After sex, money is the aspect of Nureyev's offstage life that most often causes little beads of sweat to bubble across the foreheads of his friends and colleagues. Conversation comes to a withering halt, glasses of wine disappear in a gulp, and the subject is closed as soon as it's been opened. (I actually saw a veteran European choreographer, a man not known for keeping his mouth shut, turn sheet-white at the very mention of Nureyev's vast financial holdings.) Everyone agrees that Nureyev was not a man to squander his cash, except on himself. "When Rudolf traveled," a colleague from the
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