Trevor(not his real name) is sitting there waiting for the phone to ring. He’s suppose to go out on a ‘society date’ with one of his sponsors (as he likes to call him) but the fact of the matter is he’s already tentatively committed to going out with one of his other sponsors, Marcia (not her real name) but he wont know until ‘she’ calls him later that afternoon.
In the meantime all he can do is look out the window, mildly exhale before reaching over to light another fag, pour himself a lazy glass of Chardonnay, marvel at the bouquet of flowers one of his clients bought him the night before, take a long line of coke sitting there on a Cafe de Flore plate courtesy of one recent trip to Paris with one of his ‘sponsors.’
To look at Trevor you wouldn’t think that the lanky boy with beetroot lips and long shaggy hair is one of the hottest boys on the scene, but he is, and as much as the uncertainty of the trade incites him he regards himself as one of the most luckiest 20 something olds in the city. In a way he is, and yet as I sit there watching Trevor I wonder if he is of the most incredibly unlucky boys as well…
Inevitably I ask Trevor how he got into being a hired boy, a call boy or as he graciously likes to himself a walker. He takes a taciturn drag on his smoke and replies it happened viz a viz his diabolical presence in the social scene.
“It’s ironic, because I was never looking for it and one day while I’m out at this red carpet event, courtesy of one my many society friends I get approached by this museum director (who shall remain nameless as much as it kills this author to reveal his name…) and tells me how handsome I am and if I’d like to join him out one night for drinks. And that how it started…”
“You didn’t flinch, you never once suspected what he wanted?”
“You always suspect what people are after in NYC, but then again, I have to admit I was probably after something too.”
Trevor now leads me to his closet where he systematically begins to pull out a vast array of designer shoes, suits, Pierre Cardin tuxedo, Versace sports jackets, Hermes ties, Yves St Lauren shirts and marvels momentarily.
“See, want to feel how soft they are?”
I run my fingers through the Cardin tuxedo and smile.
“Very smooth, but doesn’t that imply you have to be even smoother?’
“What it implies is that I have to behave according to certain protocol and as long as I’m gracious, do the right things, say the right thing then I’m taken care of.”
“Assuming you take care of the clientele?”
Trevor doesn’t have time to answer my question because at this moment a volley of texts start flying on his blackberry.
“Fucking guy doesn’t let up. Thinks I’m his wife.”