What follows is a true story that happened more than fifteen years ago. I do not mean to take sides or judge any of the protagonists in the paying for dinner thread.
I have been married for 20++ years, and have been faithful for all except the last two years when my wife went through menopause and unilaterally decided that our sex life was over. Previous to that, we were making love all over the place, three or four times a week, and it was as much fun for her as it was for me. I mention this so the reader understands my frame of mind when those events transpired.
Back in the late eighties, I used to travel a lot to Europe on business, and my wife would accompany me most of the time. But this time I am alone in Paris, staying at the Georges V where we used to stay all the time and were very well known to the staff. This was most true with the chief concierge, Andre, who would always manage to find us last minute tickets to the opera, musicals and shows. And naturally, I always tipped him to his satisfaction.
Now I would never ever consider going to a restaurant by myself. If I am alone in a city and I cannot find anybody to have dinner or lunch with me, then I will either order from room service or call a place that delivers. And come to think of it, I do not remember ever seeing a single person having a solitary meal in any top notch restaurant I have visited.
So it is Saturday afternoon, and I really would like to have dinner at the Tour d'Argent, which was The Place back then. (It is still very highly rated to this day, but it has definitely lost some of its cachet). I find Andre at his counter and I ask him "Can you book me a table at the Tour D'Argent for tonight? “
He raises an eyebrow as he replies "Mais bien sur monsieur, but madame is not with you, are you thinking of going alone?"
You have to keep in mind that back in those days before Al Gore invented the internet, the only way you could set yourself up in Paris was through the good graces of the hotel concierge. So I tell him "Andre, this is where I need your help to find me a dinner companion."
Andre is deep in thought. I can see his face going through different emotions as the Gallic in him finally takes over: "Ah, I understand, monsieur has such a lovely wife, but he is lonely. I will fix you with the best girl I know, and you can be assured of my discretion when madame is back. But you really don't need to spend a fortune at the Tour d’Argent; those girls do not appreciate such places. Why don't you just have her come to your room?"
"No Andre, this is not what I had in mind, I really would like to just have dinner, and I only need a dinner companion, no more, no less."
It takes Andre a bit of time, but he finally understands my situation. He says "give me five minutes to make a phone call; I hope you will not be disappointed."
A few minutes later he finds me and tells me that all is set for 8:30, my dinner companion will be waiting for me in a taxi outside the hotel, and I should not discuss remuneration with her, I will settle with him later. So I say to myself, Andre is finally going to fleece me.
At the appointed time Andre leaves his desk to accompany me to the taxi waiting outside, as the staff in the lobby watch incredulously; Andre never leaves his desk for a guest. A stunning young woman steps outside the taxi, and he introduces me to Nicole. She is elegantly dressed in a simple black dress and wears no makeup. We exchange pecks, French style, and off we go to the restaurant. On the way she gives me a short history of the Tour d’Argent, and I can feel her excitement building as we get to the restaurant. We are led to our table, and I am a bit nervous as I observe the array of glassware and cutlery. I jokingly ask Nicole if we are going to use all these utensils, and she proceeds to explain every single item to me. We get the menus, and she goes through the different dishes and wines with me, and actually chooses everything without making me feel the least inadequate. As the meal proceeds, she explains each dish as if she had cooked it. I am enjoying this meal as I have never enjoyed a meal before. And I refrain from asking her how she knows this much about fine dining because I do not want to show my ignorance.
As we finish our meal with coffee and Armagnac, I am sorely tempted to make a pass at her. But somehow I think about what I have with my wife, and I restrain myself. The taxi ride back to my hotel is uneventful, and we finally exchange pecks as we both thank each other for a memorable evening.
I only get to see Andre the next morning. I ask him what I owe for last night. He looks me in the eye “Monsieur, I do not have children, Nicole is my niece and the daughter I never had. She just finished her ecole hoteliere, and taking her to the Tour d’Argent was a chance nobody in her situation would ever dream of having. And she tells me you were the perfect gentleman, which I never doubted, and for which we will both be forever grateful.”
So I never ended up paying that young lady to have dinner with me. However, in the past two years I have paid many young ladies for the pleasure of their company, and I never stop to think what the payment is supposed to cover. It could be for lunch or dinner, it could be for travel time, and it could be for carnal pleasure. I really do not care.
