The big Mercedes was the same type that many very rich parents used to drive to the school and this one had a chauffeur and another car following it. It was something for embassies. The driver quickly opened the door and took the portfolio from his hands before he could get in. Constantin said something in Russian to the man before entering and waiting for him to close the door behind him. 'He looks absolutely delicious with a little polish, decent clothes and grooming, I will have to kill many to keep them away from him. He's just perfect.' The Russian thought after a quick but thorough examination of Guntram.
The car led them to the main entrance to the Kavanagh building, and the private lift took them to one of the last floors, with a huge living room with great windows and a big terrace overlooking the Plaza San Martín and the railroads.
“It's a magnificent property, sir.”
“Thank you. Would you like to take a look at the paintings? Nacho will come in an hour; we’ll have lunch and go to his gallery. It's not far away.”
But Guntram was not hearing him any longer as he had seen a Frida Kahlo portrait and was almost running to admire it. “The one next to it is a Siqueiros. I got them a few years ago. I'm after one Rivera I saw in New York, but sadly the owner does not want to part with it.”
Guntram could only gape at the colours, his voice lost forever. “That one over there… is a Tamayo?”
“Yes, very well. You said you didn't like Modern Art.”
“This is different. Those are real geniuses. Those paints seemed to be alive and breathe.”
“Then you don't have a problem with Modern Art, only with bad artists. I was imaging so,” Constantin softly said. “One of my favourites is Sargeant, do you know him?”
“Yes, he paints people's souls. I like the one with the three girls and the big vase. The light comes from within them,” Guntram whispered as he noticed the man was standing very close to him.
“You have something in your hair, let me,” Constantin stated, with his eyes deeply locked with Guntram's.
His hand took a small leaf from the light brown hair, the fingers caressing in a slow move the bang they were cleaning and quickly discarding it to the floor. “Perfect, just perfect,” Constantin said in a raspy voice, his eyes intensively focused on the slightly quivering boy. Pleased with the effect he was having on the youth—looking at him in a trance
—he smiled wolfishly and touched with his fingertips the delicate skin before him, enjoying the deep breath the boy took when his hand reached his cheek.
“I have many more. Come, I'll show you where they are and then you can explore at your pleasure, Guntram.
This is your home, now.”
Chapter 3
“Mr. Repin, the people from the mining committee are here, waiting for you at the library,” Oblomov interrupted the long explanation Constantin was giving Guntram about how he had acquired the two huge Antonio Berni that were hanging over one of the main corridor's walls.
“I don't make business on Saturdays, you know that, Ivan Ivanovich.”
“I'm terribly sorry to bother you, Constantin Ivanovich but that Alvear woman is very insistent and she brought along two other CEO's from that small processing plant.”
“Impossible woman!” Constantin cursed, making Guntram smile softly, much more relaxed than before.
“I know. Her son and I are best friends. The Senator can be very imposing,” Guntram mildly defended Oblomov who was looking very contrite at his superior's barely concealed fury.
“All right, if she's the mother of one of your friends, I'll see her. The minute the art dealer is here, you will interrupt us and get rid of her, Ivan.”
“Yes boss, I'll take care of the negotiations.”
Constantin went with long strides toward the library, still crossed that a pleasant moment with his angel, who had proved to be a good listener and fairly educated boy, had been ruined by a witch desperately seeking to get some money out of him. 'If they try again to raise the price, they're dead. I have enough of these good for nothing. Lintorff told me that this country was going to be a good opportunity once they start to revolt? This is impossible. I should remain in Spain or Venezuela, not here. His people should start to hurry if he wants that I put money in here. The only good thing so far is Guntram.”
“So boy, do you like it here?” Oblomov asked after carefully inspecting the boy. “Mr. Repin has a wonderful collection; worthy of a museum. I've never seen anything like that before.”
“Wait till the guy from today comes. Two banks and a big building company are in real financial troubles.
They want to get some cash and offer to sell their collections. Over fifty pieces at a closed price. Thirteen million dollars for the whole lot. It's a reduction of forty percent. They wanted to sell them to the local museums but they had no money at all and going to an auctioneer was out of the question as everybody would have found out that they're in real trouble. So they come here with several experts, but boss decides if he likes it or not. All Argentinean painters, XIX and XX century and from your good ones.”
“Is he planning to take the works out of the country?” Guntram asked sadly as the pieces would be definitively lost for the people.
“I don't know, perhaps. I think first he wants to distribute around the estates he bought here what he like less and take what he truly likes to Europe. It's not a safe place to have an art collection here. You can't tell how stable the country is.”
“Military coups are finished since a long time ago, Mr. Ivan Ivanovich.”
“If you're going to be formal and use my patronymic, it's only Ivan Ivanovich or Mr. Oblomov. If Mr. Repin allows you to call him by his Christian name, then you can call me Ivan.”
“Are you Mr. Oblomov? I thought, Mr. Repin was your secretary…” Guntram asked totally lost and dumbfounded.
