Happy Christmas Oliver

by Livia Ellis

  I think that I shall be resigning my employment effective immediately and seek out the services of another matchmaker. If there is nothing else, I am certain that Olga must be absolutely frantic.

  Don’t be so hasty. What is wrong with a little appreciation? A small guarantee that everyone will remain silent.

  My appreciation comes in the form of the 25% I hand over to The Matchmaker weekly. I don’t like his attitude at all. In fact, I’m really very unhappy about the way I’ve been treated. And, as we are having an employee review (I do use air quotes) I’d like a raise. Instead of 25% I propose 20%. That is if I even decide to keep working for The Matchmaker. I don’t want to shock him, but he isn’t the first Russian gangster that’s made me an offer I can’t refuse in the previous twenty-four hours. Clearly I have become a man with options.

  Boris laughs loudly. He’s heard this about me. That I have balls. He’ll discuss the matter of my percentage with The Matchmaker. As for my relationship with Olga. This is a problem. I need to find a new friend. Olga is his best earner. Our relationship is starting to affect her performance. This he cannot have.

  Olga works just as much as I do. In fact, we work together a lot of the time. I know how much she works. How is our friendship and I do stress friendship, having an impact on her doing her job?

  That is for him to know and for me to not worry about. Friendship ends or he will make certain no woman will marry me.

  Again with the threats. How about this – have The Matchmaker redouble her efforts to find me a wife. As soon as I’m married, I will no longer have a relationship with Olga.

  What am I saying?

  As soon as I am engaged, I will end my friendship with Olga. It’s the right thing to do. As close as we are, it would be unfair to enter into a relationship with my future wife having a former lover as a friend. In fact, I have every intention of cutting ties with everyone I have met in a professional capacity.

  This is good. This is very good.

  I’m so pleased that he is pleased. Could I at least have my phone back so I can call Olga? Chances are she has probably called the police at this point.

  This makes Boris and his henchmen laugh.

  Olga will not have called the police. She will have called Vladimir.

  Do I give him my word, man to man, that I will cut off Olga as soon as I’m engaged?

  I don’t really see where that is necessary.

  So I will not give him my word?

  Is there honor amongst thieves? Or in this case Russian Mafioso’s and their sex workers?

  Yes. In this we are men of our word.

  All right. What does he offer me in exchange? Because that’s what this is. A negotiation.

  He’ll give me the 20%.

  Fair enough. When I am engaged, I swear I will cut off all ties with Olga and the other people that I work with assuming The Matchmaker finds me a suitable bride.

  What job did Vladimir offer me?

  That is confidential. I am discreet. Something I hope he can appreciate.

  Would I be willing to consider coming to work for him in another capacity?

  Busting knee caps?

  Messenger.

  Would it be a stretch to assume no one will enjoy seeing me coming?

  They will always be happy to see me coming. I would be a good money man. I don’t look like a criminal.

  I’ll think about it. Shockingly, prostitution being legal in the UK works to my advantage. I have yet to break any laws. Maybe. Japan might be one of those grey areas. Long and short, I have yet to run afoul of the law. I’d like to keep it that way.

  Three times as much money and no more having to take it up the arse.

  I actually don’t really take it up the arse that often.

  What are they paying all that money for if not to bugger me?

  I am discreet, professional, and I give an excellent blow.

  Interesting. Employee review over. He gestures to someone behind me. My empty coffee cup is removed from my hand. The bag is placed back over my head. The process of bringing me into the warehouse office is reversed. When the van is halted again and the door is opened, I’m dumped out onto pavement. The van pulls off with a squeal of tires. Before I can pull the bag off of my head, it’s done for me.

  Olga is there. I am sitting on the pavement in front of Vladimir’s petite palais. Vladimir is there. The Missing Link, Elon, Marcus, Aunt Natasha and a half-dozen or so of Vladimir’s boys are milling around.

  Olga is a wreck as I make it to my feet. She’s crying and screaming for blood. At least I think she’s screaming for blood. Again – must learn Russian. Her hands make a genuine effort to ascertain whether or not I’ve truly been hurt.

  Aunt Natasha, god bless her, hands me the rocks glass she’s been drinking from. I sniff then swallow the contents whole. Any person that has the foresight to hand me a healthy dose of scotch after a kidnapping is okay in my book.

  Vladimir wants to talk to me alone.

  Olga very firmly tells him no. We are going inside and we are going to have some time alone. And no more foolishness about us not sharing a room. Enough is enough. It’s not funny. None of this is funny.

  How is it possible that although I was the one that was accosted, that I am required to comfort a distraught Olga? Actually this is preferable. It gives me something to focus on.

