by Livia Ellis
Memoirs of a Gigolo
Happy Christmas Oliver
Livia Ellis
Copyright © 2012 Livia Ellis
All rights reserved.
ISBN:1480225762
ISBN-13:978-1480225763
My First Interview with Dr. Elon Sørensen
L.E. Just so you know, we are recording.
E.S. Thank you.
L.E. Margaret, please note the following at the beginning of the typed transcript. This is the first of four interviews I will be conducting with Dr. Elon Sørensen, Professor of Philosophy at University College London and lifelong friend of Lord Harklon. He is also the father of Anna Sørensen who is the wife of Lord James Adair, eldest son and heir of Lord Harklon. Please make note of date and time and make certain every page is marked one of four. Before we begin, is there anything you would like to ask me Dr. Sørensen?
E.S. I am curious to know why you agreed to participate in this project. I know full well that you write children’s books under a pseudonym. This seems a bit of a stretch for a woman whose last series of books was a runaway success with girls aged between seven and eleven. Writing about sex and prostitution isn’t precisely your thing. Whatever shall you do if your loyal fan base finds out you like to write about cock? Surely their mummies and daddies might find that objectionable.
L.E. You reached a moment in your life that you decided you needed to do something different. You returned to university and pursued your doctorate. Perhaps I’ve reached a point in my career that I need to do something that doesn’t involve fairy godmothers and wicked goblins.
E.S. Why this project? Why not go and write some dystopian vampires saving the world from the zombie apocalypse novel? Why write about Oliver?
L.S. Why not write about him? I started out as a ghostwriter. It’s something I know. It’s a good way to break out of the glitter encrusted ghetto of writing fairy princess chapter books for children. I’m curious about him. I find his story interesting. Conducting interviews with you and the other people who are still living that he writes about in his memoirs is helping me to get a complete picture of that time.
E.S. The list grows shorter and shorter with every passing year. Tell me truthfully, how much luck are you having in getting the living to cooperate? I can’t imagine Mi Young would be quick to respond to your request.
L.E. She has agreed to speak to me as long as the strictest of confidence is maintained.
E.S. That is interesting and unexpected. What about Olga? She seems all gung-ho about this foolishness.
L.E. I’ve already interviewed her several times.
E.S. As sure as the sun rises, Olga will indulge Oliver in any way she possibly can. What about Gita?
L.E. She thinks it’s important Oliver tell his story. She’s very supportive.
E.S. Of course she is. Gita and Oliver are practically partners in crime.
L.E. But you are not so very supportive.
E.S. I understand that Oliver feels this pressing need to somehow make some universal ‘I was here’ statement before he breathes his last breath, but I truly am of two minds about supporting him in this.
L.E. Can I ask why?
E.S. You can always ask.
(long pause)
L.E. Why?
E.S. Because this isn’t just about him. Fine – if he wanted to write some blue novel about the year he spent fucking for cash, that’s his prerogative. But it’s more than that. He’s involving more people than just himself. He’s naming names. This involves my daughter and my son-in-law. Anna is like me, live and let live, but James is taking all of this very hard. I can’t help but to feel for him.
L.E. Are you bothered by the fact he wants to include his recollections the time you were lovers?
E.S. Not at all. We were lovers. This is a part of our history. What I would like is for it to not be only part of our history that is immortalized in his little tome. We were lovers – fair enough. But more than that, Oliver Adair has been and will forever be the best friend I have ever had. I’m concerned that simple fact will get lost behind the lurid details of man on man sex. What I would like, if I had my way of it, would be for him to tell his story without the sex. Which is not possible I suppose. Anyhow.
L.E. I don’t think it would be possible. I’m trying my best not to put in sex for the sake of sex – a lot of it is important because a lot of it shaped him. Quite frankly, as disgusting as he was, The Baboon and his fetishes deserve to be described in as much detail in the final version as Oliver used in is diaries.
E.S. No matter. What is it you want from me? What can I tell you that you haven’t already learned from Oliver or his extensive journals that someone should have put a match to years ago? Small aside – it is extremely trying being best friends with someone that has an obsessive need to chronicle every fart and every drop of rain that falls as if he had OCD.
L.E. Noted.
E.S. You’re probably one of those diary keepers. Have you ever considered that by chronicling every moment that passes you are in effect altering the way in which you live your life?
L.E. Nope. Tell me about Oliver.
E.S. You’re going to need to be more specific. Fifty plus years of friendship covers a lot of territory.
L.E. Okay – if we go back to the beginning of the period of time he wants to cover in his memoirs, the two of you had a falling out over his decision to work for The Matchmaker.
E.S. A falling out? (laughter) Is that what we’re calling it? Very well. We had a falling out. Actually no. We did not have a falling out. That diminishes the impact of what happened. We had a misunderstanding predicated by my inability to see the whole of what he was facing at that moment rather than just my part in it. He was my best friend. I didn’t want him to sell his body when I had the means at my disposal to erase his burdens. I thought then the same as I think now – it was an idiotic decision. The danger he put himself at was enormous. As a general rule I do not ever regret the fact we were lovers except in this one instance. Had we not been lovers then he wouldn’t have felt that taking the money from me to manage his financial troubles was somehow putting him in a position where he had to continue to be physically intimate with me.
