by Bergen, KC
Master Oleg. More like Dirty Old Man, Novak thought. But the market probably wouldn’t embrace the latter title. Novak felt sorry for his grandfather. For the nasty divorce he’d been through and for what he in turn had become.
You feel sorry for him? Really? He’s revered by women, loaded with cash, and appears to be happier than ever.
Alone in his room, staring up at the ceiling, Novak felt sorry for himself. What was the world coming to? He didn’t feel at home. Not in this room. Not in his grandfather’s house. Not in Slovenia. He needed to get away, even if he had to be on his own. In California. He had to see it before … well, before he died. His beloved sheep had taught him that life could end in a flash.
And a splash.
Novak shook his head to get rid of the bloody memories. He checked the local job listings on the computer. No one was hiring shepherds, and he needed credentials and certifications for most of the available positions. They needed a butt wiper at the nursing home in Kamnik. He was qualified for that, as he’d wiped down sheep’s butts for years, and a butt was basically a butt, no matter whom it belonged to. But the prospect of doing it for a living didn’t excite him.
What else could he do? He’d heard about girls entertaining guys in private online chat rooms. What if he could do it for a female audience? He was pretty fit and flexible. It seemed sketchy, though, and he definitely didn’t want to turn into a dirty old man.
A knock on the door. “Come in!”
Novak’s grandfather entered. “How are you?”
“I’m okay.”
“Come outside, Novak. Is nice.”
Novak could tell from Oleg’s non-Indian accent that he was unaccompanied by students. “I don’t know. I don’t feel like it.”
Oleg sat down at the table. “Listen. I did not mean to be rude in front of students.”
“Sure.”
“I am serious. You are going through tough shits. I should show more compassion.”
“Thanks for the apology.” Novak appreciated it, but he disliked seeing his grandfather uncomfortable. “It’s all water under the old bridge.”
“Are you calling me old?”
“No, it’s just a saying.”
“Oh. Well, if there is anything I can do, let me know.”
“Thanks. Well, there’s one thing …”
“What?”
Novak wasn’t used to asking for help, but his grandfather had said he’d do anything. “I would like to go away for a while. You know, like a vacation.”
“Sure. Where do you want to go? Italy? Is great, and I am not just talking about the ladies.”
“I was actually thinking of California.”
“That is far away.”
“I know.”
“Well, I am not stopping you. You are welcome to stay, and you are welcome to leave.”
“The thing is, I don’t have any money for the trip.”
“So go to Italy instead.”
Novak said that he’d wanted to go to California since he was a little boy, and also that he’d met a woman online.
“You are back on horse so soon? Great!”
“Thanks, I guess. I’m thinking of going there for a few days, maybe a week. But the thing is, I’m low on funds and—”
“I see.” Oleg folded his arms. “You want to play but I have to pay.”
“I can work for you when I get back. Whatever you need.”
“Hmm. Well, I run busy operation. Many things to do. Bookings, people to transport, yard work, cleanings, and so on.”
“If you lend me three grand I’ll work for, say, three weeks.”
“You think I will pay you like king? Three grand for three years.”
“No way, that’s slavery!”
“You can make lots of money being slave. I know old lady who pay three grand for three days. You have to get butt naked and wear e-collar, but—”
“No thanks. How about three grand for a month?”
“No more than two.”
Cheapskate. Novak would have to look for the cheapest possible plane ticket and pinch every penny. But what other choice did he have? He held out his hand. “Deal.”
17
Mary took the last vacant curbside table at Birkholm’s Bakery & Café. The traditional Danish establishment was teeming with patrons. The whole downtown area was crowded with boisterous tourists. Carol hadn’t yet arrived, which didn’t surprise Mary, as she was the one who considered punctuality a virtue. She ordered a coffee and a Danish. Even the smell of freshly baked pastries didn’t take her mind off of her predicament. Mary was about to text Carol when her friend showed up. After Carol ordered a coffee and bagel from the waiter, Mary jumped right into it.
