Golden man

I met Wayne at The Hub last night. He's tall, bald and handsome, but unremarkable. You would never guess everything he touched turned gold, literally. As we introduced ourselves I noticed his hands were huge and his grip was firm, but even then I had no idea.
“You've seen him today,” someone said. I shrugged and asked about his background. Originally he's from South Africa, but his parents moved to Central London eleven years ago. Now they've moved to the South of France, and left him behind.
“They've got a good taste,” I remarked. “And a whole lot of money,” I thought.
Speaking of taste, Wayne told me he makes a living as an artist.
“No, I'm not a student anymore. Though everyone in here probably thinks so - as soon as I take off the make up nobody recognizes me.”
“You're wearing make up?”
“Only when I'm working. I'm a mime and I did the golden statue in front of the Hamilton Building this afternoon. I wouldn't mind being recognized, but it's not very practical to keep the make up on. When it's dry it turns into powder and contaminates everything I touch. Even when I'm eating a sandwich it turns to gold.”