Memoirs of a Gigolo Volume Six

by Livia Ellis

  I was ready to settle down after the Saudi Princess. I was. I was ready to settle down and start a family. I’d finally crossed that line. If she’d never found out about that then I truly believe we could have been happy.

  Probably not. She’d stopped trusting me. What she really wanted from me at that point was my sperm and then to get the fuck out of her way.

  Nice.

  Part of her thinks we should have just gotten married. She’d put up with so much up to that point, what was one more infidelity? She could have married me, gotten pregnant, and then stuck me in the country with an allowance and instructions to keep out of her way.

  Her phone rings. She looks at the display. She sends whomever it is off to voicemail. I’ve never taken priority over a call. Amazing.

  She looks at me for a long moment. We need to jump off this treadmill. We do. It’s done. We’re done with that stage of our lives. Both of us. That relationship was toxic. We’re both better off. That was no environment to bring a child into.

  I was ready to change.

  She does believe me.

  The gong rings in the house.

  Dinner.

  Is she staying?

  Yes.

  I…

  What? It’s going to be another three days before the work is done. After all of the holidays she footed the bill for, the least I can do is not expect her to leave just because I’ve shown up unexpectedly.

  I don’t expect her to leave. It’s still my house though. I don’t need to announce my arrival. She can sleep on the couch.

  She’s not going to sleep on the couch. I can sleep on the couch. Are we going for dinner? Mrs. Gresham is probably dying to know what’s going on.

  It’s a wonder she’s not standing at the door with her ear pressed to the wood.

  My phone buzzes silently in my pocket. I ignore it.

  Let’s go to dinner.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

  Dinner

  During dinner my phone keeps buzzing.

  Elon answers his phone. He hands it to me.

  Olga.

  Where am I?

  Wold Hall.

  Why am I ignoring her calls?

  I’m not.

  She’s called me twenty times in the past four hours. I’m ignoring her calls.

  What does it say to her that she’s called me twenty times in the past four hours?

  That I’m ignoring her calls. Why am I ignoring her calls?

  I’m in the middle of dinner. I’ll call back later.

  She’s driving out to meet me.

  No.

  Why not?

  Because… (I get up from the table and excuse myself – I walk from the China Room to the gun room – why do I have such a good signal so deep inside of the house?) Because it’s not necessary. I’m having dinner, I’m going to read for a bit, and then I’m going to bed.

  She wants to drive out to meet me. She misses me.

  I miss her too. One more night isn’t going to make any difference.

  But…

  No. This is ridiculous. I’m leaving for London first thing in the morning.

  She misses me.

  I’m getting angry. I really am getting angry. This is ridiculous. Why is she acting like this?

  She’s driving out whether I want her to or not. I should have told her I was going to Wold Hall. She could have been there when I arrived.

  No. Absolutely not. This is insane.

  It’s driving her crazy that I’m ignoring her calls. Why don’t I want to be with her?

  Because she’s fucking suffocating me. Okay? Is that what she wants to hear? I need some space. Every day I was in Ireland we had to speak six times. Every day six times. If I didn’t answer my phone she called Elon. What the fuck?

  She loves me. Why can’t I understand that she just wants to be near me?

  This is not love. This is crazy. I need some space. We spend so much time together I never get a break. My trip to Ireland was supposed to be a break. It wasn’t. She needs to give me some space.

  People that are in love want to spend every minute together and it hurts them when they are apart. She’s hurting. I’m hurting her because I don’t want to be with her.

  Then I guess that I don’t love her, because being together every minute will drive me insane. Do not drive out here. I do not want to see her. I do not want to talk to her. She needs to stop calling me every ten minutes. Stop calling Elon trying to get me. That, more than anything else, really fucking pisses me off.

  She sorry. She just wanted to talk to me.

  What was so urgent that she had to call me twenty times in four hours?

  Nothing. She just wanted to talk to me.

  I’m staying at Wold Hall for a few days. She is not to come here. She is to stop calling me. She just needs to back the fuck off and give me some space.

  Space to do what? (she’s sobbing at this point which is only making me more angry) What do I want to do that she can’t be around for?

  To breathe. This is unreal. The person she was when we first met would not recognize the person she has become. I miss that person. I don’t understand what has happened in the past couple of weeks, but I don’t like it. I need some time and she needs some time. I’ll be home in a few days. Do not call Elon looking for me.

  Elon’s phone goes into my pocket after I turn it off. I return to dinner.

  Trouble in paradise? Elon is enjoying this far too much.

  Desert is on the table. Lemon tart.

  My former fiancée is snickering in her tea as she and Mrs. Gresham chat whilst pretending not to notice my return.

  I poke at my tart. I push it away. I have no interest in tart. I’m going to bed.

  What do I notice when I walk into the rooms? It’s warm. Delightfully warm. I step back into the stone corridor. It’s cold. Back in the room. It’s warm.

  The radiators hidden behind wooden screens are pumping out heat. In my lifetime the radiators have never worked so well.

