Dennis the Lawyer

When I was a bartender I met some truly fascinating, tragic and sometimes awesome people. I really did get to peer into people's deeply personal lives and found myself constantly surprised at what lurks behind the people we meet every day.

Case in point... Dennis the Lawyer

Dennis was a late 40s, successful defense lawyer living in downtown Houston. Graying short hair. Very tan, short stocky Italian guy. He would talk to me and rarely make eye contact due to the fact that he was always looking around to see who was watching him. He tipped outrageously well so it was always nice to see him walk through the door.

As I had more conversations with him I began to get the feeling that this guy was a pretty morally grey type of person. Once I asked if he ever defended a client who he knew was guilty. He just smiled and said "Everyone deserves a fair trial".

He loved women which I could relate to. He would always have some sexual escapade he was telling me about. And though part of me deplored him, he would keep me glued to his stories.

Dennis: Have you ever fucked an Armenian girl?
Me: Nope can't say I have.
Dennis: Ah you are missing out. Last night I had the craziest sex with an Armenian and afterwards we just laid there with the windows opened, listening to the wind and the horses clip-clopping downtown.

This was in 2002 and he told me that Houston was the next New York as far as growth was concerned. He was right. It has since transformed into a Sprawl that I am glad to have escaped.

He would bring in strippers. Houston is a big stripper city. Tall ones, rough ones with tired faces, one I learned was a trust-fund baby. She appeared to be the moodiest and most miserable of the ones I met. One night, flanked by two women at the bar, I heard him tell someone over his cell phone that he would pay for the abortion. Ah Dennis.

My last memory of Dennis would not disappoint.

One night he came into the bar, ordered the same food he always did, tipped me huge and got up to leave. He then leaned over the bar, grabbed a bottle of Crown Royal and threw me a 50 and told me to shut up and quickly disappeared.

The bar had a camera that was rarely turned on but it was not worth keeping that 50 and losing my job if the camera miraculously started functioning so I told my manager the next day.

Dennis returned a few days later for a drink and his standard dinner and my manager approached him, told him what happened and explained the camera. Dennis winced as my manager made him pay for every shot in that bottle of Crown. Something like 6 bucks per shot. I'm guessing Dennis spent several hundred dollars for that bottle that day. I never saw him again.