Happy Christmas Oliver

by Livia Ellis

  The child will live with her and I will be expected to pay her a large sum of cash monthly to support the child. I will have no role in the child’s life.

  That’s it isn’t it? She wants money.

  Of course. What else could there be?

  I want 50% of time with the child. (I actually don’t but I’m a fan of screwing with Renata)

  Not ever. Just be a good boy and pay lots of child support and don’t give her any fuss.

  No. (I’m starting to catch on – it’s taken a while) In fact how about we agree that I will relinquish all parental rights and she can go on her merry way.

  Big sigh – just give her the money.

  Is she broke? Is that why she did this?

  Funds are a bit tight.

  Where is she?

  London.

  Where am I?

  Russia.

  Oh of course! When is Oliver going to get bored with Olga? It really can’t happen soon enough in her opinion. This has all gone on long enough. Time for us gang of three to get back to business as normal.

  That’s probably never going to happen. In fact I think she can count on Oliver pretty much wiping her out of his life at this point. Where in London is she?

  Back with her mother. It’s ghastly.

  How much does she need?

  Twenty-million pounds. In small bills.

  Be serious.

  A hundred or two thousand should do until she comes to term.

  Here’s a thought. How about I take that money, hire a flotilla of lawyers and detectives to come at her like the first wave of a tsunami, and then we can talk money? We both know perfectly well that there isn’t a court in the world that would determine her to be a fit mother under any circumstance.

  She’ll sell me the baby for a million pounds.

  Now there is a solution. Maybe we could sell it. Or give it away. I don’t think selling babies is legal.

  Don’t I care about my baby?

  Not particularly, no. I have no emotional attachment to the fetus she is carrying. I’m not particularly paternal and find children to be a nuisance. Put the thing up for adoption.

  She knows what the sex is. Do I want to know?

  I really don’t care.

  It’s a girl. We’re having a girl.

  We are not having a girl. She is going to give birth to a girl. If she wants to try to use the child as a means to extract money out of me, then she will find me a more difficult target than she first imagined. I’m getting angry. What bothers me the most is that we were friends. How could one friend do this to another?

  It really was an accident. She’ll sell the baby to me for five-hundred-thousand.

  I wouldn’t take it for free.

  So if I don’t want it for free, then why do I want fifty-percent custody? What would I do with the child during my time?

  Hire a very well trained nanny. I have to go. I am due at a cocktail party. Did she call for a reason other than to ruin my evening?

  She really needs money. She can’t stay with her mother. Her mother is drinking again. It’s just toxic. Like it or not, she is carrying my child and she needs my help.

  Go to my place. She can stay there until something else can be arranged. I’ll be back in about ten days. Do not trash the place. I changed the security code. Find out what can be done to be rid of the child. Chances are it shouldn’t be too hard to pawn a healthy white baby off on to some couple longing for a bundle of joy.

  How much will I give her to give up the kid?

  I’m finished with this conversation. I will be back after Christmas.

  I end the call.

  Marcus stands before me. His bowtie is untied and hanging limply about his neck. The top buttons on his shirt are undone. I don’t know how much of the conversation he’s heard. For certain he hasn’t heard enough to send him running.

  Friend of mine pregnant?

  Yes.

  Children are a nuisance.

  I couldn’t agree more.

  He takes the cuff of my jacket sleeve and uses it to tug me through a door.

  E.S. this is the moment when you want to cue the boomchicawaawaa music.

  L.E. please just continue.

  E.S. We have sex. What do you want?

  L.E. What happened?

  E.S. Why do I think I’m correct in assuming you’re some kind of naughty voyeur?

  L.E. I could just ask Marcus when I’m in Argentina.

  E.S. Oral.

  L.E. Thank you. Please continue.

  There was no conversation. We both knew what the other wanted.

  His fingers are quick and well-practiced at undoing a man’s trousers. He slides down my legs as I lean against the wall of what I think is a linens closet. I can’t be certain. The light is off and the door is closed.