  I go to the bathroom. I stand in front of the shower. It’s no ordinary shower. It’s the shower of my dreams. In my bathroom. I turn on the faucet that hangs over the bathtub. Hot and cold water. I notice that there is a selection of oils and salts that are familiar lined up around the rim. Do I shower? Do I bathe? I’m spoiled for choice. I let the water fill the bathtub. I’ll leave the shower for the morning.

  The door opens.

  Can she knock? We’re not married anymore.

  We never were married.

  She knows what I mean. Knocking would be appreciated.

  Sorry. She just wanted me to know the water was working. She thought about it. She’s going to get a hotel room in Exeter.

  Why?

  She knows I have a girlfriend. Girl being the operative word.

  Unnecessary.

  I should have told her I had a girlfriend before we hooked up on Valentine’s Day.

  She wasn’t my girlfriend when we hooked up.

  Pity. For once she would have enjoyed being the other woman.

  Really? This does make me laugh. How not like her.

  It sucks being a good girl. Maybe if she’d been bad on occasion I might not have strayed.

  She gets that had nothing to do with her, but everything to do with me?

  In an abstract way. Hard not to take it personally though.

  She’s changed. She was so good for so long it was a thrill to be the bad one for once. Who would have thought I would cheat on a girlfriend with her?

  She’s better looking than she’s ever given herself credit for being. Personally I always liked her.

  That’s a lie.

  Not really. My bath is full. She doesn’t have to leave.

  Is that an invitation? Because if it is, she’s going to have to say no.

  Leave the bathroom yes. But not Wold Hall. I’ll sleep on the couch.

  Okay. She’ll stay.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

  April

  Pic
k up drycleaning!!!

  Get new charger for phone – see if GPS tracking is available

  Schedule service for car

  Call Avan about the Doctor

  Buy orange tie to wear to Margaret’s rehearsal dinner

  Call Former Fiancée about engagement ring

  Renata’s due date

  9:00 to 11:30 – Esthetician

  12:00 to 2:00 – Lunch with Elon at Clouds

  3:00 to 4:00 – Call to LPS

  7:00pm to TBD – MMME

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

  Boundaries

  Why am I having lunch with Elon again?

  Olga shows me my agenda.

  Because I always have lunch with Elon.

  Where is Clouds?

  Why is she reading my agenda again?

  Where is Clouds? She’s googled it. There is no restaurant called clouds. What is this code for?

  That’s not the name of the place. I just can never remember the name of the place. It has clouds on the walls. Clouds.

  She has time. She’ll join us for lunch.

  Okay – remember that fight we had? The one about her constantly being in my space?

  Yes.

  Let’s not go back to that place again. I give her a kiss on the cheek. I need to go.

  Uncle Harvey is in the kitchen with Emer and Simone.

  Both women are dressed. There is no more walking around the house in panties. There is no more leaving shoes where they fall. The Matchmaker pays Uncle Harvey very well and I know already that even when I am done with the job, he will still be carrying on. At last he’s found the role of a lifetime.

  I grab a muffin and my travel mug he’s already sorted out for me.

  Can he get my drycleaning? I’m desperate.

  He cannot get my drycleaning.

  He could if he really wanted to.

  He could walk barefoot over hot coals if he really wanted to.

  Please.

  Leave the ticket. If he can get to it when he’s out running errands he’ll do it.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

  The Esthetician

  The Esthetician

  So she says to that son-of-a-bitch Martin that doesn’t fucking deserve her despite how good she is to him and his mother that he can just go ahead and fucking take his shit and get the fuck out. She and his mother will be better off without his bullshit. Her words to god’s ear. They would be better off.

  Honestly – they probably would.

  She knows they would.

  I mean it. I’m not just saying that. They really would be better off without him. She is a good person. One of the nicest, kindest, most honest, people I’ve ever met. She deserves someone that is going to love her and appreciate her. Martin’s mother sounds like a kind old lady that maybe has had a bit of a hard life.

  That’s the god’s honest truth. Nice old lady. Gives and gives to those worthless fucking boys of hers until she’s got nothing left for herself.

  She’s a good person. She deserves better.

  The worst thing of all – do I want to hear the worst thing of all?

  There’s more?

  He won’t go to her gig.

  Her gig?

  She’s performing at the Bon Vivant. Martin won’t commit. He keeps telling her maybe he’ll be there maybe he won’t. He has to see what’s going on.

  When is her gig? I’ll go.

  That evening. She’s on at nine.

  I can’t do it. I’m sorry. I have a date with a regular. Is she on another night?

  Every Thursday for the next six weeks.

  I’ll be there next Thursday.

  Really?

  Of course. I’ll bring some of the girls.

  I will not!

  I will. We’ll make a night of it.

  See now why can’t Martin be more like me?

  I’m no treasure.

  I am so. Now roll over. She needs to do my butt.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

  Lunch with Elon

  Olga thinks I’m lying but I really am having lunch with Elon and there are clouds on the walls. This is how I remember the name of the place. I put a note in my agenda – the place is actually called Silver Linings. Elon doesn’t show. I get a text from him. Renata has gone into labour. I’m out of it. I only want to know because otherwise I would assume he had stood me up.

