Date: Thu, 17 Apr 2003 08:20:48 EDT
From: SSch191950@aol.com
Subject: Made in Heaven, chapter 7

MADE IN HEAVEN
by Stefan
http://stefan680.tripod.com/stefanstories/index2.html


Chapter 7: Fill the home that I live in ...


On Sunday, Maxim had only come home to water the plants and feed the
cat. Coco was confused and looked lonely and Maxim needed some time
to make it clear that he would come back and take him to another home.
He wasn't sure if Coco understood his words, but he had always been a
clever cat. Maxim was so eager to spend the days with Christian that
he even skipped his usual Sunday visit with his parents. Soon he would
bring Christian home, he promised himself.

Monday he had his hands full trying to calm down Tim who suffered
from stage fright. Tim stuffed himself with the nougat dominos from
Paris until he was sick and needed tea to calm his stomach. Maxim
laughed at him and told him he was such a queen. Tim was not very
amused but decided to take it as it was: just a friendly joke. Since
Christian had started work on the new project, Maxim slept in his
own bed tonight, Coco pressed tightly at his side. In his dreams he
decorated the roof terrace with palms and hibiscus and other exotic
plants until the alarm clock woke him up. This would be a hard day
he thought. How could he keep Tim calm so that he would live through
the day until the evening?

Well, it went better than he expected. Tim was changing his colours
every two minutes, from pale to bright red and thought his blood
circulation must be like a roller coaster inside him. When it was six
o'clock, he gave Tim a glass of sparkling wine which made him gushing
with words suddenly until he became tired.

Some customers had remained there until the reading would start at
eight. They adjusted the light, built up a little platform where Tim
would sit and tested the microphone. Nadine had laid out a little
snack along a side wall, still covered with aluminium plates.

At seven the book shop was packed. Philipp had arrived with
Martin, Christian was there and Thomas, Nadine's boyfriend. Luan
uncovered the snacks and filled glasses with juice, sparkling wine
and beer. Nadine served the glasses. She pressed an orange juice
into the hand of a short guy with wheat blond hair and smiled. He
smiled back and bumped into Philipp, stepping on his big toe.
Philipp, jumping on one foot, recognized him though as the guy
who had left the bookshop headlong last week. The guy's eyes -
a baby blue - wandered to next to Martin and his eyes widened.
The juice sloshed over his fingers.

     "Gregor," Martin said surprised. Then - more instinctively than
intentionally - he took Gregor's arm and pulled him aside. "How are
you? You've changed," it slipped over his lips.

     "Yeah." Gregor looked down. "Five years are a long time. You
haven't changed, Chris."

Martin threw him a sharp look. "I'm Martin, I thought you could
tell the difference in us."

     "Oh." Gregor seemed to breathe relieved. "Sorry." A little smile
painted his face and built dimples in his cheeks.

     "Chris is here too though. So, if you don't want to meet him....."

But Gregor straightened his shoulders. "Why not. He won't hurt
me in front of all these people, would he."

Martin looked silently down on him. Gregor had always been a
shy little bird. He never had comprehended what Christian had
seen in him; apparently Gregor filled Christian's longing to play
the dominate part and found in Gregor an voluntary victim. Nothing
wrong with that, as long as it was mutual free-will and nobody
suffered. But there had come a time when Gregor had suffered
because Christian had cut his wings and robbed him of his own
mind.

Martin nodded soothingly. "Are you well? How's life? Have a
boyfriend?"

     "No. Not since .....then. But I'm doing well. I've made my first
degree in law. I hope to finish next year."

     "Great. I'm glad you made it finally." He slowly walked back
with him to the chattering crowd. Some of them had already taken
places in the chairs.

     "Has he a new boyfriend?" Gregor asked.

Martin nodded. He didn't want to tell him the story of Christian
and Philipp and the ending. He left Gregor in Thomas' protection
who was now serving the drinks. Thomas engaged Gregor in a
chat.

Martin searched for his brother but he found him in an embrace
with Maxim and didn't want to interrupt them. Tim, on his behalf,
was sitting in the staff-room with his father who was probably as
excited as his son was.

     "You'll do well," he said. "Look, all these people came to hear
you, this is so great, don't you think?"

Tim nodded not very convinced. What if they should boo him?

     "Come. They won't do any harm to you." Moritz wiped his
hair. "Good gracious, I'd never thought my son to be a very
important person!" he laughed and pulled Tim from his chair.
"Let's free Tobias from your mother's claws. He must sweat
blood instead of water!"

     "Mum's here?" Tim said, and rushed out. Ellen, a slender,
fragile person as her son was, stood next to Tobias, not looking
amused. She couldn't stand Tobias although she had given up
the idea that it was him who had turned her ex-husband into a
homosexual. Not that there was anything wrong with that, it
just hadn't to be her man. She ruffled Tim's hair and tugged at
his shirt, picking up imaginary pieces of fluff. "You've lost
weight, sweetheart," she said. "Don't the men cook good
enough for you?" She sent a reproachful look to Tobias and
to Moritz, standing behind him. "Come, Ellen, no quarrel right
now. Wish him luck."

Ellen smiled and gave Tim a kiss. "Good luck, little one. I love
you."

Tim smiled at her, then at his father and pressed Tobias' hand.
The very moment the lights were dimmed and Tim took a deep
breath. He saw Maxim waving and went to him. Maxim spat three
times over his left shoulder and gave him the manuscript. "Good
luck, Tim. You'll do great. Just remember, read slowly and take
your time, ok?"

Tim went to the platform as if he was going to his execution, when
Maxim took the microphone and started. "Hello all, welcome to
Prinz Eisenherz and thanks for coming. Tonight it's Tim Wendlandt's
reading from his novel, "Made in Heaven." I'm sure you all will want
to buy his work afterwards, so we'll give you the address of an
internet bookshop where you can order it on demand."

Tim looked surprised. He hadn't known about that. Martin and Philipp
grinned at each other.

     "And now, ladies and gentlemen, Tim Wendlandt."

Maxim stepped aside while applause sounded, put the microphone
into the holder and a spotlight fell on Tim, climbing into the chair.
The water glass wobbled when he hit the leg of the table. He cleared
his throat, smiled into the audience, took the manuscript and started
simply to read. For a moment he saw the entrance door opening and
a pair rushed in, then everything was quiet.


