The Players

Before Guntram came to their lives, they had a sound business relationship... friendship perhaps.

The Players

October 19^th, 2000

Punta del Este, Uruguay.

The young personal assistant was sweating as he waited for his superior at the Carrasco airport. One nervous look at the man in charge of Sao Paulo office convinced him that he was also nervous and cross.

“On top we have to drive for two hours,” Landau mumbled. “The Duke will be furious.”

“Don't tell it to me. What on earth possessed Repin to arrange the meeting there?”

“We need him, therefore he sets the rules, Heindrik.”

A group of seven tall, well dressed men approached the crystal-steel doors which automatically opened and both men stood to attention when they saw their superior, already looking very serious under his sunglasses.

“Welcome, sire,” said Heindrik courteously. “The cars are waiting for you.”

“Everything ready?” Konrad asked without stopping in his walk or even casting a glance at the young man who had to jog after him.

“We have to drive to another city. Punta del Este. Mr. Repin insisted on changing the meeting place two hours ago. There was no time to change your flight's schedule.”

Konrad stopped abruptly and looked at Heindrik as Goran came forward. “We don't change places with such short notice,” The Serbian pointed out. “Even you know this, Holgersen.”

“The place is secure, sir. Belongs to our people.”

“Why the change?” barked Ferdinand.

“Mr. Repin says he finds the place amusing,” a mortified Heindrik said. “Hotel Casino Conrad,” he confessed and Konrad really looked at him.

“Russians are very childish. We drive now,” was his sole answer.

* * *

The luminous, gigantic lilac neon sign of “Casino” shinning against the dying afternoon lights truly worsened Konrad's mood. His legendary bad temper almost erupted when the bell boy took more than two seconds to open his door.

With large steps he climbed the stairs and entered the large white marble, golden columns and ornaments lobby decorated with a huge red and golden carpet. Konrad felt his hairs rise the minute he stepped on it. A middle aged woman went out to meet him and deferentially greeted him.

“Mr. Repin awaits for you at his suite, your Excellency,” she said. “This way, please.”

Konrad and Ferdinand followed her, with three bodyguards trailing behind. The woman seemed to be a bit overwhelmed by the men looming over her in the elevator and she dashed out the minute it reached the top floor.

The secretary opened the door to a large sitting room, modernly decorated with white couches and large windows overlooking the limpid blue sea. Informally dressed, Constantin entered in the room alone and shook Konrad's hand before he invited him and Ferdinand to sit.

“Did you have a good flight?”

“Yes, indeed. The landscape was most interesting,” answered Konrad a bit stiffly. “Odd choice of hotel.”

“Someone in Buenos Aires spoke to me about this place. It's like the Montecarlo of the underdevelopment. Maybe you bring me luck,” he added with a smirk already enjoying how critically Konrad was looking at the intricately designed blue carpet. His distaste for modern things was well-known and a permanent source of entertainment for the Russian.

“I was never bringing much luck to anyone.”

“Why don't you stay tonight and we can discuss our business more serenely over dinner?”

“A sleepover?” Konrad joked.

“Pyjama party,” Constantin snorted, enormously enjoying Ferdinand's outraged look.

“We have to be tomorrow in New York, Konrad,” Ferdinand interfered with a serious voice as he was getting several papers out of his portfolio, loudly smashing them against the coffee table to prove his point.

“Exactly. Take the plane tonight and I'll fly tomorrow afternoon,” Konrad said nonchalantly, ignoring the inflamed Ferdinand. “Business is business. Were you in Buenos Aires, Constantin?”

“Yes, as tourist and starting the other thing you told me about. Met a few natives too.”

Konrad only looked at him inquisitively and Constantin chortled. “You have no idea where you're getting in. Leave Latin Americans for the Russians, my friend. Your very German-Swiss core will suffer a heart attack after two hours of dealing with them.”

“It's a matter of taming them,” said Konrad.

“Oblomov landed first and he was a bit shocked of what he found. That only tells a lot about them. Zakharov is in charge now. I'm returning in two days to choose some properties and check on the artists. I was offered an important contemporary Latin American collection for an excellent price.”

“Then you should take it before someone else does it. Don't you think, Ferdinand?” he asked and his friend nodded sombrely. “What is in that collection?”

“Already trying to steal from me, Konrad?” Constantin said with a side looped smile.

“No, just seeing if we can trade. Fighting with you could be detrimental for my interests,” Konrad returned the smile and as if a switch would have turned it off, it disappeared after the five customary seconds he usually dedicated to laugh at social occasions.

No Konrad, it's not kitsch; it's eclectic. 

* * *

At Constantin's insistence, they had dinner at the casino's restaurant.

“How is Vania? Konrad asked to start a conversation that perhaps would ease his nerves after being forced to eat at a very modern restaurant, brightly lit and hating every golden ornamented mirror set on the walls and ceiling, multiplying their figures to the infinite.

