Date: Sat, 12 Apr 2003 10:45:51 EDT
From: SSch191950@aol.com
Subject: Made in Heaven, chapter 5

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


Chapter 5: A language I don't understand


   "Excuse me, can you help me with this?"

Tim turned to an unimportant looking young man with wheat blond,
straight hair he had combed out of his forehead. He smiled
uncertainly at him, holding out a self written sheet of paper.
"I can't find any of them."

Tim took the tag from him to study it. "Let's see. Three of them we
have in stock. The rest I can order for you." He looked up into blue,
harassed eyes and saw him nodding. "Come with me."

Tim sat behind his computer and typed in the orders to the publishers.
"I need your name."

   "Gregor Stein."

   "Ok, Gregor. Come back in three days, they will be here then. Of
course, if you want to, we can send them to your home address."

   "No, no. I'll be here." He stepped quickly aside when Tim rose to
search for Gregor's wanted books. He followed Tim like an obedient
servant waiting for orders. He was short and a bit overweight and
tried to hide it with loose fitting sweatshirt and trousers.
Purposefully, Tim picked out the books and gave Gregor a sign to
follow him to the cash desk. This was when Nadine dashed in with
a handful of printed advertisement cards she placed at every corner
and table of the shop. With a broad smile she showed one of them to
Tim and handed another to Gregor. "You shouldn't miss this. There's
an upcoming star in the literature heaven. Our Tim." She grinned and
put her hands upon Tim's shoulders.

   "He'll be reading from his novel - exclusively at Prinz Eisenherz."

Tim blushed when he saw Gregor staring at him. But then he smiled
helplessly. "Shove off, Nadine," he said playfully but Gregor tucked
away the card in his purse. "I certainly will come," he said and eyed
Tim curiously. "I've never met an author before."

   "You sound as if authors have eight arms, like a squid," Tim
laughed. "You like books?" he asked. "I hope to greet you again.
Our service is good. Perhaps you're interested in calendars,
merchandising, clothes or decoration?"

But Gregor quickly shook his head. "When I'll pick up the books. Now I
must hurry." The parcel pressed to his chest, he bumped into Philipp
who was about to enter the shop. Tim beamed when he saw him, but
Philipp followed Gregor with his eyes as he stepped into his car.
"Who was this? He seemed to flee this place," he said then. "What
have you done to him?"

   "Gave him this." Tim lifted the advertisement card and Philipp broke
into a joyful whistle. "I'll be there, I most certainly won't miss it.
Here're your books, I'd like to borrow a few new ones, so you mind?"

   "Come this evening and you can pick what you want." Tim's eyes
searched Philipp's face for signs. What signs exactly he didn't know,
he just knew that he liked to be with Philipp because he was somebody
who was easy to be with, now that Maxim was lost for him. Wouldn't it
be only fair that two abandoned people could soothe each other? And
he hadn't seen Philipp since Joost's performance and Christian's
unexpected appearance. He had so many questions to ask.

   "Eight ok with you?" Philipp asked. "I'll bring something. You need
some pounds on your ribs." Philipp grinned but Tim frowned. Another guy
complaining about his body. For one he was too fat, for the other too
thin. What now? He nodded slowly and waved a short goodbye.


                          * * * * * *

   "Would you marry me?" Christian asked casually when Maxim opened his
eyes. He didn't know where he was in the first place; certainly it
wasn't his bed at home and he missed the familiar quick breathing of
his cat by his side. He saw Christian sitting in an armchair, with
the hotel's morning robe, watching him silently.

   "What did you say?" Maxim rubbed his eyes and straightened his
rumpled hair. "Certainly not today," he answered in the same light
tone, but he wasn't quite sure if Christian had joked or not.

   "Want breakfast?" Christian took the phone and ordered. But Maxim
would rather have liked a cuddle in the morning after, he wasn't hungry
at all. But when the servant boy had gone, Christian dropped the gown
and joined Maxim in the bed, buttering the toast for him, peeled the
egg and put the yellow aster, that came with the breakfast, behind
Maxim's ear. "Would you marry me then?" he asked.

   "Perhaps I would. Why not. You don't ask me to do it tomorrow?"

   "You would?" Christian asked, surprised. Maxim was surprised too
about his own words, but he hadn't time to think. Christian had lost
his brooding and reluctant mood and revealed now his charming being.
He licked marmalade from Maxim's fingers. "Are you going to Montmartre
later?"

