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.

The youth was surprised to enter in a large sparsely decorated in white kitchen. “Do you want to drink anything?” the man asked.

“Do you have something to eat?”

“Are you hungry?”

“I normally have breakfast at this hour,” the boy answered mind absently as the flashback of taking the subway and walking four blocks to Ahmed's flat every Sunday morning hit him.

“I have nothing fresh at home and it's still too early for anything to be open.”

“That sounds very much like something my mother would tell,” Julian mumbled as he crossed the room to the aisle that harboured the cooker and served as a table too. “She's too lazy to cook and forgets to go to the supermarket.”

“No, really. I just returned yesterday afternoon from Brussels. I work there,” the man said as he walked toward the refrigerator. “There's nothing here and the cleaning lady does not come till Monday morning. Maybe there's something frozen in the freezer.” He said as his hands rummaged some carton boxes inside the freezer. He took a large one and looked at the expiration date before he showed it to Julian. “Croissants with ham and cheese is fine for you? Wait, were you not Muslim?”

“No, I'm not. That I wasn't drinking for some time was only because my boyfriend is... I mean, he was.”

“Was Muslim?” the man asked sounding very uninterested in what the youth had to say as he read the instructions written in the box.

“No, he was my boyfriend,” mildly upset Julian corrected him.

“So you can still eat ham.”

“When there's some around,” Julian answered. “Leaving alcohol was easier than leaving the pigs behind. In fact, I dated one for a long time,” he added sourly.

“It's over or maybe things get better between you two,” the man answered as he opened the box. “Two is enough?”

“I don't think things will get better. You can't kick someone out and then come back and make everything OK again with a sorry 'sorry'.”

“You'd be surprised how many times that is the case. People are afraid to lose what they have and cope with everything before making a clear cut when that would be for the best. Like tonight with me. My escort was a bit on the “pushing side” and I just sent him to hell.” The man went for a crystal platter and set four croissants on it before he put it inside the microwave.

“I'm not a creep. I have some pride,” Julian retorted heatedly. “I have enough of giving him part of my money for his rent. I'm not a fucking dog that can be kicked at will.”

“How old are you, really?”

“Eighteen. Why?”

“And do you give money to another man, much older than you?” the man asked in disbelief.

“Always better than giving it to your bully brother,” Julian smirked. “Especially if the takes it away from you. Anyway, It wasn't that much.”

The man didn't reply and focused on getting the hot food out of the microwave as he set them on a large dish and took two other porcelain dishes and cups from the cupboard to place them along. “Coffee?”

“Don't you have anything stronger? Could use a real drink,” Julian asked instead as he removed now his own black coat.

“Right,” the man said. “Help me with the things and follow me to the living room.”

“What's that?” Julian asked when he saw the iridescent white crystal bottle in the man's hand. Without looking at him, the man poured the transparent liquid in two glasses, sliced a green-lime and only peeled off some of the fruit's skin in large slices that were added to the glass before he poured tonic over it, using a large spoon.

“Vodka-tonic,” he answered.

“Vodka-tonic?”

“Gin-tonic times are over,” the man told him nonchalantly. “You could inform that to the bartender at that sorry place too. There's life beyond Tanqueray and Schweppes,” he smirked remembering with disgust the night he had spent there. “This is a Cîroc, a vodka five times distilled from two different kind of white grapes especially created for that matter.”

“Are you a bartender too?”

“No, a wine-connoisseur.” The man extended the short-squared glass to Julian. “And I hate to have a lemon slice in this. It destroys the bubbles of the tonic.”

“Some people say lime is too flavoured for gin,” smiled Julian before he took a sip from the glass. “It's very good and has a final fruity taste, unlike vodka.”

“For someone who spent a year in absolute abstinence, you still remember something,” the man really laughed for the first time.

“The bartender taught me that there's life beyond Cola and gin, or Fanta and beer or tetra-brick wines,” Julian answered seriously. “When Ahmed was not looking,” he winked.

“So that's the real reason you didn't convert to Islam?” The man sneered again.