“Your secret service is not what it used to be. Vania is history since three months ago. His name is Stephen from Virginia. A photographer.”

“I meant your youngest child. Ivan Constantinovich. You told me he was too small for his age,” Konrad corrected him. “I was under the impression Stephen was dismissed a week ago and now you were single,” he added maliciously and Constantin laughed full heartedly.

“We can't deny that I'm more predictable than you Konrad. At least you can keep up the pace with me but with you is almost impossible. You are going to send my people to an early grave. Do you change your women every night or is it every city?”

“A combination of both. It's less emotionally stressing than changing lovers every month,” Konrad smirked. “Do you even have a preference?”

“Of course I do!” Constantin said falsely shocked. “I know exactly what I want. The problem is that none of them is up to my circumstances,” he sighed and made a gesture to the sommelier to serve him more wine. “And you? The only thing we know is that you like them brunette; boy or girl.”

“Brunettes are reliable,” answered Konrad curtly. “I like them my age or a bit older in the case of men; younger for women.”

“Should I be concerned? Is there something you want to tell me, Konrad?” joked Constantin as he batted his dark eyelashes and the German laughed truly for the first time in the night.

“We? Together? It would be interesting to see who kills the other first.”

“The road for sound marriage. Like Olga and I, married for the past twenty years.”

“I'm still betting my money on you, Constantin,” said Konrad seriously and Constantin nodded.

“It's a good thing you don't trust women. It will be interesting to attend your wedding.”

“I'm an old spinster.” Konrad said. “And you? When will you settle down?”

“Please don't tell me you're having your forty years crisis. I had it once and it lasted two miserable weeks.”

“What did you do?”

“Changed lovers. A younger model. Perhaps you should do the same. Is she not getting a bit too overcooked? That Italian girl you favour so much.”

“A younger model? Like what you have? A teenager, partly deaf because of his walkman?” Konrad asked sounding deeply disgusted. “Let me be with my crisis.”

“Did you just say walkman?” chortled Constantin. “Let me talk to you about this new brand company. The logo is a bit childish for my taste, but I think they have a future; Apple.”

“Very funny. Let me rephrase; deaf because of his discman.”

“Well, we have reached the nineties at least,” sighed the Russian. “MP3 is what they have nowadays.”

“At least I can come home and have my peace,” Konrad said.

“You have a point there. Lovers demand attention and frankly they don't deserve it.”

“A problem of high maintenance costs I would say. Can be solved in two ways; downsizing or increasing the efficiency at the production line,” joked Konrad.

“Downsizing is out of the question, but efficiency can always be improved,” Constantin replied with a snug smile.

“In the end it all reduces to find the right person. The famous other half.”

“I never pegged you for a romantic and much less for a philosopher, but you are right; if I would find the right person, I wouldn't let him escape.”

“Likewise, but they're hidden, disguised as frogs,” joked again Konrad, strangely moved by the direction the conversation was taking.

“Therefore I kiss all what's in the pond, maybe my luck changes one day,” Constantin said dreamingly.

“Do you have an identi-kit of your prince?”

“Oh yes. First, he has to have a real talent, a talent for seeing the essence of things and capture it into a masterpiece.”

“You have very high standards, Constantin,” Konrad said softly. “I would settle down with “is able to lead a decent conversation and understand fifty percent of what you tell him”. That this person is not trying to take advantage of me, would be a plus.”

“For me all other things are immaterial but talent. I'm perfectly aware that artists are a bit crazy, but that's what makes them interesting. Talent denotes a keen intelligence and in this supreme idiocy ruled world, having a little brains leads you to lunacy.”

“Yes, that is true,” Konrad agreed darkly. “Any physical signs?”

“I think I have a penchant for blondes with soft features but it's not mandatory. The eyes are the most important thing for me,” Constantin said and Konrad rose an eyebrow ironically. “Yes, perhaps I'm a romantic too. If the eyes are beautiful, the rest is also stunning. I want a limpid look gaze on him. That kind of eyes that let you know that the person is intrinsically good and selfless. Do you understand me?”

“More than you can imagine,” answered Konrad, feeling very moved, but he buried those akin feelings very deep as the memory of his failure with Roger once more assaulted him. “If such person would exist, male or female, there would be riots on the streets to get him.”

“I think they do exist but their mothers hide them until they can find somebody suitable for them. It's the only logical explanation,” Constantin said partly serious.

Konrad laughed strangely relieved and drank from his glass to cast the shadows away. “It's a beautiful dream.”

“Maybe,” answered Constantin. “Time will tell.”

The sound of an acrid argument between a young man, perhaps not even thirty years old and his girlfriend attracted their attention, although both men did their best to avoid looking at the table's across the room. The noise grew louder and Konrad sensed the shadows of two waiters rushing over his side toward the table.

