" makes me laugh. Watching someone trying to talk his way out of such an absurd statement would probably cause me to pee my pants. Yes, my life is so boring, I promise to do this. I need to take my pleasures where I can.


Now it is time to prepare to meet the day. But now I have something to look forward to. I'm going to be busting at the seams waiting to make an introduction.