Memoirs of a Gigolo Volume Four

by Livia Ellis

  Again – I would pay for this. But I don’t have to. If I were willing to give up everything that mattered to me, I’d never have to pay for it. Tempting.

  I’m not dumb. I get it. Olga is in to me. I’m in to her. If I had the freedom to just fall into that swimming pool of emotions with her, I probably would.

  Hand up – I’m vulnerable. Very little would offer me as much comfort as having a loving girlfriend at this moment. Especially one that really knows how to give a blow.

  I let my body sink into the pillows as Olga draws all my cares out of my body with that beautiful mouth of hers.

  When I’m done and in a state of absolute carefree bliss, she leans over me and brushes her fingers through my hair.

  Did I like that?

  Absolutely I liked that.

  Good. She likes to see me smile.

  My whole body is smiling.

  Good. She needs me to do something for her now.

  Anything.

  I’m to get rid of Renata in the morning. That or I need to take her to the train station so she can leave. Either way, the choice is mine. (Her fingertips are stroking my stomach at this moment – I’m not dumb, I know I’m being played and I don’t care.) But she’s not spending another night with that woman’s toxic energy polluting up her chi.

  Whatever she wants she can have. I’ll give her the moon. I’ll get rid of Renata. With pleasure. It’s time to draw a line under that relationship once and for all. Renata and her unborn child will never be my problem. I have enough problems. None of which really matter as I slip into a deep endorphin induced sleep.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  The First Catch

  I don’t know what happened during the night between Elon and Renata and I don’t want to know. There are some things best left a mystery. I’ve fought with Renata. I’ve been the focal point around which the concentrated power of Renata’s craziness has coalesced. I don’t envy Elon. What I do know is that Olga woke me before dawn so she could get to the horses and instructed me to dispatch Renata before she returned for lunch.

  Breakfast for me was in the China Room with Elon. Mrs. Gresham had kindly set everything out including the carafe of coffee and hot water for tea. I have a feeling Olga might be behind using the China Room. It seems like the sort of thing she’d find fancy. Do I tell her that women would have taken their breakfast in their rooms? Probably not. Let her enjoy it while it lasts.

  Renata slept in the room the two of them shared the previous night. He’s pretty sure he’s the father of her fetus. Not baby, child, or bundle of joy. The fetus. She could technically still have an abortion, but she’s past the fourteen week mark and refuses. At least refused. He’s pretty well certain he’s talked her into it. Even she isn’t too dim to see what a mistake it would be for her to bring a child into the world.

  This is all good. This is all very good. I tell him about the archaeologists.

  Bastards. But who can blame them considering what it takes to get funding? Not that he’s defending them, but it makes sense they’d be that desperate.

  Will he go and poke around?

  Sounds like his sort of treachery.

  The door to the breakfast room opens and Renata enters. She’s wearing some sort of hippy turban like she’s been scalped rather than has a chunk removed.

  Did I kick that vicious bitch out yet? Because she is just not having it. In case I missed the point, I’m done with Olga. There is to be no more Olga. She’s considering suing for assault. Now what are we going to do about the baby? Should we all move in together? It could be like some wacky sit-com.

  Elon literally smacks his fist against his forehead before getting up and just walking out of the room.

  What’s his problem?

  Did she or did she not tell Elon that she would have an abortion?

  She would have told him the moon sparkled because it was diamond encrusted to get him to leave her alone so she could get some sleep. She has no intention of having an abortion. We’re going to raise the baby together. It’ll be fun.

  No. No it will not be fun. Nothing could be less fun. I’m going to get married.

  Doubtful.

  Not doubtful. I’m not going to raise her child for her.

  Pay attention. We three will do it together.

  Under no circumstance would I raise a child with her and Elon. Wolves would be better parents than the two of them.

  I take the coffee out of her hand. No caffeine. No booze. No cigarettes.

  Those are myths.

  I smack my fist against my forehead. Have an abortion. Please. For all our sakes. Do not bring a child into this world.

  No.

  I give up before I get drawn in. I will not get involved in this.

  I’m already involved.

  Nope. Not even a little. She needs to get her stuff packed so I can drive her into town to the train station. She’s going back to London that morning.

  No she isn’t. She was planning on staying for the week.

  I need her to listen to me very carefully. We are no longer friends. She has come to my home uninvited after having been previously warned she’s not welcome at Wold Hall. In the process of trespassing she has insulted my friend Olga and the Greshams and me in the process. She is not welcome under my roof.

  Why am I being such a little bitch?

  She’s not welcome in my home or in my life anymore. I’ve had enough. I don’t have time for her tempest of attention seeking anymore. I’ve outgrown it. She needs to make her exit.

  Get over myself. I’m not serious.

  Yes. I am quite serious.

