by Livia Ellis
Contents
Title Page
Copyright
Dedication
CHAPTER ONE Prologue
CHAPTER TWO 6:00am
CHAPTER THREE 7:00am
CHAPTER FOUR 8:00am
CHAPTER FIVE 9:00am
CHAPTER SIX 10:00am
CHAPTER SEVEN 11:00am
CHAPTER EIGHT 12:00pm
CHAPTER NINE 1:00pm
CHAPTER TEN 2:00pm
CHAPTER ELEVEN 2:40pm
CHAPTER TWELVE 3:00pm
CHAPTER THIRTEEN 4:00pm
CHAPTER FOURTEEN 5:00pm
CHAPTER FIFTEEN 6:00pm
CHAPTER SIXTEEN 7:00pm
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN 8:00pm
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN 9:00pm
CHAPTER NINETEEN 10:00pm
CHAPTER TWENTY 11:00pm
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE 4:00am
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO 10:00am
Memoirs of a Gigolo
Volume Nine
Livia Ellis
Copyright © 2015 Livia Ellis
All rights reserved.
ISBN:
ISBN-13:
For My Writing Tribe
CHAPTER ONE
Prologue
Of all the people of the younger generation that I have interacted with, Anna Adair is by far the most cooperative. Jamie Adair is purposefully obstinate. I don’t wholly blame him, but it would be nice if he’d give me at least one interview. He is a man that is used to controlling his world, and this is something beyond his control. One interview would make my work complete, but I doubt I will get it. If I do, it will be because Anna convinces him to do it. From my experience, she is the only one that can persuade him to do anything he doesn’t want to do.
The Adair daughters are all universally charming, but there is a mischievousness to them that often leaves me wondering if they are playing with me like cats play with mice. They have their mother’s dark haired blue-eyed beauty, but from their father they inherited both cunning and intelligence. Oliver Adair may not be the man he once was, but I have no doubt when he was in him prime that he was a force to be reckoned with. Perhaps this is the main reason why he ultimately became so useful to the British government. Like his daughters, he is mercurial and difficult to know.
It is often hard to reconcile the Elon Sorensen I have come to know with the one I read about in Oliver’s journals. The Elon Sorensen I know is sober, contemplative, and reflective. He has all of the earmarks of a fussy aged philosophy professor. But this is what age does I suppose. Roland does not seem to have changed a hair in the years since Ana’s birth. By all accounts he is exactly the same as he has always been.
So this leaves me with Renata.
Unfortunately there is no way to speak with her and there are no diaries or letters. The problem with trying to recreate events so long after they happen is that people do have a tendency to die. Especially people that enjoyed living hard.
The only person that truly seemed to know and understand Renata was Oliver, but his memories of her are clouded both by his condition and an inherent desire to protect his first love.
So this leaves me to piece together the story of Renata as best I can from what I am told by those who knew her. Somewhere in the middle of their recollections rests the truth.
I hesitate to ask Ana about her mother. Based on what I have heard and read about Renata, Ana’s opinion of her mother might be the harshest criticism of all. But I do ask. What she tells me surprises me.
Interview with Ana Adair:
Throughout her childhood her mother was this person that was supremely good, kind, loving, and nurturing. The perfect mother. The only reason Renata gave her to Roland and Elon to raise, was one of simple economics. Renata knew she was not financially in a position to properly raise a child. To provide a home. Her mother, as far as she knew until she was a teenager, was a saint.
Who told her otherwise?
Olga.
Any reason why?
Yes. Olga never believed girls should be coddled and lied to. Olga is a firm believer that the world needs to be a hard cold place for girls if they’re going to learn to survive in it. Go ask any of the Adair girls. They’ll tell you the same thing. Olga didn’t give them an inch. Jamie was positively catered to, but the girls had to work for her love.
Seems rough.
Don’t misunderstand. Olga is a good person and an excellent mother. She’s just not one to coddle her girls. They were born beautiful, intelligent, and wealthy. She understood better than most that spoiling them wasn’t going to do them any favours.
Were you spoiled?
Yes. Embarrassingly so. I see that now. I love my fathers very much, but papa has always indulged me and daddy could never really say no, try as he did. I was slowly slipping off the rails. I was spoiled, pampered, and petted by my two adoring daddies. I was on the verge of turning into an absolute little monster. Olga put me on the straight and narrow over a cup of tea. My mother was not a saint. She was a useless piece of shit that couldn’t have given a fuck about me and unless I straightened up, I was on the road to follow in her footsteps. Oliver wants to believe there was good in Renata. I don’t believe there was.
What did Olga say?
Whatever good there was in Renata left her body when she gave birth to me. All that remained was pure selfishness and destruction. She was a bad person who did bad things. I had that badness in me.
Did you believe that?
What choice did I have? Renata never did anything to convince me otherwise and all evidence Olga presented was to the contrary. I learned some hard truths in that chat that my fathers had worked unnecessarily hard to keep from me for far too long.
Did you change?