  His mouth finds my cock. Marcus bobs back and forth as he sucks me hard and deep into his throat. His lips wrap tightly around my shaft and he uses just enough tongue on the tip to make me want to scream. My new lover releases my cock from his mouth and takes it with his hand. His lips grab hold of my balls and draw them into his mouth as his hand continues to work me.

  He knows what he’s doing and it has been a long time since I’ve been with a man that clearly likes cock. I want this to last forever and he isn’t pushing me toward an orgasm. He takes his time which lets me savor the experience of being sucked.

  One hand massages my cock and the other seeks out my entrance. When he finds it I smile. His fingertip plays with the pucker of my anus, but he doesn’t penetrate me. He releases my balls from his mouth and retakes my cock between his lips. His head bobs up and down as if he’s fucking me with his mouth. That teasing finger playing at my anus presses in past the hard ring of flesh. The slowly building orgasm takes control of my body. I want to come and I do.

  My head leans forward as I look at him kneeling before me. His hands grasp my thighs, massaging up and down. He stands up, hands me a condom and drops his trousers. He tells me to fuck him hard which I do. He’s a total unapologetic slut and I adore it. I’ve wanted a man like this in my life for a long time. Waiting in vain for Oliver hasn’t been the best for my sex life. Time to move on and what better choice than a man that orders me to fuck him?

  By the time we arrive at the party, I feel as if I am one half of a fabulous gay couple. I’ve never been one half of a fabulous gay couple.

  Oliver and Olga are already present. They stand with their heads close together. Oliver is smiling as Olga speaks animatedly in his ear. His arm is around her waist as she leans in to him. They are in their own world. For the first time I am truly aware of the fact that they are in love whether they know it or not. I also know that I could never have with Oliver what Olga does. He doesn’t love me like he loves her. What we have is a friendship that has crossed the line a few too many times.

  Marcus stands at my shoulder. He feels sorry for Oliver.

  Why the devil would he feel sorry for Oliver? From where I stand, Oliver has the appearance of the man most worthy of envy in the room.

  As a rule Vladimir enjoys busting the thumbs of men that touch his daughters. Vladimir has plans for Oliver.

  He’s not going to hurt him is he?

  No. Nothing like that. Keep in mind that Vladimir is an unapologetic social climber that thinks things like class and breeding are for sale. The idea of having a daughter that was royalty is like catnip for him.

  Can I ask him a question?

  Will we spend the night together? The answer is yes.

  Good to know. What I would really like to know, is how much is Vladimir really worth?

  Nobody really knows. It’s an enigma shrouded in a mystery wrapped in a blanket of offshore accounts. What he knows is that he has enough cash on hand to have his own private polo team that he matches up against the private polo teams of other rich bastards.

  What’s the deal with him and Olga?

  Do I know what a Mexican Standoff is?

  I do.
r />   There you go. Neither of them will budge. Now Oliver has put himself in the middle.

  If nothing else it should be fun to watch.

  It should. Do I want a drink? What do I drink?

  It’s Russia. I’ll take vodka.

  Good choice.

  Oliver Remembers Well

  (doorbell ringing)

  E.S. Just a moment.

  L.E. pausing recording.

  (recording breaks at 16:42)

  (recording resumes at 17:01)

  L.E. We are recording again. Please note that Oliver has joined us.

  O.A. Good afternoon Margaret!

  E.S. You understand the disembodied Margaret isn’t really listening at this moment?

  O.A. Don’t be an asshole. What were you discussing?

  E.S. I was about to tell your little inquisitor about Aunt Natasha.

  O.A. Aunt Natasha indeed. (chuckling) You see, it’s funnier if I tell it because I’m the one that lived it.

  E.S. Your memory is suspect. What day of the week is it?

  O.A. It’s Wednesday you dolt.

  E.S. Hmmm… What is your granddaughter’s name?

  O.A. I don’t have a granddaughter. I have six grandsons.

  E.S. Name them. Oldest to youngest.