  The usual string of threats come. Honestly, Renata has threatened to kill herself so many times there are moments I just wish she’d make a botched attempt of it so she can truly know whether or not she does want to live. I’m not very Christian about things like the soul. Sometimes there are people in the world that find it too hard to endure. Renata might be one of those people. Perhaps the kindest thing to do would be to let her dismiss the life she finds too hard to live at times.

  Regardless, I’m not walking through that door again. I will not be drawn into her never ending loop of self-destruction. I’m done. I’m out. She needs to get her stuff. She’s leaving.

  Can’t we talk about this?

  No. We’re done. My life is going in a new direction and there is no room for her in it.

  Because whoring is my new life?

  No. I don’t know what that life is, but it doesn’t include her.

  Then I do something I rarely do. I go to the wall and tug on the bell pull for the kitchen.

  A few minutes later Mrs. Gresham walks in wiping her hands on a towel.

  Are we okay? She looks genuinely concerned. No one uses the bells in the house anymore. Not since my grandmother died and the last of the staff slowly drifted away.

  Renata is leaving. Would she mind terribly going and fetching her bag? I’m not leaving her unsupervised.

  Not a problem at all.

  I watch Renata knowing better than to leave her alone in my home, especially in a room lined with shelves of filled china cabinets containing the family dishes.

  How well do I know Renata? Well enough to know that when she goes for a meander around the room, she’s really aiming for the china cabinets. What could be more tempting to a psychopath than a room full of breakables when she’s angry? Probably not much.

  Before she has a chance to do anything I march her to the main hall. She’s yelling at me the entire time, but I truly don’t recall a word of what she said. Sort of like when a song is playing on repeat over and over again and you simply don’t hear the words anymore.

  Mrs. Gresham meets us at the door as Mr. Gresham drives up in Olga’s car.

  The three of us angle Renata into the car like a small pack of Collies moving a lone sheep.

  She’s worryingly subdued as I drive her directly into Exeter. Better train service to London and less chance she’ll follow me home a
gain.

  I buy her ticket and wait with her.

  Part of me fears she’s finally broken. Then I remind myself she’s not my problem.

  Before she gets on the train, she tells me that we should have gotten married.

  I asked. She declined.

  We were children.

  Twenty-two isn’t exactly children. Besides. Turning me down was the best thing she could have done for me. So thanks for that. (Where would my life be right now if we had gotten married and had that child? I’d have a six year old dogging my steps. That would be nice. I would have to live with Renata. Or not – how realistic is it Renata would have taken off years earlier? Probably pretty high.)

  We could still get married. Pass off Elon’s kid as mine.

  No thanks.

  Olga’s a bitch.

  I check my watch. One minute. If we were in Germany where the trains run on time I’d feel relief. As it is, I nearly despair.

  Olga is a prostitute.

  So am I.

  The train pulls in pretty much on time. I stick Renata on it and wait until it’s gone. I don’t know that I’ll never see her again, but I know that I’m done.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  Bachelorette Number One

  When I return from ensuring Renata has been removed from my property, Olga is riding a tall bay shire along the lane. She waves at me and follows me to the drive.

  I slide out of the car as she dismounts.

  Did I get rid of that vicious bitch?

  Yes. Vicious bitch has been dispatched. Where is Elon?

  Antagonizing the archaeologists. He keeps touching their stuff. It’s driving them bananas. It was ever so much fun. She's in love. With Elon. He’s her new boyfriend.

  Elon is gay.

  She’s knows he was my gay boyfriend. Now he’s her gay boyfriend. Maybe we can share him sometime soon. She’d like that. She’s never done that when it wasn’t work related.

  He was not my gay boyfriend. I’m not going back to that place with Elon again. If she wants an off the clock three-way find someone else. Just not Elon.

  She rolls her eyes. Whatever.

  I scratch old Daisy on the nose. I thought she’d been turned into glue or dog food long ago.

  How can I say such awful things? Daisy is the new love of her life.

  Daisy nuzzles Olga.

  Daisy is so sweet and gentle. She's such a big, sweet, baby. They've had a wonderful morning together. They understand each other. Horses understand everything.

  I'm getting a picture of young Olga. Tall. Too tall. Taller than all the boys. Sort of a gangly girl that hadn't quite grown into her body. Would rather spend her time with horses than people. Horses don't call her beanpole or promise her that one day when her skin clears up that she'll be a great beauty. Her father's constant string of women are more competition for his affection than she can manage. So she has her horses.

  I smile at her. I'm pleased she had a good morning. And best of all... I kiss her cheek - she didn't wake me. At least not for long. I kiss her cheek again. I need to get to the garden. Does she want a ride back from the stable? When does she bring Daisy back?

  She bought Daisy. It's all been sorted. Mr. Gresham will let Daisy stay in the stables when she's visiting. If she calls before we leave London, he'll go and pick her up. Poor baby Daisy. Nobody wanted her. But Olga will take care of her.

