Memoirs of a Gigolo

by Margaret Buffano

  I backed away slightly, which put her at ease. She moved forward just a little.

  “Yes, it’s true…I have lived a long time without love…years, in fact; but that doesn’t stop my ability to love or to be loved! Alex…you just don’t understand the circumstances”.

  I felt tempted to tell her I knew about her daughter; that I did understand; but I decided it best to remain silent about it, at least for the time being.

  “I realize living in a cold, loveless marriage is no real way to live,” she continued, “but there are circumstances I can’t talk about. Each year, Jack and I grow farther apart, I know that; but he has never been cruel to me, and when certain needs arose, he gave without question. Alex, try to understand; I owe that man more than I could ever repay. I have a commitment, and I plan to keep it.”

  She moved forward; I tried to reach out to her, but she raised her hand to halt me. As she walked past me, her tears began once more to flow.

  “I’m sorry, Alex. Please…let me go…don’t follow me or try to contact me. Perhaps you’re right…we can never be…just friends!”

  With that, she rushed past me and ran off into the darkness. I wanted so much to chase after her, but I resisted.

  ***

  I knew a wound such as the one I inflicted on Justine would take some time to heal. Despite any inner emotional conflict I was experiencing, which I did my best to suppress, I made no effort to contact her.

  I spent the next few days in my studio, working on some art commissions I had been neglecting. During which time, I carefully thought about my next course of action.

  I reexamined the notes Harold had given me on Justine, and took particular notice of the private hospital where her daughter, Loren, was in-residence.

  Now…how should I put this? No one in their right mind wants to be in a coma and on life support, but if that was your lot, there would be no better place to do it than the private hospital where she was.

  I also took notice every week Justine drove to the hospital and visited her incapacitated daughter; she did this every Thursday. I turned and looked at my wall calendar; it was Thursday.

  I must have been possessed, by what I’m not sure, because I reacted without a single thought in my mind, just impulse. I phoned for a cab to take me upstate, and within an hour I was on my way.

  ***

  We sat waiting in the parking lot, the cabdriver and I.

  “Say…this here’s a hospital! Ain’t nobody hurt or nothin’? I mean, I hope everything is okay, if you don’t mind me asking, sir?” spouted the cabby in the strongest of Brooklyn accents.

  “I’m not sure, but, we’ll know soon enough,” I said, keeping my eyes focused on the front door of the hospital.

  We sat in silence; after a few minutes, I moved my attention to the cabbie, just for a moment. He was a gray haired old fellow in desperate need of a shave and dental work. I looked at his cabdriver’s license; he obviously groomed himself better on the day the photo was taken. The name on his license read…Duncan Malone.

  “Tell me…Duncan…you ever been in love?” I resumed my watch of the front door.

  “In love…? Yes, sir! Many years ago, when I was young,” he said with enthusiasm, “It was after the war, I just turned eighteen!”

  “And…what did you do about it?” I asked.

  “Why…I married her, of course,” he laughed, “Best twenty years of my life.”

  “Twenty years…? So, how long has she been gone?”

  “Gone…? She ain’t gone! I’ve stayed married to the same woman for over forty-eight years. Got three grown kids; want to see some pictures?” he said, reaching for his wallet.

  “Not right now, Duncan. I think I see someone I know. Wait here; I’ll be right back,” I said, stepping out of the cab.

  Justine walked out of the hospital; as if out of nowhere, I stepped onto the walkway in front of her.

  “Alex…?”

  “Now don’t be angry with me,” I pleaded, “I followed you here. I just had to see you!”

  “So, now you know my secret,” she smiled halfheartedly, “Not that it matters; I imagine everyone knows.”

  I was glad she said that; it freed me from the burden of having to explain how I knew what I knew.

  “You followed me? How did you get here?”

  “I took a cab,” I said, pointing to the lone cab in the parking lot.

  “It must have cost a fortune! Never mind; you can drive home with me.”

  “Just give me one minute,” I said, then running over to the cab. I pulled out two one hundred dollar bill and handed them to the cabbie. “Here you go, Duncan; say hello to the wife for me.”

  I ran back to Justine; she was standing next to a new jet-black Bentley.

  “Better yet,” she said, handing the car keys to me, “You can drive me home.”

  ***

  The first fifteen minutes we rode in silence. Then, she sighed, staring out the window.

  “I suppose, since our paths are inevitably destined to cross, and you’ve come all this way, I might as well tell you the whole story.”

  “You don’t have to,” I contested.

  “But I want you to know; besides, I’ve kept it in for so long, it would do me well to air it out a bit.”

  She hesitated for a moment in deep thought, then she spoke, “Now that I think of it, I’ve never told anybody the full and true story. Why is it I want to tell you?” she asked herself softly, reaching over and running one finger through my hair just at my temple. She moved her hand away, placed both her hands together in her lap, and began her story.

  “When my family moved from South Africa to New Orleans, I was just a little girl. First thing they did when we arrived was to enroll me in an all-girl’s Catholic school. The nuns were strict, but not half as strict as my father. After that, they placed me in a strict finishing school. My entire life and education, up to that point, was nothing more than a conditioning to be a prime candidate for marriage…to a young man from a wealthy family, of course.