"Duel at Midnight

Night had already fallen and Sven didn't know exactly where he was
driving to. Home he thought, of course. Where else. It was late and
that was all that was left of the day after dragging around the
country and villages to advertise his stock of net curtains and blinds,
windows and decoration. There was no time for friends anymore. Sex
not at all... at least nothing serious. The work was occupying him
from top to toe. If it had been something exciting he could bear it.
But it was the same routine day after day after day.

      "Why don't you change it?" a voice chirped beside him. Sven
started and looked over to where a tiny person sat on the passenger
seat. She wore a hat upon her head, almost reaching to the car's roof. It
twinkled with a silver moon and stars. She held an ivory coloured
wand in her hand and smiled up to him. "Make a wish and it shall be
granted."

Huh? Sven looked stupidly at her. Her face blurred like calm water
touched by a fingertip. He couldn't make out her age. One moment
she appeared the old fashioned lady, in the next she seemed to grow
and fill the car with her unearthly presence. Sven felt power
overruling his will. Not an unpleasant feeling... Even the colours
of her eyes seemed to change with each second he stared into them.

She gave him an encouraging smile. "One wish is granted this night.
Everything you want." A blue cloud emanated from her wand. She
bent over to him. Something was tugging at his mind. Power. He
smelled strawberries.

Then she enveloped them both in twinkling dust.

A shudder rushed through his body. A wish. Good. Everything he
wanted. Good! "I wish for adventures", he called out. My life is
boring. I wish to experience the adventure of my life." He said
determined and the fairy godmother - for that must be who she
was - nodded.

    "All right." Her voice was now like a bronze trumpet. She guided
her wand to the windscreen and vanished herself in a blue cloud."


Tim cleared his throat again and looked up through his long lashes.
 Faces in front of him blurred into one, and he was afraid that they
all would jump up suddenly and leave the book shop because it was
a boring reading. But all eyes were fastened on him and his ears
started to redden.


"The motor wheezed for a last time, then everything was quiet.
Sven hit his palms upon the steering wheel and cursed. He had
enough petrol, that wasn't the reason. Looking under the bonnet
would have been as much use for Sven as a pig staring into
clockwork.

He looked at his watch. It was just after midnight. He cursed his idea
to turn from the main street to unknown sideways to be home quicker.
For the last several kilometres he had passed very few houses whose
inhabitants seemed to be asleep by this time.

Sven looked through the window. He had stopped on a narrow
country lane, bordered on the right side by a forest and on the left
by cornfields. He heard the wind rustle in the stalks and cicadas
chirp. Huge moths danced in the light cone of the headlamps. Sven
shuddered.

Ok, he would give the ADAC a call and they would tow him off,
although he couldn't describe exactly where he was. But his cellphone
gave no peep. He could push every button it had, there was no
connection. Even the always working number 110 - the police call -
remained mute.

That's a bugger! Abruptly he opened the door and stepped out. He
 pissed upon the weeds at the wayside and glared into the forest.
What was he supposed to do now? Move the car to the left and
sleep in there? When he turned he saw the silhouette of a building
standing in the pale moon's light upon a hilltop. A weak shimmer of
light seemed to seep through thick blinds. They would have a phone,
wouldn't they?


Sven looked at the man who had opened the door to him. He could
hardly suppress a snort of laughter. He was wearing a nightie, he was
barefoot and he held sort antique oil lamp in his hand. Sven supposed
him to be about his age, though the hair of the other man was grey and
hung in manicured waves down to his shoulders. He smiled at Sven
and said "Unfortunately I always forget where I've put my cellular.
That's worse, isn't it. I'm searching all the time for certain things.
Sounds
familiar?"

     "Well, yes..." The words stuck into Sven's throat. From the room
inside, whose door was just ajar, a metallic noise sounded. Iron
clashed on iron, followed by a dull rumble, a triumphantly manly
cry and a suppressed moan.

Sven raised his eye brows inquiring. But the man opposite just smiled
obliging and vanished through another door, adjacent to the hall.
"Somewhere I'll find the damn thing", Sven heard him muttering.

He examined the soft carpet, the striped wallpaper and asked himself
how old this house might be. From the room next door again some
funny noises came. Sven heard the sound as if something heavy was
trailed along the ground and he heard a sob.

Then Sven's face lit up. "The television, man!" Funny how day time
and circumstances can influence fantasy. He pondered about that
when the door was opened slowly and a young woman appeared in
the hall. She also wore a long nightdress that was damp and muddy
and had flower sprays around her neck and upon her head. She gave
Sven an entranced smile and looked at him from deep shaded eyes.
She was white as a sheet and her long hair waved behind her as she
disappeared through another door.

Sven gulped when a young, blond man followed her, dressed all in
black, dragging a rapier. Sven blinked. The young man gave him a
friendly "Good evening" and a wink and vanished in the door, too.
Was he mistaken or had the sword been stained with blood?

Sven stepped to the door ajar and listened. He heard suppressed
murmuring and tried to peer through the door crack. The room behind
was almost dark, just lightened by a thin source of light. Sven wasn't
the nervous type of man; unceremoniously he pushed open the door
and entered the room. It adjoined at the opposite end a second, that
was lit by candles. Sven stepped cautiously closer and peeped around
the corner. In the soft candle light he recognized two men and a woman
in oddly antiquated clothes. They were bent over a lifeless body lying
on the ground in front of them. Dark patches shone upon the parquet
floor.

Sven glanced quickly around the room. In a niche he saw a dishevelled
bed, withered flowers on the floor, opened books and a bottle with
undefined content. The candle light threw monstrous shadows on the
walls and made the cloak-covered figures look like huge bats. A
television was nowhere to be seen.

Sven fought back his cry. Something terrible had taken place here...
a family drama ... a duel at midnight... Sven's hairs stood on end at
the base of his neck and he fled. He ran across the room back into the
hall and bumped into the man who had opened the front door to him
earlier. Triumphantly he held out the cellular phone. In the other hand
Sven saw an ivory white skull. He felt sick.

