A Night to Remember

A Night to Remember

March 11^th, 1983

Paris

Tiredness clung to his bones despite his mere twenty-five years of age. The dreaded Good Friday meeting loomed in his near future, and nothing was good enough to please the associates, all looking for a way to get rid of him as soon as possible. Nothing would ever be good enough for them.

His uncle Hermann and Gustav zu Löwenstein—the Magnus Commendator—, along with Razim Mladic Pavicevic—the Summus Marescalus—, were his only supporters. Strong as they were, though, they would account for nothing if he didn’t get the required two-thirds of the votes, and he only controlled forty-two percent of them.

‘Just a year more, that is all that I ask of them. All that I have built over the past year cannot be crushed in one day.'

He opened the door to the large Executive Suite, permanently rented for the past two years, and wondered why he had been so stupid as to keep it. 'It shouldn't have gone beyond that one night. Maybe two, but nothing else. He's the son of the Head in France! He's married to Maria Augusta! If the Vicomte finds out, he will kill me. Löwenstein will kill me for ruining his niece's marriage. There’s no other way, I have to get rid of him! I will break up with him after tonight!'

Standing in the middle of the living room, his eyes took in the baroque, golden-cream decoration. He sighed before he threw his briefcase over the red damask chair in front of the fireplace. On top of the small round coffee table was a tiny envelope and the young man opened it. The card only said “327”, and he sighed again. 'Roger could at least show some enthusiasm to see me, or use the other bedroom. He loves to make me crawl to his own dingy place.'

One crazy night of champagne and oysters had been all he had needed to ruin his life. Their liaison was never meant to be, but it was, and he couldn't find a way to break free from the invisible chains pulling him into Roger de Lisle's bed. ‘It wasn’t supposed to be serious and yet, here we are: with me working like a madman in Manhattan to finish all pending issues, almost living in the Concorde, just to be here at eight o'clock for a cold dinner and a good night of fun.'

He loosened his silk tie and threw it over the chair, to be followed by the jacket, crumpled over it. He flexed his sore neck muscles and looked around once more, unable to identify the source of the sudden sadness that had overtaken him.

'Why? I'm only going to meet with Roger. His wife is in Vienna. It should be easy.'

* * *

TS 2 Part VI Chapter 8

Chapter 8

Guntram de Lisle's diary

December 9^th, 2010

Alexander gave me a small laptop for my birthday two months ago but I haven't got the courage to use it till now. I don't know what to write and I'm sure everything I write will be read and studied. So it makes not much sense to write. Diaries were supposed to be personal.

It wouldn't be the first time my lovers read my things. I used to have a full sweep every three days of my old laptop... up to the internet browse history. What were they looking for? If I was into hot boys-girls websites? Mails from lovers? I don't know and it's not as if it matters now.

On the other hand, I want to keep record of my Conor's doings so I don't forget them as time crushes us. He was a small thing when he was born two months ago and now he is 14 centimetres bigger, sleeps the whole night long and smiles at you when he sees you and your heart melts.

“It's the Libra in him. All of them are charmers since the crib,” is what Alexander tells me but I have my doubts. I'm also a Libra but I don't see the masses very impressed about me. The general impression is that I'm an alien (kind evaluation) or an idiot that fell head up from the tree.

I've done hundred of sketches of Conor, to the point of getting a “Are you planning to get Anne Geddes out of business?” from Dimitri Something with K, Dima for short, one of the bodyguards that was also in Paraguay. He's not as bad as I thought and leaves me alone most of the time when we go to the city to get something for Conor.

I was very surprised to have internet access too, but I soon realised how stupid it would be to use it. How long till any message I send is read? An hour? Maybe two? Not enough time and I fear the consequences. I could never forgive myself if something happens to the ones I love.

Conor is more active than before. When he arrived, he was only awake two or three hours per day, eating a lot but he's not overweight according to his doctor. Some babies eat a lot because they were born small. What drives me nervous is that the weather is becoming more and more cold and I don't dare to get him out and he needs the be in the sunlight to grow healthy. Alexander tells me that most Russian babies are inside the house and placing him next to a sunny window at noon for some hours is more than enough. My studio, full of light is the perfect place to keep him if I want to work and be with him.

