by Livia Ellis
They’re going out. Everything we need is coming to us. We are not to go out wandering. Check the pad for the schedule. The trainer is coming soon enough. Get out of bed. Get dressed. Don’t lie around looking like we’ve been fucking all morning.
I don’t look at Olga and she doesn’t look at me. She’s got those big bug eye sunglasses of hers on and she’s playing with her phone.
The clock is ticking. Which means we need to get up. Do we understand this? He does not want us in bed when the trainer arrives.
The LPS takes his tablet and throws it at the manager who actually catches it.
The tablet is set on a table.
Get up.
The Manager leaves with Olga without another word.
The LPS gets out of bed and walks into the main room of the suite, picking up his tablet on the way. I follow him after putting on underwear. Makeup and Wardrobe are there drinking coffee and fiddling with their pads.
I’m greeted warmly then the two of them go into the bedroom with their bags for the bedding.
Creepy thinking someone might actually make an effort to scour the sheets for evidence of DNA.
It happens. What are my thoughts on boutique hotels?
I don’t have thoughts on boutique hotels. I prefer the homogeny and cleanliness of large luxury chains.
Do I know what a boutique hotel is?
Small, independently owned, luxury hotel. They’re usually pretty pricey. Nice. Good for a dirty weekend. But in this economy you get just as nice for less at a chain. Besides, at least with a Hilton you know what you’re getting.
His cousin wants to open a boutique hotel. He needs a million dollars.
I laugh spontaneously. Rest assured – I’ll never ask him for a million dollars for a boutique hotel.
What about a muffin café?
I laugh loudly. Or a muffin café. What is a muffin café anyway?
A place that sells only muffins. Like a cookie place with muffins. Cigar bar?
Dear god no.
Bubble tea shops?
Is this the same cousin that keeps asking for money for these things or is it many cousins?
All of his family. He supports all of them.
Oh sweetheart…
They always seem like such good ideas. Have I ever had bubble tea? It’s really good. How could it fail? But it did.
What does the Manager have to say about this?
It’s his money. He can do with it what he wants.
Does he want a suggestion? From someone that knows very little to nothing about business and is marrying a total bitch for financial salvation?
Sure.
Actually, he should probably say no, but here goes. Ask them for a business plan. If they don’t have a business plan then tell them you can’t make a decision without one. If they give him a business plan have the Manager look at it.
The Manager always says no.
He’s a twat but I suspect he understands business very well.
He hates saying no to his family.
Such is the curse of having a kind and loving heart.
Family is very important to him.
Of course it is.
What should he do?
(Not ask me what to do? Okay – ummm…. What to do… Okay… what do celebrities do?) Why not start some kind of foundation for his mother? The next time a family member wants money to do something tell them all of your extra money is tied up in that. Which I don’t even know if that’s possible, but that’s really doing something for your family that doesn’t involve boutique hotels or cigar bars.
Do I mean like a charity?
Exactly. Like a charity.
This is a good idea. Better than another Cuban restaurant in Miami.
Probably.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Green Lanyard
Olga continues to treat me as if I am either part of the furniture or wholly inconsequential. I do notice she’s wearing a string of diamonds around her neck. I wonder if that’s new.
I stand outside the line of yellow tape with my green lanyard hanging around my neck.
It is no less a marvel watching the LPS perform this time as it was the last time.
The Manager walks up to me. He stands next to my elbow for a moment before speaking.
Was the foundation my bright idea?
Yeah – sorry about that. I shouldn’t have said anything but there was talk of a boutique hotel and a million dollars for some cousin. It just seems like such a bad idea.
Probably not as bad as the purse rental business, but still bad. And more expensive.
I am sorry. He caught me off guard. I’ll be prepared next time.
The foundation idea is a good one. I need to keep my good ideas to myself in the future, but he’ll let that one slide.
I’m sort of surprised the LPS doesn’t already have some kind of foundation that is used to filter all sorts of tax revenue through.
He does. Time to start using it properly.
To help women with cancer?
To manage the family. Too bad it isn’t a sexy disease.
Because there is sexy cancer as opposed to unsexy cancer?
The mother has stomach cancer. Not sexy.
He’s a troll.
Yes. Probably. Next time he needs me to have a good idea, he’ll let me know what it is. Until then, keep my creative thinking to myself. I’m supposed to be doing a job and not offering financial advice.
What do I think as I stand there? I haven’t been paid yet. That’s my thought. I need to remember I’m doing a job. I keep forgetting this. This is where Olga, who stands off to the side in a silver cocktail dress, succeeds where I fail. She is a professional. In this area she is a professional. She let me get inside that silver shell and I made a mistake.
I ignore the Manager and go over to Olga. I put an arm around her waist. I don’t get an elbow in the ribs. This is a good sign.
I put my lips to her ear. I’m sorry.
She turns her head slightly and looks at me.
She’s listening.
