to see her in a few days. I toss Joe Taylor’s DVD on my coffee table that never has had coffee on it and shower. I always shower when I get home. Makes me feel better. I dress and sit down and pop the DVD in.
My God.
Joe is built like a dinosaur. He’s going to town on this petite Asian woman that looks like she was built for porn. I can see why Joe is so upset. His cock being useless is kind of like taking a gun to a shooting gallery and having no bullets.
“That’ll never fit in there…” I say a moment before it does. This is going to be quite a challenge. I have helped people kill their pets, rob banks, assault their bosses, and drive through buildings. But helping someone get their sex drive back? Never.
“So now what?” Joe asks me. I’m back at my office the following morning and excited about this new challenge in helping someone attain an erection.
“I help you. When did this all start?” I ask him.
“It wasn’t even when I was at work” he says. What he means by “work” is shooting porn. “I was out on a date with this lady I’d met at a club. She knew who I was.” Joe smiles at this, “so she wastes no time. She rips my pants off and her jaw drops. She starts doing what all good women do and it’s just not…”
“Working with you?” I ask.
“Exactly!” he shouts. “She’s just sucking and blowing and it’s doing nothing. I wasn’t tired. I don’t drink. I haven’t been stressed. So I don’t know what is going on but it bugs the fuck out of me. Then it happened again. I just told them it was whiskey dick or something or that I was tired from all the sex I had. It’s killing my reputation.”
I feel bad for Joe. I’ve never had an issue with sex. I stay away from it for the most part now. Sex is fun but the attachment that follows, especially if it’s good, just annoys me. I let Joe know that everything will be good. We shake hands and he leaves. I immediately wash my hands with very hot water. It’s near lunchtime and I head over to Tony’s to talk to Ira. I arrive and she’s once again swamped. She sees me and opens her eyes wide as if to say “When will this end?!” I smile and sit in my booth, removing the out of order sign she placed in it.
“Hey, that guy just got here and he got a seat!” some guy shouts. What did I say about shouting? And shouting at Ira is just a bad idea.
“Get the hell out of here!” she screams at him. “You morbid son of a bitch!” The guy opens his mouth to say something but thinks better of it. Ira ignores the line and sits down across from me.
“Can you believe these people?”
“It’ll pass” I assure her. And it will. There are about 6% less people here than yesterday. “You ever been with a guy that couldn’t get it up?”
“Oh, yeah” she says and starts laughing. “Plenty. I don’t even wanna know what that’s like to go through. You poor men. Wait. Are you having problems?”
“Christ, no” I tell her.
“Oh, a client…” she says. I hold my hand up. She knows I can't talk about my clients. “Okay. Good luck with that” she tells me. “Be right back with your rice.”
“Thanks” I tell her. This is going to be a hard case. Pun very much intended.
FIVE
Remember Ms. Sarah Richards? Her husband left me a message. A very interesting message. Seems his not-wife came home very upset after our meeting and left her purse open. He looked inside and found my phone number written down. He believes she is sleeping with me. This is not the first time this has happened. It’s one of the reasons I don’t have business cards.
“You son of a bitch! Are you sleeping with my wife, you asshole?! I’m gonna rip your fucking heart out and shove it up your ass when I find you! Just wait! I’m gonna kill you, dick!”
I save the message for sentimental value and possible evidence in court. His number is blocked on my caller ID so I cash in a favor from a guy I know at the phone company. I get his information and give him a call.
“Mr. Richards, this is Cyrus Tatum” I say not giving him a chance to get past his greeting. “I am a man that runs a business that provides people with a particular service. This service is very sensitive in nature. The fact that you have received my number and contacted me can only mean one of two things: you need my services or you do not trust one of my clients as much as a married man should. Feel free to call me back when you can speak like a normal human being.”
I hang up.
That call was the verbal equivalent of being tapped in the nuts. Not punched. There is no need to completely immaculate this guy. Just establish my dominance. This is not to be confused with the random douche bag at a bar flashing his money and screaming about how successful he is. I do not consider myself an alpha male. Just a guy that knows what he's doing and acquires what he needs. The phone rings a minute later.
I answer.
