I hire. I fire. It’s part of my job. I manage men who are working in homes. So when the women in the front office told me that “Andre” was good-looking, I was prepared. I got up in the morning and did all the things I usually do-fed the dog, slathered deodorant over yesterday’s deodorant, shaved and ate cereal advertised to clean out my bowels like a gerbil on RedBull.
Then I went into work. Andre would be there at noon. I’d forgotten he was coming. I’m usually out in the field, trying to catch the Ming vase (that’s pronounced vaaaaahhz) that’s half-way to the ground as I dive to catch it and keep my job/everything profitable for our division.
But today I would be interviewing Andre. My office was all set and ready: estimates and paperwork piled up on my left along with a little piece of Carrara from a job in Mill Valley that had gone slightly awry. Computer screen and Flipvideo for making amazingly cheesy work videos. A stone blog daring me to un-boring-it.
NOTE: I’m not a homophobe. My family is filled with gays and lesbians, Jews, Muslims and Roman Catholics who converted to something else. We have junkies and hippies. We have bank VPs who just received million-dollar bonuses. I danced ballet until I was eleven and told my mom I didn’t want to wear tights anymore. The point is, I’m not gay, but, as I sat in the office, I was wondering this to myself:
Can a Straight Man tell if Another Man is Hot?
I waited. The women in the front office looked at the clock. Andre would be here soon, arriving by bicycle, because he is a biker and has ridden his bike at night around Lake Tahoe preceding an annual marathon for masochists and this interview.
Good-Looking is how they described him, independently of one another, with a kind of girlish giggle that made me wonder what this young piece of manflesh would do to the sunlight filtering through my window.
And then, he opened the door.
If I said that I heard angels sing, I would be exaggerating. It was just the two women at the front office saying “Hello Andre”. He strode confidently back to my office and held out his hand.
And here’s what I saw, Ladies:
A nice looking Latino gent, a slight film of sweat on his skin from biking, his curly black hair combed back in a kind of greasy/sweaty way that looked wind-swept from biking, his body well-toned from….biking, and brown eyes (which I don’t think were affected by biking) very clear and shining. His mouth was slightly large. His lips appeared to have been lacquered with something (probably not lacquer) and he smiled with the ease of a handsome biker who had just nailed the interview by showing up and looking like an actor from “The Guiding Light” or “Another Soap Opera I can’t Think of Right Now”.
“Hired!” I screamed, jumping onto the desk and trying to keep from hyperventilating.
Okay, that part was bullshit, but I did hire Andre, and only after asking him all the requisite questions:
1) What is your experience?
2) What would you do if (horrible situation he easily talked his way out of by being handsome)
3) What is that on your lips that makes them shine like the back of a dove’s wing at midnight?
Since that time, I have come to understand the power of Good-Looks. Because we work in predominantly high-end homes from Napa to San Francisco to the Carmel Valley, I can use Andre as my Ace in the Hole, an Ambassador of Smitten, a means to soften the blow of our company being 99% in the business of pleasing very demanding housewives.
And then I go home and tell my wife about Andre. And she looks at his picture on the website and says:
“Yeah. He’s okay.”
But I’m pretty sure he’s good looking. I mean, Can a Straight Man Tell if another Man is Hot?