Chapter 8

'There are worse places than this. Here, I could only die of boredom. An improvement considering my past positions. This one is well mannered and not troublesome at all. Mikhail Petrovich trained him well. He looks like a real prince, not affected or posh. But this is too boring for me. Today, he was in bed with the Boss till 11:00

when they finally left it. Repin was very satisfied because he wasn't yelling or making anyone's life miserable. Then, he was drawing and writing a little in his bedroom, very quietly while I was “parked” in the kitchen. The French maids are not like in the stories. Those two are fat, ugly and old. They have ruined one of my fantasies.'

'Repin had lunch with the boy and then he decided to send him for a walk. Since 2:00 I'm sitting at this terrace, drinking coffee only and reading the same magazine for the fourth time. What does he do? Sketches from some nasty doves. How Parisian! He even fed that disgusting bird with a croissant. “He has an attitude. I like him,” he told me while he drew it. Too bad there's so little meat in that animal.'

'A dove is better than what I suffered under that hideous “Poppy”, Olga Fedorovna's pet. Horrible, bubbly eyes, rachitic dog-rat. The witch decided to use me as the thing's bodyguard. Who can be such a son of a bitch as to buy a half a million dollars diamond collar for a dog, just to show in front of the other bitches? It's an insult to all what we were taught! So, here I was, a former group leader no less, opening the door for an excuse of a dog wearing a real Kashmir coat and two carats diamonds, so it could piss everywhere!'

'That thing hated me. I'm sure. It defecated on me several times and was always throwing its food—it had a special Chef only for it—out of the dish!'

'It was very unfortunate that the rat wasn't fast enough to pass through the door. Repin also hated it because he said nothing to me over the accident, only laughed and offered to buy another so it could inherit the necklace. I was sent back to work in the streets, once more collecting debts and keeping dealers in line, till Zakharov called me again because I speak Spanish fluently to work in Argentina for two years. I met the boy there and translated several of his conversations, took care of the mess in the slum with that dealer, and Mikhail Petrovich asked Repin to have me as his assistant so he could return to his normal work. The boy doesn't need to have him around at all and Repin is very pleased with what he sees so far. It's really an easy job but very boring.'

Once more Yuri Alexandrevich stifled a yawn—unnoticed by Guntram who only minded his drawing—

and pondered to ask for another coffee (even if it was one of those sunny days in Paris), as a chilly wind was biting his cheeks. He looked around, uninterested, just to check that the table behind him had a new couple, two businessmen arguing over some papers, the next one had a group of old ladies drinking coffee, there was another with a good looking girl deeply engulfed in her book, the waiter was pretending to be busy sorting out glasses and in the table placed in a direct line in front of Guntram, were the two Japanese girls from yesterday, looking at him, but the boy was too busy with the birds to notice them.

'A coincidence? Don't think so. Better check them because they could belong to a rival organization.

Besides, I don't want any more trouble with the boss. Surviving the Chihuahua experience was sheer luck.'

“Guntram, it's getting cold. Should we go back to the flat? The light is almost gone.”

“Sure, Yuri Andreievich.”

“It's Yuri Alexandrevich,” he corrected him mildly, glad that the boy was not throwing a tantrum, like the dog used to do every time he was pulling it from its leash.

“I'm sorry, Yuri Alexandrevich,” Guntram apologized truly contrite, starting to gather his charcoals and pencils.

“I know a good book store around here. We can spend some time there,” he added to keep the boy distracted while he threw forty euros over the table. 'Get him out, before I have trouble. The last thing I need is to have Repin around.'

Guntram finished organizing his materials and put them back in a small metal box Massaiev had given him after finding several graphite spots in his jackets and packed everything in a leather portfolio, smiling briefly at Yuri, dying to leave the place.

“Wait! Look, that's Constantin! I mean, Mr. Repin,” Guntram shouted joyfully when he saw the well-known frame of his lover.

“Hello, dear, you were here the whole time? Since two?” Constantin greeted the lad and stood in front of the table while Yuri rose to his feet and moved away from the place.

“It's nice here. I was drawing, but we were just leaving.”

“Thank you,” he dismissed the bodyguard and Yuri noticed that Alexei, Fiodor and Boris were already taking the other table. He bowed his head, praying that the boy would be clever enough as to keep his mouth shut about the stupid—or not—girls. Now, he would have to follow them. 'Cold War times were much easier.'

“What have you being doing so far?” Constantin asked Guntram as he sat next to him, taking the folder out of his portfolio and opening it for a close examination.

“Ouch, is it checking time? Nothing impressive, just drawing some doves. One was quite a funny guy.

Hard to bribe for posing. He charged me two croissants,” Guntram joked, but Constantin was not hearing him any longer for he was too focused on the drawings.

Several minutes passed as the man studied the different sketches of the doves. “Constantin, I told you it's not impressive, just birds doing bird things,” he said, becoming more and more nervous at the man deep silence and fierce concentration on his papers.

“No, they're very good. For the first time, I'm seeing you reflected on the drawings. Before they were perfect creations, lively too but they were recreations or perfect copies of what you have seen. Now, these birds have a life of their own; a character. It makes you want to touch the paper to be sure they're not alive. You obviously focused on the bully of the group, how he chases the females—more interested in eating than anything—his fights with the other males or how he loses his food to the sparrows, but at the same time you describe it, you take part of it, as many of the objects are slightly deformed to adopt them to a bird's perspective. I saw the watercolours you made from your stay in Italy and some of the studies you made and I'm starting to see a change in you.”