“No, I'm his right hand. Secretary sounds too gay for my taste. I represent him and lead many of his businesses but he's the boss, believe me. We know each other for more than twenty years. Since we were in the Moscow University. We both graduated in Civil Engineering and I specialized myself in pipelines while he studied Chemistry. I married one of his cousins, Tatiana Gregorievna Arseniev. You certainly look very young, how old are you?”
“I'll be nineteen next October,” Guntram answered.
“You do understand that boss is after you, do you?”
“He likes my drawings and wants to have them. He's going to let me see this collection as a payment.”
“Not really, you can look at the collection and I wouldn't be surprised if he lets you chose something from there. He likes your art and you for yourself also. Do you understand me now, Guntram?”
“You mean he's… he's after me?”
“Took you some time to realise but it's for the best. You truly are a green one, aren't you?
“I'm not gay!”
“Have you tried it?”
“Of course not! It's wrong to do that! It's forbidden too!”
“Boss is going to have a lot of fun with you,” Oblomov smirked. “You look like a decent kid, not the plaything type. Might be a good change for once.”
“Tell Mr. Repin that I thank him for his invitation, but I'm going home.”
“Hey, kid, no need to run. It's not as if he's going to rape you under the Botero!” Oblomov laughed at Guntram's shocked expression. “It's only lunch and a show. If he makes any advance toward you, just tell him you're not interested. You won't be the first one who sends him to Hell!” He chuckled. “He likes you a lot as I have never seen him chasing a boy so intently, but he also likes a lot your work and perhaps only wants to remain friends with you, if the other is not possible. I only want that you understand the whole situation. You look like a good kid, my own son's age, nothing like the crazy and uptight artists believing they're the hottest, cleverest and most cultivated things on Earth, he normally hangs with. Those have neither talent nor the wit to realise they don't have it.”
“I don't wa
nt this. Let me pass.”
“All right, but consider at least a grant from him. You could be something good. If you already, well not you, that Dollenberg woman, got three-thousand dollars out of me for that landscape and two-thousand more for several drawings of ballerinas, you're good.
“How much did you pay? Are you out of your mind?”
“She's a good dealer and the husband didn't want to sell. Had to pay, but it's nothing. My wife adored those girls and put them in her studio and I made some points at home, if you get my meaning. Cheaper than going to Tiffany's or Harry Winston's,” Oblomov retorted with an irked voice at his judgement being so loudly and rudely challenged.
“This is too much. I'm going home.”
“No, you're going nowhere. Calm down, he will not touch a single hair from you, unless you want. Have lunch with him and the marchand, visit his gallery, and then, if he makes any move or insinuates anything, tell him clearly ‘no’.”
“Do you think?”
“Of course. Now, show me what you gave the boss. Perhaps I could convince him to sell me something more for my wife. She ordered me to bring her more, this time for her Aunt Maria Ingratievna.”
“Do you have a picture of your wife with you?” Guntram asked, surprising Oblomov.
“Yes, one with her wedding dress and another with her and my son when he was seven.”
“If you want to give me a copy, I can try to make her portrait from them in pencil and ink. Free of charge, of course. I already feel very bad that someone charged you so much money.”
“We are leaving in three days.”
“More than enough time. Do you have some white paper so I could make a preliminary sketch?”
“Where is the boy now?” “On the terrace. I left him there with paper and two pencils,” Oblomov answered innocently.
“Why is he there?”
“He was very nervous after I explained him a few truths. Now he knows what you're expecting from him.
Told him that if he doesn't want, you still want to be friends with him. You'll have to play dove boss, if you want to catch this one.”
“Remind me to kill you if something goes wrong.”
“Why? If you play fair with this one, you'll save a lot of troubles and achieve results faster. He's a nice kid, totally innocent and naïve. He offered to paint my wife's portrait for free because he feels bad that I paid so much for his things.”
“You look very happy about it.”
“Of course. I've just saved twenty-five-thousand dollars, boss.”
“Only twenty-five-thousand? Do you still wonder why Tatiana is furious with you? A mistress makes more in a week than she!” Constantin chuckled. “My cousin’s patience has a limit and the minute she goes to a lawyer, you're literally dead. Perhaps that portrait will make you save much more than twenty-five grand.”
“Yes, boss.”
“One thing more. Guntram is off limits for any of you. Is that understood? No one but me touches a single hair from him or says a word out of place.”
“Very clear, boss. I'll tell the men.”
Constantin stood for a long time at the terrace entrance looking at the boy absorbed in his work, only taking brief glances at the two small photos placed on the table in front of him. The midday sun made his hair lighter than it was and his frown and deep concentration made him look younger. The butler took him out of his reverie by announcing that the Arts dealer had arrived and was waiting in the library. Sighing, and still unnoticed by Guntram, he took the portfolio from the coffee table and went to speak with the man.
