Into the Lion's Den

by Tionne Rogers

  “How did he behave?”

  “Fine, he's kind to everyone, even to me. He was very glad to be in the business class, not complaining at all because it wasn't first class, all full, he spoke little, wrote a lot in his folder, drew some things and slept after dinner till the morning. Very nice fellow. No problems at all.”

  “Are you also in love with him?” One of the men chortled.

  “No way! I like them younger and brunette. Not my type at all. To your information, Boss calls him ‘his angel’ and refers to him as ‘his lover’. He's not a punk, so be careful around him,” Mikhail warned the men once more.

  “Is he staying here?” Iosef asked shocked. “I thought he was going to the flat in Belgravia. The new one.”

  “That's for the witch,” Massaiev answered. “Mr. Repin bought it in case she wants to visit London.”

  “That looks already bad. The boy here and she in a flat? I see the storm closing over us.”

  “Boss thinks in getting rid of her since a long time. Times have changed. No one cares any longer if he prefers boys to girls as long as he keeps it quiet. This one is someone you can take to a good place without problems.

  He's going to attend the UCL. They made an exception and will take him in, in February for some courses.”

  “You're going to have a good life indeed Mikhail Petrovich.”

  “I have to take him after New Year to Paris, Florence and Rome for fifteen days. Boss will take him back in Milan or Venice and stay here for the winter. The boy wants to see Assisi and Perugia too, good choice in my opinion.”

  “And leave Olga Fedorovna alone in St. Petersburg?”

  “It seems.”

  “Bad idea.”

  Guntram's de Lisle diary December 18th

  I arrived to London this morning very early and here I'm at a big house, waiting for Constantin to arrive from Texas where he has some pending business. His employee, Mikhail, told me that he travels permanently and it's very rare that he stays for more than two weeks in one place. I suppose that's the down part of being a millionaire.

  His house is located at Ilchester Place, very posh and expensive place. It was bought and refurnished almost a year ago and it's very beautiful place. It has a garden, a real luxury in Kensington, with huge old trees, and a lot of peace around. I'm surprised you almost don't see cars in the streets. It looks like a Gothic building, brickwork and French tiles on the roofs, many windows and a huge balcony over the garden. The most incredible things are the paintings and sculptures I've seen around. All originals. On the corridor to the bedrooms hang a Miró, a Kandinsky and a Picasso, all together. There's a pastel from Renoir in my bedroom and it's just incredible. I have no idea how much it could cost, but I'm already nervous around it.

  No, I'm nervous around the double bed here. This monster is not meant for a single person, I'm sure. I don't know what I'm going to do and certainly will look like a dork the minute he asks me to do something more than kissing, holding each other or performing oral sex to each other. I don't think I can do more than that, no matter what George tells me. It's too big for me and I don't think that's supposed to be done. Maybe this is a huge mistake and I should tell it to Constantin before we're both hurt.

  He's supposed to arrive tomorrow evening and I'm supposed to accompany Mikhail to get some more clothes for me. I tried to talk the man out of his idea but he only told me that London is rainy and very cold and I'll get pneumonia the minute I'm out in the streets running without proper clothes. Which is the difference between clothes from a normal shop and Harrods? Both stay the same under the rain.

  By the end of the day, Mikhail Massaiev was dead on his feet. His original idea that the boy was going to be easy to manipulate was wrong. Very wrong. He had an independent streak and a very strong willed personality; “stubborn like an old mule, mixed with the ability to make big puppy eyes or argue in a way that he was finally getting his way. Boss will have to fight hard with this little devil. Fortunately, he's good tempered and obedient…

  Once you can convince him.' Something as easy as taking one of the boys for shopping; they all loved it and the others were only happy to be out from their cells. But this one had refused almost everything, saying that it was very expensive—“it was just Harvey and Nicks, for Christ's sake!”—or useless as he had enough with two sweaters for two months! When his patience was at an end, he barked something like “you can't be next to a man like Mr. Repin in those tatters! You will only embarrass him!” so the boy would see reason.