“Remind me why we’re friends again?” she said.
“You’re rich and I’m broke. We complement each other. Why? Something the matter?”
“Where do I even begin?” Mary took a sip from her cup of coffee.
“How’s it going with what’s-his-face? Norman?”
“Novak. Yes, well, he’s bought a ticket.”
“So he’s really coming to America?”
“You make it sound like he’s Eddie Murphy from that eighties movie, like he’s some prince coming to find his soul mate.”
“Don’t you think that’s what he’s looking for, though? I mean, why else would he come all the way over here?”
“He wants to see the country, and he needs a vacation too. He’s about to get divorced.”
Carol arched an eyebrow over the rim of her sunglasses. “You don’t think he’s just looking for some rebound humpy-pumpy?”
“Carol!” Mary held her tongue as the waiter put down Carol’s bagel and coffee. As he left, she whispered: “He’s not that kind of guy.”
“All guys are that kind of guy.”
“Have you ever met a shepherd?”
“Nope. But unless he’s a eunuch, you’d better watch out.”
“Christ, you’re something else. He’s staying in a hotel. I’ve agreed to show him around, and that’s it.”
Carol washed down a bite of bagel with a mouthful of coffee. “I don’t mean to be negative. You need to have some fun too, honey. All you do is work.”
“Yeah … I’m in a bit of a jam, though. You see, initially I sent a message to another guy named Tristan. But when he didn’t respond I got in touch with Novak. And then all of a sudden Tristan replied.”
“No you didn’t! So now you’re chatting with Tristan while Novak is preparing to come over?”
Hearing Carol sum up her predicament, Mary thought the situation sounded even more awful. Puffing her cheeks, she nodded slowly.
“You dirty, dirty girl!”
The patrons at the neighboring tables turned around. “Not so loud,” Mary whispered to Carol. “I feel bad about this, you know. Novak doesn’t deserve to be disrespected. He’s been through enough. I really don’t know what to do.”
“So you come to me seeking genius advice. Wise move.”
Mary playfully rolled her eyes then bowed her head. “Yes, oh genius, I seek thee.”
“So who’s this Tristan guy?”
Mary told Carol that he was a worldly KGB officer who sounded almost too good to be true.
“Maybe he is too good to be true,” Carol remarked. “You never know who’s behind these profiles. Have you met him online?”
“Not yet. And I don’t know if I should. Not with Novak on his way.”
“I understand. Well, you could take the passive approach and not respond to anymore of Tristan’s messages.”
“I don’t want to be rude either. After all, I contacted him.”
“You don’t have to be rude. You just don’t ask him any questions or stroke his ego. Let him take the initiative but don’t respond right away, and keep your messages brief and boring. Soon his interest will fade and then you don’t have to worry about him. Oldest trick in the book.”
Mary warmed her hands on her cup. “You’re a genius,
girl!”
“I’ve been around the block a couple times.”
“A couple times? More like a bazillion times, you nasty slut!”
“Mary!” Carol hissed.
Mary cracked up as the neighbors stared at them. “Payback’s a bitch, baby.”
“This online dating thing is turning you into a monster,” Carol said jokingly. “I don’t even recognize you anymore.”
“Good, because the old Mary couldn’t have handled this complicated relationship stuff.”
“And the new Mary can?”
“You just wait and see.”
18
A desk wedge read: Brian Bane—President Ho-Time Productions. Sitting at his old and scratched mahogany desk, Brian crossed his legs and propped up his chin on his forefinger. Seated next to him, Michael did the same.
Two voluptuous glamour models, Candy and Amber, donning dresses that left little to the imagination, were standing in front of the desk.
“You smell so nice,” Amber told Candy.
“You too,” Candy said, batting her eyes. “What is it?”
“A new perfume: Magic Sixty-Nine.”
“Can I try it?”
“Sure.”