Guntram was more than fed up with the art dealer's haughty ways, informing everyone what they should do as if the Russians were ignorant. As it was not his fight, he decided to keep quiet and eat his dish because no one had ever asked him anything. “I'm still intrigued by these drawings you showed me. Do you say the artist is Argentinean? The landscapes can only be from la Pampa and many of the birds you showed me are from here, but his style is more continental.”
“He was born in France if I'm correct but I could be mistaken. All his production was locally made. It was quite a surprise to discover him. Do you think he's good?”
“Technically, he's excellent. Although he's naïve, I couldn't place him in that category as his drawing is more appropriate for the XIX century. A real pity he was never discovered.” The barely contained laughter from Oblomov, told Guntram that something was amiss. “How much did you pay for the drawings if it's not too much to ask?”
“For the drawings nothing so far. There's another box—which I haven't checked so far—and that costed me one-hundred pesos,” Constantin said, making Guntram blanch.
“I can't believe it! You're joking with me. Those drawings could be valued much more. I could easily sell those landscapes for more than one-thousand pesos apiece. If you're interested in selling them, I know several people who would like to buy. Good painters with such level of attention to detail and economy of resources at the same time, are very rare these days.”
“No, I don't want to sell. In fact I'm trying to buy some more from him but the artist is terribly temperamental.”
“Don't tell me about it! This is why I deal only with consecrated and dead artists.” He laughed.
“Should I send him to school?”
“To school, Mr. Repin?”
“Yes, school or a private teacher. He's not exactly naïve; he's very young and still has to study a career.”
“You must be joking! Those paintings are made by a well trained hand!”
“I don't deny he has training and I was also shocked when I found out that it was made by a sixteen-year-old and those you just saw by an eighteen-year-old. You even saw Guntram working a few moments ago.”
“Did you paint them all by yourself?” The man asked in disbelief to a boy slouching in his high chair.
“If you mean the black portfolio with the Darth Vader's sticker on the left angle, yes, they're mine, but they're a present for Mr. Repin. He liked my other ones.”
“Do you study at the Prilidiano Pueyrredon School?”
“No. It's a hobby, nothing else.”
“You should study and come back in five years, and I'll see what I can do for you. I want to see what you were doing just now.”
“Just a sketch for later.”
“If it's not too much to ask, Mr. Repin, do you have a compass?” The dealer asked after he inspected for a long time the drawings Guntram had to fetch from the terrace.
“We should ask the butler if he can get us one. Why?”
“I want to try something with this young man, if you will allow me.”
“As long as you don't torture him with the compass. He's just out from high school,” Repin laughed.
After lunch, the art dealer insisted on checking Guntram's abilities, and gave him a piece of paper and a pencil. “Make a point in the centre and draw a circle around it.” “What do I win?” Guntram asked jokingly.
“An ice cream,” Repin answered dryly, making Guntram flinch.
Thinking that it was a waste of good paper, as this one was certainly 100g weight, not the usual rubbish he was using.
He took the pencil and when he was going to make the point, the man repeated. “In the centre, please,” Guntram had a lot of trouble to suppress the grin almost escaping from his face. He made the point and a 12 cm radius circle around it. That was very easy as he was always doing it for his geometry class because he had lost his compass and didn't want to buy another.
The man took a ruler and traced the diagonal to check if it was well centred but “he missed by 2 mm,” he said very relieved and proceed to check the circle. “It's perfect. I can't believe it,” he said shocked.
“You missed with the diagonal. It's not well achieved. Try again and you'll see its fine. Boy, where were you when I had to draw all my blueprints? You would have saved me many headaches,” Oblomov said as Repin was looking in disbelief.
“So, will you pay for the ic
e cream, Ivan Ivanovich? But I'll tell you something, it wasn't a fair bet. I used to do this all the time in school for Geometry. I lost my compass in the sixth grade and didn't want to buy another.”
“Guntram, this is serious,” Repin scolded him. “Michelangelo won the Sistine Chapel commission only by showing that he was able to do what you just did. It's almost impossible to do it.”
The boy looked embarrassed and decided to focus his attention on the carpet, biting his lower lip, like a scolded child.
“I must congratulate you for your good eye, Mr. Repin. This young man shows indeed great promise if he decides to study.”
“He only needs to be convinced or encouraged in the right way.”
“Come Guntram, dine with me at home. It's almost time and I would like to speak with you,” Constantin said, after spending the whole afternoon at the gallery and deciding to acquire the lot for 11.5 million to be paid in cash in two days time. Guntram was still dazed because of the quality of the paints he had seen and the casual tone employed by Constantin to deal with such an amount of money. “I think it's better if I go home now. It's getting later and I have to work tomorrow,” he answered, afraid of where it would all lead him.
“I insist. My driver will take you home after dinner. We should speak about your future.”
Back at Repin's place, Guntram noticed that Oblomov was nowhere to be seen and only a young maid served the dinner and quickly disappeared into the kitchen. Although it was not a “romantic set” in the boy's mind, he couldn't feel more than apprehensive at the table for two, with some champagne and a light dinner.
Into the Lion's Den Page 3