Verron_Birth of a Nation

by Douglas Varnell

  Romenov quickly changed the subject by asking, “So what brings you to New York?” Hunter was relieved to change the topic of conversation, “My Grandmother is a stock broker; I came to visit for a few days. Maybe I’ll see you again.” When he turned to leave, Romenov asked, “What do you do in St. Petersburg?” Hunter knew he had him now, and answered, “Oh, I’m not from St. Petersburg, I was born in Texas, raised in Germany and now live in a place called Verron. I occupy my time smuggling people out of Russia, fighting terrorists and testing spaceships.” He knew immediately by the look on the big man’s face that he was a very close confidant of Putin and he had been informed on the details of their operations in Russia and Paul’s visit to the Putin Palace. He stammered, as he replied, “Pleasure making your acquaintance. Enjoy your stay in New York.” Hunter was repulsed by this man flaunting his wealth that was all gained at the expense of good Russian people. As he escorted Ursula toward a table filled with everything imaginable to eat, he told her, “If I were you, I’d be sure you get your money up front. My friends in Russia have told me things about this man, and I have no doubt they are true.” She squeezed his arm and asked, “Just who are you?” He answered, “Just a guy who can’t stand to see helpless people taken advantage of.” She smiled and told him, “Don’t try the Robin Hood thing, in this town there are way too many bad guys to ever right the wrong.”

  The two of them made the social rounds and even danced a few dances then reconnected with Ursula’s three friends, who were looking for an excuse to get rid of their male stalkers, and headed for the door. One of the men who had been as tactfully blown-off as possible by Omotu was insistent that she stay behind. He grabbed her arm a bit more roughly than Hunter liked to see a woman treated and he stepped between them, saying, “I believe the lady is ready to leave, it might be a good idea to let go of her arm.” The man who gripped her arm looked down at Hunter from his 6 foot 6 inch vantage point. Hunter wasn’t a small man at 6 foot 2 inches and what looked like a solid 180; it was actually closer to 250 with his increased muscle density. Omotu was shoved as the big man released her and almost fell. Hunter turned to leave as the big man said, “Ok, pretty boy. Now that my hands are free of that bitch, I think I’ll teach you a lesson in minding your own business.” Hunter turned back around and smiled at the big man, saying, “I really wouldn’t advise that. I know quite enough already. I doubt someone like you could teach me very much.” The enraged man threw a punch so hard that it would have broken another man’s neck. Hunter threw one a bit harder and aimed it directly for the in-coming fist. The sound of breaking bones echoed through the surrounding observers. Hunter calmly gathered his four escorts and led them for the elevator, leaving the big man with a shattered hand and broken wrist, almost passed out from the pain.

  In the elevator, the four girls took turns looking at his hand. There was not a bruise, cut or scrape on it. It didn’t even appear reddened from the impact. Candice asked, “Where did you learn to do that?” Hunter modestly replied, “Oh, it’s just some stuff I learned from my Grandfather, Leona’s ex-husband.” Omotu with her beautiful deep voice and British-Nigerian accent asked, “Do you know who that man was?” Hunter shrugged and replied, “He was a man who was being rude to my friend.” She continued, “He was the Heavy Weight Contender for the World Boxing Federation championship fight scheduled in two days at Madison Square Garden. There are going to be some very unhappy people when they find out he won’t be able to fight.” Candice added, “Probably forever.” Hunter laughed and told them, “I hope he had a good disability plan or workman’s comp.”