L.E. But if he hadn’t gone to work for The Matchmaker then he never would have met Gita or Olga and you for certain never would have met Roland.
E.S. You don’t know that. Nothing is certain. What is known is only that which has happened. Even that is distorted by how we remember it. We shape our own memoires to our liking. Part of me wonders if Oliver setting himself to this task isn’t his way of justifying what he did. Somehow making it noble.
L.E. He likes to think of it as his heroic quest.
E.S. (loud prolonged laughter) Yes! Yes he would. My dear Oliver. I’m having dinner with him tonight. I will make absolutely certain to give him no end of grief over that.
L.E. There are parallels between his journey and that of a heroic journey.
E.S. There are. But then again, we all live our lives as a sort of heroic journey. We travel from one challenge to the next. Oliver has had greater challenges in his life than most men. That is for certain. He has either been profoundly foolish or overwhelmingly brave depending on how one looks at the story of Oliver.
L.E. What do you think? Brave or foolish?
E.S. Neither. He is my friend. I don’t think of him in these terms.
L.E. How do you think of him? When you think back on that time, especially at the beginning what do you think of?
E.S. I remember how helpless I felt. How frustrated I was that for once he wasn’t just doing as I told him to do. I was jealous of what he was developing with Olga. I wanted to fall in love. I resented that. I wanted to be the one t
hat was falling in love. Not that it isn’t wholly entertaining being a witness to Oliver falling in love. As long as one is smart enough to stay out of the fallout zone that is. I’ve been a witness to it three times. That’s what you should write about. The Outrageous Adventures of Ollie in Love.
L.E. What is Oliver like when he’s falling in love?
E.S. Now that is a question I can properly answer. Oliver is a force to be reckoned with when he’s in the grip of Eros. He is a supernova, a hurricane, a Black-Friday sale on electronics. Oliver is… (long pause) Oliver in love is Superman leaping tall buildings then crashing into low flying aircraft. Oliver in love is Batman whipping around corners in the Batmobile only to miscalculate his trajectory and wipe out a bunch of nuns waiting at a bus stop. Oliver in love is… (long pause) it is heroic. He throws himself into the process of falling in love like a prima ballerina dedicates herself to learning every move to perfection when she is to play Giselle or Princess Aurora.
L.E. Was he like this with Olga?
E.S. No. Which made it all the more interesting to watch. He resisted his natural urge to charge in like some lovesick Lancelot and rescue her from her chosen fate. At this time he was still grieving for his father and his grandfather, he had yet to make peace with his mother, and he was still nursing a broken heart. That said Oliver tends to be a bit dramatic when it comes to wallowing in his own misery. He should have known that things were never really ever going to work out with the Swedish Princess. This was clear from the start. Not to be unkind, but she never had any intention of leaving her husband for Oliver. That was his own fantasy. Oliver was a bit of fun for her. As soon as the thrill of infidelity wore off, she was ready to move on. As for the Saudi Princess, that is a perfect illustration for how things go horribly wrong when Oliver falls crashingly in love.
L.E. She was the low flying aircraft and the bus stop full of nuns?
E.S. You are paying attention.
L.E. I am.
E.S. She was the low flying aircraft and the bus stop full of nuns. If it hadn’t been for her and her desire to get even with him for not loving her, then the proverbial shit probably wouldn’t have hit the fan. For certain the tabloids never would have gotten wind of the story. At least they wouldn’t have paid more attention to him than they normally did. But, as you have correctly pointed out, had it not been for that one thing setting in motion a chain of events, our lives probably would have been very different.
L.E. Care to speculate?
E.S. Whatever for?
L.E. Curiosity. My curiosity.
E.S. All-right. Let’s satisfy your curiosity with a bit of pointless speculation. Probably if Oliver hadn’t walked out on me that afternoon after he’d made the decision to work for The Matchmaker, I never would have come to the conclusion that we truly could only be friends. I might have eventually, but that was a bucket of ice-water on the head. I would very well have never met Roland. Without Roland I probably wouldn’t have made the decision to pursue my post graduate education. Without Roland I most definitely would never have been able to raise Anna. Poor girl would have suffered with just me as a parent.
L.E. Are you the fun parent?
E.S. Absolutely! Anna and I have always known who the real boss in the house is. It was never me. That she has turned out so well is a testament to him and not to the double-whammy of bad genetics she received from me and her mother. Is this the moment when you’re going to ask me about Anna’s mother?
L.E. I’ll get there eventually. What I would like to know is more about your take on Oliver in the first weeks and months of his time with The Matchmaker and his relationship with Olga. Why do you think he didn’t try to – to quote you “to charge in like some lovesick Lancelot and rescue her from her chosen fate”.
E.S. He didn’t want to fall in love with her. He had learned his lesson about falling in love with the wrong woman from his experience with the Swedish Princess. He wasn’t going to make that mistake again. No – he was going to let The Matchmaker do her job and find him a rich wife. And to give her credit, she bloody well did just that.
