Memoirs of a Gigolo Volume Seven

by Livia Ellis

  The Actress walks past in her hat and sunglasses with the Doctor.

  Roland stares open mouthed as he tracks her like a sunflower following the sun.

  Is that…?

  Yes.

  Elizabeth has at least slipped on a skirt. Her hair is a crown of curlers.

  The dog goes apoplectic. The vertical jump on that thing is impressive.

  Chaos reigns at Elon’s house.

  The screaming in Norwegian trumps all other noise.

  What’s that all about?

  Sigrund and the Shaman are going to Wold Hall.

  They are? (Okay – I’m all for the more the merrier especially when I want it to be a gay weekend – but Sigrund and the Shaman worry me on the grounds of pure unpredictability)

  They are. Sigrund called my mother… Martina?

  Martina.

  Martina wants to meet the Shaman. Is my mother’s boyfriend really Sanjay Premji?

  I’m going to be totally honest here – the idea of my mother having a boyfriend still sort of freaks me out a little.

  They’re good friends?

  I like that better.

  I never told him this.

  There are a lot of things I never told him. If we’re being perfectly honest, that time wasn’t about me.

  Are we going to discuss this?

  Does he want to discuss this?

  Not particularly. But we probably should.

  Must we?

  If anyone should find this awkward it should be him.

  No one knows what I do for a living. Except Elon. And the Doctor, the Matchmaker, Elizabeth, the Esthetician, the Party Planner, and the Actress. And Uncle Harvey.

  Wright the Butler?

  Yes.

  I’ve turned my uncle into my butler?

  It’s complicated.

  Is any part of my life uncomplicated?

  Wold Hall. It’s my Fortress of Solitude. Life is uncomplicated there.

  So pretty much everyone we are traveling to Wold Hall with knows what I do for a living.

  Yes, except my mother, Aunt Lucy, Gita, Sanjay and of course, Sigrund and the Shaman. And Lionel of course.

  Who is Lionel?

  My dead grandfather’s gay lover.

  Roland stares at me. I get that look. It’s a your life is a made for television look.

  From the inside it doesn’t seem as bad as it must from the outside.

  Do they know about him?

  No. No. I’m very discreet. The Matchmaker never met him. She doesn’t even have his name. I use code names for my clients.

  What do I call him?

  The Mild Mannered Marketing Executive.

  He laughs. Do I have a boyfriend that he needs to know about?

  Actually, I sort of have a girlfriend.

  The blond in the curlers?

  No. Black haired Russian girl that’s currently in Ibiza.

  I’m not gay.

  I’m actually more into men than women.

  So I’m bi?

  Not a big fan of labels.

  Was I into him at all?

  Yes. Elon was right. He was the one client that I had that I would have been with if circumstances were different.

  He likes Elon. But then again maybe he’s just a sucker for DIY projects.

  Elon is a good person. He just doesn’t act like it sometimes and he does that on purpose to push people away. One thing he should probably know. No one calls me James. They all call me Oliver.

  He figured that one out already.

  We check watches simultaneously.

  Roland thinks it’s probably best to accept the inevitable rather than to fight against it. The sooner Elon accepts that his mother will be joining us, the quicker we can get out the door.

  Agreed. Where is the Shaman?

  Here.

  (God as my fucking witness that man makes no sound when he moves!!! He’s right behind me. He purposefully uses that voodoo man voice. I know he does. I scream like I’m in a B horror film)

  I turn and look at the Shaman.

  That man freaks me out.

  The doorbell rings.

  Roland goes for it as I edge away from the Shaman (who is still wearing purple!).

  Mum, Aunt Lucy, Gita, and Sanjay have arrived.

  That’s all of us. Any chance he can get Elon to resolve this sometime in the next three minutes so we are all still on schedule?

  Roland nods. He’s gotten very good in the past twenty-four hours at dealing with the Elon/Sigrund dynamic.

  May God have mercy on his soul.