“I don't care much about religion. It's not in my plans.”

“But you know about tonight's plans, don't you?”

“You mean, this morning's plans,” Julian replied with a half-looped smile, indicating with his head the early sun filtering through the floor to ceiling French windows. “Yes, I have a pretty good idea,” he answered as he began to nibble the warm croissant set in front of him.

The man watched in silence how Julian ate two of the pastries and marvelled at the young man's delicate beauty, enhanced by the natural light. The common black uniform he wore or his long shiny white-hair, tied in a knot along with a had made him look androgynous and exotic at the club, but now he possessed a boyish look in his eyes that made him look frail and innocent, almost like a child. 'Could pass as a Dior model if he weren't so short.'

He watched enthralled how a small cheese yarn dangled from the full lips and unable to control himself any longer, his fingers touched the corner of the lip to remove it, but he couldn't suppress the shudder that went through his body when the boy smiled in return, leaving the half-eaten croissant aside, before he softly kissed the man's hand.

With a sweet smile, Julian jumped from the stool in which he had been sitting to put his arms around the man's shoulders and kiss him with wild abandon. His hands travelled along the nape and his fingers played with the dark hairs, finding them softer than he had imagined.

The man increased his hold over the boy's waist and pulled him against his chest, urging him to deepen his kisses. Julian's hands caressed his back languorously several times before they travelled across the leather belt and began to unbuckle it.

The trousers were pulled down quickly, and taking the man's member in a strong grip with his left hand, Julian began to pump it as he knelt down to take its tip within his lips, playing with the sensitive skin.

The man exhaled in bliss as he had to lean his back against the bar, partly lost in the pleasure the boy was giving him, pumping and sucking his member at the same time. His eyes wandered along the white head and the rhythmic moves it made, was almost hypnotic for him. With his right hand, he removed the rubber that kept the hair in a tight knot, and it fell like a silver cascade over the youth's back. The large blue eyes looked at him for a second, puzzled by this unexpected move, and the man almost came.

Almost at the point of his release, the man delicately pushed Julian away, and croaked: “let's go to the bedroom,”

“You are so beautiful,” he said with true admiration when Julian rose in one single graceful move, making him smile, truly happy for the compliment.

Readjusting his clothes, he walked towards his large bedroom and opened the door to the also sparsely decorated room.

Julian watched in awe the large double bed as his fingers touched the smooth silk deep red cover that decorated it. Still without speaking, he playfully pushed his companion to the bed, making him fall sit as he fumbled with his clothes.

“You're not from this world,” the man said and Julian only shushed him putting a finger in front of his lips.

Julian removed his clothes standing in front of the bed with slow moves, glad that the man was truly appreciating his body and was not in a hurry to have sex and be done with it. He enjoyed how his hungry eyes followed each one of his moves or roamed his body each time he stopped to savour the taste of what was to come between them.

Once he was naked, his hands began to undo the man's buttons, as he kissed his chest, glad that his body was still well defined and not fat. He pulled from the silken light blue shirt, but it got stuck with those strange golden buttons at the cuffs.

“Wait, let me do it,” the man said before he quickly disengaged his cufflinks as Julian laid on the cover.

The man removed the rest of his clothes and began to suck the boy enthusiastically, increasing his pace each time he heard a soft moan coming from him, or the bony hips rose to meet his mouth. Once the boy was as excited as he was, his hand reached his night stand table and looked for the lube tube and a condom.

The lubricant was spread with slow moves and once he felt that Julian was more than ready to receive him, he laid down on the bed, next to the boy to slid the condom on.

Once more in absolute silence, Julian rose and placed his tights on the man's sides, effectively trapping him between them. With slow moves he gradually impaled on the erect member, undulating his hips as his hands touched the man's torso, to finally rest over his nipples

“Fuck me hard,” Julian growled as he moved away from his lover.

Disoriented, the man looked transfixed at the boy who one minute was sweeter than a box of chocolates and the next was feral in a disturbing way. He watched how the lad turned around and went on his fours.

