“Please, don't go away Constantin.” Guntram's hand clutched onto the man's sleeve. “You're the most important thing in my life,” he said with a quivering voice.
'Exactly where I wanted you. Time to clip those wings a bit. He's developing a very inconvenient independent streak.' “You're also important to me and I do my best to keep you happy but it seems it's not enough.”
“I'm very happy with you!” Guntram protested.
“You quit your lessons—even if you know that I believe he's a good teacher and has many connections for your future; it was a miracle that he accepted you—and change your working schedule to spend more time away from me. You disappear every Sunday to sell china poodles for ten pounds apiece. I should have realised much earlier, Guntram.”
“No! I never thought it that way. I took this job because it's good for my career. I'm learning a lot with Mrs. Smithers.”
“If you would wait to finish your BA, you'd probably get an internship at a real company, working and learning with real professionals. There you would see which would be your future field of expertise but you favour to spend your time in a second rate shop, moving furniture around and trying to identify an unknown painter from the XIX century.”
“Constantin I…”
“It's very clear. You have a scholarship that could support you without problems and already a manager who sells your pieces and you make some extra money with him. He wants to make an exhibition with your work next summer but instead of working hard with your teacher, you're serving white wine to snob tourists. You have just turned twenty years old, have an offer from a good gallery to exhibit your pieces—most of your colleagues would kill for such an opportunity—and you're opening cheap wine bottles. It's obvious that after one year at my side, this is not what you really want to do.”
“No, never! I love you and never wanted to hurt you! I work to support myself! I can't take any more from you!”
'Typical Guntram.' “You're wasting your talent and attacking my love for you.”
“I'll reduce the hours at the shop! I'll work harder at the studio!”
“Will you really do it or those are nice words just to reassure me?”
“I give you my word that I will only work on Sundays or quit. You always leave on that day!”
“I needed to spend some time with you as these weeks were terribly stressful for me…”
“I'll stay with you tomorrow. I will not go to work after school.”
“That would certainly be very kind of you. I miss the days when you used to keep me company just drawing or painting.”
“I want to spend more time with you but you're always travelling.” Guntram rose from his chair and put his arms around Constantin's waist and his head against the man's chest. “Please, forgive me,” he whispered without truly understanding why he was asking for forgiveness but the need to do it was stronger than anything.
“Of course I forgive you, my love. You never meant to hurt me although you did. It's just you're so young that you don't think in advance.”
“I won't do that again.”
“Guntram, you're young; it's in your nature to be foolish and reckless.” Constantin smiled tiredly still looking hurt.
“You're so patient with me. I love you.”
“I also do and this is the most important thing for us. Our love and your art. The rest is secondary.”
Guntram de Lisle's diary. October 27th 2002
I told Mrs. Smithers that she should look for another helper at the store because I couldn't come any more on weekdays. She was very understanding and offered me to be there only on Sundays. Of course the payment will reduce significantly; to one hundred twenty-five pounds per month but Constantin is right. I can sell my pieces and I feel very well when I hear that someone spent his efforts to get something from me. It makes me want to improve myself and work harder.
Against my original belief, Constantin's birthday's present was a flat in Buenos Aires. I'm still in shock.
It's in his same building! It's one of the most expensive places there! He even gave me the Tamayo I liked so much! He told me that it's for me whenever I want to visit Argentina and if I break up with him, he can move to the upper floors and make my life miserable till I return at his side.
He's just wonderful to me. I don't think I could live without his gentleness and care. He always has the right word for me.
“I understand that there was a small incident regarding Guntram and a boy from his class,” a very furious Repin said to his man, standing in front of him in a military way.
“I controlled the situation and isolated Guntram from the offender. I preferred to keep its record out of our correspondence as it might need a radical solution,” Massaiev answered.
“Why do you think so?”
“This man has phoned Guntram several times more, but the boy never answered his calls or e-mails. He had cut all kinds of ties to this person.”
“Ask Kalashov to contribute with the logistics and solve the matter in two week’s time. Permanently.”
“Yes, Mr. Repin. What about the other issue? The store?”
“Cancel it. He has just resigned and will only go on Sundays. Makes no sense to waste our resources on this.”
November 13th 2002 I'm horrified. Clarissa called me during the break and told me what had happened. I wanted to go to the funeral but Mikhail said that it was impossible to get a plane ticket to Edinburgh with such short notice. All full.
Besides, Constantin wants to see me in Paris before he goes to Moscow for two weeks. I have to hurry if I want to catch the plane to Orly.
Poor Peter! He never hurt a fly and two robbers got nervous and shot him dead! Right on the spot. He didn't resist and gave them the little money he had!
He was a good person and a good painter too. I feel terrible for not answering his e-mails or calls. I only thought that it was the product of too much beer and whiskey but he told me several times he liked me very much.
I also liked him but as a friend and nothing else. We were not even friends, just looking what the other was doing in class. The girls invited him that night. We will miss him.