He grabbed for the door handle and ran out of the house, down the
hill to his car, tore open the door and let himself sink upon the
place. Then he banged the door and tried hectically to start to motor.
It whined miserable and Sven tugged helplessly at the steering wheel.
Breathless he stared at the house and the rectangle light of the
open entrance door. There could only be a heap of lunatics! He saw
them coming out of the house, down the hill, directly towards him.
Sven opened the car door again and wanted to ran away.

Voices echoed through the night. "Hello, stay and wait! Why did
you ran away? Don't you want to make a phone call?"

Sven stood petrified and watched the crowd, coming one after the
other down to the road, gathering around him.

     "There you are", the man with the cell phone called out of breath.
The blond man dressed in black now carried the skull. In slow motion
he pulled off the wig from his head and straightened his sweaty,
carrot-red hair. He made a bow and said casually: "May I introduce
myself: Hamlet - Prince of Denmark."

     "And I am Polonius, the corpse upon the floor."

Sven looked flabbergasted while the older woman introduced herself
as Gertrude, Hamlet's mother, and the younger woman as Ophelia.

     "You have met us right amidst the rehearsal. I'm sorry if we
frightened you. Premiere is next Saturday. You're invited, as consolation
so to say."  The man, who was embodying the ghost of Hamlet's father
looked expectantly at Sven.

     "Theatre rehearsals?" Sven squeezed out. And then the tension
released itself in an unison, roaring laughter.

     "Come with us and stay the night", Gertrude said. "Tomorrow
your problem will be easier to solve."

Sven thought briefly, found the idea not that bad and followed them
up the hill into the house."


Tim took the glass of water standing upon the table and took a gulp.
His throat was so dry it hurt. The faces in front of him had become
clearer now that he had heard some reactions. A chuckle, a whisper,
a rustle, a shuffle of feet. Maxim, standing in the back row, smiled
and nodded heavily at him. Philipp next to him gave him a thumbs
up.


"What an exciting adventure, he thought when he lay in the bed that
was made up in one of the spare rooms. This house seemed very
old, according to the furniture that squeaked when ever Sven turned
and the smell was old and damp. He was disappointed that the initially
creepy story had turned out to be a normal mix-up. Funny though
 boring in the end.

He pricked up his ears. Hadn't there been voices whispering? In his
room, close to his bed and very close to his ear? He turned and lifted
his upper body very slowly and as noiseless as he could. Yes, there
were voices. Weren't the rehearsals finished already? More duels,
perhaps the final duel between Hamlet and Laertes?

A wind was blowing his hair. The door to his room opened but nobody
stepped in. He felt a touch on his face, someone was wiping the hair
away, caressed his chin and opened his mouth with fingers long and
cool. His heart pounded in his throat but he was shushed by a thin
voice, tender and mysterious.

Male.

Then he was pushed back into his cushions, while he felt a weight
upon his body, and a wet and warm something engulfed his penis.
Then everything turned to brilliant fireworks."


Tim paused and took the water glass to wet his still dry throat. There
was still absorbed silence and Tim hoped the audience was interested
and had not fallen asleep.


"A sunbeam tickled his nose. Sven woke up sneezing, wiped his nose
and blinked. Striped wallpaper. An ancient looking wooden bed.
Checked bed clothes. Somehow scratching. A mirror and a door ajar.
Like a blow, the memory of last night returned to him and he jumped
out of the bed. Naked he looked for his clothes and put them on in a
feverish hurry. What had happened last night? When he had heard
voices and felt a body doing with him the most intimate, exciting
things?

He rushed through every room, but each one of them was empty and
unused. He found though old clothes lying on the dusty ground,
torn and tattered, nightshirts that were damp and dirty and he smelled
the scent of rotten flowers. In the hall he found the skull and a
bloody sword. But there was no sign of the protagonists of last night.

Sven pulled a face. Theatre people! They were really unreliable. He
left the house, closed the door but turned around for a last look when
he had gone halfway down the hill. The house was a shabby shack.
Shutters hung lop-sided in their hinges, unroofed and windows
smashed.

Perhaps this WAS the exciting adventure the godmother had promised?
Great. Then he had had a good thrill. Back at his car he tried to
start the engine and wasn't surprised that it worked. Contented it purred
like a big cat under the bonnet. Sven grinned. Besides that he really didn't
know what happened in the night.... or better... he did know very well
what had happened in the night. He had been seduced by a man and
he longed for more.

A hand placed over his own, holding the stirring wheel. A young
hand, belonging to an arm in a black jacket from that white lace
peered out.

Sven's head turned. He saw "Hamlet", the young man with the carrot-
red hair smiling at him.

     "You didn't want to go without having breakfast with me?" his
voice sounded and echoed in the car. "Do you?"

     "Well..." Sven gulped empty.

     "You long for more you said." Hamlet's voice was seductive like
the touch of ice cream running down his spine.

     "It was you last night," Sven stammered, alternating staring upon
the street and into Hamlet's face.

     "Sure it was me. I hadn't had sex since exactly three hundred and
forty-five years and nineteen days. It happens very seldom that a man
loses his way up to the house, you know." He smiled a very beguiling
smile, leaned over and kissed Sven. "Now that I've found you, what are
we going to do? Where are you going?"

Sven licked his lips. They tasted like fresh plucked strawberries
with the slightest whiff of foulness behind. Then he thought that he
might be still tied up in a dream, lying in the bed in the house upon
the hill, so he decided to say nothing until he would wake up alone.

     "Ophelia was very mad with me, when I said I wanted to have you
for my own. I had to fight with her." Hamlet looked saddened. "I
sensed you being a virgin. Virgins are the best." He guided his
radiating blue eyes to Sven and smiled again, put a hand between
Sven's legs and started sucking at his lips.

     "Best for what?" Sven tried to break free. He panted hoarsely.

     "I know you loved it." Hamlet looked through the windshield. "You
cried out for more deep in the night. You don't know about Ophelia's
painful screaming when she watched us." He guided his blue eyes
slowly to Sven's face. "You will always enjoy this adventure. A
lifetime long. Start the car. Why are we still here?"