  She bought Daisy.

  Of course, she bought Daisy. How could she not buy Daisy? They've bonded.

  She bought Daisy.

  Why do I keep saying that? It's not like she bought a car or a yacht.

  How much?

  It's her money. She can spend it however she wants. But she did have to borrow some of my cash. She'll pay me back.

  With interest?

  She kisses me on the cheek. Of course, with interest. Did I buy oranges and sugar?

  Yes.

  Good. I don't get a kiss on the cheek. I get one very firm, open mouthed kiss, that contains a fair amount of tongue. Another first. A real kiss in broad daylight for no other reason or purpose than she wanted to kiss me.

  She lets me go. She's going to sort out Daisy in the stable, shower, and make marmalade. She's going to learn. Very exciting. She’ll be just like Princess Kitty in Anna Karenina.

  I’ve met a few princesses in my time. I’m pretty sure none of them have ever made marmalade. But I don’t mention this. She’s too happy. I wonder what it’s like in her head. Is the world brighter and more joyful? Does she ever think on an existential level about the fact she fucks for a living? Do still waters run deep in Olga? Or is she precisely as she appears to be?

  She slides back up on Daisy. I watch the two until they disappear around the corner.

  My mobile vibrates in my trousers. I can't believe I have reception. I pull it out and look at the display. The Matchmaker. I debate whether or not to answer. Then I do. The more I can work, the sooner I can retire.

  There are never any pleasantries when we're on the phone.

  Is Olga with me? She heard a rumor the two of us left together.

  Olga is with me. Does she need to talk to her?

  Yes. But that's not why she's calling me. She thinks she may have found a wife for me. In fact, this is very promising. Very promising indeed.

  I don't want to know this. Not now. Not here.

  The woman is the daughter of the man who is very big in oil and gas. Very big. In fact bigger than I can even imagine. He and his wife are looking for a husband for their oldest daughter. The tricky bit is the two younger sisters, twins, have both fallen in love with very acceptable men that get the family stamp of approval. The older girl.... The Matchmaker pauses.

  What? Fat? Ugly? Stupid? Fat, ugly, and stupid? How bad is it?

  Do I know what a rani is?

  Only in the derogatory sense.

  That's the sense she means.

  So she's a princess. And not a sweet princess, but an evil, demanding, bitchy one? Just the kind of girl that would marry someone because they could make her a countess.

  That is what I asked for.

  Details please.

  The Matchmaker has never met her personally, but her mother says she's a pure delight.

  She must be a monster.

  Do I care?

  I truly wish I did.

  I've been invited to meet the mother and some of the women of the family.

  When?

  Thursday afternoon. Her office.

  I wasn’t planning on returning to London before Friday.

  Do I want to marry the daughter of a billionaire or not?

  Point made. Thursday afternoon in her office. I’ll be there.

  Dress like an English lord.

  By virtue of the fact I am an English lord, everything I wear is what an English lord would wear.

  Stop being a smart ass. It's my least attractive trait. Dress appropriately.

  Top hat? Morning dress?

  Silence is her answer.

  I'll wear a suit and tie.

  Fine. What is happening with Olga? Tell her the truth. Are we dating? Fucking? What? Because she needs to know this.

  How is it any of her business?

  She cares about us. She knows we hit it off, but isn’t it a bit soon for dirty weekends in the countryside?

  We're just friends. Olga understands the situation. Please don't say anything to her about The Rani.

  Her lips are sealed. How is Olga enjoying country living?

  She just bought a horse.

  A horse?

  A fucking horse.

  Well... Horses are nice. If you like things like nature and fresh air. Sounds like we’re having a nice time.

  Considering I found out my mother is dying from heart disease, absolutely riffing.

  I didn’t know my mother had heart disease?

  I take it she knew this?

  It was in her file.

  I need to have a look at this file.

  She’s so ver
y very sorry. Is there anything she can do?

  Get me work.

  This she can do. In fact, she’s worked it out with the Manager that I’ll be making a brief detour on my way back from Japan in addition to the stop on the way there.

  Interesting. Details?

  We’ll discuss it when I’m in her office. Not over the phone.

  I heard all about Uncle Boris.

  The Matchmaker laughs. He's not really Olga's uncle.

  I got that. Friend of hers?

  The Matchmaker’s brother.

  All in the family.

  Yes. He's also Olga's father's former business partner.

  I take it the split wasn't amicable.

  Not even a little. She stayed well out of it. Like Switzerland.

  What exactly does Olga's father do?

  A little of this. A little of that. Mostly transportation.

  Like Jimmy Hoffa? He was in transportation too.

  Something like that. Probably best not to ask too many questions.

  Can I ask her something personal?

  I can always ask.

  Did she fuck Bill Clinton?

  He was a stallion.