Full of hesitations, the man penetrated him again, more forcefully than before and began to pound him, strangely disturbed that somehow he was not in power any longer and the youth controlled each one of his moves. Upset, he increased the pace of his thrusts and the boy moaned in a way that his momentary anger dissolved into the nothingness.

Only focused on giving his young lover as much pleasure as he could, the man did what he was told and quickly achieved his release, oddly relieved that the boy had also had it almost at the same time as he.

* * *

“What is your name?” the man asked as he put his arms around the lithe body, still exhausted from their frenzy lovemaking.

“Julian Santos Pardo, and yours?” Julian replied as he turned around, not truly interested in the answer, wondering where his mobile phone could be.

“I thought you were never going to ask me. Oliver Eduardo Abreu Melo da Silva.”

“Ain't you Spanish?” Julian asked surprised because the man spoke a clear Spanish but his name was not.

“My mother is Spanish and I lived all my childhood in Madrid, but I'm Portuguese for my passport and work.”

“Ah,” he said as he disentangled himself from the arms that had been holding him and picked up his shirt to find his phone there. Under the surprised look of the man, he returned to the bed, and began to check his messages.

“He's not going to call you,” Oliver blurted out full of an odd rancour.

“Who?”

“Your boyfriend... Your former boyfriend.”

“I was checking what my friends were doing. Jessy said something about having some drinks at her home. Maybe she's partying right now. Ahmed is history.”

The man snorted and Julian looked at him. “What? You told me not to cry and that I would find something better. Well, you were right.”

“Don't get too comfortable in here. I have to return to Brussels on Wednesday,” Oliver almost barked, upset that the youth was blatantly ignoring him.

“I didn't mean you,” Julian shrugged as he began to type something on his wall.

* * *

Instant-YOU. Connect with the world

Text: a new worry takes your mind off the old one.

Mood: Relaxed, laid and happy.

* * *

“That post is worthless without pictures,” Oliver smirked, feeling on the limit of his patience at the boy's casual attitude towards everything.

“There are clear rules. No porno or you're banned for life,” Julian answered as he carelessly threw the mobile towards the pile of wrinkled clothes.

“That makes me feel much better. I wouldn't know if I was up to your friends' expectations,” Oliver said with irony.

“Don't know. Give me your Facebook address and I'll pass it around. Maybe Shiro is up at this hour. Jenny is drinking with some people,” he added, remembering the messages he had just read.

“I have no Facebook account,” the man replied upset.

“No Facebook? That's weird. Everybody has one,” Julian commented and his companion frowned. “I thought you mentioned something about some records you wanted to show me,” he continued to speak oblivious to the malaise coming from the man.

“Do you really want to listen to them?” Oliver asked in utter shock.

“After a shower and finishing the two croissants left.” Julian rose from the bed and began to gather his clothes. The absurdity of the situation was almost unbearable for Oliver and he guffawed.

“What's so funny?” Julian asked, dashing for his phone as it had beeped twice.

“You,” the man tried to said but it was almost impossible for him to stop giggling.

* * *

Wearing a bathrobe was a strange feeling for Julian; the fabric was soft, thick and fluffy at the same time, feeling more luxurious than the satin sheets his mother had bought years ago when the money was rolling in and her boyfriend was a successful construction worker till he was fired. Julian remembered the soft spoken man with something akin to kindness as he had put a little of order in their chaotic lifestyle. Her mother had stopped her work as cleaning lady and his brother tried to return to school. He even bought the flat where they lived, but one day, Franklin lost his job, then his unemployment money was over and the bank claimed their monthly payments for the mortgage were delayed. One day, a nameless clerk from the court left the first subpoena and things were going down from that moment.

The flat was lost and auctioned and Franklin still owed over a hundred thousand euros to the bank. Like Julian and his brother's fathers had done in the past, the man packed his things in silence and got lost in the sea of defeated workers never to be seen again. Julian hoped that he had been clever enough as to return to his own country, but he doubted it. He never had much money around.