  To his credit, the boy bent his head down in shame, provoking something akin to remorse in the Russian when he had never regretted in the past to punish the boys when they were being difficult. Those huge eyes looking in pain were something moving.

  'I hope he behaves like a sensitive lad or to put him back in his place will be very hard for me.'

  His heart was beating so hard with the approaching time. Only fifteen minutes left till Constantin would be home. One of the bodyguards had already confirmed Mikhail that his private jet had landed on time and that he was on his way in his car. For the fourth time that afternoon, Guntram broke his pencil lead trying to sketch from memory the Elgin Marbles and cursing himself for not accepting Mikhail's offer to buy the book. “No, it's too heavy to carry back to Buenos Aires,” he returned to his work once more, hoping that what he was wearing would be good enough for Constantin. The man, Mikhail was right and he should know because he knew Constantin since they were children living in Paris and then as friends when he was stationed in Moscow and his friend was gaining positions in the Party and within the Energy Ministry. “Make no mistakes Guntram; Mr. Repin is an Arseniev and his mother educated him as one. Her grandfather was an advisor for the Czar and his wife one of the attending ladies for the Czarina. They were powerful landlords in the St. Petersburg's area. He's not a new rich like the many we see around nowadays. If he has said nothing so far about your general appearance, it's because of his education. Tell me, has he taken you anywhere when you're playing the rebel?” The muffled voices he heard downstairs made him break his pencil once more, jumping to his feet in a hurry to meet Constantin. “Careful boy, I want to reach my fifties,” one of the bodyguards told him when Guntram bumped into him. “Tie is not straight,” he smirked when the boy started to excuse himself. 'Great, I'm doing Massaiev's work now!'

  Guntram had to stop at the bottom of the stairs to catch his breath and calm himself down. He suppressed the light cough scratching his throat and composed himself before going down the stairs. He heard Constantin, Oblomov, Mikhail and two other more men speaking in Russian in the living room and hesitation took over his heart as they had the door closed.

  “You may go inside, sir. Mr. Repin awaits you,” Dimitri, the head butler told him casually as he carried a tray with six vodka shots. He knocked on the door and easily opened, allowing Guntram to come in first.

  Constantin was shocked when he saw Guntram. Before the boy was very good looking and gracious like a kitten, but Massaiev had overdone himself this time. Now, with a decent grey suit, tie and light blue shirt, perfect for dinner, he was stunning. 'I will have to kill many for him.' There was a very compelling mixture of shyness, elegance and certainly aristocracy in the way he stood in the middle of the room, perfectly knowing that he had not been invited or that he was interrupting something important but on the other side, he carried his head in a way that proved that he knew he had the right to be there.

  “Good afternoon, Guntram. Please, join us. Do you know my cousin Malchenko? He takes care of my business in France. This one is Morozov, my lieutenant in Moscow.”

  “Good afternoon gentlemen,” Guntram said and shook hands with the men he had just been introduced.

  The butler serving the vodka shots was the perfect excuse for Guntram to go to the farthest seat in the room to allow some privacy for the men resuming their talk in Russian. He left his vodka aside as he was sure he couldn't drink (drowned) it like the men had done in the blin
k of an eye without falling dead on the spot.

  “Ivan Ivanovich and Morozov have to take a plane to Zurich. My accountant misses me terribly and needs to be reassured.”

  “Konrad was always very insecure of his charms. That's why he's so jealous all the time,” chuckled Oblomov, making the other men laugh in front of a perplexed Guntram. “He has to see some money to be happy again. Like the Tax Office.”

  “The parallel one,” Malchenko chuckled. “Very difficult man.”

  “He's a banker, what did you expect Boris?” Constantin shrugged. “Good luck but you will not need it.

  Everything is going as planned.”