  I don’t stay at Silver Linings. Instead I go to the pub off of Oxford Street that I like despite the fact Renata tried to ruin it for me.

  I sit after getting a pint and ordering my lunch at the bar.

  It’s warm. Beautifully warm outside so the fireplace is cold. I look up when someone sits across from me.

  Booth Buxton. Troll.

  Oliver!

  Booth.

  So. How are things?

  I’m waiting for someone. He’s going to have to excuse me.

  He knows I’m not waiting for anyone. He knows that I was meeting Elon for lunch at Silver Linings and that Elon is witnessing the birth of his child. A girl.

  Curious. Any reason why he knows so much about such trivial things? Or does MI5 really have nothing better to do than keep track of Elon?

  I’m much more interesting than Elon.

  Doubtful.

  I can just take his word for it.

  I’ll do that. Does he want something?

  Yes. He picks up the flap top briefcase he left on the ground next to his foot. He opens it just enough to pull out of a file folder. It’s handed to me.

  I take it.

  Pictures of me with Olga, Elizabeth, Talitha, Mi Young, the Matchmaker, the Doctor, the LPS, the Baron, and ever so many more. A pictorial of my life for the previous seven months.

  He knows all about me.

  And?

  He knows all about me. What I do for a living. Who I do it with.

  I work in client services for a dating service.

  Bullshit. Seriously. Give the government a bit more credit than that.

  I’m not doing anything illegal. I even pay my taxes.

  Nope. I’m not doing anything illegal.

  I’m handed a second folder.

  More pictures. A study of me and Boris walking through Hyde Park on a cold February afternoon. Nothing about this could be good.

  Is he trying to make a point?

  What is my relationship with the man in the picture?

  He knows so much about me and he can’t figure that one out?

  He has a pretty good idea what is going on. From where he sits it could be spun in such a way as to equal jail time. For me.

  How? (this gets a laugh out of me – I know I’m not doing anything illegal and I know Booth is trying to intimidate me – he’s going to have to try harder) Pictures of me having a conversation with the brother of the woman I work for is not a crime.

  Knowingly working for multinational criminal syndicate could be a gray area.

  What is the point of all of this?

  That I have come to his attention. Not like I can afford to hire more lawyers at this moment in time. Or run the risk of having Parvati Singh toss me out again. Things are going well with the Singh family from what he hears despite the fact I’m boning the daughter of a Russian gangster.

  What does he want?

  He doesn’t want anything. Her majesty’s government needs me.

  He needs a favor.

  Not ever.

  Renata’s little sting operation was clever.

  He knows about that?

  He knows everything. He needs a favor. Small favor.

  I’m inclined to say no.

  He has better pictures than Renata could get with her spy cam hidden in the begonias.

  A third folder is pulled out of his briefcase.

  I don’t want to look, but I do. Pictures of me and the Latin Pop Star in the Seychelles. Naked pictures.

  Did it ever occur to him to just ask me nicely? Offer me a favor?

  Would that work?

  No. These people
are dangerous. I don’t care if he puts a video of me fucking the LPS on the internet; I’m not going to cross them. I’d rather go bankrupt than put myself in that kind of danger. My life isn’t worth my dignity.

  Since when do I have any dignity left?

  Let me make something very clear to him. There are a lot of things I will do, but there are some lines I will not cross. I will not do anything that will either put me in danger, is criminal, or morally despicable.

  He’s trafficking women from Eastern Europe. Some of them might be minors.

  Fuck me. One of the two, possibly three things he could have told me that would work.

  Maybe he should have approached me differently.

  Probably.

  What does he want from me?

  At the moment, nothing. Just keep doing my job. We’ll be in touch. If my friend asks, tell him the truth. We’re old school chums.

  I’m getting married soon enough. When that happens I’m drawing a line under that life whether he’s gotten what he wants from me or not.

  How soon am I getting married?

  Very soon. The sooner the better. In fact. That afternoon if at all possible.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

  Call to the LPS

  I’m distracted after the encounter with Booth. I feel as if I’m truly in over my head in a way I never imagined possible. I have to be at the Matchmaker’s to meet with the Singh Family soon enough that I don’t have time to go home and long enough that I have too much time to kill.

  Something is nagging at me. Something I’m missing.

  I check my phone, I check my mail, finally I check my agenda.

  Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck. I have a call with the Latin Pop Star and I’m in the middle of a crowded shopping street. This is not good. How could I forget I have a call? Easily. Booth Buxton and Boris.

  No wonder I’m distracted. My life still hangs in the balance.

  What do I do? What do I do? I look around me. I can’t make this call in a café or a restaurant.

  It comes back to me my plan for the afternoon. Lunch with Elon then either go to his place to make the call or go to the Matchmaker’s early.

  Fuck Renata for going into labour. She did this to me.

  Okay – thinking.

  There is a boutique hotel across the street.