La Vie Et La Danse

I have a gay acquaintance who’s in the closet.  He loves to dance and wants very badly to do it professionally, but he doesn’t have any training, and his father doesn’t approve of his becoming a dancer.  He’s always asking me to find him a job.  Unfortunately, there just aren’t that many (read: any) dance jobs for a person with his level of skill in the genres of dance that interest him (Romany and belly dance), but I ask around for him sometimes, anyway.

A few days ago, this acquaintance contacted me to tell me he was in love with me.  Madly, deeply, and hopelessly so.  Please!  I thought.  You and I both know that you’re gay.  Maybe you don’t know that I know–perhaps you don’t even really know yourself.  But I know.  You’re not in love with me, buddy.  So I brushed him off with a “thanks, but no you’re not.”

He asked me how things were going in Bodrum, and if there were any job openings for him.  I told him not really, but if he had any experience with Turkish folk dancing, one of the folkloric groups was short one dancer, and I would talk to my agency about the possibility of hiring him.

Two days later, last night, this fool showed up unannounced at my door.  Just flew to Bodrum with one small bag and no money, no plan and no place to sleep!  I talked to the boss, who said he could stay here for four days, and if he learned quickly, he’d be hired, otherwise, he’d have to move on.

The acquaintance didn’t mention being in love with me again.  He calls me big sister now.

Update:

So, in the 30 minutes since I’ve written this blog entry, the bosses have changed their minds and the boy has to go home.  And he’ll need some money to get there.  From me, of course.

Update:

So, the boy had been asked to leave after his first night and I’d given him money for the bus.  He was starting to get annoying by this time, and I was looking forward to his departure.  Still, we all felt bad because he was down on his luck.  One of our folk dancers offered to talk to the owner of a nearby pub to see if the boy could work there, so against our better judgement, the boy was given permission to stay another night.

That evening, while we dancers were at work, the boy stole my friend’s camera and disappeared.