  “German precision it's called,” Oblomov laughed. “Nice work so far in Argentina.”

  “I don't follow you, Ivan Ianovich,” Guntram said perplexed.

  “Where were you the last two days, boy?”

  “Here, visiting London and in the British Museum today. Why?”

  “Well, you can consider yourself lucky, boy. You left the country one day before the revolt.”

  “Revolt?”

  “Don't you watch the BBC? There are riots all over Buenos Aires. Activists attacking banks and the McDonalds'. The police used force to stop the riots and there were some dead protesters. The presidential palace is surrounded and seems that they will cook the president.”

  “Is it true, Constantin?” Guntram whispered opening his eyes very big, still believing that it was a joke the men were playing on him.

  “Yes, indeed. Should be in the evening news. By the way, Ivan, make sure that Lintorff's insurance company pays me back if something happens with the Museum. I would be most upset if something were to happen to my paintings, especially that Tamayo Guntram likes so much.” Constantin shrugged. “Do you want to watch the news, Guntram? Do you want to call your friends to see if they're fine?”

  “Yes, thank you Constantin,” the youth answered while he was still processing the news.

  “I'll call you for dinner,” could only tell Constantin before the livid young man was out of the room.

  Guntram tried first to reach Federico, but no one was answering the phone. Very strange because the maids were always around. More concerned than before, he switched on the hidden in a cupboard TV to check the BBC and the smoking cars and people running from the police in the streets, while they were looting forced him to sit on the bed to recover from his shock. He dialled George's home number.

  “Hello,” the man answered the phone to his utter relief.

  “Hi, George, it's me, Guntram. I just heard the news and I wanted to…”

  “Slow down, boy I can't understand you.”

  “How are you?”

  “You should be telling me what you have been doing with Dr. Zhivago.”

  “George, don't joke now. What's going on?”

  “Nothing I haven't seen in 1976, 1982, 1989 and 2001. Relax Guntram. It's some people running around, some policemen after them, some looting and some street fights. Nothing else. I closed my shop and I'll wait for the people to calm down. It seems the president is going to step down. All the blasted politicians are locked in the Congress. Wonderful moment to drop a bomb there. But tell me, how's everything for you? Are you happy?”

  “I was till I found out what happened.”

  “Is he treating you well?”

  “I don't know, I just saw him for ten minutes and found out what happened. I hope the mob doesn't destroy his flat! There are fantastic artworks there!”

  “Don't worry. This is not the French Revolution, dear. It's Argentina. I'm so glad you're not here! Lola is barking like crazy with all the noise and the firecrackers. The poor animal is desperate. You stay there, enjoy your time in London and take many pictures and write everything down so you can tell me all when you're back. And go back to your boyfriend! Don't waste your time with me!”

  “I only saw him a few seconds. He's in a meeting now.”

  “What time is there?”

  “Around six or seven, I don't know.”

  “Find it out and if it's more than seven, it's cuddling time for every advanced society, especially if you're starting a relationship. Don't worry about us. Super Guntram is not going to save us.”

  “You're right. Take care please.”

  Guntram opened his laptop and connected to the internet to check the news and if he had some e-mails.

  Nothing more than messages from people from the University to join the different demonstrations or going to take over the presidential palace. 'Yeah right, they're killing each other and I'm worried about some Siqueiros. What's wrong with me?' The croaking of a bird announced him that Federico was online.

  “Hey, you. How are you? Guntram typed at full speed.

  “Fine. In Montevideo. I'll take a plane to Paris tonight. Mother sent me to my father's.”

  “I'm glad. How's everything?”

  “The ‘niggers’ are killing each other. And you?”

  “I'm OK”

  “Fucking with the Russian?”

  “Mind your business, Asshole!”

  “That short?”

  “Fuck you!”

  “I offered and you didn't want. Now weep.”

  “Federico, this is serious. I'm worried about you.”