So they all returned to his grandmother's flat to live from her pension, his mother's pension and the little money he was making in different trades when school was over. He handed out brochures; walked dogs; fantasised with the idea of selling drugs but all the positions at his neighbourhood were already filled and none of the gangs could stand his brother therefore it was better to keep distance from their members. Finally, one of the go-go dancers, a girl he had met in school, found him a job at the club's cloakroom for the weekends.

Julian truly felt his grandmother's death because the old lady had always been kind of generous to the “strange boy” her mother had sired while she was working one summer at the strawberry fields in Huelva. Half Spanish- Half... Russian? Bielorrussian? Romanian? Vitaly, with no last name, didn't make very clear his origins (or his mother didn't care-listened to his story) and all what Julian inherited from him were his grey-blue eyes. “Your father must have been a rocket scientist to balance my daughter's idiocy,” had his grandmother told him countless times, especially when he was bringing good grades from school. “There are many stories of educated people coming here to work in the fields because they make more money in Spain than in their own countries.”

So many seekers came, believing that Eldorado was actually hidden in Spain, that Julian's five years older brother was unable to find a “job good enough for him,” according to his own words. Everyone that was not of Spanish origins (roots), was guilty of their current misery, and he and “many more” would “kick them back to the jungle, starting by your monkey friend, that Mohammed.”

“Sure thing. Call me when you have a date for it,” had Julian replied and since that day, a silent war between the two brothers had begun, poisoning the atmosphere at their mini-flat.

Julian hated when his mind began to work or reminded him of all the problems he had to face everyday. In a way, he envied his mother or brother who had such a primitive outlook on life. No matter how much he tried to quieten it, his mind would always tell him that he was on a slide ride to the very bottom.

The man's laughter at him, right in his face still reverberated inside his head.

Upset, he brushed his hair until all knots were dissolved, but his mood didn't improved. He left the larger than his own flat marble bathroom, and waked back to the living room as the bedroom was empty.

The first thing that caused a huge impression in him was that the obviously rich man had no TV set anywhere to be seen, nor he had heard it on anywhere too. That was strange. The second impressive thing, beside the thundering silence in the house, were the windows overlooking the tall trees, which reached up to the third floor.

An educated soft cough took him out of the trance he had fell into by watching the iridescent leaves moving under the early springtime wind.

“I don't know if I should offer you breakfast or taking you out for brunch,” Oliver said from the couch.

“Would you go out with me?” Julian asked genuinely surprised.

“Yes, it would be fun to see if you can type SMS under the bright sun,” the man said disdainfully and walked to a large built-in cabinet where he kept a music-system. He opened a small laptop and browsed with the cursor along many files till he mumbled: “here it is.”

The soft lute music flooded the room and Julian quickly recognized the melody.

“Hey, that's my song. The one I like.”

“Yes, that's a song now,” Oliver mumbled again “I supposed it was pop-song once,” he added sharply listening to the early baroque composition performed by Alfred Daller.

“Are you able to understand the verses?” he asked disdainfully.

“Wiki and the English school teacher. I like the last verse.

Hark! you shadows that in darkness dwell,

Learn to contemn light

Happy, happy they that in hell

Feel not the world's despite.”

“Can you speak English at all?”

“A little. I was the best at school but it wasn't the great thing. I was thinking to get a job in London for a while, but I had a boyfriend. But that's not a problem anymore, is it?” Julian added with a pensive face, realising that there was nothing really binding him to anything.

“What would you do in London?”

“Get a job and learn English. Then, return here and get a good job in a large company.”

“It doesn't work like that, boy.” Oliver said. “If you want to advance in life, you need an education and look completely different as you do now.”

“How so?”

“In all my years working for international companies, I never saw someone below thirty with white-hair. Not even the office-boy. Dressed and looking like you do, you're nothing but another disposable waste.”

Julian rose from the chair enraged at the words the man had just pronounced. “You can say what you want, but I'm intelligent and can do all what I want.”

“Sure, in your Playstation, or perhaps do you have a Sims account?” the man mocked him. “But you are a lot of fun in bed and that should count for something.”