  The girls were living or staying at the Trump International. Hunter and Ursula headed for the elevator bank leading to the residential tower. The other three headed for their rooms in the hotel. Even at three in the morning, the place was swarming with people. Ursula was leaning on Hunter’s shoulder on the ride up the elevator and looked deep in thought as he escorted her to her door. She asked, “Want to come in for a while?” Hunter was not about to place himself or her in a compromising situation. He answered, “It’s getting late and I’ve been up since this time yesterday, in other words, almost 24 hours. I’m beat.” She kissed him on the cheek and said, “Thanks for coming to Omotu’s rescue. She’s only sixteen and doesn’t know how to handle herself in those kinds of situations. If you’re not doing anything tomorrow afternoon, you’re welcome to come to my photo shoot. It’s a 2:00 PM. I’ll leave here about one.” He smiled his perfect smile and made no commitment, “If I’m awake by then, I’ll meet you in the hall at one.” He closed the door to Leona’s condo and thought, “Day one in New York City. I can’t wait to get back home. These people are crazy.” Then he smiled at the thought of just spending an evening with four supermodels and a Russian mob billionaire; only in New York.

  It was eleven o’clock when Hunter finally woke up. He pulled on his new American Eagle Jeans; he missed his Levis, as he headed barefoot and shirtless into the kitchen to see what he could find to eat. The poor lady in the kitchen dropped and broke a plate as she turned to see a half dressed young man standing behind her. She began to mumble and almost cry as she bent to clean-up the mess. Hunter squatted down to help and immediately recognized the language of the Ukraine. He began to calm the anxious lady by speaking Ukrainian to her in a calm manner. She looked even more shocked to hear her own language being spoken in her employer’s home. Hunter and Zoryana became instant friends. He went and put a shirt on while Zoryana fixed him some eggs and Canadian bacon, with a bagel and cream cheese. He had picked-up King Paul’s disgusting habit and drank a Diet Coke to wash it down. He visited with Zoryana while he ate; finding out she had only been in America for one year, and hoped she would be allowed to stay. He smiled and told her, “If for some reason you are not allowed to stay, I know a place where you and your entire family would be more than welcome, my home Verron.” She looked at him with a strange expression and asked, “What is this Verron. I have heard your Grandmother and Donald speak of this place.” Hunter didn’t want to steal his Grandma’s domestic help, so he simply told her, “It’s very far away and you won’t find it on any maps around here, I’ll tell you more about it later.” He looked at the Seiko he wore while on Earth and decided that since everyone else was gone to work, he may as well take Ursula up on her offer. He took a long hot shower, pulled his still wet hair back in his usual ponytail and put his American Eagles back on with some off-white cotton shirt Leona had picked out to go with it. He decided he would even shave for the occasion. At five minutes till one he stepped out into the marble floored hallway to be greeted by a smiling Ursula.

  She immediately said, “I’m glad you decided to come. I was debating on whether I should knock on your door or not. There’s a car waiting downstairs and the other girls are probably already there.” The black stretch limo was ready to role as soon as they exited the Trump International doors. As the two of them climbed into the back, Hunter asked, “Why is everyone so excited, it seems like a photo shoot would be just routine for you four.” Du Juan immediately replied, “Yes, but we don’t fly in a chartered helicopter to the Hamptons every day. Have you ever flown in a helicopter?” Hunter paused a moment and answered, “I must admit, this will be my first flight.” He was dying to say, “But have any of you flown in a space ship?” He managed to hold his tongue. The limo drove to the Downtown Manhattan Heliport at Pier 66 and three shiny new Eurocopters, owned by New York Helicopter, were ready and waiting to depart. The three six passenger helicopters quickly filled with four models and camera crew and one blond-haired pony-tailed outsider. They waited for a few more minutes; a phone call was made, followed by a long string of profanities from one of the company executives. He climbed back into the lead copter and slammed the door, looking very frustrated.