  Amen.

  Somehow – between me, Roland, and the Doctor – we get everyone loaded up into the four separate cars that we caravan to Wold Hall.

  Somehow I lose Lionel, Uncle Harvey and the Doctor and I end up with Elizabeth, Sigrund, and the Shaman. Two hours of having to listen to Elizabeth, Sigrund and the Shaman discuss spirituality and the coming age make me want to swallow a bullet.

  When we stop for a break to let Sigrund’s little dog take a widdle wee wee (I’m going to strangle that woman) I insist on a passenger switch.

  The Doctors will not be separated. Scintillating conversation. Simply scintillating. Who would have thought intestinal flora could be so scintillating. (Not me. That’s for sure.)

  Aunt Lucy will go with me. If she has to hear the word anus one more time she’s going flip.

  I get Aunt Lucy in exchange for the Shaman.

  Elizabeth wants to drive Elon’s car.

  Elon makes a declaration. He will not let anyone other than me drive his Audi. He will especially not let some fucking woman with a uterus and a determination to destroy the life of some poor defenseless man that never really hurt anyone in his life drive his car.

  The Party Planner wants to know if Elon has gone crazy. Does anyone else want to know if he’s gone crazy? She’s pretty sure she knows crazy when she sees it and that’s crazy.

  There is a show of hands. Almost everyone wants to know if Elon has gone crazy.

  Elon makes an amendment. He’ll let Roland drive his Audi. Roland has a penis. Not a vagina. Not a soul sucking vagina.

  I’d like to know if Elon’s gone crazy. But I keep this to myself. I’ll ask later.

  Then Elon makes another declaration. He doesn’t want to talk to anyone other than me and Roland. Ever again. So no one gets to go in his car. And no one is allowed to ask him about the little bastard. The little bastard is not his problem. He cannot believe that bitch has done this to him. He starts shouting at the sky again. I’m not certain if he’s speaking in tongues or Norwegian. It’s hard to tell.

  As I understand it, this is his new thing.

  Roland tells him to stop shouting and to get back in the car. No one is going with them.

  Fine by me. I’m not sure I want to be in a confined space with Elon for any length of time.

  I keep Sigrund but only on the condition there is no more discussion of karma, reincarnation, the immortality of the soul, or eternal damnation. And she’s not allowed to pretend to be the dog talking to me.

  (Sigrund hides her face behind the dog and points a paw at me) A guilty conscience needs no accuser. Woof! Woof!

  Someone take Sigrund. And her little dog too.

  The Matchmaker will take Sigrund and the dog in the Mercedes.

  We come to an accord.

  The Shaman goes in the van with the Doctors and mum.

  I get the Esthetician who is allergic to dogs and who promises to help Elizabeth with her hair and makeup and Aunt Lucy who will not pretend to be a dog. I also get Lionel. He sits in the front with me. We talk about my grandfather for the remainder of the trip.

  Somehow we make it to Wold Hall.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  Call me Darcy

  When I make the approach to Wold Hall with another person I see it as they must see it. It’s the sort of place that should have a crazy uncle wandering the halls or some sort of lunatic aunt hosting doll tea parties in a cobweb lac
ed attic. Wold Hall is home for me, but for others it is a gloomy forbidding sort of place.

  The Esthetician and Elizabeth peer over the backseat.

  That’s my home?

  That’s my home.

  It’s enormous.

  It’s incredible.

  It’s really a castle. It’s Pemberly! (Elizabeth claps and cheers) It’s Pemberly! It’s Pemberly!

  Does that make me Darcy?

  Yes. I have that sort of aristocratic languor.

  Thank you – I think.

  The Esthetician laughs. Olga isn’t much of an Elizabeth Bennett.

  I suppose she’s really not. (I don’t add that my former fiancée was a ball busting Elizabeth Bennett down to her marrow).

  Olga is not an Elizabeth Bennett. She’s more like Lady Russell. Constantly trying to manipulate and maneuver people. Bit of a ball buster.