The Visit Card

The Visit Card

May 8^th, 1981

Paris

'So much for Mathilde de Saint Glass' candidacy. The girls at Bijoux's behave better,' Konrad inwardly huffed, though his face did not betray his annoyance. His ‘date’ for the night, carefully chosen by his uncle Hermann following Aunt Elisabetta's advice, was drunk.

Completely drunk. Trashed to the point of making him doubt between putting her in a taxi and taking her to the E.R. before she would fall into a coma or driving her back home.

'Problem solved by itself. I can't marry a woman who bets (and wins) against me in a vodka race.' Konrad thought. “Mathilde, should I take you home?” he asked trying to recover some of his dignity, watching disapprovingly how the “prospective duchess” lay her bare back on the counter as the barman poured the contents of a bottle in her mouth while people cheered their enthusiasm and admiration at her skills.

The tall blonde hesitantly stood up and resolutely spat the liquid she had not swallowed in Konrad's shoes direction. Doing his best to hide his disgust at her behaviour, he repeated the question, and she blinked once or twice.

“Hotel,” she slurred, and two girls next to her applauded her words.

Julian-Pygmalion?

Not at all. I'm afraid our Julian has too much of a temper to be a living Galatea. 

Chapter 2

I'm on the edge of glory
And I'm hanging on a moment of truth
Out on the edge of glory

His smartphone sang the hit as loud as it could. Groggily, Julian slid his hand under the pillow and switched the alarm off. He sat on the bed and quickly buried himself under the covers again. 6:55 a.m. was an ungodly hour for anyone in his right mind.

He briefly remembered his appointment with Oliver at 9 a.m. and shrugged. 'Figures, he's gonna get you a good job,' he thought. 'Probably wants another early fuck before he takes his super-jet back to Brussels. Not gonna happen.'

'At least, I got my mobile back,' he thought before he fell asleep once more.

Eleven o'clock was a more appropriate hour to wake up and Julian yawned as he searched for his phone under the pillow. He saw two SMS from Oliver with 45 minutes time-distance between them.

“Where are you?”

“I just finished my appointment at XX. A real pity.”

* * *

TS 2 Part VI Chapter 7 Part II

Chapter 7.  Part II

October 22^nd , 2010

Khanty Mansyisk

“Hey, wake up, dormouse,” a very amused Constantin shook Guntram gently awake. “You have been sleeping for more than twelve hours.”

A still dazzled Guntram opened his eyes and sat on the bed, finding Constantin partly laying on his side of the large white bed with his head supported by his arm. Konrad was laying on his back while the man gently caressed his tummy with long circling moves, making him turn his head toward him.

“What time is it?” Guntram asked and picked his baby in his arms and cuddled him.

“Almost eleven. I let you sleep long today. It was too much excitement for you yesterday. I've been playing with Conor since eight in the morning and he's getting tired now. I thought that maybe you wanted to give him his bottle before we put him to bed till lunch time.”

“Yes, of course. Thank you, Alexander,” Guntram answered and took the already prepared bottle from the man's hands. 'How does he always know what Konrad needs?' he wondered when the baby happily started to suck the teat.

“Conor is a very nice boy,” Constantin said with a mix of sadness and longing. “I never saw my maids clean so much the upper floors just to take a peek at him. These women were already fighting to carry him in their arms,” he chuckled, watching the baby rest comfortably in his father's arms and he spoke to him very softly in Russian, slightly touching his forehead.

“What did you say?” Guntram asked.

“That he's a good baby. He should start to learn Russian. You should teach him English as that's what we speak. If you add Spanish to the list, learning to speak will be very complicate for him.”

“Do you really like him?”

“Of course, I do. I love my children very much. Leaving them behind was very hard, but I know that Maria Ingratievna will look after them and they will lead respectable lives in the future. Sofia is successfully studying Fashion Design at St. Martin's and Constantin asked to be accepted in Oxford for studying law. I swear to look after Conor and you.”

“Do you miss them much?” asked Guntram with his eyes fixed upon his child's peaceful face.

“Everyday, like you also do. But this was for the best and I'm sure their lives would be better than if they were with me. As parent you only want the best for your children and nothing else matters. I had Sofia when I was a bit younger than you are and she stole my heart with her big black eyes, just as this little one has done a few days ago. Some men prefer their first born to be a boy, but a girl is a hundred times better. They always stay with the father whereas boys send you to hell at some point and start their own families. You can always shoot down the idiot who's after your daughter, too,” he added with a grin and Guntram smiled back.