  It was a short flight from the riverside Heliport to the Hamptons. Hunter had a window seat and was amazed at the tall buildings and millions of people living in New York City. Then he smiled and thought, “I wonde
r what these people would think of Xhondar I?” Once again he made no comment when asked if he had ever seen anything like it before. Their destination for their shoot was a place they called the “Briar Patch.” It was a $140 million dollar estate in the Hamptons recently purchased by an executive friend of Gregorovich Romenov. He had borrowed it for a day to do this photo shoot before his friend returned from Europe. Hunter had to admit the place was beautiful, surrounded by water and lush green lawn. The house appeared to be 10 or 12,000 square feet. It was a very classy location to take pictures of beautiful women. The helicopters landed on the lawn in front of the house and quickly departed as soon as everyone deplaned. They were quickly greeted by Mr. Saurenson, the estate manager. The director of the photo shoot wasted no time in shouting orders to get everyone dressed, make-up on, sets ready; the exact locations had already been scouted out days before, light readings established, even initial layout ideas discussed with the photographer and ad layout specialists. Once again Hunter heard the set director complaining to the photographer about the male model scheduled for the shoot that had overdosed the night before and had been taken directly to a rehab center; avoiding any nasty publicity with the police being involved. However, that left them in a situation of only being able to take the shots that were girls only, and now being forced to reschedule and probably even hire a new model for the rest of the photo layout. Hunter kept noticing one of the photographers looking at him and then turning to his male assistant and talking. They even looked a few times through a Sekonic Light Meter. The two then spent a few minutes in a heated discussion with the set director.

  The set director and photographer approached Hunter and asked, “Who are you?” in a typical New York City fashion. Hunter was beginning to understand that most of these people were so used to only being concerned with themselves that they really didn’t worry about offending other people. Since the girls now knew him as Prince Hunter, first name Prince, last name Hunter, he decided to stay with the program, he answered, “Prince Hunter” explaining it to be his first and last name. The two men looked at each other believing it to be some trumped-up stage name like, “Prince,” or “Madonna” or even “Lady Gaga.” Assuming him to be a model friend of one of the girls along for the ride, the director asked, “What work have you done?” Hunter asked, “Excuse me, but do you want to know what kind of work I do?” The sarcastic photographer snapped at Hunter, “No you big dumb hunk, we want to know who else you have modeled for; do you have a portfolio?” Hunter was getting a little irritated by now and looked them squarely in the eye and told them, “I am not a model, I do not have a portfolio and my line of work is none of your business. I came as a guest of Ursula and I’m only here to observe.” Now the two were thinking Hunter was using some negotiation tactic and quickly the photographer continued, “So you’re not a member of the Alliance and you’re not signed with another agency?” Hunter was beginning to understand where this line of questioning was going and realized that if he was right he was flattered, and if he wasn’t then he would be embarrassed. He answered, “I am not a model. I have never modeled, I have no portfolio and I have never signed a contract. Does that answer all your questions?” The director and photographer backed away for a few minutes of heated conversation and returned with smiles on their faces. The director asked, “Prince Hunter, would you mind posing for a few shot just to let us see how you look to the camera? We can do it while the girls are getting changed and the set director is preparing for the first shoot.” Hunter wasn’t all that excited about having his picture taken, but was flattered that anyone would think he was worth photographing. He simply said, “What is it you want me to do?”

  Initially the photographer just had him stand in front of a tree or in front of the beautifully carved front doors. He asked if he did any sports and told him to just move as if he were playing them. Hunter looked around and spotted one of the men using an ornate walking stick. He asked if he could barrow it for a moment. The man looked confused by the request until Chris, the photographer, bellowed, “For Christ’s sake Harry, he doesn’t want to keep the thing, let him have it.” Harry reluctantly handed the walking cane to Hunter who promptly began using it as if he were doing sword or staff drills in Jxansa Gha. It felt good to do a few movements and it made him long for the gym and sparring with his friends in the Dragon Guard. There were three people taking pictures as he did his moves and he didn’t even notice the cameras snapping away. When he finished, Chris asked, “Some of the shoots require you to have your shirt off. Our drug addict model was hired simply because he had the best pecks in the business.” Hunter handed Chris the cane and reluctantly unbuttoned his shirt. He had been around King Paul, Chase, Daniel and the girls. None had more than 5% body fat and with their enhancements, all protein seemed to turn to muscle and fat simply burned away. He had never had his shirt off around anyone but family. It especially bothered him to remove his shirt in front of a bunch of admiring men.