“I'm not a jerk who was stood up by his date!” Julian shouted back.

“No, that is correct,” the man replied with a false humble tone. “You are a jerk who was dismissed by his much older boyfriend. Did you forget to pay his rent, boy?”

Julian crumpled on the sofa and gaped at the man. “But be my guest and go to London, live like a beggar, learn a few sentences and come back to line up with the hundreds who went to the University and are more qualified than you for that job you desire. Anyway, none of you is going to get that dreamed position.” The man said coldly. “Too much reality for you?”

“No,” whispered Julian.

“Good. My words are harsh but true. In the moment you are nothing but a funny toy. Maybe if you would study, you could have some chances, but don't think you can come out of the gutter so easily. The mud from the gutter sticks to your soul.”

Julian was silent for a long time as the man sat in the couch opposite to his and listened to the rest of the record.

“How do you get all this?” Julian asked softly when the man rose to turn the stereo off.

“I don't understand you.”

“How do you get all this? How do you get a nice house, a job and... respect?”

The man looked at him for a long time before he decided to answer. “They say that you have to work hard and you will earn people's respect, but I will tell you the truth. You have to been born with it. I am who I am because of where I was born, the schools I attended, the properties I inherited and the connections I've made since I was in kindergarten. What does your father do for a living?”

“I don't know. Never knew him.”

“There you have your answer and your chances. Zero.”

“That's not true!”

“Only a few can rise from the bottom and it is very hard for them. When I look at this generation, I only see a bunch of ninnies waiting for mama and papa to solve their lives, more concerned on how they look than what they will do. I see you, and here you are, more concerned with what your friends will tell or write in your Facebook wall, than in trying to get something out of me.”

“It's Instant-YOU,” Julian rebuked the man softly. “Without it, you're nobody.”

“With it, you are no one,” the man smirked. “You are not the worst case that I've seen so far. There are far worse. Do you live with your mother?”

“Yes, but I want out.”

“Well, that's already a lot. Most of you don't want out.”

“I can't get out because I haven't got any money to pay for a rent. I don't know if with 500 would be enough to share a room and live with the rest. Any kind of further schooling is out of my reach. I can't pay for it.”

“Perhaps you should consider to change your priorities. Forget an international company and look for something smaller that also gives money, like a store. A men's store because a book store might be too demanding for you.”

“Anybody can get a job as mobile phones seller! With the crisis you make less than I do at the wardrobe!”

“I said men's shop. A tailor.

“El Corte Inglés is firing people and Springfield does not hire any longer.”

“You have no idea what a tailor is,” sighed Oliver. “Most of them have assistants that help the customers during the fittings. I particularly like to have a pretty face to bring me a cup of coffee, or show me the fabrics.”

“I'm not a doll like those twerps at Abercrombie,” Julian sounded deeply offended at the suggestion.

“I give up with you. It's useless,” sighed Oliver again. “Perhaps there is some kind of demand for living Dollfie dolls,” he mumbled and Julian's eyes pierced him.

“Why?” the boy growled.

“You speak before you think. Have a little restrain, please.”

“I speak my mind.”

“That's very clear, and that is the main problem here. You speak the obvious, jump to conclusions and embarrass yourself in the process.”

“What?” croaked Julian.

“This is an old men's world,” Oliver explained him with a tired voice. “With rules you don't know but perhaps you will learn. Till then, keep your mouth wide shut until you are totally and absolutely sure you are not going to goof it.”

“You have to say things or people won't listen to you.”

“Really? Is it not the opposite? The less you speak, the most they hear you?”

“I don't know.”

“Exactly. You don't know, therefore and until you learn it, let's say in five or ten years, keep your mouth shut.”

Julian opened his mouth to mumble “fine”, but Oliver's warningly half-risen eyebrow made him keep silence.