  I laugh. She’s got Olga dead to rights.

  I like this side to the Esthetician. The literary smack down side. Every book she’s recommended has been a winner. I’m looking forward to getting to know another side of her.

  Elizabeth gushes about parties and picnics and stormy nights and the romance of it all. She knew I had a castle she just never imagined it was a real castle.

  It’s a real castle.

  Will I show her around?

  Of course I will.

  Lionel chuckles. This enthusiasm amuses him. The parties he’s attended at Wold Hall. The tales he could tell. It’s a wonderful place Wold Hall. It’s good to be back again.

  (I didn’t know he’d actually ever been to Wold Hall. But then I imagine there are a lot of things I don’t know. Wold Hall is a place of many secrets.)

  We park in a line in front of Wold Hall.

  The Greshams come out to greet us.

  Mr. Gresham gets to me first. Uncle Albert, Aunt Maisie, Harry, Margaret and William arrived that morning.

  No one told me they were coming. Why does no one ask me if they can stay in my house?

  That is a conversation I need to have with Uncle Albert. I brought Lionel with me?

  Yes. I brought Lionel with me. Lionel is my friend. Lionel has been my friend since I was a little boy. Lionel mattered to my grandfather. I forget that sometimes.

  If nothing else, this will probably guarantee Uncle Albert will call in advance to make certain I’m not having guests for the weekend when he decides to come calling.

  Do Uncle Albert and Lionel have a problem?

  Mr. Gresham just stares at me for a long moment. He starts to laugh a little. This ought to be an interesting weekend. One thing. Is that woman… the one in the hat… that’s not.

  Yes. That is the Actress. It’s really her.

  He’s going to go and introduce himself.

  Mrs. Gresham gets me next. Olga has called no less than a dozen times. This is how Mrs. Gresham greets me. She’s annoyed. Do I know how much of a pain it is to have to go running for the phone every few minutes when she’s trying to get the house sorted?

  I’m sorry.

  Do I have my phone turned off?

  No. She’s called me about a dozen times and sent about two dozen texts.

  Why am I ignoring her?

  Because she’s driving me out of my fucking mind.

  Language Oliver. Really.

  She also used some emergency function on my phone to turn off the silent.

  This is getting a touch out of hand. Perhaps I need to have a conversation with her rather than ignoring her.

  Elon walks up to me. Hands me his phone. Olga. She’s driving him out of his fucking mind.

  I take the phone.

  What?

  Why am I ignoring her calls?

  After that bullshit this morning I have every right to ignore her calls.

  She’s crying. She’s distraught. She already told me she was sorry about that.

  She needs to let me be angry and move on. Constantly poking at me isn’t giving me the space I need to process my anger.

  Why am I still angry? She said she was sorry.

  She very nearly lost me a favorite client because of her obsessive need to know where I am and what I am doing at all times. I need space.

  Why do I need so much space? Why am I always going on about space? If we have a problem we need to talk about it until we resolve it.

  No. No please for the love of god do not make me talk a problem to death. Please.

  Maybe if I would talk to her then she wouldn’t freak out as much as she does when we don’t talk.

  I cannot deal with her or with this at this moment. I’ve just arrived at Wold Hall. I have guests I need to get sorted. (I do not add that this is the first time I’ve had a party at Wold Hall since my father died and made me the master of the house. That would be unwise.)

  If I loved her I would make her my number one priority all of the time.

  Okay – she promised me she would stop making these broad generalizations. No one person can be another person’s number one priority all of the time.

  (Of course I catch a glimpse of my mother at this point and am reminded very poignantly of her relationship with my father. That is the relationship Olga wants. I will not give it to her. I won’t give it to any woman.)

  I’m going to be very clear with her. We will not have that kind of relationship. Not now not ever. She needs to accept the fact I will be marrying Parvati. Even if we do keep something on the side after that, I neither can nor will engage myself in a relationship at total and complete exclusion of others.

