by Livia Ellis
There is no argument from Xenia. Instead the sisters hug. Xenia is given a light kiss on the forehead which leaves a lipstick mark that is quickly smudged away. Xenia is sent off and we are alone.
Any chance I can convince her to convince her father that we really should be allowed to sleep in the same room?
No. But that doesn’t mean I can’t sneak through the halls after dark.
Can I? Hope fills my body. I may not end up with a crick in my neck after all.
The door will be unlocked. I just need to be prepared to leave before dawn.
After the party
It’s well after midnight when the party starts to break up. In this time, I have met Olga’s other three sisters, the fiancé of Anastasia, their maternal grandmother, Uncle Vasilly the husband of the persistent Aunt Natasha, and a few members of the polo team. Marcus assures me that horses and gear are no problem. This is great. I couldn’t be more thrilled. I’m not only going to get on a horse in the near future, I’m going to get to play polo with professionals. I warn them that I’m hardly a pro, but they don’t care. This is friendly.
I can’t be certain, but I think Elon and Marcus disappear at around eleven. I’m pleased they are so smitten with each other. They seem well suited. They’re arrogant, attractive, and wholly self-absorbed.
Just before midnight Olga takes Xenia to bed. I am given instructions before she departs. In approximately forty-five minutes I am to join her.
I meander around the stragglers. I talk with some of the few remaining players. I refuse their offer to join them at one of Vladimir’s clubs. By clubs I quickly realize they mean strip bars. Vladimir has many clubs and the booze is always free for the players. I’ll admit I’m sorely tempted to join them for a true lad’s night out. But I can’t. I’ve already received a better offer. They leave without me.
Finally time has passed. I can go and find my proper man sized bed.
But then again I can’t. Mischa, or as I like to think of him, The Missing Link stops me. He is like a brick wall barricading the hallway.
My bedroom is the other way.
I wasn’t actually going to my bedroom. Surely he understands. Us being men of the world and all of that.
My bedroom is the other way. He folds his arms across his chest.
Olga is sort of expecting me.
My bedroom is the other way.
He’s not going to let me pass.
Silence.
Could he, just for fun, say None Shall Pass?
Nothing.
No? None Shall Pass. Just like that. None Shall Pass.
He’ll show me where my room is.
A shrubbery! A shrubbery!
Silence as I am “walked” to my room.
The Missing Link stands at the door as I open the door. This is where making assumptions about certain things are usually a mistake. Elon having a modicum of consideration for the fact we are supposed to be sharing the princess bedroom is a poor assumption to make. Of course he doesn’t. I turn on the light because I figured he’d gone with Marcus to wherever he calls home.
But no. Two very startled, very naked men in the middle of sexual congress look at me over and through a tangle of limbs.
For fuck sakes! What are they doing?
Isn’t that obvious? They’re fucking.
So I see. Don’t they have anywhere else to go?
No. Couldn’t be arsed to go back to Marcus’ flat. Care to join them?
No. I do not want to join them. Where the hell am I supposed to sleep?
They figured I’d be with Olga. Why am I not with Olga?
The Missing Link intercepted me. Unbelievable.
The Missing Link is standing sentry outside the door.
They’re fucking. Where else can I sleep? There has to be an empty bedroom.
No empty bedroom. Get blanket or freeze. My choice.
I return to the bedroom. Marcus and Elon don’t bother pausing their moaning and writhing for my benefit. Unbelievable.
I take the bedding off of two of the beds, bundle it in my arms and stomp out the door. To make it worse the two of them are laughing at me as I exit.
I show The Missing Link my sparkling pink duvets. Happy?
He grunts.
I follow.
He leads me to a couch in a glass conservatory. The sky is clear and the moon is full and bright. If it weren’t twenty below outside it would probably be beautiful.
Is there anywhere heated I can sleep?
No. But I can go back to girl bedroom with fucking men.
If I catch a cold and die of pneumonia I’ll return to haunt him.