I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have fucked Parvati.
She doesn’t care that I fucked Parvati. She cares that I lied to her about it.
Really?
Okay – she might care a little. She thought we had an understanding about off the clock relationships.
We need to talk about that. But this is neither the place nor the time.
Just tell her.
There is nothing to say that can’t wait.
Am I going to marry Parvati?
Probably not. I don’t think we’re a match.
Are we a match?
Sweetheart… Truthfully I think we need to concentrate on the job.
Am I going to go with her to her sister’s wedding?
Yes. Absolutely. I promised I would go and I’m going to go no matter what. We are friends after all. Wonderful, good, caring friends.
She looks up at me. Then away. Our flight leaves at ten. Be ready to go at seven. That means ready. Not still trying to pull myself out of bed. The LPS wants to keep me around. I’m still new. He’ll try to get me to miss my flight. I need to understand this. Don’t start thinking I’m special. Because I’m not. I’m still the puppy he hasn’t gotten bored with.
I’ll keep that in mind.
Do. She walks away from me and goes to the Manager. They leave. I won’t see her again until we get into the car for the airport the next morning.
I wait behind the lines taped on the ground. The concert comes to its inevitable conclusion.
The egress from the venue is the same.
We are moved swiftly through the back passages until we arrive at a waiting car and then take to the streets.
This difference this time is that we are alone. There is no Olga to lube up my ass and offer me the benefit of her sagacity.
He’s on me immediately. His skin is warm and covered in sweat. He pulls me to him and holds me tight for a moment before releasing his gri
p just enough to get his hands around my waist to pull free my shirt from my trousers.
The ride from the arena to the hotel is only ten minutes. There isn’t time for this. Security warned me in advance that we would only have a limited amount of time in the car. I’m in on the hustle. We all are tasked with keeping the LPS happy without letting him know we’re trying to keep him happy.
I tell him we don’t have time for this. As soon as we’re at the hotel I’ll give him what he wants in abundance.
Fine. He pouts. He’s cross with me. He wants his way.
He can have his way with me as soon as we’re back at the hotel.
Fine.
We get to the hotel and up to the room without passing through a public area. Is this what it’s like? Constantly scurrying through back hallways and around darkened corners? Absolutely no moments of being an anonymous face in a sea of humanity. Is this the cost of fame? Are the rewards worth it?
We walk through the main room of the suite to the bedroom.
I can practically see the aura of irritation as it sparks around him.
I shut the doors behind.
He goes directly into the bathroom dropping his clothes along the way.
What do I do? What does he want? I don’t ask. I am just going to make some assumptions and hope I’m right.
I follow him into the bathroom.
Everyone spoils and pampers him. I’m not going to do that.
Is he really annoyed about the fact we couldn’t fuck around in the car? Think about it. Did we have time? Why would either of us rush when we don’t have to? I think he’s too used to the idea of having to sneak around. Ridiculous. We have all night.
I get a look. Maybe I’m right.
I am right. We have all night. We’re grown men. We’re not teenage boys that have to try to hide what we’re doing. Grab what we can when we don’t think anyone is looking. It’s ridiculous. I’m not going to paw him in the back of a car when we’re ten minutes from the hotel.
Fine. I’m right.
I know I’m right. Does he want dinner?
No. He wants to go out. He’s tired of being locked up like a prisoner.
Out?
Out. He wants to go out.
Out for dinner?
Out to a fucking club where there is music, booze, dancing.
(Why me? I’m pretty sure I was flown in to make certain he didn’t want to go out.)
My flight is really early in the morning.
So? He wants to go out. Am I going with him or no?
Of course I’m going with him. Where does he want to go?
Somewhere cool.
There’s a bar in the hotel. Supposed to be really good. Open air. On the roof. We don’t have to get in the car. We’ll just be an elevator ride away from the room when we’re ready to be alone.
We can go there. Call and get us a table at one of the restaurants. He’s actually really hungry. He’s sick of room service.
I’ll do that. He’s going to shower?
Yes. Pick something out for him to wear. He’s tired of being locked up. Ever since that fuck Harold threatened to out him it’s been like this. He’s had enough. There are times he thinks maybe it wouldn’t be as awful as the Manager thinks it would be to come out.
He needs to think about it and make that choice himself.
I leave him in the bathroom as he steps into the shower.
Security is in the main room.
We’re going out to dinner.
No we’re not.
Yes. We’re going out to dinner. Either he can do whatever it is he needs to do as quickly as possible before we walk out the door, or he can do it as he’s running to catch up with us after we’ve left.
I’m supposed to keep him in the room.
He’s a grown man that has a good twenty pounds of pure muscle on me. How am I going to stop him if he wants to go out to dinner and get a few drinks in a bar? He’s not a prisoner.
Fuck, fuck, fuck.
I get that this isn’t ideal. I’m doing the best I can do to make it easy for everyone. On the plus side, we’re not leaving the property.