   "Not if you promise to go with me. Please." Maxim made his eye
lashes flutter. Christian laughed resounding. "You're irresistible.
Ok, honey, but what will you do the whole day then?"

   "Go more shopping?" Maxim suggested.

   "You can have my credit card."

   "No. Thanks, but no," Maxim said determined. Christian eyed him
respectfully. "I'll see if I can get myself away earlier. Give me a ring
on my cell phone, ok?"

His kisses were soft, then urging, until Maxim fell onto his back,
enjoying Christian's body, his warmth and succumbed to Christian's
and his own urge to love.


When Christian had gone, Maxim took the telephone and dialled the number
of the bookshop in Berlin. He got Luan on the phone, and asked for
Nadine. "Hello, dear," she said in a cheery way, "got lucky eventually?"

   "Oh gosh, you're really awful. Is that all you can think of?"

Nadine laughed. "Oh, come on. You don't call me to tell me the weather
is fine in Paris, do you. Have you or have you not?"

   "We have." Suddenly Maxim knew it had been wrong to call Nadine. She
made a joke of everything. And his relation with Christian wasn't a
joke at all. It was a serious work to do for him. "How's Tim?" he asked.

Nadine was silent as if she had sensed the mood swing. "Philipp's here,"
she said then.

   "Oh. Well then, tell him I called and I'm fine. I'll be back in a
couple of days anyway. Bye."

He returned the receiver and sat silent for a while. So it was Tim and
Philipp now. Well, less trouble for him. But how would Christian take
the news that his long time lover had found a substitute so quickly.
Then Maxim laughed heartily about himself. You twat! You are Philipp's
substitute too. He banged his palms upon the telephone table and rose,
determined to do everything to make Christian forget Philipp.




   "Where did you get this scar from?" Maxim stood in front of
Christian and moved his finger over the jagged scar under his hair line.

   "Motorbike accident."

   "Like all the others?"

   "Most of them." Christian looked away.

   "You don't want to talk about it? I'm sorry."

Christian pulled Maxim to the steps leading to the dazzling white front
of the church of Montmartre and sat down with him. They weren't alone,
the steps were rather occupied by tourists and young Parisian folk.

   "Was it severe?"

   "Yeah. My bike was crushed then." Christian's eyes were veiled. It
had been shortly after he had had his first quarrel with Gregor. He
had been sure that Gregor was cheating on him and couldn't think of
how to handle it. How to live with it. Perhaps he wanted to die when
he crashed with the tree trunk, perhaps he just wanted to have Gregor's
full attention back - which he received completely. Gregor was an
attentive man; anything he wished for - until Christian had recovered
and Gregor thought he could go on with looking for other adventures.
He eyed Maxim from aside. He was by far too good looking. Dangerously.
Christian had his preferences. It wasn't about how a man looked, as
long as he was serious and had a brain. But with Maxim was always the
danger that someone could make eyes at him. Well, if he would make a
lot of efforts, Maxim wouldn't think of others. After all, wasn't he
mad for him?

   "I want a picture of you," Christian said suddenly. He went with him
to the portrait painter and made Maxim sit on a stool while the painter
- an elderly man with black beret and a moustache: the all Parisian
cliché - sat behind his easel, surrounded by drawings and paintings,
checked quickly his face. Surprisingly fast it was done and Maxim
looked into his face with deep sparkling eyes that had a new expression
and he thought that the painter had flattered him in making his ears
smaller than they were (Maxim considered them as bat ears, thus he wore
his hair longer) and gave his chin more expression, but Christian
was excited. He complimented the painter and rolled the paper which was
protected with a plastic roll.

Maxim looked at all the painters sitting side by side under blue, red
and white striped sunshades: Bohemians, a reminder of the artist's
communities of a past time, who wanted now to make their living,
nothing more. There weren't geniuses like Renoir, Degas, Cézanne or
Picasso among them. Perhaps the world of Art was at its wits end. There
was nothing more to invent and the world grew cold.

He slipped his hand into Christian's. He felt, here he could do it, show
affection, at least artists were free spirits.

   "This is the place of the former gallows and the pillory when
Montmartre was a village," Christian said low. Maxim shivered
involuntarily. "Are you often in Paris?"

   "I used to be," he said evasively. Philipp had been mad for Paris...

   "I'm hungry," Maxim said and pulled Christian to a Bistro. The red
painted wall revealed with white letters the name La Mere Catherine
which was quite famous to Christian. It was a cosy place of white
chairs; the setting sun shrouded the place in sharp edged colours.
No wonder this was and had been an artist's colony.