“I paint like always, Constantin.”

“No, you don't. I was right that coming here would change you for good. I only woke up what was dormant.”

“You make me very happy and make me feel great,” Guntram said, smiling softly.

“Should we leave now? I want to take you to the Comédie Française. ”

“That sounds great but I'll have to carry a dictionary with me.”

“Time to learn your own language, Guntram.” Constantin laughed, feeling like a young boy once more, rejuvenated and full of life.

His enthusiasm collapsed when two Asian girls came forward and shamelessly stood in front of Guntram, showing him a paper. “Monsieur l'artiste, you forgot to sign our drawing,” one of them told to a very puzzled blond boy.

“Yes, of course,” he mumbled, frantically looking for a pencil in his jacket, forgetting that he had just put them in the briefcase. “Constantin, do you mind? I don't know where I left my pen,” he half pleaded with the man, forgetting in his embarrassment that he carried several pencils with him.

“No, of course not,” Constantin answered dryly, chewing his rage as undoubtedly those women were after his angel, following and drooling over him. Clearly, Guntram was not guilty at all because he was looking very upset at the whole story.

“Write your phone number too,” the second one suggested, making Guntram gape at her like a big dodo, unable to believe her boldness.

“We might also find someone for your father,” was the final blow from the shorter one.

“I have no phone. Good day, ladies,” Guntram barked very crossed making them flinch, their giggles abruptly stopped.

Constantin's fury knew no limits or boundaries. He wanted to kill the two little whores for offering themselves to his angel; for obviously making him have a hard time with their advances; for ridiculing him and cruelly laugh at his pure love, calling him “sugar daddy” right in his face. The kind and noble façade he had been maintaining for Guntram's benefit threatened to collapse but he was able to control himself thanks that his angel had started to walk home briskly. When Boris discreetly caught his steps some fifty meters away from the café, he only barked in Russian “those two won't see another morning.” The tall man only nodded and disappeared with Alexei in tow.

Guntram stopped in his tracks and turned around to face Constantin. “My friend, you were right, I was a total idiot for giving that sketch to them. I thought they liked my stuff and I repeated what I used to do for the children. They all love to have something specially done for them. The rules here are different and I should be more careful. I'm sorry if my actions might have hurt you in any way.”

“No, my dear; it's not your fault. I could never be upset with you. You just didn't know how people are.

You are too well-meaning and kind to believe it. Trust me and I will look after you.”

January 24th London

We returned this morning from Paris in Constantin's private jet. He has one and it's a very beautiful aircraft. I was very surprised to find one of my earliest landscapes framed and hanging in his office there. “I had to fight with Oblomov to keep it. He wanted to steal it saying something like I had too many.”

“Constantin, I filled many boxes in Italy, but this time you will let me throw to the trash what is useless.”

I laughed.

“The last box you disposed of was valued in several thousand pounds. Don't you want to make some money out of the disgustingly rich people in London for your friends in Argentina?”

“You're right, but let me choose this time. I still have a very bad after taste with the newspapers.”

“You have an appointment with the gallery owner. Mikhail Petrovich has the details. One piece of advice; let him negotiate the price. He's excellent for that.”

“Do I get him back? Yuri Alexandrevich is fine.”

“I prefer that you're with Mikhail. I trust his judgement more and he has finished his work in Romania and Ukraine.”

“Don't misunderstand me, I like him also, but perhaps he feels bad to baby sit a boy.”

“Guntram, you're very important to me. I want the best looking after you. I have a good position and you never know when your enemies may attack you or people would try to get money out of you.”

“It's just I feel bad to make him stand in a Museum or walking in the cold to go to visit something. He has never complained or anything, in fact, he's very polite to me and was a great help in Italy but he's my elder and I feel like he has to be under me.”

“Nothing more, far from it, my angel!” Constantin laughed at me. “Massaiev will put you in your place if you do something that displeases him. Once you start school, he will return to his normal occupations and Yuri Rimsky will stay with you for the normal things like drive you there. Now, let me work. Go and sit over there, or I'll start to ravish you.”

I sat far away from him as he opened his laptop and dived into his work. He can easily read many of this pipelines or something like that projects. I took “Le Figaró” and I started to browse the newspaper, uninterested, looking for news about Argentina, but there was nothing. I guess the thrill was over. I read the film and books reviews and when I was going to leave it, I saw a small inset telling about two Chinese Exchange Students missing for the past five days when they left their house in Chartres to go to Paris. Their families were flying from Shanghai for the search and I thought on the two Japanese girls. Tourist women are truly vulnerable; they were after me, a simple idiot, looking to try the “hot French man” experience (!) but what could happen to you, in a foreign country if you tamper with the wrong people? They were nearly offering themselves to Constantin and me! What if I were a psycho? What were they thinking? Strangers are not nice by definition. Norman Bates was a regular looking guy; polite and hard-working and he was chopping naked girls on the shower and blaming it on his dead mother. On top, there were idiots staying at his hotel for parts II and III. People should try to find out more before trusting a total stranger.