Daddy Issues

“Why don’t you just hire a professional?”

“What?”

“You heard me. Why not a professional? You don’t work on your own car. You don’t paint your own house. You want something done, you hire a professional. Why is this any different?”

I was having the proverbial three martini lunch with one of my best friends, Brian the lawyer, and despite being a lawyer he was encouraging me to break the law. I’ve never understood why prostitution is illegal in this country. I can hire a woman to rub my back, but not rub my front, if you know what I mean. It makes no sense.

“You know,” Brian continued, “You can buy a pretty good hooker for a $1000”

“How do you know this?” I asked.

He shrugged, “Word gets around, guys talk, you hear things.”

Mmmkay. I took a sip of my martini. I have let my buddy Brian in on my quest for an affair, but only because he is sworn to secrecy (I have pictures, really bad pictures). He will never reveal my deepest darkest secrets.

“You remember those two girls in Tahoe? The cute ones? In the casino? We could have had them for $1000.”

“No way.”

“Yes! They were pros.” He sliced off a piece of steak and chewed it with force. “You can get a lot for your money that way.”

I guess I’m looking for more than sex.  "One problem is the potential of getting ripped off instead of getting laid.  Another is the legality of it.  I mean I'll take the penalty, but having the activity become public sort of defeats the purpose of having a clandestine affair, right?  By the way, is it a misdemeanor or a felony?"

"Depends on the cirumstances, either a misdemeanor or a citation."

"Citation, like a traffic ticket?  If I get caught too many times they take away my condoms?"

"It's technically legal in Canada, you know."

"How do you know this?" I asked again.

"I'm a lawyer."  He shrugged.  Of course, he's a Washington (state) lawyer, not a Canadian lawyer.

It was Friday afternoon. We have a standing “man-date” for Friday afternoons at 1:30 for a 3-martini lunch. We usually dine at John Howie Steak House in Bellevue, but occasionally will eat at the Metropolitan Grill, downtown, or at the waterfront seafood grill. It’s a standing date, but often I am off traveling or he has court duty. We actually get together only once every 3 or 4 weeks.

John Howie has some seriously good steaks. I usually go with the Porterhouse or have the burger (truly a work of art). When they have Kobe beef, imported from Japan, buy it. It is so worth it. Pass on the “Kobe-Style” beef – American grown Wagyu – their prime American aged beef is better.

Brian is a great friend and I’ve known him for a couple of hundred years and my only follower on this blog,

“Hey, I know,” he said, too excited, “How about Mary from the club.” He was talking about the Seattle Athletic Club. “She’s hot.”

“Oh, no way.”

“She’s a cougar. There’s a lot of bored housewives there. A real target rich environment.”

“Yeah, and my wife’s one of them. They gossip like monkeys.”

“What does that mean?”

“I don’t know, but anything that happens there would get right back to her. No way can I touch anyone there.”

“Well, where are you going to find someone? Here?” He gestured to the nearly empty bar. We usually sat at the bar, and came in when it was quiet, after the lunch rush was over.  Two octogenarian ladies sitting across the room looked up suspiciously at us. (cue the crickets)

There was, of course, my favorite waitress, who works here. “There’s the waitress.” I smiled. He knew who I was referring to. “I’d pay a year’s salary for a week with her in the Caribbean.”

“See, you could have her for a lot less than that. Go for a pro! That’s what I’m talkin’ about.”

As we were discussing my affair (or wanna be affair) a lovely pair of women came in and sat at the bar.

I was sufficiently socially lubricated, so I said “Good afternoon ladies. What a lovely day.” It was raining hard outside, typical Seattle March weather. I turned to Brian, and said (probably too loudly) “Brian, you know what happens whenever really pretty women come into a bar? Someone always buys them a drink.” I waved at Keith, our usual barkeep, “Keith, please get these ladies anything they want.” Keith, always attentive, asked for their order.

“Oh, you don’t need to do that” one of the ladies said. She waved dismissively.

“Please, it would be my pleasure. Keith, please.” I waved at him. Making sure everyone in the room knew who was in charge. They each ordered a fairly pricey glass of chardonnay.

“Hi, I’m Joe, and this is Brian” (not our real names, for obvious reasons) “Come sit closer, we won’t bite.”

They looked at each other and giggled a bit, then shrugged. The girl farthest away sat next to me at the bar.

“Good” I said, “and you are?”

”I’m Sarah, and this is Kate.” (not their real names, for obvious reasons) We shook hands. They were well dressed and looked to be about 30. We chatted for a bit about nothing of consequence. Small talk for about 20 minutes while Brian and I finished off our meals.

I finished off my 3rd martini as I realized I needed to go.  I usually keep my Friday afternoons clear, so I don't need to go back to the office, but today I had a meeting.  I waved at Keith and paid my bill and let him know that I was paying for the girl’s tab as well.

“It was great to meet you” I said to Sarah and Kate. Their salads were just arriving.

“You too,” Sarah said, “You know, you remind me so much of my father”

Oh, fuck. Just pick up a steak knife and stab me in the heart with it. I figure she said it to get rid of me. You know, even though I probably am old enough to be her father, I’m still pretty slim, and I have most of my hair, and only a touch of grey at the temples. Reminds her of her father, dammit.

Brian and I walked out. “Well, you tried.” He said and patted me on the shoulder, “Dad” he added.

I punched him in the shoulder.

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