Sven automatically did what he was asked for. They drove in silence
until Sven reached a village and the first houses. Hamlet said nothing
and Sven's mind was absolutely blank. A lifetime long? Adventure?
Holy shit, the fairy godmother had made his wish come true. He glanced
at Hamlet. When the sun fell upon his features he seemed to be
translucent, ethereal beautiful. A figure woven of sunlight and dust.
And death.

He still hadn't any clue where he was, so he stopped the car to ask
for the way. In the blink of an eye Hamlet was gone. Sven looked
bewildered under all seats. "Hey," he called a child then. "What's
the name of the house standing back there upon the hill?"

     "House upon the hill?" the girl's round eyes grew even rounder.
"There's no house upon the hill."

Sven started the engine again. This was certainly a tad irritating.
The whole story was irritating. Sven laughed.

     "Is it far to your home?" Hamlet asked calmly as if he hadn't
been on a different place than next to Sven on the front passenger seat.
He smiled, revealing teeth flawless after three hundred-something years.

     "I'm really looking forward." Now he grinned wickedly. "You can't
get rid of the ghosts you called for," he said."


Tim fell into awkward silence. He didn't dare to look up, but then he
closed the book: a sign for the audience that the story was over. There
was murmuring and then applause started. Tim looked into smiling faces,
the last row - Maxim, Ellen, Moritz and Tobias - beamed.

Tim breathed out very relieved and beamed over his whole face. Chattering
started and the wish for an encore. But Tim hadn't prepared anything,
and all of the stories he could think of had too much sex in them. No way
he could read them out loud without sinking under the table from
embarrassment.

Maxim saved the situation by taking the microphone again, telling them
if they wanted to hear more they had to buy the book. He smiled insidious
and had the laughs on his side. Nadine spread sheets with the
advertisement of the books-on-demand-shop, hoping it would work and
Tim's book would sell like hot cakes.

Some of the guys went to Tim and in no time he was involved in a
question-and- answer game. His head swirled when the flashlight of a
camera dazzled him; another pressed a glass in his hand and took another
photo. Maxim squeezed through the crowd, congratulating him. Together
they were banned upon a photo. "Your first reading I suppose?" asked
the middle aged of the photographers. "What was the name of your novel
again?"

     "Have you found a publisher?" That was the younger guy with the
fringe holding out the book shop advertisement.

Tim still didn't know which question to answer first. "Can you leave us
a copy of a manuscript?" The journalist pulled out a recorder and a little
microphone and held it under Tim's nose. Maxim reached out a copy
of Tim's manuscript in a folder. Tim could only look. Apparently the guys
had thought about everything! A warm feeling spread over him when
Maxim smiled at him. He longed for his embrace and got red ears again.
"Go with them," Maxim said, "and give the first interview of your life.
 I'll deal with the others." He pushed Tim into the coffee corner and
chatted with the people about Tim's reading.

Philipp meanwhile had stuffed his hungry stomach with sandwiches
and took another glass with tomato juice. He watched Gregor standing
in the farthest corner, carefully intent to appear invisible. His eyes were
fastened on Christian it seemed to Philipp, who chatted with a tall, feminine
man with geled black hair and very gracious movements. Philipp had the
feeling that he disliked Christian, which surprised him. Usually the hearts
went out for his ex-lover because - if Christian wanted it - his charm was
overwhelming. Perhaps the black haired man had a fine sensibility and
could catch underlying vibrations. His company, elegant though casual
dressed, looked bored and he searched the room through his frameless
glasses.

Somebody passed Philipp. It was Gregor, apparently about to leave the
shop. "Hey," Philipp said low. "You want to leave? Have you got the
advertisement sheet?"

Gregor nodded, stepping from one foot to the other, giving the impression
he need a toilet urgently. Philipp pretended not to notice. "You liked it?"

     "A great deal, I think it was just the fractions of a longer story?"
Gregor suggested, still nervous.

     "Well actually it's like a puzzle with many pieces, sort of a spider's web.
The keystone is the fairy godmother."

     "Ah, I see." Gregor nodded and looked nervously around. "Look, I
better go. I think I'll order Tim's book though."

     "Why are you so nervous. Is it because of Christian?"

The baby blue eyes winced. Philipp could see it. He drew closer. "Listen,
Gregor. I need to talk to you. Can we meet tomorrow or any other day?"

When Gregor didn't react, he said "It's urgent. About Christian. Martin
won't tell me anything about Christian and you. You see the dark one,
standing with Tim? It's Christian's new boyfriend."

Gregor stood there with torn open eyes. He didn't want to talk about
Christian. "I don't know why," he said slowly, "and I don't want to be
remembered."

     "So you have unpleasant things to forget? Or hide?" Philipp insisted.
"The more you have to tell me." His mulberry eyes looked imploring into
Gregor's and he gave in. "Are you with Martin?" Gregor asked.

Philipp hesitated. How to answer this? He shook his head. "Not really,"
and Gregor seemed to understand. "Do you know the Art Connection
Hotel? Fuggerstrasse. It's my work place; we can meet there, ok? Just
tell me when."

Gregor nodded. "Saturday. One o'clock ok with you?"

     "Fine, I'll have my break then."

Gregor was still looking and not comprehending. "You fear for Chris'
new boyfriend? What makes you think that?" Again his eyes touched
Christian's back, but this time their eyes met. For a moment Christian
squeezed his eyes, almost closing them, then the ice in them flashed
sparks. Gregor's face took the colour of Philipp's tomato juice. Then it
was over. Christian's eyes entered the expression of regret; Gregor
frowned disparaging.

     "I was your successor I suppose; he never told me a single thing."
Philipp looked down. "I wasn't too interested though."

Gregor gasped; a sound Philipp couldn't sort out. Suddenly he came
very close and touched Philipp's arm. "You were with him?" he asked,
disbelieving and locked eyes. Philipp was a completely different type,
not as shy as he himself had been when he was younger. But perhaps
Philipp had grown up.

     "Geez, you look as if it's impossible to survive a relationship with
Christian," Philipp laughed but fell silent very soon. Gregor didn't laugh
with him. Instead he said "Ok, I'll be there Saturday." Once more he turned
his head to look at his old lover. Christian was still looking at him. This
time very suspiciously and Gregor knew he better leave. He knew the
steep wrinkle between his brows too well. He nodded briefly to Philipp
and rushed out of the book shop.

