Richard Pigeon, professional model and actor, After Dark, November 1974

As I was explaining yesterday, After Dark offered its readers an intimate look at life at its most sophisticated, and not just in New York City either.  In the November 1974 issue, for example, we were shown some of the wonders of Montreal's vibrant and artistic cafe society.  Richard Pigeon, for instance, had recently made his movie debut in "The Last Castle" starring Richard Harris which had filmed in Montreal, "a city full of contradictions" where "tourists from the United States giggle as they walk along the cobblestones of St. Dizier Street and mingle with local gourmets who are on their way to favorite haunts among the old quarter's endless emporiums of haute cuisine... in the cafes and along the terraces, people cluster to discuss politics over endless cups of coffee and packs of the strongest French cigarettes, Gitanes.  Would-be actresses and models mingle with mechanics and gigolos.  They all are dressed to the nines -- to see and to be seen."

 

"Richard Pigeon joins lovely Margo Fletcher, a model, singer, and actress, and Bo van den Assum, a Dutch lawyer who is studying at Montreal's unique Institute of Air and Space Law and who is writing a thesis on the feasibility of air charters." 

Oh how I longed to go one day to Montreal and giggle on the cobblestones.  

But back to Didier, who had just arrived and was very far from having even been born in November of 1974, although admittedly in possession of a physique as good if not better than young Pigeon's in his time.  My young friend in fact gave the image a critical if somewhat dismissive appraisal, allowed a cursory glance through (to him) a veritable antique of a periodical, setting it aside with a muttered reference to the "Quebecois" as he made himself comfortable on the sofa and took out his iPhone.  Oddly enough, given his language limitations, Didier has a stunning command of the Internet and all technological innovation in general.  It is, in fact, easier for him to type and pull up websites and links and photos in reply to my inquiries and entreaties than it is to actually put his answers into spoken sentences.

You may imagine that I had been attempting to ascertain the meaning behind his sudden breathless arrival chez moi. I had not gotten far in satisfying my curiosity when, with a few slips and slides of his thumb, he held his iPhone up for my perusal. 

One of those obliquely phrased Page Six style "blind items" on a popular gossip site swam into view.  It read:

"What desperate Hollywood Housewife is threatening to shut down Action Hero Hubby's latest film in the bitter custody battle over their jointly-enjoyed Personal Assistant/Tennis Coach/House Boy?  Note to the young and the restless in tinseltown -- if  you take a job with this power couple, you better be flexible and ready to play for both teams."

"Well," I said, for something to say.  Then, "You poor thing," I added, which the moment seemed to call for, as I tried to process and interpret this latest news item.  Of course as I may have mentioned, (or did I?)  I knew all about Didier's recent employment as "valet de chambre" to a certain famous and popular award-winning actor, but I must confess I was unaware of his additional duties vis a vis the lady of the house, mentally adding tennis instruction to my young friend's list of talents.  

He withdrew the iPhone, shifted his weight into a more relaxed position on the sofa cushions and resumed the gentle thumb-stroking of the screen, using another application to "draw" a somewhat clumsy Keith Haring figure bent over and clutching itself, surrounded by what I interpreted as little radioactive "ouch" marks.  Having held up his latest creation to be duly admired, he sighed.  "I feel," he began, "so --"

I attempted to help by suggesting possibilities.  "Used?"

He shook his head.

"Conflicted?" I tried, yet again not hitting upon the word for which he sought.  "Violated?  Exposed? Betrayed?"

He frowned.  I decided to take another approach.  "Exhausted?" 

He considered this option, then shook his head.  "Au contraire," he explained.

 Margo Fletcher and Bo van den Assum., 1974.  Where are they now?

The quizzical expression on my face must have made Didier realize he needed to exert a little more effort on his side in this theoretically two-way communication.   "No no no, you see it is good," he said.  "They are always wanting me so much.  They are liking me lots.  It make me feeling --"

"It makes me feel," I corrected him, not able to stop myself.

"It makes me feel," he repeated carefully, and paused to flex his arms out across the back of the sofa and arch his back, as though testing the already frayed and threadbare quality of the vintage t-shirt which, being far too small, strained across his young broad chest and rode up from his waist, exposing a section of extremely taut and muscled abdomen; "it makes me feel ..."

Again he hesitated.  As I am certain I have mentioned, English vocabulary is a challenge to Didier at the best of times, but sometimes I simply refuse to help.  This time I waited for that look of deep concentration to relax and be replaced by the adorable expression of delight which would signal the moment the right word had come to him, his dark and Gallic good looks brightening as inspiration struck, sunlight flashing on deep water, pride in having sought and found the word that best described how he was feeling...

"Hot," he finished and smiled.