Mr. Unavailable #72: Me and a Stripper Named Amber

This is a Mr. Unavailable flashback circa 1999-2000, Chicago.

Vital Stats: 6’1”. 210-ish lbs. Pinball and video-game designer. He had a cute face and a buzzed haircut that was spiky in front, which he liked to call “the car crash.” Aesthetic: 1990s hipster gas-station attendant. Demeanor: Easygoing, easy-living but energetic Midwestern guy.

First, Second and Third Impression: He was friends and neighbors with #71, and they both lived in a building down the street from me, so while I was dating #71, we’d all hang out for rooftop BBQs and other cocktail-oriented events. He was easy to talk to, easy to hang out with, easy, easy, easy. At our rooftop BBQs, he’d man the grill and tell stories about the strippers that he was friendly with. There was one particular one he would talk about named Amber. I was so naïve then that it never occurred to me that he probably met Amber and her friends at actual strip clubs. When he actually went there. As an actual patron.

What Happened: The day after #71 and I broke up, someone buzzed from downstairs. It was #72. He came up to my apartment. We chatted and, even though nothing explicit was said, I sensed he wanted to remain friends despite the breakup.

After that, we’d hang out every week or so. Sometimes he’d just drop by and ask if I wanted to go for a drink. Other times, he had a truck, so he’d take me to do laundry or we’d go to brunch somewhere. Eventually, he moved out of the building he shared with #71 to somewhere far downtown. Various members of my gaggle of gay men suggested to me that maybe he liked me, but I really didn’t think so. After all, he liked strippers and how could I ever compare to a stripper?

One night, we went out drinking. He’d already been out drinking before he’d met me, so by the time it was time to end the night, he was pretty far gone. I told him that instead of driving home, he could sleep on my pullout sofa. I made up the sofa-bed and, as he climbed between the sheets, he said, “You and Amber. Both of you. You know that I’m in love with you.”

“I know,” I said and turned off the light.

But I hadn’t known.

A few months later, I was offered a job in New York City and told him I was moving. I hadn’t realized it then, but our conversations after that were pretty brief. He also didn’t show up to my going-away party. When I got to New York, still clueless, I called him to catch up.

“Hey, how’s it going?” I said.

“Hey, good. Look I can’t really talk right now, I’ll talk to you later,” he said. And then he hung up.

I was stunned. We never spoke again.

Signs of Hope: For a real friendship? Apparently, as far as he was concerned, none. For a relationship? As far I was concerned, none.

Red Flags: He was interested in me…and a stripper named Amber. That’s not a red flag, that’s flattery.

Turning Point: When I told him I was moving to New York.

Diagnosis: For him: He must’ve liked women who were unavailable. In fact, in the two years I knew him, I don’t think he ever had a girlfriend. Or even a real date.
For me: Clearly, clueless.