Vince / Guy Whisperer Case #387
We all want what we can’t have… including me.
I spot him across the lobby of the Peabody Hotel in Orlando. Outstanding.
Vince and I met briefly two months earlier. I remembered he was good looking in a virile, rugged, stubble-strewn way. I’d been through hundreds of interviews and I secretly hope this guy is a keeper. He has hazel eyes and softly chiseled features. Over six feet tall, Vince is lean and athletic, and best of all he has a long pony tail – a particular weakness of mine.
A television producer, Vince is temporarily based in Orlando. He is forty-three and unattached.
I wasn’t sure he would remember what I look like, but he does. He strides across the lobby, the fountains splash, and the piano plays. He breaks out a killer smile.
Vince takes my hand and looks down at me. My eyes start batting as if they’re possessed. “Perhaps you may not want to interview me,” he says. “I have something to confess.”
“Ah,” I think, “another bitter man who doesn’t feel he can be objective.” I nod, ready to reassure him.
He looks at me and shrugs. “I’m gay.”
The dispassionate professional part of me speaks. “That’s okay.” The woman part of me silently whimpers.
We all want what we can’t have
He looks relieved. “Good. I was really looking forward to this.”
Vince and I settle down, side by side in an alcove off the main lobby. The overstuffed chairs are comfortable and the lighting is dim. We have our privacy. I pull out my recorder and note pad.
He describes his life as he travels to produce shows around the globe. A dozen or so countries a year, this producer life sounds lonely and not so glamorous. “When I start working on an assignment with women it’s pretty much, they’re curious. They want to know if I’m available. There’s a lot of interest shown,” Vince says.
I can’t imagine.
“The ones who are not involved with somebody make it pretty plain that they’re interested, not in an objectionable way, usually.”
He stretches his lean legs. I do the same.
“Nice boots,” he says.
“I said not objectionable, but actually I have been called at two in the morning.”
“What could they possibly say at that time of night?”
“They say, ‘I couldn’t sleep and I found myself thinking about you. I thought I’d call you.’ Or they might knock on my hotel room door and say something like, ‘I’ve got a joint. Do you want to smoke?’”
Vince looks at me, studying whether I am okay with his story… so far.
He continues, “On the job I’m on now, one woman makes it obvious that she wants to go out with me.
“You know, a lot of people are looking. People want to be with someone. It’s normal – only natural. As long as it doesn’t become too much, that’s fine. I understand.”
“You are so compassionate.” The flowery words slip out. I bite my lip.
His eyes remain fixed on me. His hands rest on the arms of the chair. “There are those few incidents where I have found it intrusive. It could almost come under the heading of sexual harassment. And because of my preferences, it comes with no encouragement whatsoever.”
“I can be as flirtatious as anybody else in a social situation, but it happens without any encouragement. I find on the whole women are almost always interested. It’s not my ego.”
“Were you ever interested in women sexually?” I ask. Inquiring minds want to know.
He sighs. “I had girlfriends up until the age of nineteen. But it wasn’t for me for whatever reason. Nobody knows why. It was alright. I enjoyed it at the time. I used to go backwards and forwards at one time.”
I can’t unlock from his eyes. I’m drawn in and want to stay there.
“But then slowly it filtered out.”
I think about the Prime Directive from Star Trek. Something about leaving the planet as you found it. Vince is gay and he must stay, I mumble to myself as I pull away from the Peabody. Why are all the good ones gay?