Maxim pulled Christian away from Joost who seemed to be relieved. "You
haven't congratulated Tim," he called out. "Go and save him from the
journalist's interrogation." He pushed him away and went straight to
Philipp, still sipping at his juice. "Nice chat? Looking for a new boyfriend?"
Maxim sounded more aggressive than he wanted.

     "What's gotten into you? Can't I speak to whom I like to chat with?"

     "Sure, sorry for snapping. My nerves are a little weak these times."

     "Hah, nerves! Who was the one who came back from holidays? But I
see, Christian can be exhausting." Philipp eyed Maxim unfriendly. What
was the matter with him?

     "Yes, he can." Maxim had momentarily forgotten with whom he talked
about Christian. But there was something burning on his soul he wanted
to get rid of that. "Listen, Philipp, it's none of my business what you're
doing with Martin, but I thought you would be with Tim. Isn't it so?" After
a brief pause he said, "Don't get me wrong, but I don't want Tim to suffer.
Tell him as it is, but don't treat him as a filler."

     "None of your business, quite right," Philipp said coolly, but then his
eyes looked conciliatory. "No quarrel, Maxim. For the moment I don't know
myself what I want. I certainly don't want a relationship. I simply have
enough of that."

     "Was it that bad?"

Philipp didn't answer. He liked Maxim, why else would he try to find out
what happened with Gregor and Christian. Well, perhaps to understand
better why Chris had acted so paranoid. But then he saw him coming,
taking Maxim's arm and pulling him aside, afar from Philipp and his bad
influence. He couldn't even stand that Maxim talked to another man.
Maxim was actually bright enough to notice and to help himself out of
this fatal connection. Wasn't he? But love turns a blind eye on everyone.
It was a matter of time and depended on the nature of a man if he found
out fast or slowly. Philipp hoped Maxim belonged to the first category.

Christian, meanwhile had embraced Maxim and pressed his abdomen into
Maxim's. "I haven't seen you for exactly twenty minutes," he murmured,
not sounding pissed at all. Maxim had to laugh. "Let's have a little party.
There's more booze in the fridge."


In the following turmoil no one noticed that Philipp and Martin had
gone. Joost was so excited that he invited all those still present to see
his performance as Zarah. Even Ellen, Tim's mother, agreed to come
and bring her new boyfriend. Tobias and Moritz were more than excited.
They took Joost aside and chatted with him about their costume rental.

A few of the guys - all regular customers and well familiar with Tim -
made passes at him, but Tim refused. He excused them with the alcohol,
because before he "got famous" they had treated him like air. Tim laughed
to himself. Maxim looked at him questioningly. They sat upon the small
platform in the middle of the room and drank sparkling wine. "You did
very well, Timmy," Maxim said.

Tim jerked at the mention of his pet name. He allowed very few people
to call him this way. "I haven't thanked you for organizing all this and the
idea with the books on demand." His dark brown eyes had changed into
amber due to the alcohol. "Was it your idea?"

     "No, Philipp's. He pestered Martin to do something for you. He really
seems to like you."

Tim let his head hang and stared at the orange carpet. It needed cleaning.
"I don't think so."

     "But I do. Surely he likes you." But that wasn't enough, Maxim continued
in his mind. You can like a flower and your neighbour's dog.

     "He's with Christian's brother now," Tim said. Suddenly he looked so
hungry into Maxim's eyes that he gasped. "I thought, I thought..." But
then Tim only emptied his glass without finishing the sentence.

     "What have you thought?" Maxim asked softly.

     "Nothing. How's Coco? Will you move in with Christian?"

Maxim sighed. "Coco will not be amused."

     "This means you move, yes?"

Maxim nodded. The he beamed when his eyes touched Christian who
was looking at both of them. "There's a roof terrace, Timmy. I can fill it
with all the plants I'd like to possess. My balcony was too small for it."

     "Yeah, I remember," Tim said. He remembered the morning he had
breakfast with Maxim after the night spent in the same bed. He wished
he hadn't refused to have a dally with Maxim. At least this would be
something he could remember now.

Nadine sat on his other side and deluged him with words. Tim was glad
about the interruption and chatted happily away. Maxim though rose
and took Christian's hand. He longed to sleep with him. Hell, he always
longed to sleep with Christian, he said grinning to himself. Christian had
brought him that far that now he couldn't think of different things.


Christian agreed to follow to Maxim's flat because he didn't want to let
down his cat, although he found it rather odd to make such a fuss about
a cat. A cat who had hissed at him to be explicit.

He stood on the balcony and watched the nightly scenery. From the
balcony next door, low music could be heard. Laughter fluttered high
up. Maxim stood behind him with two glasses of wine. He took one,
sniffed and drank.

     "Some will come and help me with the stuff on the weekend," Maxim
said. "Thomas and Nadine and some friends of his. Isn't this nice of him?"

Surprised, Christian turned. "This means?" He beamed now and his eyes
competed with the twinkling stars on the summer's night. "And Tim?"

     "Tim? I haven't asked him."

     "Are you good friends?" Christian asked casually.

     "Well," Maxim didn't know how to put it, "it's easy to like Tim." But
then something deep in his bowels told him he shouldn't tell him about
the night they had spent together even if nothing had happened then.
He remembered Tim's hungry eyes, but Christian had already closed his
mouth with his lips. He tasted wine and desire. "I'd like to read his novel"
and Maxim nodded. Then he felt Christian's hands roaming over his body
and he got wobbly knees. He pulled his T-shirt over his head and felt the
cooler breeze upon his skin before Christian's hand made it hot again. If
possible, he would have given himself right here and now, there weren't
any neighbours opposite, but Christian pulled him to the bedroom. The
way he remembered quite well.

Coco awaited them upon Maxim's bed. He sat enthroned like an Egyptian
god on the cover with an unreadable look in the white face. Just the blue
eyes sparkled dangerously. Neither Maxim nor Christian noticed when
they kissed and sank upon the sheets next to Coco. He hissed and jumped
from the bed. Maxim giggled and opened Christian's zipper to let free what
needed to be freed. Coco stood a while until he had seen enough and
vanished into his basket next to the fireside.

