You Can't Tell the Bobby's Without a Scorecard

Not sure I ever mentioned "Bobby the Hairdresser" before. There being an abundance of Bob's in the world, it helps to differentiate been the various Bob's by what they are known for. There was "Bobby the Big Dick" (He was and had a big one), "Bobbie the Cigar". He was a very squeaky little guy who smoked cigars that were almost bigger than he was. And "Safety Bob" who made his living as a safety engineer but managed to break his leg getting into a cab. He was, of course, drunk. Surely other Bobs too, but they were just Bob's. 

Bobby the Hairdresser and I had gone to school together, but I don't recall knowing him. Big school. Maybe I did know of him, because I knew he had been a greaser. Kind of a fancy greaser at that, as he used hairspray rather than grease to slick his hair back. As Warren Zevon sang, his hair was perfect. He had an angular walk to him that I'm sure he had practiced a lot, that suggested he was always ready to look back in profile. This, I was sure, was what he considered to be his "look" and surely had practiced a lot. Very full of himself.

I had heard some talk about Bobby making money on the side as a gigolo. I considered this ridiculous until one evening a young waitress came up to the service side of the bar- no drink order- just a pained look on her face. 

"Ferrerman, I don't like Bobby," she declared. 

"No one does", I replied, "but why? What did he do?"

Holy shit. He was dating her mother, a rather successful realtor in town. Probably a 20-year age difference there. How does that happen? I guessed I knew. She didn't know and I wasn't about to tell her. I just commiserated with her and told her not to worry, that it wouldn't last. 

I must have been still dating Angelica at the time, who by the way, Bobby had introduced me to that winter. Angelica, being a friend of Bobby's and a professional in her own right, I asked her if it was true that Bobby was a gigolo. It was. In fact, they had met at a mob-owned strip club a couple towns over.  I could see why she would hang out there. I could see why Bobby would hang out there. But when she told me that Bobby plied his trade in that club, I was quite confused. Even when I was young, I never considered myself homophobic, but I didn't like where the math was going there. I don't think she did either. After all, they were friends before she and I. We both dropped it. 

Years later, my little sister who has NO filters, started to tell a story at Christmas about a friend of hers that had fucked the stripper and gotten pregnant after a bachelorette party. Said stripper, had also been a bartender where I had worked. She looked at me. "Don't look at me! I'm not a stripper!" Her story was cut short by a call to dinner or family photos, whatever. I never got the rest of the story. My little sister has hated me ever since she got her period. I think she thought it unfair that she had to bleed every month, but I didn't. I'm only half joking. She was somehow under the impression that I had gotten all the advantages in life, and that I had gotten away with everything. She's kind of an idiot in that respect. We no longer speak since mom passed.  

So, I never found out which Bobby it was. Both were excellent suspects, as both danced on the side. Like Bobby the Hairdresser, it could go either way. I asked a friend of my sister's if she knew the story. She was a longtime, never married, single mom. She was pissed that I thought it was her that had slept with the stripper and gotten pregnant. Well, maybe I had been wondering that, but the identity of the girl was not my point in asking her. I wanted to know which Bobby it was, was all. She knew nothing of the story. I believed her.

Which Bobby remains a mystery and likely always will. I guess I can live with that, since I already have. But inquiring minds, you know,,,