Robert Lopez - Good People

When they’re not pretty, it makes me want to test them, ask if they’ll do some crazy shit, figuring they have to compensate somehow. But I never do this. I always wind up walking away, in my pocket three or four requests that would make a seasoned provider blush.

Also, I say please and thank you and am always polite with everyone. I talk to my mother on the telephone once a week. I never tell off-color jokes and sometimes I give a dollar to street musicians.

Now they all say they’re beautiful in the ads. These are the ones you find in the back of the alternative newspapers. There are always too many to go through, which is why when you find a good one you hold on to her, but then you get bored after four or five visits and think maybe someone else can do a better job. The someone else is never any better, though, only someone else, something different, and sometimes it’s enough, at least on the way there it is. It’s always about the way there, that’s the best part of it.

Some have elaborate instructions for security purposes. They want you to describe what you’re wearing, stand in front of a particular building across the street from them so they can get a look at you, see if you’re an ax murderer. I’m not sure what that would look like from across a city street, I’ve never seen anyone on the street with an ax, can’t see how they can ever turn someone away without one. Maybe they take pictures of you when you’re across the street like this. Maybe they have some kind of system in place that alerts the authorities and says, yes, this is the maniac who butchered me.

Once I did a little dance while being visually patted down, something between a salsa and the hokey pokey.

I didn’t actually do this. I thought about doing it, thought it would be funny, but I don’t dance. I’m not insane.

I can’t remember who the last one that checked me out like this was. I think she said I was good-looking. Not all of them say this, though you’d think otherwise. The truth is, I am good-looking, which surprises some people. Most people don’t recognize this about me. I don’t mind, as I’m not good-looking enough to care one way or another.

I think I remember that she was pretty herself, claimed to have great feet, which wasn’t the case. That’s all you have to look at when you’re facedown. It’s important that they’re feet are presentable, polished nails, et cetera.

What happens on the table is always a letdown.

I see the neighbor from time to time outside my building. She has a dog that is small and a cross between two breeds that should’ve left well enough alone. I say nice things about the dog, but I don’t mean them. I have even petted the dog a few times, have crouched down to do so. I don’t know what it says about me or what it says about her, that she can love an ugly dog and that I can pretend to.

I think the neighbor is a high school teacher or was one once. I think she works in a bar now, but maybe she does both. I’ve heard her reference both jobs. I have trouble keeping certain details straight, but I’m good at pretending I know what’s going on. Actually, I’m not sure I’m good at this, but no one has ever called me out, accused me of not paying attention, being self-absorbed or any kind of similar wrongdoing.

Sometimes I run into her on the way back from a massage. I’m not sure if the conversation is awkward. I always think women know exactly what you’ve been up to all the time, particularly if you’ve just had an orgasm.

So, what have you been up to?

Just out for a walk.

Are you sure about this? Is there something you need to tell me?

I never say things like I’m only human and is it so wrong, no one is getting hurt, it’s a victimless crime and it shouldn’t even be against the law and yes, I know, sometimes some of the Chinese girls are shipped over in crates and could be considered slaves or indentured servants, but even then I always remember to tip them extra, and this way they can buy their freedom and live fulfilling and productive lives. It’s really for their benefit more than anything else.

You don’t have to say this sort of thing when one has her own practice, such as the big woman from New Zealand. You don’t know why they get into this line of work and you don’t ask.

I suppose maybe she is stunning, given how big she is. This woman is probably the biggest one I’ve ever seen in real life. She seemed to take up the entire living room of her house when I first walked in. There is room enough for the table, a sofa, love seat, bookshelves, and end tables, and there’s still room to maneuver around these objects, so it’s not a small room is what I’m saying. She asked if I wanted a shower, but I said no. Sometimes I take the shower if it’s an Asian joint, because the girls sponge you down, but this isn’t like that. She said, Well, lie down when you’re ready, so I took off my clothes and got on the table. Years ago I would’ve kept on my shorts. I wouldn’t have presumed anything back then.

Maybe I’ve seen one bigger on television, but that doesn’t count. She isn’t fat, necessarily, can stand to lose a few pounds, particularly around the middle, but I’ve seen some real fat ones, too, so I know the difference. This woman has a wide back and broad shoulders. She looks like she works out with weights, like she can bench-press four hundred pounds and a small house.

You don’t always see that, a big woman who looks powerful, who looks like she could rub you into a serious problem, into pain. What you see more often is fat fingers, fat wrists and arms. I’m not saying it’s my thing, but I’ve seen it. You can’t help seeing it.

Some of them, yes, the fat ones, they are nice people, except for the ones who aren’t, but who cares in the end, really. It’s not important for them to be nice, only good at what they do. Show a little enthusiasm, pretend. It seems maybe the fat ones are better at this, at feigning interest. One doesn’t like to make generalizations, but sometimes one cannot keep from doing so.

In this case, one is me. I am almost always one. Particularly when I say one doesn’t like making generalizations.

I am also you most of the time.

I like to speak on behalf of the whole world whenever I can.

My neighbor lives on the same floor as I do. I have never seen her bring anyone home, have never seen anyone leaving her apartment. The noise that comes from her place is usually dull, sometimes jazz or the quiet drone of a television. The dog barks quite a lot if it hears something or someone in the hall. Sometimes I’m in the hall and the dog is barking and I know my neighbor isn’t home and I think about knocking on the door, slipping cheese under there, something. I think I heard once that dogs can’t digest cheese.

I see her outside the building, almost always with the dog. I see her talking to other dog owners. They all seem like nice people. I’m sure some of them get massages.

Some of the big ones like to get up on the table for leverage, but I’m hoping she doesn’t, hoping she stays grounded. It’s usually the Asian girls who do this, but they’re always tiny. Sometimes you can’t even tell they’re on the table with you. I think they used to walk on your back years ago, but I don’t think this is offered anymore.

I can’t say I was stunned when she answered the door. I can’t say I was surprised, either. I’m always prepared for disappointment. I’m more than prepared, actually, I expect disappointment. It’s almost as if I would be disappointed if I wasn’t disappointed.

Maybe she is strong. I am waiting for her to demonstrate strength. So far, she is lightly rubbing my back, not doing anything you’d need a license for, a certificate. So far, she’s talking about her teenage daughter. The daughter is giving her trouble, smoking, drinking, staying out late, lying to her own mother about smoking and drinking and staying out late. The big woman says she did all of these things back home but that she hoped it would skip a generation. I tell her it’s nothing to worry about, I tell her it’s normal.