The clattering of dishes forced him to look at the couple's direction as such noise was impossible to disregard for politeness' sake. The vision of a woman, loudly shouting in Spanish to her partner as she hurled at him another glass, mildly shocked him. 'Someone was caught on illegal activities,' he thought and glanced at Constantin, now openly enjoying the couple's fight. The man shouted something at her and she howled her indignation, with the clear intention of hurling something else at him. One of the waitresses intervened and gently spoke to her, making her burst into tears.

“This poor man didn't kiss the right frog; that's very clear for me,” Konrad said disdainfully once she had left the restaurant in a whirlwind. “Not a princess at all.”

“Married by the worst reason, my friend; love. Well, at least he discovered it on the honeymoon. Manners are essential in a marriage, more than fidelity.”

“Do you understand Spanish?” Konrad asked genuinely surprised.

“Not a single word, but look, he's twisting the ring as if he were not used to it.” The Russian said slightly moving his head toward the young man staring at the wall and mind absently playing with the jewel.

“Or already regretting it. Looks like nothing that can't be fixed in the bedroom,” shrugged Konrad, returning to his dessert, the couple's fight totally forgotten. “I hate show dinners.”

“I find them completely entertaining. Meeting the artist is also interesting,” Constantin trailed and Konrad looked at him. “Personally meeting them,” he clarified.

“The hysterical Nun and the boring Clerk? It sounds like a job for Bocaccio,” Konrad shook his head and chuckled already understanding where the Russian wanted to go.

“Where is your sense of adventure? A simple competition to shake the boredom of the provinces off. Should we bet something to make it more interesting?”

“You have already piqued my curiosity. What do you have in mind?”

Constantin half closed his eyes and leaned against the backrest of his chair. “It will be a complicated operation, so the prize should be accordingly. Something related to tonight's topic?”

“Finding your other half?”

“Randomly kissing frogs hoping to find a prince or princess.”

“You are certainly a romantic at heart,” Konrad snorted. “Very well. Let's bet... a frog?”

“Not any frog. A special frog.”

“Nothing poisonous or included in the endangered species list,” quickly clarified Konrad.

“Your concept of politically correct Konrad is a very odd one,” smirked Constantin and was for a second lost in his thoughts. “How about a frog from Fabergé? I saw one in Rutdger's last catalogue coming up in the next auction. Very beautiful piece in Bowenite.”

“I like frogs. I can live with one from Fabergé.” Konrad extended his hand to seal the pact. “Which one do you prefer?”

“You know my tastes. Maybe I can even give him good advise on how to tame your wife.”

“It will be a very boring and fruitless night with the clerk. Very well, I take her.”

“I'm afraid you're going to come out from this experience more chauvinist than ever before,” Constantin smirked. “If that could be possible.”

“Should we compare results tomorrow at breakfast?”

“Of course. Your word is enough proof for me,” The Russian said gallantly.

“Thank you, what is an alliance without trust among partners?”

* * *

That the duke was taking more than an hour to have breakfast with Constantin Repin was a very bad omen. Yesterday night they had been behaving very civilized and even joking with each other. Obviously, they had reached a certain degree of agreement over the presence of the Russians in Latin America and war had been avoided.

“'Make no mistakes, Holgersen. We need Repin here keeping the natives under control. The best outcome would be to force them to process their profits through us and stay away from our lands,” had the Duke told him. “A frontal attack from either of us would be very detrimental for each other. Repin has a twisted sense of integrity, but he's a hundred times more preferable over the other Russian mobsters. We complement each other.”

The guarded door yanked open and Heindrik stood to attention when he saw the Duke, already ready for leaving and wearing a very stony expression in his face along with Repin smiling at him snidely.

“Don't look so upset, Konrad. You had the toughest adversary,” Constantin said in Russian as he extended his right hand. “Women are unpredictable, my friend. Next time, perhaps.”

“I'm sure, next time I'll win,” Konrad said with a false joviality as he shook the pre offered hand. “Those two were certainly a couple of ugly toads.”

“Getting and keeping the prince is what counts,” Constantin joked pleased he had won the battle.

“Indeed. Good bye, my friend.”

“Good bye and thank you for your advise,” Repin said affably watching how Konrad was leaving the corridor, walking with long strides. 'A lesson in humility is good for him.'

Heindrik did his best to keep up with his furious boss, becoming more and more concerned as he saw him throwing a murderous look at the chauffeur for not having the car waiting for him at the entrance.

“Get me the latest number of Rutdger's catalogue,” barked Konrad at Heindrik as he was setting in order a pile of documents for him to read.

“Yes, sire,” he mumbled. “Is there something else?” he added as his boss was obviously fuming at something, his eyes fixed on the seaside.

“No, everything is running as foreseen.” 

Faberge's Frog Ashtray- Bowenite