  Just then Ursula and the other models walked up and Candice began to cat-call and whistle, shouting, “Take it off! Take all it off! Show us what you’re working with big boy!” Hunter couldn’t help but laugh at the awkwardness of the moment and smiled as he removed his shirt, hardly noticing the comments of, “Oh my God!” “Where have you been all my life?” “What does your Mama feed you?” but his favorite was, “Back off girls, he’s with me.” Hunter looked like an anatomy chart. Every well-developed muscle in his body was clearly defined. It was the body of an athlete, not the body of a model. Chris handed back the cane and asked, “Do that one more time.” He really didn’t notice or at least tried to ignore the admiring looks from his audience, but had to admit, he was enjoying the attention.

  When he finished, Ursula handed him a bottle of water and asked, “Where did you learn to do that?” He laughed and answered, “Spy school. It’s just fundamental stuff where I come from.” Hunter didn’t like the idea of putting on make-up, but had to admit the photographers and make-up artists did know what they were doing. The cloths the male model was supposed to wear weren’t perfect but the fit was close enough that no one could tell. For the next six hours he was mostly watching the girls being photographed, but he was included in each set with one or two of the girls and a couple of times with all four. There weren’t very many of just him alone, since they were selling a women’s fragrance. Most every shot either had him without a shirt or with it opened to the waist. When they were finishing the last set, outspoken Candice asked Chris, “How much were you going to pay Andre for this shoot? I think Prince here should get double.” Chris commented, “We’ll have to get corporate to work that out with his agent.” Hunter asked Ursula, “Who’s your agent, I don’t have one?” Ursula smiled and replied, “Women Management, and as you can you tell from the name, you’re not a good prospect for their specialty.” Hunter told her, “I don’t really care if I get paid or not, it was a fun way to spend the day. Tell you what, what’s your favorite charity?” She answered, “Coalition for the Homeless, I have a real soft spot for the less fortunate.” Hunter knew she had some fine qualities and told her, “Find me an agent to negotiate for whatever they can get and after his/her cut, give the rest to Coalition for the Homeless. I don’t need or want the money.” Ursula was shocked by his generosity and said, “Do you have any idea what kind of money you’re talking about? Based on what I saw today and that I know Andre was getting close to $4 million, a good agent waving these pictures around could probably get you more.” Hunter smiled, saying, “Good, more for the homeless.”

  It was 10:00 PM when they landed back at Pier 6. It had been a long day and the other three girls had plans. They took off in separate taxis and left Hunter and Ursula to decide what to do for dinner. Ursula asked, “You hungry?” Hunter quickly replied, “Starved! I’ve been told that Manhattan has the best deli food in the world and Grandma had some pastrami in her fridge that I ate last night, from a place called Katz’s Delicatessen, know the place?” Ursula smiled and
answered, “Be still my heart. Katz’s is not exactly on the list of places us supermodels dine on a regular basis, but it is one of my favorite places to eat. You are a man after my own heart, and tonight, they’re open all night.” They took a taxi to the Lower East Side. All Ursula said upon getting in the taxi was, “Katz’s.” The cabby knew exactly where to go. It took nearly an hour to get a seat. Hunter drank a Diet-Coke and had a three bowls of motzo ball soup. He was so hungry by the time they got a table he was thrilled when he saw the high stack of corn-beef on his Rueben. Ursula surprised him by devouring a very substantial Pastrami on Rye and washing it down with a cold Amstel Light. When they finally left Katz’s it was close to midnight, but in a town that never sleeps the traffic was unbelievably bad at this time on a Friday night. The partiers were just headed out, the theater district streets were swarming with audiences from hundreds of shows, New York University was ending a championship basketball game and Madison Square Garden was ending its last show of Ringling Brothers Circus. Ursula guided Hunter for the F line subway and directed him through the connections required to get them to the closest station to Trump International. Hunter had never ridden a subway before, so it was a great tourist sight to take in, but it wasn’t something he would want to do every day. He was amazed at just how crowded the trains and the stations were at this time of night.