   "Do you know that Bistro is a Russian word?" Maxim said, trying his
Tarte Tatin.

   "No," Christian said surprised. "Really?"

   "Sure. Look here." He pointed to the menu. "Translate for yourself.
I'm sure the explanation is here."

Christian skimmed through the text, giving the history of this restaurant.
It was founded in 1793 as an ordinary pub, but its name it got from a
Russian Cossack who wanted to be served quickly. "Bistro, bistro!" he
shouted, wanting his vodka, absinth or whatever. Since then it had
become a synonym for a pub with quick service.

Surprised, Christian lifted his brows. "I never knew." Maxim shrugged.
"Why should you."

   "Did you have many lovers back in Russia? I mean, I don't know much
about it, but what about homosexuality there?"

Maxim shrugged again. "In Moscow or St. Petersburg you can have
everything I guess, but a village is a village."

Christian nodded. Perhaps Maxim had been very poor. He hadn't a clear
imagination of what life in a backwater was all about. Cow pat on the
muddy streets and liquid manure on the fields? Hens and chicks and a
stinky manure heap? A village pub where the men gathered for their
Sunday booze after church and the women for a kaffeeklatsch, knitting
socks and shawls? Or didn't they have real coffee?"

   "You like a coffee?" he asked automatically, but Maxim shook his
head. "I haven't had any lover. I didn't know there were any others
feeling like me. In fact," his look went astray, "I didn't know what
was the matter with me until I visited my aunt in Moscow. I saw
magazines, papers, books and hustlers at night in Gorki Park."

   "And you had sex then?" Christian asked softly, but again Maxim
shook his head. "No. I was too afraid. It was dangerous. Too much Miliz."

   "But you said there was freedom at last."

   "Pah. What they call freedom! Russia is anarchy. There are very
nouveau riche's and very poor ones. The latter was the majority. Each
one is corrupt."

   "You don't paint a nice picture of your home country."

   "I say as it is. You shouldn't have any illusions. Although I loved
this country." Maxim drank from his Bordeaux wine. It had never tasted
so good.

Christian wondered if Maxim possessed the legendary Russian soul.

   "My grandmother is Russian you know," Maxim continued, but my
father's family went to Germany. The village was emptying because
everybody took Germany's offer to return to their actual home country.
Mostly Jews, though we aren't."

Christian remembered that once a large amount of German peasants had
followed Catherine, the Prussian Princess, to Moscow when she married
Czar Alexander. In the war times they had gone through nasty times,
were interned, expulsed to the river Volga and later to Siberia, where
they lived as outcasts.

   "You liked the country side then?"

   "I did. I've sat on a tractor when I was six. I ran barefoot over
stubble fields, helped to burn down the corn and piled up the hay in
the barn. And I fed the abandoned cats or rescued them from being
drowned. It's a wide, hard land. The Volga is as broad as the Baltic
Sea. Sometimes you can't see the other shore."

Two pink patches had grown upon Maxim's cheeks.

   "You still love it," Christian stated, reached over and stroked
Maxim's cheek. "You must tell me more."

The sun shrouded the cupola of Sacre Coeur, jutting out over the roofs,
in red light. "Let's watch the sundown," he said and put notes upon the
table. There was an endless stream of people like a procession coming
to see the sundown at Sacre Coeur but Maxim enjoyed it nonetheless.
Paris to his feet, lightened and peaceful. The only sound to be heard
was the clicking of cameras and the noise of kissing mouths.

   "Moulin Rouge isn't far away, you have to see this," Christian
whispered while he held Maxim around the waist. "Boulevard de Clichy,
the epitome of the wicked urban life. Men about town and demi-mondaines,
Can-Can and Chat-Noir."

Maxim turned his head to see Christian's grin. "Another time," he said.
"I want to sleep with you."

Christian pressed his lips against Maxim's neck. "Not sleep, I hope," he
murmured. "I wished we were at home. Will you move in with me?"

Maxim froze in his arms. "Move in with you?" Like a flash he saw his
flat under the roof, lovingly decorated with posters and plants and
furniture and the icon from Russia. And would Coco like to move?

   "It's a bit too early, don't you think?" he said and sensed
Christian's disappointment.

   "But I want you around. Always." Christian pressed Maxim's waist so
tightly that he couldn't breathe. He freed himself and pushed Christian
at the warm, stark white marble wall of the church.

   "You demanded time for yourself, remember? Do me the same favour,
please."