  O.A. Albert, Henry, George, William, Malcolm and Peter.

  E.S. Not bad. Perhaps you have some of your marbles today. Where did you meet Marcus for the first time?

  O.A. At the airport. Why?

  E.S. Never mind. Aunt Natasha.

  Vladimir Lenin

  Here I am. I’m at this party in this beautiful, yet somewhat dilapidated and clearly poorly decorated home that is like an aging diva in all her threadbare finery. The ballroom is oval and decorated for Christmas with thousands of glittering fairy lights, red and silver decorations, and lots of gold. Gold everywhere. Midas would be in his heaven.

  Olga is breathtaking and it makes my heart break how perfectly my great-grandmother’s sapphires compliment her. I am so torn that I am nearly ripped asunder by my want and my need. I want her. I need to marry Parvati. If she’ll have me. That remains to be seen. If nothing else, she and the women of her tribe enjoy watching me run their obstacle course. As long as I remain entertaining, I might actually get to marry Parvati and all of her money. To my credit Parvati and I have been very honest with each other since the start. I want her money. She wants to make her sisters cry because she’s a countess and they’re not. We get along.

  Before we joined the party, we spent five minutes alone in that ghastly pink bedroom of hers and her sisters. I didn’t know before, but learned then that this was the first time she’d been home since she’d had that cataclysmic falling out with her father. It mattered to her a great deal that everything go right. Please could I just be her darling and sleep in the girls room? She promised me that she would make time just for us as soon as she could, but at that moment she needed her father to see that I really was a gentleman despite what he may have heard to the contrary.

  Like what had he heard to the contrary?

  He might know that I really don’t work in public relations.

  How would he know this? I thought we’d agreed that this would be what she would tell everyone. Her family thinks she’s a party planner.

  Her father has his ways of knowing things. But it’s okay. Really. At least she hopes it’s okay. She’s counting on the fact her father started out as a truck driver and had to work to make his money. Maybe he’ll respect the fact that I’m willing to work really hard to make a living.

  Is she trying to be funny?

  She kisses me on the cheek. She needs to see what’s keeping her grandmother. The girls need her. This is Xenia’s first big party. She is trying to be a big girl, but really she’s still so young. How is it possible she stayed away for so long when Xenia needed her so much? She’s a bad sister. Her mother would be very disappointed in her. Elon is here at last. Go talk to Elon.

  I go talk to Elon. But I’m stopped. Between us is a woman of probably fifty. I cannot stop staring at her enormous breasts. I can’t. They’re so big and so round I’m honestly worried that if someone pokes one with a cocktail pick it might pop.

  So – she speaks in a Natasha Fatale English accent that shows all W’s no mercy. What is handsome man like me doing at such boring party? She takes a long drink from a comically large martini glass.

  Uhhh…? In my particular line of work, the cougar is my bread and butter. I love my cougars. I adore my cougars. My cougars trade me around like a handbag. I have learned so much about how to please a woman from my cougars. I both admire and respect their experience in the sack. I especially like that they know what it takes to get them off and they have no problem directing me like a crossing guard. I enjoy going shopping with them. I find it tremendously fun that they spend a lot of money on me their ex-husbands are forced to pay them from ruinous divorce settlements. I like that we are all out to have a good time without any complications. I would say with a few noteworthy exceptions the bulk of my standing appointments are with woman exactly like the one barring the way to Elon. But this one doesn’t just look like she wants to devour me. I think she has a recipe for grown man tucked away somewhere in that cleavage of hers.

  She is Aunt Natasha. I can call her Aunt Natasha.

  I look to my left. I look to my right.

  A hand falls on my shoulder.

  It’s The Missing Link.

  The Boss wants me now.

  The Boss…?

  Vladimir – Natasha snorts as she laughs. I think she sprays some martini out of her nose. Don’t I know? Vladimir is boss. Don’t forget. He is boss. And if I forget. Vladimir will remind me that he is boss.