I have been married for 20++ years, and have been faithful for all except the last two years when my wife went through menopause and unilaterally decided that our sex life was over. Previous to that, we were making love all over the place, three or four times a week, and it was as much fun for her as it was for me. I mention this so the reader understands my frame of mind when those events transpired.
Back in the late eighties, I used to travel a lot to Europe on business, and my wife would accompany me most of the time. But this time I am alone in Paris, staying at the Georges V where we used to stay all the time and were very well known to the staff. This was most true with the chief concierge, Andre, who would always manage to find us last minute tickets to the opera, musicals and shows. And naturally, I always tipped him to his satisfaction.
Now I would never ever consider going to a restaurant by myself. If I am alone in a city and I cannot find anybody to have dinner or lunch with me, then I will either order from room service or call a place that delivers. And come to think of it, I do not remember ever seeing a single person having a solitary meal in any top notch restaurant I have visited.
So it is Saturday afternoon, and I really would like to have dinner at the Tour d'Argent, which was The Place back then. (It is still very highly rated to this day, but it has definitely lost some of its cachet). I find Andre at his counter and I ask him "Can you book me a table at the Tour D'Argent for tonight? “
He raises an eyebrow as he replies "Mais bien sur monsieur, but madame is not with you, are you thinking of going alone?"
You have to keep in mind that back in those days before Al Gore invented the internet, the only way you could set yourself up in Paris was through the good graces of the hotel concierge. So I tell him "Andre, this is where I need your help to find me a dinner companion."
Andre is deep in thought. I can see his face going through different emotions as the Gallic in him finally takes over: "Ah, I understand, monsieur has such a lovely wife, but he is lonely. I will fix you with the best girl I know, and you can be assured of my discretion when madame is back. But you really don't need to spend a fortune at the Tour d’Argent; those girls do not appreciate such places. Why don't you just have her come to your room?"
"No Andre, this is not what I had in mind, I really would like to just have dinner, and I only need a dinner companion, no more, no less."
It takes Andre a bit of time, but he finally understands my situation. He says "give me five minutes to make a phone call; I hope you will not be disappointed."
A few minutes later he finds me and tells me that all is set for 8:30, my dinner companion will be waiting for me in a taxi outside the hotel, and I should not discuss remuneration with her, I will settle with him later. So I say to myself, Andre is finally going to fleece me.
At the appointed time Andre leaves his desk to accompany me to the taxi waiting outside, as the staff in the lobby watch incredulously; Andre never leaves his desk for a guest. A stunning young woman steps outside the taxi, and he introduces me to Nicole. She is elegantly dressed in a simple black dress and wears no makeup. We exchange pecks, French style, and off we go to the restaurant. On the way she gives me a short history of the Tour d’Argent, and I can feel her excitement building as we get to the restaurant. We are led to our table, and I am a bit nervous as I observe the array of glassware and cutlery. I jokingly ask Nicole if we are going to use all these utensils, and she proceeds to explain every single item to me. We get the menus, and she goes through the different dishes and wines with me, and actually chooses everything without making me feel the least inadequate. As the meal proceeds, she explains each dish as if she had cooked it. I am enjoying this meal as I have never enjoyed a meal before. And I refrain from asking her how she knows this much about fine dining because I do not want to show my ignorance.
As we finish our meal with coffee and Armagnac, I am sorely tempted to make a pass at her. But somehow I think about what I have with my wife, and I restrain myself. The taxi ride back to my hotel is uneventful, and we finally exchange pecks as we both thank each other for a memorable evening.
I only get to see Andre the next morning. I ask him what I owe for last night. He looks me in the eye “Monsieur, I do not have children, Nicole is my niece and the daughter I never had. She just finished her ecole hoteliere, and taking her to the Tour d’Argent was a chance nobody in her situation would ever dream of having. And she tells me you were the perfect gentleman, which I never doubted, and for which we will both be forever grateful.”
So I never ended up paying that young lady to have dinner with me. However, in the past two years I have paid many young ladies for the pleasure of their company, and I never stop to think what the payment is supposed to cover. It could be for lunch or dinner, it could be for travel time, and it could be for carnal pleasure. I really do not care.