Not immediately. I needed time to get over all that shock and betrayal. If anything it made things worse. Then Olga made the ultimate threat. No more Jamie. Olga was a bit juvenile about the whole thing, but I understood her point. Now that I’m a mother I see that she was dead right. She wasn’t going to let me drag her precious Jamie down in the gutter with me the way my mother tried to pull her beloved Oliver down with her. The message was clear. Straighten up or no Jamie. She’d move his ass to India and out of my reach if I didn’t straighten up.
You straightened up?
No. I made some comment about how she wasn’t really Jamie’s mother and couldn’t tell us what to do. Got a slap in the face and I didn’t see him for a year. True to her word she sent him to India. He’d just graduated from University and he was put to work for the Singhs. Parvati was delighted to take him in. She adored Jamie. Absolutely adored him.
Did she?
Yes. He was like a puppy she never really had to be responsible for. When she was bored with him she could give him back to his father. As soon as he was no longer in nappies and could hold a conversation that didn’t revolve around primary colors and juice boxes, they were as close as could be.
I didn’t realize that.
Parvati and Oliver have always been close. Jamie was always a thing between them.
What happened when he was in India?
I straightened up. Parvati introduced him to every eligible and acceptable young Indian girl she approved of. He came back with some milk skinned, black haired, leaf eyed, beauty of a girlfriend from a wholly acceptable family. Parvati was happy to open negotiations. Oliver had no issue letting Parvati see where things went as long as Jamie and the girl were willing.
Oliver had no issue with his son having an arranged marriage?
I think he always figured it worked for him and Parvati so why not see what would happen. He trusted Parvati. So did Olga. Jamie’s desire to be pleasing made him willing to do whatever t
hey wanted. To a degree. If he hadn’t been willing, they wouldn’t have pushed. The only person that had a problem with any of this was me. To this day he swears she was just a friend. I know my husband. She was not a friend. Olga positively doted on her. Parvati thought she was ideal. My fathers tried to convince me that maybe both of us were better off having some time apart and shipped me off to graduate school in New York. I got the message. There is no messing with Olga. Not then and not now. What Olga wants, Olga gets.
Nothing ever changes.
Not really, no.
What happened?
How did I get him back?
Yes.
I cried. I cried a lot. Told him he broke my heart. We grew up together. We were closer than Olga calculated. I knew him and all his secrets. We weren’t just lovers at this point we had been best friends all our lives. We did the only thing we knew would be a permanent run around Olga.
You eloped.
Yes. Olga lost her shit. How dare I try to undermine her authority? But it was too late. Jamie and I did what Oliver did years earlier and ran off to live in Mumbai until everything settled down.
How long did that take?
Uhhhh… Let me think. Charlotte was six when we moved back to London. So, ten years. We were back home often. Make no mistake. And we had to have a proper wedding. My father was devastated he would never be the father of the bride.
Roland?
Of course. The wedding was epic.
I’ve seen the pictures and the footage. It was epic. What happened to the girl?
Who knows? I don’t care. I had my Jamie back. Mostly. He was changed. For the better. He’d become a man. He never let anyone tell him what to do again. Especially Olga. For the first time there were firm boundaries between us and Olga. She wasn’t the third person in our relationship ever again. It took a lot and me having to put the phone down on her for the message to get through but there would be no bullying and manipulating. He might have been her son, but he was my husband. Wife trumps mother. Parvati was on our side. Oliver refused to get involved. My dads agreed that it was time for Olga to learn some boundaries. Jamie’s sisters liked that Olga had someone other than them to focus her attention on. She was determined to get him back under her foot. But he showed her. Oliver had to do the same thing years earlier. Sometimes the only way to get Olga to release her control is to give her nothing to grasp. We gave her nothing to grasp. When we had Lionel she tried to swoop in and take over. Here I was recovering from giving birth and she was telling me I was hopeless and useless and really didn’t know how to be a mother since I’d never had a mother and that thankfully she was there to take care of everything and why don’t I just go have a rest because she can manage everything. In fact, why don’t we two go to Paris or Rome for a month and she would take care of Lionel. She tried to marginalize me from my baby. I was distraught. Doubted myself to the core. She’d convinced me I was incompetent and would likely kill my baby without her there to manage us. Jamie kicked her out. Told her we could take care of our baby. She tried to tell us we had no clue and that we needed her. He told her we’d figure it out and put her on a plane back to London.
You figured it out?
We figured it out. Lionel not only survived his childhood but will graduate from university in the spring. All our children survived our parenting. I’m not going to say we always got it right, but we did just fine. They also learned something along the way about Olga and the need for boundaries.
Did Olga learn anything about boundaries?
I like to think she did. For certain she backslides a lot but we’re all very good at putting her in her place. Oliver is the master we all learned from. He was the first one to put her in a corner when she started to overstep.
How?
How to put her in a corner or what did he do?
Both.
Cut her off. No contact. Olga is a control freak. Take away her control and she has nothing. If you want to take away her control you remove yourself from her sphere of influence. To do that you cut her off. Eventually you let her back in incrementally. As long as she knows contact can be taken away she stays in her place.
Has she mellowed with age?
