Made in Heaven - 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 fatherlooked 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…" 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.