Gigolo

Gigolo, by Edna Ferber

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Title: Gigolo
Author: Edna Ferber
Release Date: January 22, 2007 [EBook #20419]
Language: English
Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1
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GIGOLO
BY

EDNA FERBER
AUTHOR OF
SO BIG, EMMA McCHESNEY & CO., FANNY HERSELF, THE
GIRLS, ETC.

GROSSET & DUNLAP PUBLISHERS NEW YORK
Made in the United States of America
COPYRIGHT, 1922, BY DOUBLEDAY, PAGE & COMPANY ALL
RIGHTS RESERVED
COPYRIGHT, 1920, BY McCLURE's MAGAZINE,
INCORPORATED COPYRIGHT, 1921, BY P. F. COLLIER & SON
COMPANY IN THE UNITED STATES, GREAT BRITAIN AND
CANADA
COPYRIGHT, 1922, BY THE CROWELL PUBLISHING
COMPANY, AND THE PICTORIAL REVIEW COMPANY
PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES AT THE COUNTRY LIFE
PRESS, GARDEN CITY, N. Y.
* * * * *

CONTENTS
PAGE
THE AFTERNOON OF A FAUN 1
OLD MAN MINICK 34
GIGOLO 69

NOT A DAY OVER TWENTY-ONE 106
HOME GIRL 150
AIN'T NATURE WONDERFUL! 188
THE SUDDEN SIXTIES 222
IF I SHOULD EVER TRAVEL! 259

GIGOLO

THE AFTERNOON OF A FAUN
Though he rarely heeded its summons--cagy boy that he was--the
telephone rang oftenest for Nick. Because of the many native noises of
the place, the telephone had a special bell that was a combination buzz
and ring. It sounded above the roar of outgoing cars, the splash of the
hose, the sputter and hum of the electric battery in the rear. Nick heard
it, unheeding. A voice--Smitty's or Mike's or Elmer's--answering its call.
Then, echoing through the grey, vaulted spaces of the big garage: "Nick!
Oh, Ni-ick!"
From the other side of the great cement-floored enclosure, or in
muffled tones from beneath a car: "Whatcha want?"
"Dame on the wire."
"I ain't in."
The obliging voice again, dutifully repeating the message: "He ain't
in.... Well, it's hard to say. He might be in in a couple hours and then
again he might not be back till late. I guess he's went to Hammond on a
job----" (Warming to his task now.) "Say, won't I do?... Who's fresh!
Aw, say, lady!"

You'd think, after repeated rebuffs of this sort, she could not possibly
be so lacking in decent pride as to leave her name for Smitty or Mike or
Elmer to bandy about. But she invariably did, baffled by Nick's
elusiveness. She was likely to be any one of a number. Miss Bauers
phoned: Will you tell him, please? (A nasal voice, and haughty, with
the hauteur that seeks to conceal secret fright.) Tell him it's important.
Miss Ahearn phoned: Will you tell him, please? Just say Miss Ahearn.
A-h-e-a-r-n. Miss Olson: Just Gertie. But oftenest Miss Bauers.
Cupid's messenger, wearing grease-grimed overalls and the fatuous
grin of the dalliant male, would transmit his communication to the
uneager Nick.
"'S wonder you wouldn't answer the phone once yourself. Says you was
to call Miss Bauers any time you come in between one and six at Hyde
Park--wait a min't'--yeh--Hyde Park 6079, and any time after six at----"
"Wha'd she want?"
"Well, how the hell should I know! Says call Miss Bauers any time
between one and six at Hyde Park 6----"
"Swell chanst. Swell chanst!"
Which explains why the calls came oftenest for Nick. He was so
indifferent to them. You pictured the patient and persistent Miss Bauers,
or the oxlike Miss Olson, or Miss Ahearn, or just Gertie hovering
within hearing distance of the telephone listening, listening--while one
o'clock deepened to six--for the call that never came; plucking up fresh
courage at six until six o'clock dragged on to bedtime. When next they
met: "I bet you was there all the time. Pity you wouldn't answer a call
when a person leaves their name. You could of give me a ring. I bet
you was there all the time."
"Well, maybe I was."
Bewildered, she tried to retaliate with the boomerang of vituperation.

How could she know? How could she know that this slim, slick young
garage mechanic was a woodland creature in disguise--a satyr in store
clothes--a wild thing who perversely preferred to do his own pursuing?
How could Miss Bauers know--she who cashiered in the Green Front
Grocery and Market on Fifty-third Street? Or Miss Olson, at the Rialto
ticket window? Or the Celtic, emotional Miss Ahearn, the manicure?
Or Gertie the goof? They knew nothing of mythology;