  No one objects when we make our way inside and disappear. Olga locks her bedroom door and I hold her. I assure her that truly I am fine. I tell her what happened. It’s after it’s over that I start to realize how much danger I probably was in. Psychological terror jet-lag.

  The Matchmaker calls me and tells me that Boris has overstepped his authority. I am to ignore him. She will deal with him. Olga talks to her briefly. All is good. We are all friends. She cares for us. The call ends after a few minutes.

  I make a decision as I hold Olga. I’m going to do what her father wants. If it’s the last thing I do before I get married and forever say goodbye to her, I’m going to convince her to do something else with her life. Something that doesn’t involve working for Boris.

  That night we attend the party. Neither of us consider not going. We will carry on. Kidnappings don’t stop us. At the party my “incident” with Boris is a source of much amusement. We dance. We laugh. We are merry. We do not leave each other’s side. Olga will not stop touching me. I think she wants to confirm every moment or so that I am in fact still at her side. I don’t mind.

  We are not the first to leave the party nor are we the last. In bed we cling to each other. There is urgency to our lovemaking that speaks of a need for affirmation. I wonder if I wouldn’t have as strong a reaction to my kidnapping as I have if I didn’t have Olga so very frightened about my safety clinging to me as we come together. She is soft and pliant and willing. If it had all been nothing to her, very possibly it would all be nothing to me. Her fear needs assuaging and I am the only one that can do that. Somehow she is the one that needs rescuing more than I ever did. So I do my part. In every conceivable way.

  Christmas Day

  Olga wakes me with kisses on Christmas morning. She is still clinging and soft. I like her like this. Being her hero, although I’ve done nothing but survive a kidnapping, suits me just fine. It appeals to the knight errant in me.

  I’ve been moved into her bedroom by the butler. Who is not English. I think he might be Canadian, but he is not English. He knows I know this although I have said nothing and neither has he. I respect the fact he has a good thing going. He also has been around for a long time. It is with this in mind that I corner him while Olga is in the shower.

  You’re not English. Don’t deny it. You’re going to give me information and I’m going to keep my mouth shut. I’m guessing the only reason Vladimir hired you was because he thought you were a real (I use air quotes – I must stop with the air quotes. I’m beginning to annoy myself with the air quotes) English butler.

  Silence is his answer.

  How ab
out this? You just nod for yes and shake your head for no?

  He nods.

  Are there listening devices or cameras or anything like that in Olga’s rooms?

  He shakes his head no.

  In the girls bedroom?

  That’s a yes.

  Marvelous. I hope someone got an eyeful of Marcus and Elon fucking. Am I correct in assuming Boris would not ever have interfered with a member of Vladimir’s family without some sort of prior understanding?

  A nod. That’s a yes.

  Piss off.

  He leaves.

  I walk into the bathroom where Olga has begun the process of doing her hair.

  Do I want my Christmas present now, or later?

  Now.

  She reaches into her makeup bag and hands me the key to the Aston Martin.

  I don’t understand.

  She kisses me on the cheek. The car. She’s giving me the car for Christmas. She would have bought me a new one, but she couldn’t imagine I’d like another one better. It’s not like she drives it. But we still have our agreement. I have to drive her wherever she wants to go.

  I’ve never received such a perfect more thoughtful gift before.

  I kiss her on the cheek. I really wish I hadn’t bought her an iTunes gift card. I am both cheap and thoughtless.

  She wants her present. She holds out her hand and closes her eyes.

  I take her lovely hand in mine and kiss her knuckles. My darling, my gift for you won’t fit in your hand.

  Her eyes open. There is skepticism in those deep blue irises.

  I kiss her knuckles again as I think faster than any man has ever thought in the history of angry women wanting something more than a gift card for Christmas.

  I’m taking us on a well needed holiday in the sun. Just us. Sun. Sand. Rest. Relaxation.

  Her eyes widen. A smile appears. I’ve won at relationship roulette.

  Yes my darling. Just us. A week in the sun.

  Brazil? Please tell me we’re going to Brazil. She knew she’d been giving me a lot of hints, (hints? there were hints?) but still..

  Yes. Brazil. We go directly from Switzerland.

  I am so wonderful! But how can I possibly expect her to go from winter to summer without repacking?

  Surely she wouldn’t find some shopping in Rio objectionable?

  My face is covered in kisses and my clothing is made redundant as I’m pushed out of the bathroom and into the bedroom.