Candy sprayed her neck. As if by magic the models became instantly aroused and then started making out. Brian let them go on for a while, watching their performance with a neutral yet professional expression. Also watching the kissing scene, Michael shifted uncomfortably in his chair.
Brian nodded. “That’s good, hold it right there. Peter, you’re on!”
There was a knock on the door. Giggling, Candy and Amber pranced over to the door. A man wearing a pointy hat and a purple cloak, sporting pearly white teeth and a spray tan, entered the room.
“You called for my magical services?” inquired famous porn star Peter South, dressed as a wizard.
“We sure did,” Candy replied. “A good wizard is hard to find.”
“Well, I am the good wizard.”
Amber touched the wizard’s cloaked abs. “And I’m Dorothy.”
“No,” Candy said defiantly. “I’m Dorothy.”
“I haven’t decided on that yet,” Brian said. “One of you will most likely be the wicked witch. For now, just read your damn lines.”
Amber nodded and then pressed up against the wizard. “They say your magic wand is the greatest in the Land of Ass.”
“Yeah? Who says that?”
Confused, Amber looked around. “Like, everyone?”
“I need more details.”
“Peter!” Brian brandished the script. “Stick to the story.”
“I thought I could improvise a little.”
“Improvise? Do you really think you can improve on my story?” Brian scoffed. “I’m beginning to doubt that you’re the right man for this demanding role.”
“Please,” Peter said. “I really need this job.”
“Job?” Brian uncrossed his legs and leaned forward. “Listen Peter, I don't think you understand what we're doing here. The Wizard of Ass is a class act, and I'm looking for a male protagonist, not some washed-up amateur. Okay?”
The potential male protagonist nodded meekly.
As Brian waited for the wizard to pull himself together, something occurred to him. He opened a desk drawer and pulled out a document: Tristan’s printed SwipeRight profile. He placed the page with Tristan’s photos next to the script on his desk and compared the Russian KGB officer to the actor. Peter’s wizard costume was obviously off, but the long dark hair, chiseled chin, and strapping facial features were virtually identical.
Discreetly pointing at the photo, Brian pinched Michael’s shoulder. “Do you see what I see, playa?”
Michael inspected the photo. “I don’t know,” he whispered. “Maybe?”
“Now look at Peter.”
Looking past the two girls making out, Michael observed the good wizard. Wide-eyed, he looked back at the photo.
“You see it?”
Michael nodded. “Yes.”
“I’ve got a plan. You in, playa?”
Frowning, Michael scratched his head. “I don’t know.”
“Come on. Don’t you support your dad?”
“It’s not that, but—”
“Don’t you want to grow up and be a real man?”
“Of course.”
“Cut!” Brian yelled. “Candy and Amber, excuse us for a moment, will you? Go get your fine selves a refreshment in the lobby.”
The girls left the office, and Brian turned his attention to the potential protagonist. “Listen, Peter. The Wizard of Ass is a class act, and I’m not feeling your performance. I think I’ll have to pass on ya.”
Peter fell to his knees and crawled on all fours across the floor. Michael scooted back and pulled up his feet as the cloaked porn actor moved toward his chair, virtually in tears. “Please, Mister Bane, I really want this proteinagrist role.”
“Protagonist,” Brian said.
“Yes! Just give me a chance. I’ll do anything.”
“Anything, huh?” Brian winked at Michael and grabbed Tristan’s profile. “Then listen up. I’ve got another job for you. If you nail it, I’ll make you the star of The Wizard of Ass.”
19
Novak had spent most his money on the planet ticket, but his first intercontinental travel experience was still not pleasant. Far from it. After being groped by a security officer and then placed next to a little boy who kept kicking his legs and farting up a storm, Novak had had enough. He called for the flight attendant.
“Yes?” the male flight attendant said, lisping.
Novak read the attendant’s nametag. “Steve, do you have another seat for me?”
“Why? What’s wrong with this one?”