  Got it. Where is Olga?

  The Missing Link doesn’t know where Olga is. The Boss wants me now.

  I don’t want to go to The Boss.

  The Boss wants me now.

  I look around. I search for Olga.

  Aunt Natasha smooth’s a hand over my lapel. She’ll be keeping an eye out for me. Maybe she’ll catch me alone later.

  I go willingly with The Missing Link. I am marched out of the ballroom.

  We walk through the party to a part of the house I haven’t yet ventured into. We stop at a door which is flanked by The Missing Link’s brothers: The Thumb Buster and The Knee Breaker. We are let into the room. It is dimly lit, cavernous, and asthmatically smoky. Vladimir likes his Cubans.

  The man himself sits behind a large wooden desk, a familiar file open before him. Somehow, someway, he has a copy of the dossier the Matchmaker compiled when she was performing my background check.

  I stand until the hand on my shoulder gives me no choice but to sit. I don’t know if there is a psychological element to it, but the chair I sit on has a tendency to pitch me forward. I’m unsettled. I am aware that I am being scrutinized. Vladimir flips through my file one page at a time. Each page is studied then passed to the discard pile. Occasionally he stops and studies something of particular interest.

  I try to see what he sees.

  The Missing Link puts a hand on my shoulder, pressing me back into my wobbling chair.

  Vladimir hands the paper he had been studying to a man in formal wear standing at his shoulder. The man, reads over the document, then speaks to Vladimir in Russian. The two men have a conversation, frequently referring to the paper. I cannot be certain, but I think they are reading the terms of my settlement with my former fiancée.

  The man hands the paper back to Vladimir.

  Vladimir stares at the paper for a moment then looks at me.

  Am I truly Olga’s boyfriend, or am I trying to bullshit him?

  Not the question I expected. Can I be wholly honest with him?

  In the interest of my continuing health, he would recommend total honesty.

  I’m not really in a position to be Olga’s boyfriend. If I were, then I would be. But as it is, as he must be very aware, I am not able to engage myself in a relatio
nship.

  He is aware of my search for a wife. He is also aware that the eldest daughter of Dr. Kumar Premji, Dr. Gita Premji, is at the top of the leader board.

  It’s not like I can deny I’m meeting potential brides. But I do make one correction. Currently Miss Parvati Singh is at the top of the list. I like Parvati. She’s a mercenary.

  His mistake. Have I met Dr. Gita Premji?

  No. I’m not interested in Dr. Premji. I’ve already told The Matchmaker this. I’m certain she’s a lovely woman, but I’m not certain that I want a wife that is a surgeon. It just seems like the sort of career that would demand a lot of a family. Besides, Dr. Kumar Premji’s fortune comes from his inventions and his books. It’s not generational wealth. As a rule people that make the first pile of money tend to be fairly tight with it. That Dr. Premji made the choice to go to medical school even though her father was already a very wealthy man tells me that we might not have the same priorities.

  What about the daughter of Hardip Gautam? There’s a man living off the back of his ancestors.

  I have met Miss Noor Gautam once. We had tea at Claridge’s with her mother, sisters, aunts and The Matchmaker.

  Vladimir looks at me for a long moment then turns to the man at his right hand. The two laugh loudly as they speak. The other men in the room chuckle. I really need to start learning some Russian.

  Finally Vladimir turns back to me.

  Yuri – he jabs a thumb in the direction of the man who appears to be his consigliore – is like him. A man with many daughters. Maybe an arranged married supervised by the women of the family is the way to go. They would both sleep better at night. So tell him, what is the going rate for a title?

  Pardon me?

  How much do I want?

  For…?

  Vladimir turns to Yuri. The two speak for a moment.

  Dowry. How much do I want? How much do I want to take his daughter? What is Olga worth? He will give me fifty-thousand dollar. US. Cash.

  First of all, Olga is priceless. Second, she’d probably have both of our nut sacks in a blender if she knew we were having this conversation.

  Sixty thousand.