A Gigolo Talks of Life and Love

Sun (Auckland), Volume IV, Issue 1058, 23 August 1930, Page 18

A Gigolo Talks of Life and Love

gigolo is a -man who is engaged in continental cabarets and hotels to dance icitlc women who have no “partners, or oho may desire, for some reason or other, to dance with a good-loohing young man. The gigolos, of course, are yard for their social efforts. IMr. Beverley .\ichols writes this account of the woes of, a gigolo for the iS Daily Mail . .

HE leant against the bar, sipping a champagne cocktail, gazing moodily out into the brilliant blue of. the Mediterranean. He was wearing a sleeveless jumper of yellow, embroidered on the left breast with an elaborate monogram. He wore no socks, his shoes were of white laced leather, and his wrist-watch was far too small. Yet his deep tan gave t 6 him a certain spurious air of manliness, and no woman had ever denied that his figure was irreproachable. “It is nice of you to speak to me,” he said. “Not many Englishmen speak to me. They think I am a social ‘pest.’ And yet the other day one of them told me that he envied me my job. Envied! If he knew. . . .” He continued, with the ugreeable accent of a Russian who has lived in France since the Revolution: “It is very hard work. You would never guess the many reasons for which women dance with me. For example, there are the girls who use me to make their flaneds jealous after a lovers’ quarrel. Oh, yes, there are many of them! They dance very ardently, and pay me fine compll-

aients, and place their cheeks very close to mine; but always they are looking out of the corner of their eye at a table oil the other side of the room, where a young man with a red face sits and glares at us and drinks and shuffles his feet.- It is not very agreeable for me, because I

am kind-hearted, and also because i have a little pride, and do not like being used as a cat’s-paw. Besides,” he added, somewhat inconsequently. “they usually are so unhappy -that they forget to tip. “Again, there are women who treat me as though I were a masseur, and tell me, very firmly, that they only dance for exercise and will I therefore kindly go as fast as I can? To dance with them is very fatiguing, like an obstacle race, especially as there is usually a dyspeptic husband in the background, sipping hot water and seeing that his wife is getting her money’s worth. But sometimes the husband goes to bed, and then I have observed that the wife does not seem to find it necessary to dance so fast, and her whole attitude toward me is changed. But I give her no encour agement. She has treated me as a masseur at first —et voilal A masseur 1 will remain.” He threw his head back and smoothed his hair with a gesture of challenge. “Are they the worst?” “No . . . no!” He snatched an olive nervously from the little plate in front of him, and continued to gnaw it even when there was nothing left but the

stone. “The English ladies are the worst.” “The English ladies? Whv?” “Because they make me feel so cheap. Pscha!” He SDat the stone out on to the terrace. “They are so polite. So remote. They are so careful not to offend my feelings. When they tip me they are a little embarrassed and roll the note up into the palm of my hand. I ought to be grateful for their consideration, but somehow 1 cannot. It gives me—what do you say?—an inferiority compress.” I could not help smiling. He remained glum. “I prefer the South American millionaires who wave a note in my face so that all the world shall see how rich they are. Americans He took another sip of his cocktail, and that seemed to cheer him up a little, for he went on: “Perhaps the least fatiguing are the gich, respectable, middle-aged women who dance with me for a bet. What? No. I do not exaggerate. It is very usual. They are mostly Americans who have not been in Europe before They have heard of the Tower of London. and the Louvre, and the Alps, and Montmartre, and fraises dcs bois and Riviera gigolos, and they wanl to sample them all. It is very comical One sees it all coming at least half an hour before she has the courage to do it. The lady nudges her bus band and points to me, and there is much laughter. Then there is more nudging and more laughter, until at last the maltre d’hdtel instructs me to ask her for a dance. I feel then as though I were taking a child for its first ride. She is so excited and so out of breath, and she says, ‘I guess you think I’m dreadfully wicked, don’t you?’ or ‘l’ve never done this before’ or ‘Oh, my, what’d they say back home?’ I find such women very amiable. And sometimes they give me a mille. I suppose I am worth it, as au experience to (Silk about when they return to tho Middle West. “Ah, yes—the tune is the same, but if you knew the many, many reasons for which women dance to it! I have been asked by young girls to marry them, merely because our steps fitted in the tango Life is not ail a tango, I tell them, and that makes them angry. I have been'asked by husbands to make love to their wives in order that they may be free to employ their affections in another quarter. . . . “1 have been asked. . . . But you must excuse me.” From the distant terrace came the moaning of saxo phones. “Cest l’heure du thi dan sant.” He clicked his heels together and was gone. * 9 # 1 followed him discreetly. 1 saw him bowing over the hand of a woman in white, a woman whose face still bore traces of great beauty. In a moment they were dancing.' He looked unutterably bored. But in her eyes was an expression of radiant happiness. Well —I suppose it was worth it—for a hundred francs. „