Fine. I won’t be the first ghost in the house. The whole place is haunted.
Good. I like haunted. Makes me feel at home. In my castle. Which I own.
Then I should sleep just fine. All by myself. On the couch. In the freezing cold room.
I like sleeping in a cold room.
Good.
Fine. Does he have some problem with me?
Why would he have a problem with a boyfriend of Olga’s that doesn’t stop her from working for Boris and The Matchmaker?
I don’t own Olga. Olga is the boss of Olga.
If she were his girlfriend she wouldn’t work for Boris and The Matchmaker anymore.
Then I get it. I am punishingly dense sometimes. Olga is her own person who makes her own choices.
If Olga were his girlfriend she wouldn’t have any reason to work for Boris and The Matchmaker. He would treat Olga like princess she is.
I bow to his superiority. I’m going and sleeping with Olga. Which I have been invited by Olga to do. Because that’s what we do. Sleep together. Every night. Like a couple. He actually can’t stop me.
He can’t. But The Boss can. Do I want him to tell The Boss?
No. What I would like is for him to just leave me alone in my freezing cold glass room so I can get some sleep. I get on the couch and wrap the duvets around me. The Missing Link wanders off after I’m tucked in. It is my intention to seek out Olga after a sufficient enough amount of time for The Missing Link to get bored has passed.
I wait. I watch the moon. I’m comfortably warm under my double layer of down duvets covered in pink flannel. I count the panes of glass in the dome over my head. I fall into a deep deep sleep. It is as I am asleep that a second dream which must have been generated by my need for rest.
Instead of dreaming of the hotel and the shimmer, I dream of the Saudi Princess. She’s pursuing me. I think we’re rabbits. Or at least rabbit like. She’s this dark furred, dark eyed rabbit like creature and she’s chasing me. We are running over a map and there are lines behind up as we run. Like in a movie. We’re map traveling I suppose. We run from London, to New York, New York to Hong Kong, Hong Kong to Sydney, Sydney to Paris. Finally in Paris I’m tired of being chased. I’ve run so far for so long and it just never seems like it going to end. So I stop running and I let her catch me.
When she catches me we are in Paris. It is in Paris that I let her have me. I don’t know why she wants me, but she wants me desperately. My heart hurts and my rabbit feet ache. So we fall together in a bed. She was a virgin. Not something she bothered to tell me in advance. Had I know I might have been willing to run a little longer just to avoid being her first.
So here we are – furry rabbit creatures fucking wildly and violently. I don’t care about being gentle. She wanted this so much that she chased me around the world for it. I bend her over both forwards and backwards. I stuff my cock in her mouth and make her take it in until she figures out what to do with it. To her credit, she learns to give a decent blow in those two weeks.
She tells me I have to marry her because she was a virgin. I can’t marry her because I have a fiancée. Then she destroys my life. Or at least she thinks she does. What she really did was make my life better. Because if she hadn’t tried to ruin me I never would have reached the bottom and had to build my life back up again.
E.S. This is the m
oment when I must interrupt. We must leave.
O.A. Why?
E.S. You’re getting agitated.
O.A. I am not getting agitated. I’m engrossed.
E.S. Agitated or engrossed. Either way it doesn’t matter. We need to be cutting this short.
O.A. Why?
E.S. If we don’t leave now then we will be late for our dinner reservation. If you are late for your dinner reservation than we run the risk of you becoming confused which will make you truly agitated as opposed to simply engrossed. So let us stick to our schedule, shall we?
O.A. You all exaggerate. My memory really isn’t all that bad and I am not half as delicate as you all pretend. Have you been speaking to Gita?
E.S. I speak to Gita practically daily.
O.A. They conspire against me. I’m certain of it. They coddle me like a child.
E.S. Perhaps we do coddle you. But then again your tendency to remember if we exaggerate or coddle is generally poor. Is your anachronistic recording device halted?
