Caller: Yeah, hey, hello - are you a dominatrix? Is that what you are?
The caller has a heavy East Coast accent – it’s not quite pure Noo Yawk, but it’s something like it. He’s also talking really fast. And sweetie, if I think you're talking fast, you're really talking fast.
I’m willing to accept that his manner of address is a regional-cultural thing, but to my ears, it sounds rude and abrupt. I get a mental picture of a big guy who looks like he should play a minor role on The Sopranos, a low-level mobster-type.
And I have a feeling this guy and I are not going to click together, but let’s see if he can salvage the conversation.
Me: Yes, this is Mistress Matisse, and -
Caller: Yeah, because I was looking at your ad here? So you’re like, what, you do like slave stuff? You like beat people and stuff? Is that what you do?
Me: No, I -
Caller: Do you like beat people hard and stuff like that? Or do you do like massage or whatever, or what? Hey, do you do half hour sessions? How much for a half hour?
Me: Actually, I -
Caller: Or, hey, what about, like, do you ever do slave stuff yourself? Like you be the slave and somebody else be the master? Like that? So where are you, exactly? Are you in
Me: Stop! Stop talking.
Caller: What? Wha’d you say?
Me: Stop. Talking. You’re asking me all these questions and then interrupting me when I try to answer. Be quiet and listen to me and I will answer them for you.
Caller: Oh, yeah, okay, go ahead, yeah, like, tell me where -
Me: Be quiet. No, I don’t do half hour sessions. In fact, I am not taking new clients at all without a reference.
This is mostly true, although if I really think I’ll like you, then I make exceptions. However, that does not apply here, since I hate this guy. I don’t know if he’s on drugs, or if he always talks this much, this fast, and this unceasingly. Frankly, I hope for his sake he’s smoking meth, because at least then, when he comes down, he’ll stop talking.
And he must not be a mobster, because if he was hanging around other mobsters, someone would have whacked him by now just for being so annoying.
Caller: A reference? Like what? What do you mean a reference? Like somebody else to tell you I’m like a good slave or, what, like you mean –
Me: Stop talking and let me answer. I mean I need another mistress, or maybe even an established escort or sensual touch practioner, to say she’s met you and you’re a nice guy.
Caller: What about a half hour appointment? Can you come to my hotel? Just half an hour? Do I need a reference for that? You don’t put people in jail, do you?
Me: What? What do you –
Caller: You know, like jail, like arresting people? You’re not like that, are you? Like a cop?
He asks me that as if being a cop was some unfortunate moral failing that someone might fall prey to, a bad habit. Perhaps he is still subscribing the ancient and completely false idea that if you ask an undercover cop if they are a cop, they have to say yes. That’s not true and never has been. Cops can deny being cops until the cows come home, and still arrest you if you do something illegal. Not only is this guy not a mobster, he’s obviously never even seen any movies about mobsters where they get infiltrated by undercover agents.
But whatever. I am so done with this conversation.
Me: I’m not taking new clients, so I suggest you look elsewhere –
Caller: No, hey, what about –
I hang up and then put the phone down on my desk. It’s in vibrate mode, and it immediately begins to buzz again, the clip rattling against my desktop. I don’t answer. There’s a pause, and then it starts buzzing yet again. My cat, sleeping on the desk next to it, wakes up and bats at it slightly with one paw as it jitterbugs around in a half-circle. Next time the buzzing stops, I turn it off completely. I haven’t bothered to clear messages from that line today, but I have no doubt that when I do, the fast-talking Yankee will have left me any number of long messages where he talks and talks and talks, asking questions that he will not be hearing the answers to.