  “When I met Jack I was only seventeen; what did I know? I lived a sheltered life; I had never even kissed a boy. Here was a grown man…paying attention to me…to me! I thought the world revolved around him, and I was sure he hung the moon.

  “My parents disliked him immediately and immensely. Instead of a young man from a wealthy family, I had brought home a much older blue-collar worker.

  “My parents warned me over and over; and when it was clear I wasn’t about to heed their advice, the counsel turned to threats. But I was at that age. What did they know of love…my love?

  “When I turned eighteen, we elope. Immediately, all ties to my family and fortune became severed. But what did I care, I had what I wanted, and my whole life ahead of me…my whole life.

  “To everyone’s surprise, mine included, Jack started to make money. In a few years, we were living in New York, we had everything we ever dreamed of; and when we thought it couldn’t get any better it did. I became pregnant; and we had a healthy beautiful child, Loren.”

  Justine stopped for an instant, and turned her head to look out the window, as if she didn’t want me to see her face at that moment.

  “Love is a living thing, and when it dies, it dies like any other living thing…slowly and unnoticed. Like a plant you keep forgetting to water, it looks fine for the longest time, and then one day you pass by and you see that it’s dead, and there’s nothing you can do to bring it back.

  “I can’t tell you at what moment the love between Jack and I died…I couldn’t even tell you what year. I only know you wake up one morning, alone in bed, and you know it’s dead.

  “I put all my energy into raising my daughter; my entire life was her. Jack stayed out of the way. He paid the bills, and never said a word…good or bad.

  “But, like mother, like daughter; when Loren hit her teens she had the same rebellious spirit I had. She started running with the wrong crowd; there were drugs. I warned her over and o
ver, and when that didn’t work, the warnings turned to threats.

  “A few times we had to send her away…to those places where they tried to get her off drugs. Jack footed the bill without a peep; that’s another reason I’m indebted to him. But none of them ever took hold in her for long; a couple of months later she was at it again.

  “Finally, for whatever reason, life became too much for her, and she tried to kill herself.

  “And now she’s sixty-three pounds, she has tubes in her that feed her; she has tubes in her pushing air into her lungs. She doesn’t know who I am; she doesn’t know who she is; for all I know, she doesn’t have a single thought in her mind.

  “And meanwhile, Jack the invisible man, pays all the bills without a single complaint.”

  She turned and looked at me.

  “Why am I telling you this?” she questioned herself. I could see her staring at me from the corner of my eye. Then she turned her head away, and gazed out the window, once more.

  “And I,” she continued, “I’ve become as invisible as Jack. I busy myself with charities and art shows and causes I don’t even care about…anything not to have to look at myself or my life. I’ve done so much and come so far, just to end alone.”

  I reached over and gently placed my hand on hers. She looked at it as if I placed a precious jewel in front of her. She took my hand up in both her hands, raised it to her lips and kissed it.

  “You’re not alone, Justine, not now.”

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  “One last time with feeling”

  The next couple of weeks, Justine and I saw each other nearly everyday. Oh, not in the way your seedy little minds might imagine…sorry to disappoint you. If I were to describe those two weeks of numerous rendezvous, I would say we were locked in a kind of innocent courtship. We met at various restaurants about town for lunches, dinners and coffee, at bars and cafes for white wine (her only indulgence). We went for long walks through Central Park and countless museums. We attended the ballet, the opera, and scores of movies. I’m not saying there wasn’t an air of flirtation between us, but it was all, as I said, innocent…holding hands, pecks on the cheek. Mostly, we just talked, and got to know each other.

  Finally, the day came, as it does in all courtships, when the relationship must escalate. We made plans to have an early supper at my studio. Not being much of a cook, I bought some fruit and cheese, and put a few bottles of her favorite chardonnay on ice. Before she arrived, I laid everything out on top of a large quilt, which I placed on the floor; I thought it would be fun to have an indoor picnic.

  As I waited in anticipation for her arrival, an excitement and exhilaration washed over me, one which I never felt for any other woman. Every thirty seconds, I turned my attention to the clock on the wall. When I got to the point where I couldn’t wait a single minute more, the front door buzzer went off. Her voice came through the intercom like a song through a small transistor radio. I pressed the button for her to enter.

  At no time either of us ever so much as mentioned the possibility of us ever becoming lovers, though I held an unspoken belief in its inevitability. I always hoped and suspected she held all the same feelings. My suspicions were confirmed when she walked through the door of my studio that night. I never saw her more lovely. She came dressed in a high collar blouse and tight slacks, all in white cotton; she looked like an angel.

  “Oh…how delightful…a picnic!” She smiled, eyeing the spread I placed on the floor before the long picture window.

  The sun was just beginning to set, unnamable colors filled the sky.

  “Please, sit.” I motioned to the floor with my hands.

  We sipped at our wine, nibbled at the fare, however, it was clear neither one of us was hungry nor thirsty…not for food or wine, that is. We sat in silence for what seemed an eternity. Our eyes met and we looked deep into each other, aware and unashamed. I reached over and placed my hand against her cheek, she nestled into the cup of my hand like a cat into a downy pillow and purred. I slowly brought my face next to hers, I placed my nostrils in her hair and inhaled; nothing ever smelled as sweet or unique.

