Ruby, I’m not your daddy. You shouldn’t introduce me like that.
Darling, you’re the closest thing to family I got. Would you rather I said sugar daddy?
Ruby, I’m not even close to being your sugar daddy. You pay the rent and almost all the bills around here. I’m just kind of a hanger-on with benefits.
Benefits? Every time your Social Security check come in we get dressed up and go out to dinner on it, don’t we? So I have some benefits too. And nobody in my life ever gave me an all-over hot bath like you. It makes me wiggly just to think about it.
Wiggly? Is that some way to talk to an old man? And keep your hands on that steering wheel! You know it pleasures me to make your bath, to see all of you relaxing in that big tub and under my hands. Ruby, sometimes I can’t believe what a sweet life I fell into in my old age, after everything I’ve been through.
There, you said it. Was that so hard? I fell in love with you when I was 12 years old and you come to visit my real daddy, who wasn’t worth a shit compared to you. You gave me a kind of attention that woke me up and made me think about who I am. Who cares about all the years in between? They told me you were getting out of jail and I borrowed my brother’s Cadillac and drove two hours to the penitentiary at 6AM in the morning, not my usual time to do anything. So I got you-here you are, sitting right here. But a little too far away. Scooch on over closer. I like to feel your heat.
Woman, you are a wonder. So what’s on tonight? The Supper Club? I got just enough change in my pocket to buy us a good steak and two beers.
No honey, I don’t want to see anybody tonight but you. I brought all my spa tools home from work; we are going to give your aching feet exactly what they deserve. You don’t know how much I’m looking forward to that.
And what am I going to do for you, Ruby?
Silly. You are going to choose the music while I set up, something with a talking saxophone please, and you are going to open up the biggest bottle of red wine we have in the house and you are going to make dinner for us like you do almost every night, maybe a hot gumbo-file to give us strength, and after all that you are going to let me cry a little while I work on your feet and tell you my stories. When we’re through you can comfort me any way you feel like. Is that okay?
Sounds like a dream, baby. You want white rice or dirty?