L.E. No. We’re still recording.
E.S. Make a note of this. For posterity. Memory is a faulty thing. I remember that first night with Marcus probably very differently than he does. For certain I had completely forgotten about Oliver walking in on us until after he just mentioned it. That moment had wholly disappeared from my recollection of that night. But now I remember the gormless look on Oliver’s face when confronted with a pair of naked men engaged in coitus on that ridiculous enchanted pumpkin bed. I thought I would never forget that room, and there you have it, I had forgotten that room and the fact Oliver had interrupted us. Memory is faulty. I recommend forgoing these interviews and sticking with the information contained in the diaries. That is probably your most accurate source. Not the recollections of a few people who have had forty years to reinvent those moments to best suit their guilty consciences.
L.E. So are you canceling our meeting in two weeks?
E.S. No. Just giving you something to consider. How do you turn this thing off?
L.E. Here.
Recording ends at 17:57
Christmas Eve
As it happened the first time. I dream of Christmas past. Specifically I dream of the Christmas not one, but two years earlier. I was in Switzerland with Elon.
I am at the Hotel Romatik with my princess. This is our last day together without having to worry about her husband. We have become lax about being seen together. We laugh about the Saudi Princess that has attached herself to me like she is my shadow. She is young and foolish. It is a wonder her family let’s her as much liberty as they do. We agree that it is odd she isn’t watched closer than she is.
Our lovemaking isn’t the same as it was. It doesn’t have the urgency it once did. We’re not sneaking around. That sort of takes the glow off of this forbidden apple. In fact, the sex has become a bit mundane. Not that there isn’t something nice about the familiar, but we don’t come to each other as if every moment is stolen.
We are in the bed. I am in her. Her legs wrap around me and flip me over onto my back. This is unexpected. Normally she’s not this aggressive. But it’s no longer my princess. It’s Olga. It’s not my princess in my arms. It’s Olga. It’s always Olga. Glowing shimmering shining Olga that fucks me like it’s the end of the world. She’s wild and passionate. She nips me with her teeth and tells me I make her world turn.
It’s Olga in place of the Swedish Princess I dream of as a hand on my thigh nudges me out of my sleep. A very welcoming and friendly hand on my thigh slithers up to my dick and gives it a squeeze. I crack open an eye as a smile bends my lips.
Then I scream like a little girl as I wake instantly.
Aunt Natasha! Naughty naughty Aunt Natasha! I swat her hand away, but it perseveres like a thirsty mosquito scenting fresh blood.
I am big boy. Very big boy. So – I want to play game called chop morning wood?
Aunt Natasha! I scoot back on my couch gathering my duvets up to my chin.
So... She pursues me as I flee. Do I like older women?
Yes. No. Yes. No. Aunt Natasha! This is highly inappropriate.
What inappropriate? I am man – she is woman – what problem?
Aunt Natasha! Olga’s voice lashes like a whip. Leave him alone.
What? Aunt Natasha gives me a wink as she removes her hand from my junk.
Normally I find it objectionable to sleep in my trousers, but for once I truly don’t mind.
Why am I sleeping on the couch? Olga is dressed in boots and slim black trousers paired with a boxy cold war era looking jacket.
Because… I move away from Aunt Natasha and her probing hand… The Missing Link wouldn’t let me pass. He made me sleep on the couch.
Aunt Natasha purrs – Pity I didn’t come to her room. She has big bed.
What about Uncle Vasilly?
He snores. Sleeps in own bed. Far far far from her bed.
Again, why am I sleeping on the couch? Why am I not in the girls’ room?
Marcus and Elon were occupied in there. I had nowhere else to sleep.
Never mind. Forget she asked. Just get dressed. I’m taking her shopping. We need gifts.
Am I allowed to shower and perhaps have some coffee?
Not the morning for that attitude. She’s had one run in with her father and Xenia is being a double handful. If I could just be her darling and get ready she will get me coffee.