  Soft, sensuous Olga is replaced by that dynamic little firecracker in the sack I’ve grown to love. She gives me the seeing too I’ve been itching for. When I am spent and ready to just lie in bed for the remainder of the day with Olga and a selection of movies I loaded onto my iPad, she pulls herself away. My trousers are tossed on me.

  Up. Dressed. We’re already late for breakfast.

  Fuck. I hate family sometimes. I check my phone. It’s only six in England. Will she remind me to call my Aunt Lucy?

  She already put a reminder in my phone.

  I check. Sure enough there is a reminder scheduled.

  She sent flowers and a hamper from us.

  What would I do without her?

  Suffer.

  Four weeks later…

  London. It’s raining in sheets which provide excellent cover for two people that are trying to slip into the city under a cloak of anonymity. At least one of us is trying to keep a low profile. I get on an esthetic level that Olga’s black overcoat, oversized black sunglasses and hair pulled back into a tight Eva Peron chignon were chosen because she thought they seemed discreet, but to my eye she sticks out about as much as a Vegas showgirl in a feather and diamante headdress would.

  Uncle Harvey spots us at about the moment we spot him. He has an umbrella and stands at the door to The Matchmaker’s Rolls Royce. We dive into the back. The luggage is already being dealt with. I didn’t spot any paparazzi, but who knows where those parasites might be lying in wait?

  In the back of the car is The Matchmaker and, as promised several time by Uncle Harvey, are the London tabloids. There we are. The headlines are all pretty much the same. Lord Harklon Frolics on Sands of Copa Cabana with Russian Playmate. Granted we didn’t make the main headlines, but we are a reasonably sized feature box with picture.

  Uncle Harvey tells us it’s not as bad as we think it is.

  Parvati isn’t returning my calls.

  The Matchmaker gets to the point. Parvati’s family has dropped me.

  Fuck Parvati. This is Olga’s answer for it all. I don’t need Parvati.

  Unfortunately I do need Parvati.

  Noor’s family won’t consider me. They are no longer convinced that I am a changed man.

  Damn. I rather liked Noor. A bit plain, but very polite and very English. She was a good second choice to Parvati.

  Consider that door slammed shut behind me. This leaves us with Dr. Gita Premji. She has already been in contact with the Drs. Premji. They’re still willing to meet me. Dr. Gita Premji made it very clear to me that the two of you have never even met and she could really care less how you want to spend your holidays. What you want to do in your free time is your business. She wasn’t bothered in the slightest actually.

  I already said I wasn’t interested in marrying a woman that was career minded.

  Then we are back at square one. I have two choices. Either I can seriously consider Dr. Premji or I can let this blow over and we can revisit my search for a wife in a few months. None of my clients have dropped me. Not that she thought they would, but still – business is good. Maybe it’s a sign the economy is improving.

  Set it up. I’ll meet Gita Premji.

  Olga clicks her tongue a few times then holds up a double page spread of the two of us on the Copacabana. Tell her the truth. Should she have her tits done?

  Someone is fucking with me. I can feel it like I feel the starting of a cold before the first sneeze. Someone is fucking with me. I don’t know who, but I don’t trust anyone. I look at Olga as she scrutinizes her tits. I don’t trust anyone. Except for Elon and Uncle Harvey. And Olga. I do still trust Olga. Maybe I shouldn’t. Maybe this is another moment I’ll look back on with regret, but I trust her. I have to believe I can trust her.

  About Memoirs of a Gigolo

  Thank you for reading Memoirs of a Gigolo Happy Christmas Oliver. If you downloaded this story during a promotion on Kindle, you may not know that it is part of a larger serialized novel. Memoirs of a Gigolo is a twelve part serialization. One part is released each month at the beginning of the month. As of the release of this segment, there are already three volumes available and another holiday special (Happy Halloween Oliver). Although Happy Christmas Oliver is a standalone volume, it demonstrates the deepening and complex relationship between Oliver and Olga. I also introduce a few elements which will be reintroduced as the main story arc continues.

  I am often asked why I chose to serialize a novel rather than release it as a whole. There are several answers to that question. I wanted to do something different tops the list. Serialization used to be the standard for novel publication. Some of the greatest novelists in the history of literature wrote their books as serials to be published in parts. Charles Dickens, Henry James, Harriet Beecher Stowe, and Herman Melville are a few. My favorite novel, Anna Karenina by Tolstoy, was a serialization. The other reason I chose to serialize is that this is an experiment for me. I’m writing each segment monthly. That isn’t to say I don’t have a broad outline of the story, but it is still fluid. I can change the story in response to feedback from my readers. I’m enjoying the process immensely.

  I do hope you enjoyed it!

  Livia

 

 

 
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