Memoirs of a Gigolo by Margaret Buffano

Author:Margaret Buffano [Buffano, Margaret]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2019-09-19T04:00:00+00:00

***

I hit the button on my intercom.

“It’s me…open up!”

I recognized the voice as Chi’s. I hit the enter button, opened the studio door, and walked out into the hall.

From the sound of the ruckus below, I knew Chi wasn’t alone. I heard the giggling voices of more than one woman. From the sound of their thumping and crashing on the stairs, I deduced they were all drunk…quite drunk…I was right.

Chi was the first to walk in followed by the Bulldog, the woman I met at Chi’s apartment the other morning. I couldn’t remember her name. They had some long tall blonde woman in tow.

“Alex…my buddy!” Chi wrapped his arms around me.

“I need to get to the little girl’s room,” announced Blondie. There was a hint of a British accent.

I pointed her in the right direction; she disappeared.

“What the hell do you want?” I demanded to Chi.

Mona…that was the bulldog’s name…I finally remembered…Mona!

“That woman is my biggest client,” remarked Mona, pointing toward my now occupied bathroom. “Chi here says you’re a great party-boy, do me a favor and show her a good time.”

Mona took a wad of money and stuffed it down into the front of my pants. I didn’t take the time to see what the payment was; I only knew I felt deeply offended. I was just about to reach into my pant’s front and toss whatever it was into the face of Ms. Bulldog, when Chi took hold of my arm.

“Do me this one favor,” whispered Chi, “I’ve done my share for you.” He looked knowingly into my eyes.

“Why should I?” I asked.

“I’ve killed for you, you son of a bitch; you owe me!”

He was right; least I could do was make love to some old limy tart. Why not, what’s one night between friends, if that’s what we were?

“Do you know who that woman is?” Mona confided in me, her bulldog joules flapped about after each word she uttered. “That’s Beryl Rupert of London, the famous fashion designer! Why, she’s designed clothing for…”

“For Teenyboppers…Slut Trailer-Trash Housewives…and Cheap Hookers!” I rudely interrupted.

“Don’t say things like that!” she hissed, her hot sour gin-soaked breath sprayed my face.

“Don’t let him say things like that!” she pleaded, her eyes lifted to the ceiling, her arms stretched out and up; sending her prayer up to Valhalla to invoke Thor to smite me down.

She turned and made an appeal to Chi, “Tell him not to say things like that!”

He just laughed. “Don’t fret, Mona, my pet, Alex is an old hand at this. Oh…look…libations!” His attention went across the room to the Booze-Trolley I kept near the window. He began to make a gin and tonic for all of us.

Beryl Rupert of London came staggering out of the bathroom and into the open.

She was an attractive woman…late forties, perhaps early fifties. Though obviously drunk as a sailor, she still presented herself with an air of a successful businesswoman from London – all very proper, indeed. Her hair was without doubt not her natural color.

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