For guys and gals and those in between, we all need a little loving.

It was about eight o’clock Saturday evening when I got to the club called the “Rear Entrance.” I paid the cover charge and headed for the bar. The bartender is called Massy. And he is big. He stands a brawny six and a half feet tall, with powerful arms and a barrel chest.

I asked him once if Massy was his first or last name. “That’s my name,” he said. He’s Cajun, from somewhere in Louisiana or Mississippi. I like him. When things at the club are slow I sit at the bar and we’d visit. “Passing a good time,” he calls it. He looks out for the girls who come to the club. I ordered a glass of Chardonnay.

“Man, Candy,” he said, “you look hot tonight, girl!”