“Hello?!” Mr. Richards shouts into the phone. I hang up and grab a soda from the refrigerator. Yes, soda. I drink water but find it tastes like metal. The phone rings again and I answer. Mr. Richards is silent. “I’m sorry for my behavior. It’s just that I found the number for some guy I don’t know in my wife’s purse and my emotions got the best of me. My name’s Ted. Uh, Ted Richards.”
“Cyrus Tatum” I reply. “Pleased to meet you, Mr. Richards. May I call you Ted?”
“Sure” he says. He sounds defeated. Only a man like this could possibly be married to a woman such as Ms. Sarah Richards.
“I am not at liberty to disclose the information I have shared with my client” I remind him. “But I can tell you that calling me and saying the things you have said will get you at minimum two months in jail. So I would advise you not to do that again.” I wait for him to respond. He does not. “Okay then. How may I help you?”
“Mr. Tatum…”
“Cyrus.”
“Cyrus, I don’t know what you do. I don’t know what kinda racket you got going or anything. I just know that it’s a bad sign when I find numbers in my wife’s purse of guys I don’t know. I need help getting her under control, that’s for sure. She nags me all day about ignoring her and how she gave up everything to be with me. She gave up jack shit! All she does is spend my money, scream at me for working hard to get that very same money she has absolutely no problem spending, and she never fucks me! I swear, I don’t know why I don’t just divorce her.”
Push.
“Why don’t you?” I ask him. Silence. “Still there?”
“I’m here” he says and sighs. “What can I do?”
“What do you want to do?” I ask.
“I want to get her under control” he says. “I want to be able to say to her ‘Sit down and shut the fuck up!’” He laughs a bit. “’Calm down and shut up, you stupid bitch!’ Yeah. That’s what I wanna say. Just tell her to back the fuck off of me.”
“I can help you” I tell him. He scoffs. “Call me tomorrow at 11am.”
“I will” he says.
“I know.”
It’s not hard to get people to talk. But getting them to say anything interesting? Very difficult. Mr. Richards shows up and almost bores me to tears with his tale of woe in regards to his wife Ms. Sarah Richards. These are the type of men that make men like me want to have my testicles removed.
“I just want respect,” he sobs at me. I purposely make it a note to never keep tissue in my office. If you have to cry then do it. If you’re ashamed of your tears then don’t do it. I personally have not shed a tear since I was 4. And even then it was on purpose. I really wanted that toy soldier.
“Respect?” I ask him. He looks at me. I stare back. Yes, there is a difference. “Would respect make you love her? Will it make you want to stay with her?” He does not respond. I already know that he wants a divorce but will not say it. Yet. I have a meeting with Joe in twelve minutes. “Tell me what you want. Do you want a wife that spends everything you make? A wife that does nothing but disrespect you at every turn? A wife that refuses to have sex with you?” He looks surprised. “Is that what you really want? To spend the res
t of your life with a person like that?” Notice I never used her name? On purpose. By removing her name she is no longer his wife, but a stranger. “Tell. Me. What. You. Want.”
“I want a divorce,” he says. His eyes light up. “Yeah, I want a divorce.”
“I can help you,” I say.
“You can?” he asks.
“Yes. Yes, I can help you.” I shake his hand and walk him to the door. “Make sure you do not mention any of this to your wife. Not a single word of this.” I hand him a menu from a fast food spot near his house. “This is where you were. I checked off what you ate.” He looks at me and smiles. It is the same divorce attorney's card I attempted to give his wife. Joe arrives three minutes later.
“Hey, Cyrus” he says. He looks happy.
“How are you doing, Joe?” I ask him.
“You know” he tells me. They say that men don’t talk much. This is true. But the rest of that statement is “…to women.” For so long women have said that men are quiet and reserved and never share their feelings. All false. My make clients are far more emotional than any woman that steps through my door. Except for my ex fiancé. “I could be better.”
“That’s why you’re here” I tell him. “I will make you better. Have you tried any medications to help you achieve an erection?” I just grossed myself out with that question.
“No” he says quickly. “Some guys in my area of expertise take Viagra and dick stiffeners and they get hooked on it. It’s all