Guntram de Lisle's Diary December 13th 2002
I'm almost finished with the tests for the term and bordering exhaustion. Honestly, I'm glad I reduced my working hours. Tons of assignments from the teachers in addition to the class presentations, visiting places to check
“in situ” the collections. All that without mentioning the stress of coping with an asshole for artistic mentor. The man might be as famous as David Hirst and one of the members from the London Artistic Movement but we just don't get along. I can't paint with all these people around me, looking at me over their shoulders. The all mighty asshole laughed at the idea that I could have an exhibition at Robertson's.
All right, I lost my temper with him that afternoon.
“Yes, I have an exhibition scheduled for mid-August 2003 at Robertson's. Why is it so strange?”
“It's going to be something worthy of Hallmarks greeting cards. Good for the upcoming holiday season.” Mr. Southern mocked me and all the pricks laughed at me, encouraged by my teacher's incredible wit.
“I would love to be in Hallmarks and that something made by me could make someone happy for a second.”
“Can I puke Charles? This Care Bears moment is dreadful for me,” Frank, the Super Clever Idiot said.
“Better being a care bear or Sarah Kay than a snob begging for wall to hang my things and hiding my frustration at rejection by playing the Rebel Artist,” I answered hotly and the whole class, teacher included, gaped at me. Guess they didn't know that the nice Guntram had a temper hidden somewhere.
“At least I'm an artist and not rich brat with a colouring book!”
“Yes, I'm able to stop painting at the lines, can you say the same? Get an exhibition of your own instead of criticizing my work. Are you not tired to be in collective exhibitions? How old are you to fight with me?”
/> “Everybody knows that if you get something is because your sugar daddy is a rich Russian bloke, paying for everything you want and known because he has Foundation for real artists.”
“Whoever I live with is none of your concern! I've sold much more in a year than you in your whole career!”
“Selling is not enough! It's what you create!”
“Enough, both of you! Guntram go there, sit and try to do something original for once instead of copying everything that moves around! And you Frank, be quiet!”
So I have to work extra to make something good for August. I'm not painting any longer at the studio. I prefer to do it at home. I work better alone.
The only small problem? Yuri is afraid that I stain his car when I take my paints to Robertson's.
His mobile had been ringing for some time before Guntram realised he had an incoming call. He cursed himself for his distraction while he cleaned his hands with a rug before answering it. “Hello?” “Hi, Pumpkin. It's me.”
“Fefo? I can't believe it! I wasn't expecting a call from you!” Guntram blurted astonished to get a call from his long-time friend after a year of not speaking with each other.
“It's Christmas, we could bury the axe. I've been thinking a lot about you and I realised I was a cretin with you. Do you think you could forgive me?”
“Sure thing, Fefo. It must have been hard for you to find out that I was living with a man. I should have told you earlier but things just happened.”
“I guess so. How are you?”
“I'm great and very happy with Constantin. He's here but will leave on the 28th to Paris for a few days. I finished the first year of Art History at the UCL and I will have an exhibition in August, at the gallery where I sell my stuff.”
“Wow, that's impressive, Guntram. I'm in Law School and passed many of the subjects. The rest is left for March. I'm working at the Senate with a friend of my mother's. Quite boring, if you want to know. I'm trying to be more responsible.”
“Now I'm impressed. You working and studying at the same time?”
“Not having you around made me realise a lot of things,” Federico whispered.
“I was your bad influence? I covered your hide more than a thousand times,” Guntram laughed in disbelief.
“Perhaps too much and I should take responsibility for my actions. You were right; we were too different to be friends. I was a useless brat and an asshole to the only person who really cared for me.”
Guntram had no idea of what he should tell next as he was totally shocked by the words and change in his friend. “I'm glad for you Fefo, I was concerned about you. Next you should find someone good to spend the rest of your life and have many children so you atone for all your rogueries.”
“I did, but I guess I lost that person because of my own foolishness, Pumpkin.”
“Sorry to hear that.”
“Hey, it's Christmas and we should not be depressed even if we know that the parents are Santa. I'm in Paris again, all on my own. My father is skiing in Gstaad and that's too uptight.”
“Federico Martiarena Alvear, are you telling me that you refused to go to Gstaad?”
“The Senator I'm working for made me visit many of the poor areas of his province—looking for votes, of course—and I couldn't help to feel bad for those poor devils. There's nothing funny in living with seven children and some tin and cartons for roof. Listen, pumpkin do you think you could come to Paris or I could see you in London. I would like to speak with you and see you.”
“I also, Fefo. Let me think. Constantin flies on the 28th to Paris. Perhaps I could slip into the flight if he has no business meetings planned. I should ask him. If not, I could take a commercial flight after New Year because now would be almost impossible to get a ticket.”
“I can always meet you in London.”
“Hey, I want to visit my home country. Let me talk with Constantin and I'll write you tomorrow.”
“Sure thing, Pumpkin.”