L.E. Gita.
E.S. Gita.
L.E. Is there any one incident that sticks out at you as worth making a record of? I would like to explore what happened between Oliver and Olga in those months between the time they first met, they clearly developed feelings for each other, and The Matchmaker found Gita?
(long pause)
E.S. Let me think. (long pause) I think the moment I knew Oliver was falling in love with Olga was when I somehow managed to end up traveling to Russia with the two of them in the bloody middle of winter for Christmas. Something happened on that trip to both of them that changed the nature of their relationship.
L.E. Why did you go with them to Russia for Christmas?
E.S. Habit mostly. I’ve spent every Christmas with Oliver since we were a pair of very lonely schoolboys trying very hard to make certain the world knew it didn’t matter to us at all that our parents would rather do something else than try to make a family holiday with us. So I tagged along. Olga and I were becoming very good friends at this point. We bonded over our mutual irritation with Renata.
L.E. Tell me about Christmas in Russia.
E.S. Let’s see… it was a bitter cold winter’s day that Christmas eve when the ghost of my father came to me. He told that that I would be visited by three spirits during the course of one night. As the clock struck midnight…
L.E. Really?
E.S. The day we left London for St. Petersburg the snow was coming down in big wet flakes. It was bitter cold, the sky was gray as steel wool and I was convinced we would never get out. I’m Norwegian. I can read the snow as easily as I can read a book. For sure we were going to be late to the airport if we were to get there at all.
Statistically, the Biggest Travel Day of the Year
I stand outside of the house next to a taxi driver watching in no small amount of wonder as Olga tries to convince Oliver that she really cannot go to Russia for ten days then on to Switzerland where they had a booking over New Years without the six suitcases she insisted were absolutely necessary.
The two of them stand over the pile of luggage and argue in a never ending circuit that would only end either when a trained hostage negotiator arrived, or I took steps.
There really and truly was nothing she could live without in the six suitcases.
There had to be something she could give up. He watched her pack. He knows perfectly well she has a suitcase with just boots. Not shoes and boots. Just boots.
Boots are very important. Boots matter. Has he never been to Switzerland before? How could he expect her to go to Switzerland without at least ten pairs of boots? As it was, she was sacrificing.
They were going to be in Switzerland for ten days. Does she truly need a different pair of boots each day? Might it not be just a touch possible she was exaggerating her needs just a pinch?
There really was nothing in the six suitcases she could live without. In fact, in the spirit of generosity and cooperation, she’d forgone a seventh suitcase and put some things in his suit bag.
There was no room in his suit bag.
She had to take a few things out to make room.
Like what?
Things he won’t need.
Such as?
Things he’s not going to need. Why didn’t he just let her pack for them the way she wanted to? Why does he always have to be so difficult? How can he expect her to coordinate them properly without making them look matchy-matchy if she can’t pick out his clothing?
It is at this point the taxi driver offers me a cigarette which I take. He asks me one question. Are they always like this?
Yes.
Does the bloke realize eventually the pretty lady is going to get what she wants?
Probably. He just enjoys living under the illusion he has some control left in his life.
Don’t we all?
This went on for at least twenty minutes as the
meter clicked and the snow continued to fall. Finally I just called a halt to it.
Put the baggage in the car. Just put it in the car. We are leaving.
Olga smiles at me. How pretty she is in her mink coat and hat. Like a Russian Snow Queen. I honestly don’t know why Oliver bothered arguing with her about the luggage. I knew she was going to get what she wanted. The taxi driver knew she was going to get what she wanted. All of the curious passersby that stopped to look at the pretty lady in the fur coat argue with the handsome gentleman in the wool overcoat and fedora over her pile of luggage knew she was going to get what she wanted. It is the prerogative of the Olgas of this world to win these sorts of arguments and for the Olivers of this world to just simply accept the fact they have chosen to make their bed with a woman that needed six suitcases to go anywhere that involved at least one wardrobe change.
Somehow, Oliver, The Taxi Driver, and me managed to get all ten pieces of our luggage into the car as Olga sat in the back, her jewel case on her lap, her handbag at her feet, warming her hands and fiddling with her telephone. Miracle of Miracles, we made it to the airport in time to get Olga’s baggage checked and to our airplane while somehow managing to stop at a newsstand where no less than two dozen fashion and gossip magazines were purchased. Every magazine was absolutely necessary. There was no argument this time. We didn’t have the time for it. Oliver just tossed pound notes at the cashier before hustling Olga to the plane as the final boarding call was announced.
I sat across the aisle from the two of them as they cooed and mumbled sweet nothings too each other. Honestly it was nauseating. At least I had Olga’s stack fashion and gossip magazines to keep me occupied. At some point during the three-and-a-half hour journey the two of them disappeared in the direction of the lavatories for what can only be described as an extended period of time. My keen powers of observation took note of the fact Oliver failed to tuck his shirt in properly and that Olga had that look on her face I have often observed on both women and men when they know they have the object of their desire conveniently wrapped around a finger.