It was a pleasure to wake up with him, Maxim thought while he lay there,
stretched out on his back, uncovered, Christian's hair tickling his neck
while his hands touched and stroked each part of his body. Had he
deserved such treatment? He couldn't think of anything. He started to
purr like his cat. "A thing of beauty is a joy forever," he heard Christian
mumbling when he lifted his head, in the corner of his mouth were white
traces.

     "Shelley."

     "No, Keats."

     "All the same," Maxim laughed. "You're fond of poems? I never liked
them. Well, we had the melancholy Russian poets of course and German
poems just in a translation."

     "But that's the best!" Christian called out. He rose to his elbows next
to Maxim's body. "Dostojewskji, Tshechov, Tolstoy! And those
composers and dancers! And painter! We certainly have to watch a
ballet performance or an exhibition of Kandinsky, wouldn't you like it?"

     "Of course, Chris. Anything you want." Maxim kissed away the
white strands from Christian's lips, and pulled him with soft pressure
on his back. He felt something tugging at the bed sheets and looked
down. It was Coco. "What is it," Christian asked, annoyed about the
interruption. His cock needed relief urgently. But Maxim rolled out of
bed, stroked his cat and went with him straight into the kitchen.
Christian watched the muscles of his arse moving and sighed. Then
he crawled out of bed too and opened the door with the sign of a
naked man under the shower. He had hardly adjusted the water
temperature when Maxim followed him in the shower cabin and
finished what he needed so urgently.

                                 * * * * * *

Coco sat amidst the moving boxes, looking forlorn. He watched all the
running feet around him and listened to the foreign voices. Now and
then somebody fondled his neck or gave him a stroke, but Coco
always ducked then and pulled his head between his shoulders,
as if it would rain down on him. His little, neat world had fallen apart.

     "That's the last?" Thomas asked, pointing to a box.

     "Yeah, it's heavy. Books."

Thomas rolled his eyes. "Heavy literature, I suppose," he joked
and called to his friend. Together they dragged it down the staircases
with lots of moans and sweat. The weather had become hot, not the
right thing for this work.

When Maxim heard footsteps behind him, he thought it would be
Christian. He was about to take the icon from the wall and wrap it
in paper.

     "Hello, Maxim. I'm too late I see." By the sound of the voice Maxim
turned surprised. His father stood in the room, smiling at him. "Your
mother has given me this." He pointed to a wicker basket, covered
with a checked cloth. Maxim beamed and embraced him.

Coco crept to him on silent feet and looked up. He sniffed and
meowed. Andris bent down and stroked his back.

     "The furniture remains here, you know that I don't want to give up
the flat."

     "Very wise." Andris said seriously, but Maxim laughed. "Confess!
Mama has sent you out to spy around."

Andris laughed with him. "Caught."

They heard somebody clearing his throat and turned. Christian stood
in the door frame with a tank top, jeans and sweaty hair, falling onto his
forehead. He smiled, then stretched out his hand. "I'm Christian, and
you must be Maxim's father."

Andris took the hand and squeezed it tightly. Andris was shorter than
his son, but had the same hair colour though his eyes were blue and his
skin lighter. He watched Christian with an attentive look: the eyes of a
teacher.

     "Father has brought lunch. You're eating with us, won't you?" Maxim
asked Andris.

     "Yes, it would be a pleasure," Christian said quickly. "And you can
see where your son is moving to." He flashed his best charming smile
and it didn't fail its effect.

Maxim wrapped the icon, then looked around. The plants were gone,
the wardrobes empty like the bookshelves. Some personal things he
carried in a suitcase. It was just Coco to be taken and then he could go.




Andris was amazed when he entered Christian's Penthouse apartment,
but he didn't let anyone notice. Only Maxim knew what he felt. He
sensed his initial inhibitions like a physical blow and read his mind like
an open book. Would this go well together? It seemed as if two worlds would
crash against each other.

Andris lifted an eyebrow suggestively, but Maxim just smiled away his
father's concern. "It's not that I haven't seen tastefully furnished flats
before, is it", Maxim said low.

Christian had set up a table next to the swimming pool on the roof terrace
and a huge sunshade. He rushed up with cool mineral water and iced tea
for nobody was up for alcoholic drinks. Maxim was still down in the living
room and went slowly with the cat in his arms from one room to the other.
"What do you think, sweetie? Could you get friendly with that?" Coco
said nothing. He looked with open blue eyes and tried to absorb the
foreign smell. "Look, here's the fireside, what about putting your basket
next to it. Or rather the bedroom?"

Christian's flat had just a very small hall, for the door to the lift opened
almost directly into Christian's living room.

     "Maxim!" Christian called from the rooftop and Coco jumped down
from his arms. "Am back soon," he promised. "Don't follow me."

Thomas and Nadine exchanged a look while Tom's friends inspected
the roof and the pool and made impressed comments.

     "Wait until it all will be green with plants," Maxim said, unpacking
his mother's wicker basket. "Wow," he called a second later, "That's
Babushka's pirogue and pelmeni!" He put them onto plates while his
father opened boxes with omelettes, lobster's meat and caviar. Tom's
eyes grew larger with each bit Maxim and Andris were piling upon the
table. Christian looked over his shoulder and whistled through his teeth.
"Have you robbed a deli shop?" he joked.

     "No," Andris turned to him. "Just good connections to our Russian
deli shop." He winked at Christian and offered him a pirogue. Christian
eyed the round and high flaky pastry cake and bit into it. He chewed
and let out a purred approval. "There's minced meat in it."

Maxim, meanwhile, put a thin layer of quark upon the omelettes, then
covered it with caviar, the rest of them with the lobsters. Soon there was
nothing else to be heard other than mutual chewing and tongues licking
fingers and lips.

     "Please, tell your wife this was excellent and give Babushka an extra
greeting," Christian said after there was no crumbs left on the dishes.
"It was really delicious," the others threw in and Andris beamed. "I'll
gladly do so. Please call me Andris." He talked with the same little hard
accent as his son did, Christian thought.

     "The next time I'll serve genuine Krim's sparkling water, you'll see,"
Maxim said cheerily.

     "The next time you'll move we'll be there," Tom's friends grinned back.