“See? Much better. Where was I? Ah, yes. As I was saying, this is an old men's world with a clear structure and rules which you are supposed to know. Unfortunately, your parents never took the effort to show them to you, your teachers failed to do so, and the media told you you were free to do anything you wanted and that you, as a teenager were the pillar of modern society, and in a twisted way you were. Your age group is the largest consumer and that makes you important. You could consume everything that can be sold, and your parents would efficiently pay for it. You were a child of abundance. But plenty times are over, and you are not useful any longer. So here we are presented with a dilemma.” Julian opened the mouth to say something. “Look for the word in the dictionary or Google,” Oliver rebuked sharply. “A dilemma. You still want everything that was taken away from you, but your providers are unemployed, gone into pension or simply tired of supporting you, and yet, in the age where you should be able to obtain such things for yourself, know nothing about how to do it. You are a part of the system, yet you are unable to fulfil your duty to society. What do we do with your kind?”

“I do work,” Julian slightly protested.

“Yes, you can hang clothes very nicely. Give me your mobile phone.” Julian wanted to protest again but Oliver only said “hush!”, and took it from his hands to nonchalantly begin to read Julian's messages.

“That's private!” he shouted, but Oliver ignored him, frowning at the screen.

“It is as I thought. You are spelling-challenged too. We can consider ourselves lucky that Spanish has got only 15 writing rules. a Did you ever read a full book?”

“Once, in school.”

“Do you remember it?”

“Partly. Give it back!” Julian admitted embarrassed as his hand tried to pry the mobile away from the man's hands, but Oliver hid it in his own pocket before he could reach it.

“I am doing a favour to the Spanish language. Let's see if you can live for one day without it.”

“It's mine!” Julian roared incensed.

“How many words do you know? Fifty, maybe eighty? Semicolon, dash, closing parenthesis,” Oliver sneered.

“You're a....”

“Ah, ah. I'm making you a favour today. Think on the rewards of your small sacrifice. A lost phone for a chance in life.”

“What?”

“Hush. As I was saying, we have to find which are your comparative advantages, so people can overlook your disadvantages, which are too many to count at this precise moment. If we are able to make a nice package out of you, then we will be able to find a suitable position for you.”

“What are you? Slave master?” Julian growled insolently.

“Human Resources Consultant, but I doubt you will understand the irony behind my words.”

Julian grasped for air before he would put the “fucker” back in his place, but the scorn in the man's eyes, hurt him in a way none of his words had done before. 'I'm trash. That's how rich people sees me.'

He remained silent.

“Very good. You are a fast learner and not stubborn at all. That is an incredibly good advantage. You want to make money and have a nice life, but the way you plan to achieve it, is bound to fail. You are uneducated, poor, without connections and clueless. On the other side, you are good-looking, have got a certain degree of intelligence, perhaps some good taste, and certainly know how to hang clothes.”

It took a lot of Julian's will-power to keep his mouth shut.

“My tailor was telling me the other day he needs a helper. The other tailors who work under him don't want to run errands for the customers, and catering to their whims is very important in his line of business. With a good fixing of your attitude, and a new look, perhaps he may hire you.”

“I'm fine as I am.”

“Really?” snorted Oliver.

“No,” Julian admitted defeated.

“Good answer. You realise how deep into the quick-sands you are relentlessly sinking. Many won't do it.” Julian looked at him sullenly. “That was a compliment and you are supposed to say “thank you”.”

“Thank you,” growled Julian.

“Humbly,” Oliver retorted irked at the youth's voice and clear upset. “Education is all about controlling your wild animal instincts.”

Julian looked at him bewildered.

“Be nice and polite. There is no need to mark every tree, Julian. With your harsh tone and attitude, that is what you are permanently doing. Don't complain if people mistake you for a dog and feed you with dog-biscuits.”

“Thank you,” Julian mumbled in a less combative voice.

“For?”

“For?”

“Why are you thanking me? Do I have to spell everything for you?”

“I don't know,” Julian blurted out and Oliver sighed again.

“For taking an interest in you and offering to mend your life just a bit.”

“Really?” He asked genuinely surprised. “Why would you do that?”