  “Alex…what is happening?” Her voice was low and from deep in her throat.

  I didn’t reply; I moved my lips across her cheek…down…down…till our lips met.

  “Alex…what is happening?” she asked again, our lips just barely touching.

  Again, I gave her no reply, but pressed my lips against hers, kissing her soft enough to be loving, but firm enough my intent could not be misread.

  She went limp and motionless. I slowly moved my lips from hers, across her cheek, down her neck and nuzzled in the space of her neck, taking in her scent. She began to shiver with an intensity that made all things clear.

  “Alex…what is happening?” she asked once more, softly.

  “My darling…sweet Justine…we are to be lovers.”

  “I was hoping you would say that,” she sighed. “I prayed for this moment!”

  At that instant, she meld into my arms with full abandonment…with such surrender…that told me she was mine…forever.

  We kissed deep and long without a second thought of life-giving breath. Who needs air? My hands roved over her body softly, in places long forgotten and ignored. To my surprise and delight, she explored me as well, as if the enchantment of masculinity was something new and wonderful to her…the feel of me…the scent of me…the taste of me.

  I backed away from her slightly; our lips parted. She looked at me with confusion and disappointment. I smiled; slowly standing up, reaching my hand down to her. She took it. I pulled her up onto her feet; still holding her hand, I lovingly guided her toward the bed.

  Now, I fully understand human nature. You want to know every steamy detail of that night…I don’t blame you. But I’m sorry…so, very sorry…but I can’t. What occurred that night is…how should I put this…it’s none of your business? Still, I have lead you down this path for so long, I feel I do owe you some amount of description, a small token of what happened that night.

  If this were a fairytale, I could tell you we spent our first night together as two lovers entwined in romantic bliss; but this is the real world and reality likes to deal from the bottom of the deck.

  Because of many years of sexual abstinence, her body resorted to what you might call a Second Virginity. Our lovemaking was nearly impossible, at first; physically painful for her, brutally embarrassing for me, and extraordinarily awkward for the both of us. Fortunately, she was not one easily put off by such a bumpy start; and seemed determined in making our relationship a success.

  Thankfully, by our fourth evening together at my studio, all went well. Our lovemaking was, shall we say, normal? That was when it all took a turn into the surprising…I don’t want to use the word abnormal...let’s say…surprisingly unordinary.

  Perhaps, she felt deprived of love for so long she needed to make up for lost time; or, like a child set loose in a candy store, unable to get enough. I also took into consideration she was well aware of my illicit past and reputation with the ladies, which might cause her to believe she had a much higher standard to live up to. For whatever reasons, be it these or others I could not imagine, Justine slowly turned into…please, forgive my crudeness…Justine had turned into a Ball of Fire!

  This I found strange, surprising, and a bit confusing, since she always dressed, spoke, and carried herself through her world with unapproachable conservatism. But, in the bedroom, her inhabitations melted away like an ice cube pressed within a waffle iron. My every wish was her command…any wish…anything I suggested, she was up for it. It got so, I stopped making requests, afraid of where it might all end…or if it would end at all.

  And this was no passing fancy or a simply sometime thing; we met at my studio nearly everyday. Just to be with me, sadly, she even skipped a few of her visits to see her daughter, which she did religiously every Thursday for years.

  I was once told the definition of an addiction is wh
en all the joy and happiness of life is found in only one place. Justine and I rarely ventured out of my studio. The outside world held nothing for us. We lived on fruit, cheese, and now, cases of white wine; most of our time we spent in bed and naked. If an addiction is finding all your joy and happiness in only one place…well, so be it! At least, we found joy and happiness; most people never find it any place!

  ***

  Another strange phenomenon began to occur on nearly a weekly basis. Justine began to shower me with gifts…not your silk tie or pen and pencil set sort of gifts, mind you…but real treasures! The first gift was a solid gold watch…I recognized the brand…it was worth thousands. In the box with the watch were five thousand dollar bills.

  “I thought you said you would never become a client?” I said, holding up the bills to her.

  “And I’m not, and you know it,” she smiled, “but I know you…you’ll take a beautiful gift like that watch and sell it for a fraction of its worth, just for the money.”

  She looked into my eyes with caring. “I know how you’ve made your living all these years. And I know since we first became lovers, you haven’t been seeing other women.”

  “Oh…I haven’t, have I? And what makes you think so?”

  “You can laugh it off, if you like, if your masculinity needs to play the peacock in front of me. But it’s not necessary; I hope you know that by now?

  “I know you haven’t been with any other woman since me; because, I know you, I know your heart. If you were with another woman, I would know it; because, I would smell her when I’m pressed against you, I would taste her when I taste you and I would feel her when you’re inside me. No…there’s been no one but me.”

  “You’re right…there’s been no one else,” I said truthfully.

  “So, I realize, since there is no one else then you haven’t been making any money. And I don’t want you to sell the gifts I give you. So, keep the money and keep the watch…for me.”