What's in a name?

Terribly busy night at the bar. Larissa was taking care of a whole bunch of Japanese businessmen, all seated around her, playing silly games. Of course Larissa cannot speak a word of Japanese, but she managed to keep the attention high. The group was pretty loud, the drinks were really adding up. Kim was off somewhere, Adam was having a chat with a guy who was very engrossed in telling something extremely emotional. I could see his face twisting and grimacing, while Adam listened intently. Wow, how good looking he is! and he wears impeccably... sometimes I have fantasies about him, but I know I don’t have a chance.

Oscar the bartender was huffing and puffing, he was running from one end to the other of the counter, preparing margaritas, mojitos, cosmopolitans... and I? I was sitting by myself. I had avoided eye contact with a dark haired guy who knew to resemble a bit to Antonio Banderas and was posing as a movie star. I didn’t feel in the mood, although I know exactly how to handle the narcissistic types. I wanted a bit of quiet, so I sat sipping an ice tea – it had to look as whisky, it’s not good for my image to show that I drink very little on duty... so I didn’t notice that the Stranger had come. It was a bit early for him to appear – he was wearing a suit and a tie, wow, I must admit he looked rather attractive (I am partial to men in formal suits...). He greeted me, paid the usual compliments, sat on a stool and expected me to start the usual routine: smile, ask about his day, look into his eyes, ask  him to buy a cocktail or two. We joked about the noisy Japanese and I felt a pang of jealousy when he made an observation about the tiny dress that Larissa was wearing.

"She looks really sexy", he said. Was he going to change preference in his next visits to The Fish Bowl? I shook myself: Hello? Who said he’s going to keep coming, anyway? So, just to distract him, I asked him how he wished to be called. He looked at me in amazement: "Wished to be called?"

'Yes," I explained, "some customers don’t like to use real names, but we have to find something better than Stranger, haven’t we?" He paused for a second – and this made clear that he was not going to tell me his real name: it was only fair. "My name is Curtis", he said, and giggled. I didn’t understand his private joke, but there must have been one I could not grasp, at least for the time being. "Ok, Curtis, and you don’t want to know my own name? " 

"I was expecting you to tell me, I didn’t want to ask", he answered.

I replied: "I wouldn’t have told you, in truth. Some customers of mine want to call me with a name of their choice, would you wish to do the same?" I didn’t mention the jerks who at the top of their drunkenness want to call me Mom or Auntie Martha while touching my bottom.

"No, no special name... how do you want me to call you, then?"

"Miri, my name is Miri."

"A nice name."

We both were silent for a while, drinking true and false whisky on the rocks. It seemed we were both aware that our “relationship” had moved forward, in some bizarre way.