“Because I'm on holidays till Wednesday and bored to death,” Oliver huffed as he was too tired to explain why the “comic-punk” had taken his fancy. 'It would be funny to see if I can get something good out of this 'white-trash'. Yes, that's an appropriate term for him,' he thought with irony.

* * *

Instant-YOU. Connect with the world: No way I'm cutting my hair off!!!

Mood: Fuck you!

* * *

“I look like one of the brainless twerps from the conservative party,” Julian said, impressed by the change as he saw his reflection over the large glass at the coiffeur shop in the mall.

“They have good jobs,” Oliver answered back, his patience with the boy on his limit after enduring a storm of pouts since they had visited the hairdresser. “White is not your colour, really.”

“I look ordinary,” the youth pouted again, frowning at the image the mirror showed him, his long white-hair gone for ever.

“No, you stopped looking trashy. Perhaps in the classy neighbourhood where you live, there is a different acceptation for the term 'classical'.”

“What?”

“Look for the word in dictionary,” buffed Oliver and watched with resignation how Julian fruitlessly searched for his lost phone in his pockets to google the word. “Acceptation is a synonym for 'meaning',” he explained tiredly.

“Anyway, this looks bad.”

“No, it doesn't. With this well-needed change, we stand a chance of not scaring the life out of my good-old tailor when he sees you.”

“Do you really want to get me a job?”

“I'm a slave master. Am I not?” Oliver smirked as he stood from the armchair he had been using. “Buy a wig for Saturday-nights,” he sneered again as he turned around to walk towards the cashier. “Halloween is over. Maybe there's something suitable for you on sale.”

Words deserted Julian once more, but his mind was in turmoil. 'A real job? That would be a first.' Silently, he looked again for his mobile, but fought against the frustration by thinking on the shocking post he could write if the recalcitrant man would have returned him his beloved phone.

* * *

Instant-YOU. Connect with the world: I'm light-brown now. Makes my blue eyes look bigger. Gonna get a new boyfriend soon.

Mood: Not bored.

'Even high class prostitute is better than this dullness I live in.'

* * *

“When I told you to be quiet, I didn't expect it would last for so long,” Oliver said disdainfully, partly tired that the boy had remained silent since they had left the hairdresser, not even fighting or pouting when he had simply chosen a good and elegant outfit for him and ordered him to wear it.

Dressed in a simple way, beige trousers, light-blue shirt and grey Kashmir jersey, the Julian had been immediately the center of all looks at the restaurant. The wave of self gratification Oliver felt a wave of pride growing inside him at the partly-concealed envious looks from men and women as well he got thanks to “his” boy. Only that made worth a full Sunday morning spent at a snobbish mall. 'Yes, a position as flower vase is the best he can aspire to.'

“I was never here,” Julian answered quietly, not so sure of his surroundings any longer or the way he should behave. Standing out in a hostile environment was not as exciting as he had originally believed. Despite his new shiny cover, Julian knew he was an outsider for the patrons sitting in the classy terrace of the restaurant.

“I used to come here when I lived in Madrid, but not anymore.”

Afraid to commit a mistake, Julian only nodded and fixed his gaze upon the china, watching by the corner of his eye how Oliver used the cutlery. “Does your tailor work on Sundays?” he asked shyly.

“No, not at all. I have an appointment with him on Monday. I'll take you then,” Oliver answered nonchalantly.

“Oh, I didn't expected it to be so soon.”

“Do you have plans for tomorrow?” Oliver asked sceptically.

“No, tomorrow will be fine,” Julian answered quietly and Oliver looked at him warningly. “Thank you,” he added quickly.

“That's much better. You can pass by my flat tomorrow at nine or spend the night here, if you want. Perhaps your family is concerned.”

“My mother? She won't notice I'm not there,” Julian said. “I already left my part of the money,” he added sourly.

“She won't probably recognise you,” Oliver smiled genuinely. “You look quite differently.”

“I feel different,” Julian answered calmly as his eyes roamed the terrace inspecting each of the customers' faces. “May I stay with you for the afternoon and come back tomorrow?” he asked finally.

“It will be my pleasure.”