     "There won't be another move," Christian said, suddenly serious.
"You need to give your forwarding address to the post, honey," he
reminded Maxim.

Andris watched his son attentively. Somehow he had the feeling this
was not the real Maxim he used to know. Had Christian turned his head,
that he couldn't decide for himself what to do and what to leave? This
couldn't be, Andris thought. He had brought up his son as an
independent thinking and acting human being. A young man with a
backbone who wasn't too shy to stand up for himself. Christian's eyes hid
something in their icy-grey depth. Something he couldn't grasp. But perhaps
he was just seeing white mice. He wondered what his mother would say
when she would meet Christian, for he was determined to invite him to their
home. Baba always had good instincts.

When everybody had gone, Christian turned on the air-conditioning for
it started to get hot in the afternoon. Maxim was more than surprised
about this equipment but welcomed it dearly. He just feared that Coco
would get a cold, but Christian assured him that there wouldn't be a
draught in the rooms. Then he stood petrified in the bedroom door
 frame and stared at Coco who had made himself comfortable in his bed. He
had pulled the red silken bed sheet over his fur and blinked with tired blue
eyes.

     "Oh no," Christian said. "No cats in my bed, please." He approached
the cat who lifted his head and started to bare his teeth.

Maxim rushed to him, pushed Christian aside and saved Coco. "Give him
time, Chris. He's just about to choose a resting place for himself, don't
push him away. What's wrong when he's upon the bed. And it's MY bed
now as well as it's yours."

Coco flashed Christian a look over Maxim's shoulder and Christian
relented. "All right, it's yours as well. But no cat at night, understood? I
need to feel you and not a cat's fur." Then his eyes started to smile again.
Carefully he approached the cat and tried to stroke him behind the ear.
Coco's ears jerked and he opened his mouth but he let it happen. "By and
by we'll become friends, don't you think?"

     "Sure, Coco's just confused. Cats and moving don't go well together. He
needs to conquer his new home, you see? I thought about the basket
standing next to the bed, so he won't feel lonely, is it ok with you?"

     "Sure. I'm sorry for snapping at you." Coco jumped down and Christian
embraced Maxim. He started to kiss his neck. "Come with me, I'll show you
something." In his work room he picked up a box, opened it and Maxim saw
a new nameplate that read 'Christian Kramer & Maxim Sageroff'. Maxim had
to grin. That was the last thing he would have thought of, but it was nice.

     "How come the Russian surname," Christian asked, "when you're
German actually?"

     "Well, the origin name was Sager. When Germans were persecuted
during the Third Reich and afterwards, we had to change it into something
that sounded like Russian." Christian nodded. He remembered his grandpa
who had had a Polish sounding name and since he was a policeman in the
30's years he was allowed to choose a German sounding name. What a
world.

     "I think this will go well with the other brass sign." Maxim nodded. 'The
other' was Christian's firm's name.

     "And now, what about a real celebration?" Christian opened a bottle of
champagne, let half of it splutter upon the carpet and both made a mess of
themselves when they tried to drink and to undress the other.


                                 * * * * * *

Philipp, at the same time, sat under a Cinzano sunshade at the Trattoria a
Muntagnola and waited for Gregor. It was Saturday and he had two hours
break from his service at the hotel. Mamma Angela had provided him with
a large lemon iced tea but he was hungry. If Gregor didn't show up it would
be a real pity, for he had to ask him so many things. Martin didn't know
about Philipp's plans. He wouldn't have approved of spying behind his
brother's back, although he didn't have any scruples about sleeping with
his brother's boyfriend. Although Martin had uttered the wish to speak
to Maxim in a silent hour. When Pino rushed once more through the
seats and tables he decided to order finally; just in time with Gregor's
arrival. Philipp was glad to see him.

     "Hungry? One minute earlier and you could have ordered with me."

     "Thirsty." Gregor eyed Philipp's almost empty glass. Philipp pushed
him the glass and Gregor drank hastily. "Thanks," he said, wiping his lips.
"It's so hot today."

     "Yeah." Philipp suddenly didn't know what he could ask him, so they
sat in silence, staring down at the red and white checked table cloth until
Pino arrived with a plate of Tagliatelle with oysters, mushrooms and a
mozzarella roll with ham and rucola and Gregor's mouth started to water.

     "Well, I'd better start before it's cold", Philipp said, chewing away at
the food. "I'm glad you came," he said then, furtively. He looked over to
another table where two guys were having a strident quarrel. Pino looked
at them when he was serving Gregor the dandelion salad with tomatoes
and iced tea for both of them.

Gregor smiled at Philipp and shrugged his shoulders. "You wanted
something urgently from me. What is it?" He pecked his fork into the
salad and let it crunch between his teeth. Philipp wondered if he was on
a diet; certainly he needed it, that shouldn't mean he found Gregor
revolting or somewhat disinteresting. "Well, actually that's a fickle theme,
you know. Hey," he interrupted himself, "have you ordered Tim's book?
Did it go all right?"

Gregor nodded. "Yes, have ordered. They need some time before they'll
send for all of a sudden there's a high demand!" He grinned and Philipp
saw the dimples in his cheeks. He started to laugh out loud. "That's great!
I need to tell Tim."

A glass shattered upon the ground. The pair was still quarrelling, now
shouting at each other. Gregor looked at them with an expression Philipp
couldn't figure out. His eyes were wincing again and his whole body
seemed to shrivel. Then it was over. Gregor took a deep breath and
turned again to Philipp. "So, what's the fickle theme then?"

     "It's about Maxim and Christian," Philipp started, swallowing the
rest of his Tagliatelle. Then he hesitated. "No. It's actually about
myself. I lived with Christian for four years. How long did you?"

     "Two." Gregor's voice was small. He had lost his appetite. "Why
do you want to know what you don't already know yourself? You
lived two years longer with him. You have endured him two years
longer, I want to say. Why is it over?"

     "Because I couldn't endure his jealousy any longer," Philipp said
straight away. "Sounds familiar?"

Gregor stared at his plate and seemed to count the leaves of the
dandelion salad. Or the remaining cherry tomatoes in there. "It does
sound familiar," he said then. The pair at the next table had calmed
and were stroking each other's hands now. "I was eighteen when I
moved in with Christian; you couldn't have been much older then."
He paused, looked into Philipp's eyes and found agreement. "It was
fine. He makes you feel you're the king of his heart. There was nothing
he wouldn't have done for me."