Yes. Time has also taught her that if she wants to see her grandchildren she doesn’t have an opinion.
Do Roland and Elon have opinions?
God yes! But they don’t try to control. Olga’s issue has always been her desire to control. For me, for Oliver, for everyone that knows her, slapping down that need in her is the only way to have her in your life. Otherwise she’ll consume you. Oliver knew this. Which is probably why everything that happened did.
CHAPTER TWO
6:00am
There is something so marvelously ordinary about returning to work after a prolonged absence. It doesn’t matter the job. The return to the routine of it makes the world feel normal again.
On my first day back after healing from my beating courtesy of my lovely fiancée Parvati's boyfriend, my alarm rings at six sharp. I bounce from my bed like the chipper, dancing, singing little morning bird I am. My black haired darling Olga growls slightly as she creeps deeper under the duvet. She leaves just a triangle of shoulder exposed. The perfect size for a kiss.
I run. I do a circuit of weights. I’m back to full strength. I feel alive and it's good.
Olga pulls me into bed. I get a kiss as she curls around me. We’ve figured it out. That isn’t to say we don’t still have our moments, but I believe we’ve sorted through the big stuff.
She rolls me on my back. The full length of her covers me. It’s only now that I know the effort it takes to make her skin so perfectly smooth and consistently creamy that I truly appreciate how perfect it is. The amount of time she spends grooming is a full time job in and of itself. One that I would happily pay her to do if only I could.
There is nibbling, nuzzling, and a few small bites.
I don’t feel like making an effort and I don’t have to. Olga is good to me.
Her hands smooth out the planes of my stomach as they roam to my shoulders. The sore bits which were covered in bruises are now healed. She’s taken good care of me when I was hurt. What more could I want?
I would like to bypass marriage to Parvati, but I want the financial security that arrangement will bring me. No matter how much I love Olga, I will never let myself be under her father’s thumb. I won’t. Nothing is worth being owned by that man. Not even Olga.
Not even Olga who straddles me and squeezes me with her thighs as her mouth covers mine. The sex between us has changed. It’s comfortable and secure. She’s seen my body at its broken down and bruised worse and treats it with gentle care.
Orgasms are different. They begin deep in my body and gradually build like a pillar coming out of the sand. There is no more rush to the finish. There is no need to perform. Olga brings something out in me that no amount of mindless fucking with a string of nameless supermodels ever could.
My climax is positively tantric.
Clarity comes to me at these moments. Clarity and a certain contentedness. I almost convince myself as she slides and grinds on top of me that everything will work itself out.
Life is good all around. Life is especially good with Olga. The never-ending torment of do I love Olga, do I not love Olga, what shall I do with Olga, shall I do without Olga, has resolved itself. I love Olga. She loves me. I am marrying Parvati. I am attempting to impregnate my former fiancée. Somehow I've managed to convince myself this makes sense.
I love that my life has become so beautifully compartmentalized. A place for everything and everything in its place.
Some people might look at my life and think it is seriously fucked up.
I look at my life and see how well it works for me. There is beauty in a cracked window just as the spider’s web covered in dew is art. By the standards with which I judge me and how I live, my life is rolling along just fine.
The only person who needs to approve of how I live is
me. The only person I am ultimately accountable to is me.
Where has this amazing and, dare I say, miraculous transformation come from? My sessions with Mistress Jennifer. Mistress Jennifer has taught me to do the one thing I didn’t even realize I needed to do. She’s taught me I can love myself.
Perhaps a bit premature at this point, but I am coming along admirably. I firmly believe that one day I will love myself. How did Mistress Jennifer put me on the path to enlightenment?
It began with my second session with her. In the first session with her, we established that I have no idea who I am and that I define myself by others expectations of who and what I should be. I’m looking forward to where the path we are on will take us.
Olga leaves me in bed. I watch her long legs as she walks around. There is some mild tisking as she picks up my trousers and hangs them over the back of a chair.
Don’t I need to be getting moving? It’s getting late.
I turn my head just enough to see the clock.
I’m late. I’m already late. I shower. I shave. I check my schedule even though I know it by heart.
My day is carefully laid out. Every appointment picked by me. Today is a day for my favourites. Olga is at the top of my list of favourites.
As perfectly as I want my day to go, my first tiny snafu comes unbeknownst to me before I’m out of the shower.
Today is the day the Psychiatrist has decided is the day she wants me to bring along a friend. Any friend but Olga. She was quite specific. I was not to bring my lunatic controlling girlfriend. The best friend that I could imagine for this job is the Matchmaker. I wasn’t entirely certain what she would say when I asked her to accompany me, but she agreed. Why the Matchmaker? She is a woman who has beautifully matured into her body. Although she is lovely, she is less likely to intimidate the Psychiatrist.
Olga hands me my phone. Renata called. She’s out of her mind. That girl has some very serious issues. Renata is both dangerous and cruel. How could I have ever fallen in love with her? If I’m capable of loving someone like Renata it makes her wonder what’s wrong with her that I’d love her too. She sincerely hopes she is the exception to my otherwise well documented poor taste in women.