  “Guntram, I'm in another country, going to Paris to my father's and his new bimbo. Perhaps you're right; I should be very afraid.”

  “How can you be so shallow?”

  “After you finish fucking with the Russian and I the Parisian girls, why don't we meet in the continent and we fuck some more? Now that you play on the other side, I can show you a world of pleasure.”

  “Fefo, you were kicked out of the Blockbuster for not returning the movies. I doubt you know enough French as to rent one for you.”

  “Lie to yourself Guntram, lie to yourself.”

  A soft knock in the door made Guntram stop to write his answer and went to open the door to find Constantin there. Without any kind of warning, his arms quickly took the boy by the waist and pulled him against his body, kissing him deeply, enjoying how his angel returned his kisses with matching ardour. Not truly caring any longer, he half carried the boy inside the bedroom and both fell on the bed kissing deeper than before.

  The croak of the bird nearly made Constantin jump. “What's that?”

  “The messenger. I was speaking with a friend. He might be worried that I was not answering him.”

  “Get rid of him,” he ordered mildly, kissing the young man's neck.

  “Don't we have to go downstairs?”

  “Damn, I forgot Boris!” Constantin cursed very frustrated that his more than probably party time had been cancelled due to a prior engagement. “We'll go now, and later I will come here, my angel. You have no idea how much I missed you.”

  “I also Constantin,” Guntram stuttered with a look of pure terror in his eyes when he understood what the man wanted to do. He gulped very loudly.

  “My angel, you look like the deer in front of the lights,” Constantin sighed. “If you want, we share the bed as kissing or sleeping together and we'll see if something more comes up.”

  “I hope something does come up,” Guntram joked, relieved that the man was not cornering nor pressing him.

  “You shameless brat!” Constantin shouted falsely shocked. “You'll see in a few hours,” he whispered in the boy's ear, licking and enjoying how his angel was unwillingly shuddering. Guntram found himself once more lost in Constantin's dark eyes.

  Once more the bird's squawk broke the spell. “Get rid of him or I'll strangle that bird.”

  “You can't; it's in the program. You'll be fighting against Microsoft,” Guntram laughed, leaving the bed to write: “see you later, Fefo.”

  “Asshole!” was the immediate answer.

  “What does he tell?” Constantin asked feigning indifference, just to check later if his angel was truthful or not. Trust was good, but checking never hurt anyone.

  “Nothing important. Shall we have din
ner?”

  “Sure,” Constantin said. 'Massaiev should take a look at it.'

  After dinner, Guntram felt relaxed and very happy to be in Constantin's and his cousin Boris Malchenko's company, who had lived all his life in Paris and was returning to Smolensk only after 1992. Both men were educated and seemed to have a long lasting friendship. Malchenko was kind to him asking him about his impressions on the city and telling him that he should go to Paris for a few weeks just to see the Louvre. “After all, your country seems to be in a complete turmoil for the next months. I doubt your University will start again in March or that you could present your tests.” “I'm not sure.”

  “Guntram, it's Paris. All young men want to go there. You can stay at Place Vendôme and from there it's only a short walk toward the Louvre or the Quai d'Orsay. You will learn a lot just by looking at the Great Masters.”

  Constantin said in a voice that left no doubts or place for arguments.

  “But this time, I'll keep your drawings. Constantin told me he made £6,000 with them.” Malchenko laughed.

  “At least, he will not deplete my resources buying fancy papers,” Constantin laughed in unison with his cousin. “Although I should protect my morning newspapers.”

  “Or the Marks and Spencer catalogue!” Malchenko added with a thunderous laughter, remembering how his cousin had been on the brink of a nervous breakdown when he had opened the box and saw the boy's studies of a woman, some children and dogs, all of them of a very good quality according to two different merchants. Finally, he had controlled his temper, after a stormy week for all his underlings and chose the twenty-four he liked most, framed them and offered the lot to one of his dealers. The man immediately offered £4,500 but Constantin had dribbled till the