  That is what being in love is.

  No, it is not. Maybe for some people. But not for me. I will call her.

  Will I really call her?

  Yes. I will really call her. I need to get the cars unpacked, make certain rooms are assigned, help with the luggage, make introductions, and ensure everything is sorted for the TV people. In short, I’m very busy. I don’t have time to deal with her emotional immaturity.

  Why are so many people with me?

  Because I invited them.

  How can I have a party without her?

  I’m jumping off the merry-go-round. I’ll call her later. I hang up the phone.

  Mum is near me. She looks vibrant. Happy. Introductions are happening without my help. People, it turns out, can manage on their own.

  Olga?

  Yes.

  She’s very young. I should probably keep that in mind. I’m used to my former fiancée. I’m not used to being in a relationship where I am expected to be the adult and the other person gets to be the juvenile.

  Why can’t I be in a relationship where we both get to be the adult?

  I’m with the wrong woman if that’s what I want. Olga is lovely and kind. She also has some growing up to do.

  She gives me a peck on the cheek.

  We can talk later. What she would like right now is for the two of us to go for a little walk.

  Why?

  She hasn’t been back since dad’s funeral.

  I didn’t think. I didn’t realize.

  That’s all right. She probably shouldn’t have avoided it for as long as she has. So? Little walk? She has some things in their bedroom she would like to sort through. Mrs. Gresham has offered to do it, but she’d rather we do it together.

  I turn everything over to the Greshams who are already managing without my input. Mr. Gresham is buzzing around the Actress like a busy bee.

  Mum and I walk through the front doors.

  We take it slowly up the stairs.

  I’m not sure how I feel about her and Sanjay sharing that particular room.

  Do I think she and Sanjay have that sort of physical relationship? Honestly. Her heart is hanging on by a thread. That sort of thing would probably be the death of her. Mrs. Gresham is putting Sanjay in the Blue Room.

  I didn’t realize that. I thought they were – intimate.

  They are intimate. They have a strong emotional connection. She feels very deeply for him. Love and sex aren’t
always the same thing. Maybe, one day, if she gets her transplant, they will go to that place. But for the moment what they have is an emotional love.

  This makes me feel a lot better about the whole mum/Sanjay thing.

  Mum and Dad’s room is in the east part of the house.

  The last time I was in their bedroom was the day my grandfather exposed me to what I know consider to be completely normal sexual relations between a loving couple. I get it now. I’d go to the barn to fuck if it meant I could have some privacy.

  We stand outside the door for a moment. Mum needs to gather her composure. This is very hard. Very very hard. She loved my father so very much. I cannot imagine.

  I know. He loved her too.

  She can’t believe he’s been gone nearly a year.

  I can’t believe it either.

  We should do something special. For my birthday. Not because that was the day he died. Because that is what he would have wanted.

  We can do something special. Something with cake.

  We arrive at the door to their bedroom.

  Mum has the key.

  We pause. She puts her hand on the doorknob. Maybe she isn’t as ready as she thought she was for this.

  I put my arm around her shoulder.

  It’s fine. Maybe I’m not so ready for this either.

  She starts to cry. I can’t bear mum’s tears. All of his things are in there. Everything. She had Mrs. Gresham put everything in there. She just can’t do it. Not yet.

  Does she want me to do it for her?

  No. We will do it together. I’ve had enough to deal with on my own. We won’t do it today, but we will do it soon.

  That’s fine. We can slay that dragon another day.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  Wrangling Cats

  I bring mum to my room. I present her with a gift.

  A headband with two dancing cocks. I hold it out to her with both hands.

  Her laughter after her tears is like music.

  How did I know it was exactly what she’d been looking for?

  Lucky guess.

  Where did I get this?

  In the emergency room.

  Am I going to tell her what happened to me?

  Does she want the truth or the watered down version?

  Both. She’ll decide which one she likes the best.

  I fell off my bike.