Yeah, Philipp thought. This really sounded familiar. But then, fulfilled
wishes were hard to bear, and they had one failure: they always conjured
up another wish. Suddenly he was oddly reminded of Tim's novel. How
oddly this all fit together. "You got bored with his solicitude?" he
continued to ask. "He didn't leave room for your development?"

     "Exactly. I needed four years to realize. Well, actually the rest of
the fourth year was pure hell. I loved him. He knew it and he took all
advantages from that. He was superior. He turned my love against me."

     "And he? Didn't he love you?"

     "He didn't miss a day when he didn't tell me he loved me."

     "You said, the price was high."

Gregor stared now into his eyes. "You know what the price was,
Philipp. You must know."

     "You were his from head to toe." Philipp nodded. "Ok, but tell me
rather about his parents. Or about YOUR predecessors. Has he ever
told you about them?"

     "Well, his mother is dead. His father doesn't want to know what
his sons are doing." Gregor leaned over and said low, "His mother
committed suicide. She left one day and didn't come back. His father
said later she had been found drowned in a lake." He sat upright
again. "I can't imagine he hasn't told you about this. It's been a harsh
cut into his life for he loved his mother dearly. He was eight when it
happened."

Philipp hid his perplexity. He knew, of course, Christian's mother
was dead, but he had told him she died of cancer. What was the
truth now? He would have to ask Martin. Aloud he said, "He told
me his mother died of cancer. How odd."

Gregor shrugged. "He always puts reality and truth as it suits him."

Philipp watched him silently finishing his meal. There was a lot
going on in his mind. Gregor didn't seem to want to spill the beans;
give him details. But he had to know. He cleared his throat and washed
it away with a gulp of tea. "Gregor, I know it's none of my business,
but was he violent?"

When Gregor jerked up his head he said soothingly, "Ok, I tell you
about myself first. You know, Christian had never done a thing to
hurt me. Physically I mean. But when I finally wanted to leave him,
he flipped out. He had gotten drunk because I didn't come home in
the night. He hit me. He tried to force sex." He took a deep breath.
"Had you the feeling that Christian always solved problems with
sex? He was good at it and he knew it. He knew he could always
get me round with that." He wanted to add something but paused
and waited.

It seemed as if Gregor had just waited for his cue. "Oh dear, I know
what you mean," he called out. "Surely he was violent. Where do
your think the scar under his hairline came from. What do you think
about all the other scars? Shall I show you mine?"

Philipp glared at him. The scars? Motorbike accidents. He had one
when they were still together. "He had a broken leg from a bike
accident, I know."

     "And what about the others? When he tried to commit suicide
by crashing against a tree? That's where he ruptured his spleen. It
happened the same day when I said I was leaving him."

Philipp couldn't believe this. Christian had never acted mad. But
then Philipp hadn't tried to leave him before. "Well, he didn't try to
kill himself after I left him." Oh dear. If all this was the truth, then
Maxim was in danger. But wait. Maxim didn't want to leave Christian,
he had just moved in with him to start a happy life together.

     "But what if he has changed?" Philipp asked. "You said he was
violent. But I couldn't find a trace of violence. Well, not before I
said I leave, that is."

Gregor took another deep breath. "I do hope he has changed. He
has had therapy treatments after he had beaten me almost to death."

For a moment the world seemed to shrivel before Philipp's eyes.
"That's not seriously meant, is it?"

     "Absolutely. I can't prove that he did it voluntarily but it's fact
that he hit me madly and I fell into the fireside where I hit my had
and broke the skull. And you are right: he was drunken that night.
He doesn't go well with alcohol." Gregor gave him a wary look.
"You want to pass all this to Maxim? Why are you so concerned?
You want him for yourself?"

     "Nonsense. I like Maxim. But..." he trailed off. After a while he
added, "Maxim has turned a blind eye concerning Christian. Everything
we would say would be in vain. We have to wait and see."

     "We?"

     "Well^Å" Philipp eyed Gregor. "Thanks for being so serious with me.
You didn't have to tell me."

     "No. But I'm glad to tell it to somebody who isn't a psychologist. I
was in therapy too afterwards. And I still can't cope with quarrels and
violence."

Philipp's look darted to the table next and the pair that had a fight. They
were talking now calmly and very involved and Philipp seemed to
comprehend. "I thought we could meet again? You know, cinema, or
just a for a chat."

Gregor was still suspicious, but he nodded. It couldn't do harm when
two ex-lovers made an ally, against whomever. He had told Philipp not
even a fraction of what Christian was able to do to hold a status quo
and his possession, for Chris considered not only the dead things as
his private possession but also the living. He watched Philipp
scribbling his phone number and took it. "You live in the hotel where
you work?" he asked.

     "Until I have found something cheap. Do you know of a place?"

     "Let me think about it. I'll call you soon. It'll be nice to meet for a
chat."

Back at his hotel Philipp had lots of time to ponder. Even when he
served the guests, greeted new ones, showed them their rooms,
organized male entertainment for the night, handed out city maps
and tickets, his mind did not stand still a single minute. Judging
from Gregor's words he, Philipp, had been lucky all the time he had
spent with Christian. To him some of the words sounded absurd.
Christian was a charming man, even in their quarrels he had himself
under control.

He had hardly thought that when it struck him. He had himself under
control. He had made a therapy. He had softened the violent side of
his character, but was this a guarantee? Well, it worked four years
long, why should it be different with Maxim.

You paint it black, he soothed his mind. For now the worst thing
was that Maxim certainly would find out what it's like to live with
Christian Kramer: giving up personality (which was easy with Philipp
for he hadn't had any when he met Christian), giving up personal
interests (for you always do everything together), becoming his
slave because he will let you starve on his outstretched arm while
you hunger for love and attention. And the most ridiculous thing
was that Christian was a prisoner in his own dungeon for he craved
for love and attention as well.

Philipp grinned almost. If he just had realized it earlier! He had been
in the position to turn the table. Philipp had superiority, not vice
versa. Like Gregor had. Like Maxim had now.