“It … smells a bit.” Novak coughed and then cleared his throat. He didn’t want to offend anyone, and the kid’s mother did not look friendly. “I have allergies,” he added.
“Yes, there is a bit of an aroma here. I kind of like it but it’s not for everyone, m-hum-hmmm!” Flight attendant Steve looked around. “We do have a vacant seat. Follow me!”
Steve escorted Novak toward the rear of the plane. There was an empty seat next to a man with a crew cut and stone cold eyes. Novak spotted a gun holster under his open jacket. A U.S. Marshal. A man with several tattoos on his shaved head and handcuffs on his wrists occupied the window seat.
The prisoner leered at Novak as he sat down. “You got a tight ass on you, boy.”
“Excuse me?”
“Your ass—”
“That’s enough,” the U.S. Marshal said. “Don’t make me bust a cap in your ass.”
“But I just wanted to bust a nut in—”
“I said, that’s enough!”
Novak hesitantly sat down next to the U.S. Marshal and his prisoner, and pretended to fall asleep right away. He didn’t get any sleep, though, on the ten-hour flight to Atlanta, where he had a brief layover prior to his connecting flight to LAX. On this flight he was sandwiched between two obese men talking over his head. As there was no space on the armrests, Novak tucked in his elbows and tried to feel grateful about not having a lecherous prisoner or a gassy kid as neighbors. However, the two men did violate his private space and they also gave off a strong odor of cigarettes and cheese doodles.
Novak looked at the photograph his grandfather had given him before he’d left to the airport: an image of smiling Master Oleg, a blonde and a brunette kissing his cheeks. The photo cheered Novak up a little, and he prayed that the very affordable motel he’d booked would provide a more comfortable stay.
When the plane landed at LAX, Novak was tired and relieved. As he padded toward baggage claim, his carry-on in hand, he also got nervous. Seeing a small, two-dimensional version of Mary on his phone was totally different from meeting her in person. And things hadn’t gone well for him so far.
Novak and his fellow travelers were being herded toward immigration and passport control. Novak stood in a long line that b
arely moved, filling out a form with his personal information. After waiting for what felt like forever, running a series of horrible scenarios through his mind, he expected the worst as he approached a burly Latino officer.
“Hello,” Novak said.
Glowering at him, the officer reached out his hand. Novak shook it. “No,” the officer said. “Your papers. Passport.”
Novak handed over his passport and the document he’d filled out.
The officer leafed through the passport. “What’s the purpose of your stay?”
“I am here to meet a nice lady.”
The officer squinted with suspicion. “Are you a mail-order groom?”
“No. It’s only a visit. A vacation.”
“Mm-hmm. How long will you be staying?”
“Seven days.”
The officer instructed Novak to place his fingers on a scanner to obtain fingerprints. “Be careful with the women over here,” he said, returning Novak’s papers.
“Why?”
“They’ll try to change you for the better. No, find yourself a careless hoochie papa instead. Do you swing both ways?”
What a strange immigrations interview. Swing both ways? What did he mean, being flexible? “I do yoga.”
“That’s a good start. Well, here in America you can achieve whatever you set your mind to. This is the land of opportunity.” The man blew a kiss at an elderly Asian officer in the next booth, who giggled coquettishly. “Good luck to you. Break a leg.”
Novak pocketed his passport and headed toward baggage claim, feeling out of place. Had he made a big mistake leaving his homeland? Was he ready for this whole dating thing? He hadn’t even signed his divorce papers. Maybe he could camp out at the airport for the duration of his stay and then head on back home. In his mind he caught a glimpse of Alenka blanketed by that hairy man-ogre Franc. Another flash. Alenka staring at Novak, grinning at his stunned reaction.
Novak slapped his cheek to get rid of the flashing images. “You dirty whore!”
A frowning woman and her kid gave Novak a wide berth. It was the mother and child from the flight to Atlanta. The little devil poked his tongue at Novak. He was probably gassing up the place too. What was next? An escaped prisoner desperately looking for a tight ass?