Constantin was more than annoyed. Furious would have been a better description. As usual, his angel was running after the first moron who was telling him a tearful story and he had chosen that particular moment to show that he could be stubborn as an old mule. Guntram wanted to fly to Paris alone as Mikhail was in holidays, visiting his relatives in France till January and Yuri was in Russia for the new year. Guntram had originally agreed to stay put in London for the holidays and work in his upcoming exhibition and now he was planning to run for a whole week with that impudent brat. Had they not quarrelled in Italy?
On top, he had told him that he would go to a hostel—a HOSTEL!— so he wouldn't be in his way if he had some business to run! 'Sure, to a hotel so the other can do whatever he wants with him. Lord, how big can his idiocy be? Does he not realise that this boy is after him? Yes, that's what I get for falling in love with a dove… they're by definition idiotic birds! And lambs are only good for the barbecue!”
He had to force the boy to come with him in the plane, in the middle of a planned delicate meeting with Morozov and stay at Place Vendôme with his cousin Boris because he was leaving for Moscow that same night. “Only 4 days Guntram, you have to work!” He had shouted vulgarly and he hated to be thus.
“Love as the wolf loves the sheep,” was the old proverb and there was nothing more true in his case.
He was going to make sure that his angel would not spend a single minute with that boy. Boris would have to use his own people.
Guntram de Lisle's Diary December 29th 2002
I still don't understand him. Maybe I do but and I don't want to accept it. Fefo duped me for the…better don't count Guntram, you won't like the final number.
I took the plane with a brooding Constantin upset that I was “miserably wasting my time when I should be working.” He was so right and I should have listened to him, but I'm an idiot! In the plane were Oblomov, Morozov, Strepovich, Baragan and Raditsky, all of them arguing hotly in Russian for the two hours. Morozov was the most enraged and shouted with Oblomov all the flight while Constantin was very serious. It seems he made some investments that collided with Lintorff’s interests somewhere.
They continued their shouting at Constantin's flat in Place Vendôme with Boris Malchenko included.
They had lunch there but I was not invited and I took the opportunity to escape for a walk around the city, without a bodyguard.
Constantin shouted at me for going away alone and nearly put me on the next plane back to London.
Only Boris' intervention saved my skin. I just took the metro to Pére Lachaise to visit my parents' graves! What could happen in a graveyard?
At six I was supposed to meet with Fefo at a café at Montmartre, near his hotel but he never showed up or phoned me. At 8 p.m. I was sick of waiting and getting no answer from his phone. I was freezing my ass when I took the metro back to Constantin's house.
Boris shouted at me for taking the metro and staying out for so long and told me I was going to catch pneumonia.
I'm sneezing and feeling like shit so he's probably right.
The Lost Fefo? Should I be worried like I was?
NOT AT ALL! He dumped me for 2 French blondes—peroxide blondes but he doesn't care! He called me last night at 23:30 to inform me that he had met the two and was having the greatest time of his life Fuck you!
I went to bed feeling miserable and like a total idiot.
January 3rd 2003
I'm still in Paris and in the middle of a mess. A real one, with police included! This morning a policeman came to the flat asking about me. I stood in front of him as he checked my documents. Fortunately, Boris was at home and immediately took the matter into his hands.
“Everything seems to be fine and Customs confirms your date of entrance to the country. Do you live in London?”
“Yes, I do. Why?”
“Please answer the questions, Monsieur.”
“He has nothing to answer to you. I do not like your way of questioning.”
<
br /> “We could do this at the Station. I'm sure Inspector Laforelle will like to have a word with the young man, Monsieur…?”
“Which one? He will come but with a lawyer,” Boris said without flinching a muscle while my knees were made of jelly. Me? Inside of a police station? I've never been into one!
“We will escort you, monsieur.”
“Wait outside.” The policeman was furious with Boris.
“What could they want with me? I paid everything and didn't touch anything in the Museums!” I whispered.
“This is why my lawyer will go with you. The police love to hide their incompetence by accusing the wrong people. Lefèbre is very good.”
In less than half an hour the famous Nicholas Lefèbre was there and he was a man bordering his sixties, with a clear French accent, like a Belgian. We took his car to the Police Station and he ordered, yes ordered to make the mighty Inspector Laforelle move his bottom to see us.
“Mr. de Lisle, coming with a counsellor is not the best idea for someone allegedly not guilty,” the policeman fired at me and I kept myself quiet as the lawyer had instructed me in the car. I should not go along with their taunts; only answer to a direct question.
“Inspector, my client is wasting a wonderful morning in here. Could you please proceed?”
“Certainly. When did you arrive to Paris?”
“On the morning of the 28th at ten or eleven. I don't remember exactly.”
“Your flight's number?”
“I don't know. It was a private plane. I could find it out.”
“What did you do?”
“I went to visit my parent's grave in Pere Lachaise, had lunch at a kebab stall near the entrance to the metro, then I took the metro and returned to my flat. At 5:30 I went to Montmartre where I was supposed to meet a friend. He never showed up. I returned home at 9:00 and at 11:30 he called me to tell me he had met two young girls.”
“Did he tell you what he was doing with the girls?”
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