It was an awkward moment. A moment of promise and possibility. A moment complicated horribly by the other people in the room. I couldn't believe she'd said it. I needed to hear her say it again.

Nobody else had reacted as strongly as me, almost choking to death on my cup of vodka. Of course the comment wasn't directed at them, and perhaps they were too jaded to be shocked. Or maybe she hadn't said it all.

Maybe I really didn't want to know if she'd said it or not, maybe I just wanted to live with the delusion that she'd said it, repeating the line over and over to myself in my head when I woke in the morning, and when I went to sleep at night.

Maybe I just wanted to picture how she looked at that moment, standing next to her son, her son my age, her face red, almost as red as her curly mane, red with her wine, or the thought, or the hearing herself utter it, unless I imagined it, in which case maybe the flush was her thinking about saying it. Whatever. She was decidedly redder than usual.

Kissing her seemed like the right thing to do, but with her son standing there, not the smart thing to do. He was a big guy, decidedly bigger than me, athletic looking, and obviously rather annoyed, which was another clue that maybe she really had said it out loud.

I have no idea what she based her opinion on. I'd never even kissed her, much less fucked her, and I'm sorry to say that I never got the opportunity to talk to her again, nor did I decide to take her opinion as career advice.

Instead I took another swig of vodka and muttered it under my breath as I stared at her. "I think you'd make a great gigolo. I think you'd make a great gigolo. I think you'd make a great gigolo."