And you can keep your remarks about my being “just a gigolo,” to yourself. That song’s going to be the death of me yet.

Actually, I’m a concert gigolo. There’s a lot of ladies out there, women who were left behind by their doctor/lawyer/booking agent husbands for the trophy wife craze that was the 1990s. When the dust settled, the wives got the house, the car and tons of alimony.

Then they called me.

Of course, you have to follow the rules if you want to be a successful concert gigolo. Whomever your client wants to see, whether it’s Aerosmith, Sade or Ringo Starr & His All Starr Band, you have to arrive early enough to catch the first support act. My customers love good opening acts. Even if the acts aren’t that good, they still love the effort. They tell me it’s “the thought that counts.”

However, the real action starts when the headliner hits the stage. When you’re in my business, you don’t just “like” the headliner, you love them. You gotta worship Madonna, bow down before Jill Sobule and praise Billy Bragg. My customers aren’t satisfied with just a “companion.” They want passion in their concert escorts. They want the fire that courses through a young man’s veins when Kip Winger hits the stage. And believe me, they get it. Ask any one of my customers and they’ll tell you that I give good headliner.

But none of that matters if you don’t last through the encores. None of this “let’s leave now and avoid the rush,” b.s., or that old “I have to get up early tomorrow morning and go to work” routine. It just won’t wash in this business. No matter if Journey or Raft Of Dead Monkeys do two, three, four or even five encores, my clients want their escort to last through to the end. That’s what my customers pay the big bucks for. Good encore staying power.

So that’s my story. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to get ready for the most demanding customer I’ve ever had. She wants it all; a playful warm up, screaming headliner action and long, long encores. And to top it off, she isn’t even single. She says that, by going to shows like Incubus and Bob Dylan, she’s “punishing” her husband for his past indiscretions. I think she just can’t get enough of the “best,” if you know what I mean.

However, I have to admit that lately she’s been one tough customer to satisfy. No matter what I do, she always wants more. More warm up acts, more screaming, more encores. I swear that woman’s passion is going to be the death of me. She is definitely one lady who wants it all.

I guess that happens to you when you become the senator from New York.