The repair bill was $6,000. Deuce had $14 and a packet of fish flakes.
Enter T.J. Hicks, a "man-manager" with a wardrobe consisting entirely of purple velvet and a business model that lived in the greyest of legal areas.
"You want to save your skin? You gotta sell the sizzle, Deuce," T.J. explained, leaning against a gold-plated pimp-mobile. "Women have needs. They want a man who listens. They want a man who cares. They want... well, they probably don't want you, but you're all I've got." And so, the "Fish Man" became the "Gigolo." Deuce Bigalow Male GigoloHD
As Deuce navigated the bizarre, hilarious, and occasionally touching world of professional dating, he realized something. These women didn't want a "sensualist" like Antoine. They wanted someone who didn't look at them like they were broken. They wanted someone who would eat the soup, dance the dance, and laugh at the insults.
Deuce was in heaven. For three days, he lived like a king, or at least a king’s very confused fish-sitter. Then, the incident occurred. A freak accident involving a blender, a toaster, and a very expensive medieval weapon left Antoine’s luxury apartment looking like a war zone. The repair bill was $6,000
"Don't touch the phone. Don't touch the silk sheets. And definitely don't let the lionfish get lonely," Antoine warned.
Fate intervened in the form of Antoine Laconte, a man who looked like he’d been carved out of expensive mahogany and dressed by a committee of European fashionistas. Antoine was a world-class man-whore—sorry, sensualist —and he had a problem. He was going to Switzerland, and his precious, high-maintenance aquarium needed a sitter. Hicks, a "man-manager" with a wardrobe consisting entirely
His first client was a woman named Ruth, who stood seven feet tall and had a penchant for aggressive ballroom dancing. Deuce, who came up to her elbows, spent the night being used as a human pivot point. He survived with only a minor concussion and a newfound respect for verticality.