That is a plus.
I’ll get him back here as quickly as I can. I’m leaving early in the morning. Maybe I can use that to convince him we should get behind closed doors and so we can have as much time alone as possible before I go.
That’ll work.
I look down when I catch a flash of green. I’m still wearing my green lanyard with the all access pass. I take it off. I’m one of them. I need to work with these people best I can.
We go for dinner followed by a couple of cocktails. I get him back to the room even when he seems determined to stay at the bar in the most expeditious way I can. The truth. I’m leaving in the morning. Early.
He gets the hint. We’ve had our night out. Time to go back into hiding. Especially if he wants to get naked before I leave.
He’s giddy happy when we get back. He rips my clothes off of me like I’m a present. He’s playful and darling. He’s a child that has done something naughty and not been caught.
We roll around the bed, and then tumble onto the floor in a tangle of sheets.
We’re propped up on the pillows with only the light from the TV to illuminate us when the door opens with a thump and a crack. He is angry an episode of something idiotic on MTV that he has in depth knowledge of is interrupted by a fuming and dancing Manager.
Did we leave the suite?
I say nothing. I don’t have a horse in this race.
The LPS gets off the bed and goes to the door. He gives the Manager a shove sending him on his ass outside of the room. He shuts the door then locks it.
That man fucking pisses him off. He’s just about had enough of it. For ten years he’s been telling him what to do and how to do it. He’s kept his end of the bargain. He’s made them wealthy. The Manager doesn’t seem to respect the nature of the bargain they struck.
I listen to this unexpectedly calm tirade and can’t help but to wonder about the story of the man who kept a powerful djinn enslaved and forced him to do his bidding. I try to remember the details, but they elude me. What I do remember of the story is that one day the djinn broke free and the man was nothing more than what remains of a bug when it hits a windshield at speed.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Land of the Rising Sun
I have questions about the Samurai, but Olga has frozen me out. I want to know things I should know. How many times has she been with this man? Is he a large man? By all accounts, Harold and I are the same size. If he was able to overpower Harold, what am I in for?
We’re sat in first class for the flight from Bangkok to Tokyo. She is across the cabin and up from me. We’re due to land in Kyoto after six in the evening local time.
We need to be ready to go whether we feel up to it or not. There will probably be costumes for us.
Mi Young sent a detailed email which I have read over again until I’ve practically memorized it.
I’m ready.
When we land I’m disoriented and uncertain. But I follow Olga as if I am as assured as she is. Our baggage is secured and we locate the car that was sent for us.
In the back of the Rolls Royce with the monogramed seats, we are silent.
Is she planning on ignoring me?
Was there something in particular I would like to discuss?
She hasn’t told me that I annoy her in days.
She assumed that was understood.
I told her from the start we could only be friends.
Yes. And?
We’ve only known each other a couple of weeks.
Is there a point I’m trying to make?
If someone would only shoot me and put me out of my misery, I could rest in peace.
That she can arrange.
Silence reigns again.
We are in the car more than an hour and I’m totally lost before we turn up a drive and pass through two massive painted gates.
<
br /> The car leaves us at the main doors.
A man in a mandarin collar coat with a small sinister looking goatee welcomes us.
He leads us on a covered terrace around the exterior of the house which is more accurately called a compound. A light drizzling rain begins to fall adding another layer to the already fragrant air.
The layout of the property begins to form in my mind. The semi-circle of buildings face inwards on to a large garden with a pagoda in the center. It’s truly beautiful. Restful. Meditative. I could just sit in the pagoda for hours letting the rain fall around me.
At a pair of sliding doors we pause to remove our shoes before we are allowed to enter.
This is the room which we will share during the duration of our visit. We are to stay in our room unless we are summoned. If we require anything, ring.
Fortunately the room is large and opens out onto the garden. The floor is covered in tatami mats. There is a low rosewood table holding a vase with a lily.
I feel like I’ve just been let into a very expensive Japanese themed boutique hotel. I have boutique hotels on my brain now.
Can we go into the garden?
No. We are to stay in the room with the shutters closed.
The man in the mandarin collar leaves us.
I look to Olga who is already walking around the room setting her things down.
What do we expect?
Generally not having expectations is the best thing. Unzip her.
She moves her hair to the side giving me access to her zipper. I do as I’m told.
She lets her dress slip off and fall to the floor. She does not pick it up. Something is off.
I pick up the dress and follow her into the bathroom.
She turns on the faucet and begins filling the enormous ofuro wooden bathtub.
She drops her panties again without picking them up. (Olga does not drop her panties without picking them up – something is very weird)
She sits on the side of the tub with her legs inside as the water begins to rise.
Am I getting in or not?
Uhhh… what if the mandarin collar guy comes back?
Then he comes back. She gives me a very professional come hither look that unnerves me. This is not my Olga. This is working Olga. Why is Olga working me?