She walks off leaving me alone with Aunt Natasha.
So… Aunt Natasha smiles at me. Would I like for her to wash my back?
And that’s enough of that for me. I gather up my duvets around me and push my way Aunt Natasha. I don’t know if she follows me, but I’m certain I haven’t seen the last of her.
My First Kidnapping
Some things are universal. Brands offer promises. They are standardized purposefully to breed familiarity. This is the beauty of Starbucks. No matter where Olga might drag me on one of her expeditions, chances are there will be a Starbucks somewhere nearby. I have yet to walk into a Starbucks and not get the same exact Americano I have come to expect worldwide.
It is with a Venti Americano purposefully poured into a festive red cup in hand that I experience the first of several kidnappings which I will be subjected to in my life.
I don’t notice the white van that stops dead in the street. It is no different from any other delivery van. I pay scant attention as the side door rolls open. I may notice the four or so men that pile out of the back, but I assume they have nothing to do with me. It’s only at the very last moment. The moment when the one removes my coffee from my hand, Olga finally glances away from her phone and Xenia screams, that I realize they have come for me. If nothing else, the bag over my head as I am being tossed into the back of the van is a dead giveaway.
I hear the door close as I feel the momentum of the van as it accelerates at speed into traffic. The thought which astonishes me the most at this moment, once I’ve waded through feelings of being pissed off to utterly terrified, is thank god they didn’t grab Xenia or Olga. Granted, I’m not worth much if they’re looking for ransom money, but I’m me and not a woman or a girl.
We drive for a period of time that is neither short, nor long. The men speak in Russian. They laugh. They’re loud. There is an atmosphere of collegiate joviality around my kidnapping. I am just paranoid enough to believe they are laughing at me.
The van pauses for a long moment, edges forward, then comes to a complete stop. I hear the sound of a large industrial door closing as the van door opens.
I’m pulled from the van and set on my feet. My arms haven’t been bound, but I’m held firmly as I’m walked through what has to be a warehouse.
Finally I am pushed into a chair and the bag is removed. I’m handed my coffee which is still reasonably hot. Across a desk not unlike Vladimir’s sits a man not unlike Vladimir.
Hello. He smiles at me. It’s an unsettling sort of thing.
Hi. I take a drink of my coffee, then think twice a
bout the sense of putting anything in my body that has been in the possession of my kidnappers. So I hold the mouthful of still considerably hot liquid in my gob not certain what I should do with it. Spitting just seems like a bad idea.
The man across from me seems to understand my quandary. My coffee has not been tampered with.
It is at this moment that I notice that my file – yes, that file – is open on the desk in front of him.
Boris? Has to be.
I am clever. The Matchmaker told him this.
One can only try. How can I be of service to him?
We are going to have… he snaps his fingers a few time… employee review. Yes. Employee review. Three month employee review.
This ought to be interesting.
I’m quite the little earner. Well done taking over Harold’s clients. I am consistently bringing on new business. I get along well with most of my coworkers. There does seem to be a continuing issue with Talitha that needs to be addressed. But nothing that can’t be managed. My relationship with Olga… This is a problem.
A problem?
Yes – a problem.
Might I interject?
Please.
How is my relationship with Olga a problem? It has yet to interfere with the job. If anything we work well together. Something that is appreciated by many many many of our mutual clients.
This is in my favor. What is not, is the simple fact our being so close might interfere with the continuing search for a wife for me. The thing that I don’t seem to understand, is that finding a wife for me, more so than my work entertaining clients, has the potential of generating a substantial amount of revenue.
He’s going to have to forgive me, but I assumed that the fee I agreed to pay for The Matchmaker’s services was… well… the fee.
Service charges.
Service charges. What service charges?
Just service charges. I’m going to marry the daughter of a billionaire – the least I can do is show him a little appreciation for giving me a job. And even more, for not mentioning to anyone the nature of the work I do for him when I am about to get married to the daughter of a billionaire.