“I like him just as he is. I had no idea you missed your children so much, Alexander.”

“I also had my own selfish reasons to have Conor, angel. I did want to pamper a little one looking exactly as you do. I need to have a family that I can love and look after,” he said very seriously, looking at Guntram directly in the eye till the young man smiled shyly and looked down.

“If we have a girl looking like you, my angel, I should think about buying a bazooka after she turns twelve years old. The line of suitors could reach St. Petersburg,” he added with a malicious grin and Guntram laughed, most of his concerns about Constantin's jealousies of his child erased.

* * *

TS 2 Part VI Chapter 7 Part I

Chapter 7

October 15^th, 2010

Milan

The chill breeze was nothing for Alexei as he crossed the Piazza della Scala and entered in the Galleria Vittorio Emanuele. 'Just like the Passazh back home,' he thought, feeling a pang of longing as the high glass-vaulted arcades reminded him of St. Petersburg. He walked to the centre, where the arcades intersected and formed an octagon bathed with the sunlight. 'It's next to the Borsalino Store. Who does still buy such hats?' he thought and the memory of him walking with his mother to the Children's World section assaulted him.

'Focus yourself! This is not the moment to be sentimental. They are dead and you have work to do!' he scolded himself and walked faster to the small store.

The old man who had always been behind the counter was not there any longer, but a man on his forties stood there. Alexei hesitated a bit but entered and tried with his limited Italian to get on the man good side 'Always do your best to start in Italian. The Italians will laugh at you and switch to English, but you will have half of the negotiation done,' had told him the Duke once and it was true. Italians were more receptive and cooperative after it.

“Bon giorno, signore,” Alexei said. “Mi dispiace ma il mio italiano è molto cattivo.”

“Please, sir. I will be delighted to help you,” the man answered obsequiously with a soft voice and Alexei checked him from head to toes.

“Thank you very much,” the Russian answered, lowering his voice two tones and watched how the man unwillingly shivered. 'Gay, no doubt. Piece of cake.' “I wanted to order a fragrance for a friend of mine birthday and I was hoping to meet the old gentleman who used to be here.”

“Oh, you must mean my uncle Enrico. He retired two months ago as his nose was giving him a hard time.”

“That's very regrettable.”

“Yes indeed, he ran the store for forty-three years. I returned from Grasse to continue with the family business.”

“I was looking for a perfume created for a family and perhaps you could ask your uncle...”

“If you are so kind as to tell me the name. I can look in the records and have it ready in two weeks time if the ingredients are not too exotic.”

“It should be on your computer. My friend ordered it last year.”

“My uncle didn't believe in computers,” the man answered with a smile. “I have to look into his folders, but everything is methodically ordered. I'm thinking to change the way we used to do business. Perfumes on demand are not exactly at their highest point.”

“It's a real pity. This one is a very special scent. The family wears it since the XIX century.”

“Ah, the old Russian nobility,” the man said as he finally could identify the accent and elegant demeanour of his customer. “Nothing like them, according to my grandfather. We used to be providers for the Czar and my great grandfather kept the undelivered boxes until the Duce came to power.”

“No, in fact it's old German nobility,” Alexei answered, slightly amused that he had been mistaken by an aristocrat. 'My grandfather was picking up potatoes in the fields and my father was the first of us who went to high school.' “The name is Guntram de Lisle.” he said with a soft smile and the man bent over the counter to get a large rectangular box filled with cards to look for the name.

The New Boy...

Chapter 1 (cont.)

The neoclassical building standing in front of him looked exactly as one of those he had seen many times in TV; where the very rich and famous people used to live. Right in front of El Retiro park, near the Prado Museum, a place he had been once in a school trip, and he had never recovered from the shock he had felt when the bus returned to his own neighbourhood of graceless cubes, factories and large warehouses. The rachitic, half-dried trees of his own playground, a mock of a real boulevard, could not be compared to the tall, full of life plantains that loomed over the expensive cars parked there.

Julian watched how the man opened the heavy door with ease and felt a bit apprehensive about what he was going to do. 'No more different than doing it in the back of a shity car with a drunken punk you met at the disco, but he's not drunk.' He noticed that he had some grey hairs among his black hair, but they make him look more interesting than old.

Instead of walking to the main elevator the man opened a small door to a service area and Julian followed him inside the tiny elevator.