Christian nodded slowly. "Ok, I will." But he promised himself that
Maxim would soon long for his twenty-four hours company.

   "You need to tell me why a Cossack had come to Paris," he said
suddenly and unmotivated, but Maxim laughed. "I will."


                           * * * * * *

Philipp was hit somehow hard to learn that Christian had taken Maxim to
Paris. It was their town. Probably they stayed at the same hotel, the
same rooms and shared the same bed? Philipp felt sick. Not sick for
jealousy, but for the speed with which Christian replaced him with
another. He had thought that there exist places in the world belonging
to shared memories, and remained exclusively for a couple. And Maxim
and Christian have to find their own special place, not a second hand
one.

Depressed he sat upon Tim's couch, not touching the bake he had brought.
Tim ate with good appetite. "Why don't you eat?" he asked and stopped
chewing. "Have you trouble?"

   "I want to start my study new but they haven't got a place in the
next semester."

   "Sorry to hear this. Have you put your name down for the next
semester after?"

Philipp nodded. "Do you think they had a good time in Paris?" he
muttered.

   "Who, Maxim?" Tim lay aside his fork and slid nearer. "You still
love Christian? But you said it was you who left him. Do you regret it
now?"

   "No. Not really." He looked at Tim. "But imagine you live with
somebody four years long. And from one minute to the other you're alone.
It's like losing a limb."

   "Yes, I understand, but still it was you who left him." He
hesitated. "Tell me about Christian. What is he like?"

Good gracious, what was he like? What could he tell Tim without giving
too much away? Doubtlessly this information would pass on to Maxim. And
what would happen then? When Philipp would tell Tim about Christian's
fits of jealousy? Of his self-destruction urge when something didn't go
as he wanted it? About his attempts to shut Philipp back in his private
cubical like a Japanese Tycoon did with his precious paintings to pull
it out and play with whenever he was up to it? About his violence when
Philipp tried to leave him?

Would it mean the end of Maxim and Christian? And what then? Would he
like the idea, so that he could return to Christian because it was old
habit and he didn't want to end his life as a mental cripple longing to
get back what he hated actually?

   "He was nice," he said vaguely.

   "Nice? That's all you have to say? What a clear description. What
else was he? Is he rich?"

   "Well, he has enough money, although he works hard for it. He didn't
want me to continue my studies. It's like being a housewife you know.
I care for the big things: kitchen, children, church." He grinned. "So
to say. The man is earning the money and I can throw it in the gutter.
He said I didn't have to work."

   "Hmm. That's nonsense, you want a life of your own, don't you?"

   "Sure. My life is filled with doing the beds other men have fucked
in. Give them the keys to our rooms, serving them breakfast and receive
the bills. Isn't it great?"

   "Philipp..." Tim slid even nearer and put an arm around Philipp's
shoulder. "Next year you can continue your study, it won't take long
until then."

   "But still I need to do hotel service. I need the money."

   "So what? It's a job, nothing more. Of course, if money is so
important to you, you can try to return to Christian and live the life
of a golden bird." Yeah, break Maxim's heart, so he will be free for me,
Tim thought briefly. But we aren't like the bees flying from one flower
to the next. We have a brain and a heart and both are easy to break.

   "You know," he started furtively, "I've seen Christian at the "Bar
jeder Vernunft" when we were at a performance. It was just me and Maxim.
But Christian showed up, hiding in the farthest corner. Maxim doesn't
know about it. I have the feeling that he was investigating what was
going on. You know, controlling Maxim."

Philipp stared into Tim's eyes. Jesus, it started already. What was he
to tell him? "Perhaps it was an odd coincidence," he said lamely.

   "No, absolutely no. Christian knew we both had the appointment and
he wasn't included. He came to spy around. Is he jealous? Or so
suspicious? Did he treat you the same?"

Philipp writhed under Tim's arm. "Well... you know Tim, it's none of my
business anymore. Maxim has to see for himself. Sure, it's not always
easy to live with him, but he is generous. He will fulfil every possible
wish you have. It just has its price."

Tim seemed to understand. Philipp wouldn't say more but one thing he
knew now: that he would have to keep an eye on Maxim. He devoted himself
again to the bake and brought Philipp to eat as well. "You said I'm way
too thin," he said playfully. "If you don't watch, I'm fat as a pig.
Fancy this?"

Philipp laughed roughly, but then he finished eating and looked
attentively into Tim's face. "I do like you. And perhaps it would work."

Tim's heart pounded painfully. "But?"

Philipp shook his head. "I want to live alone for some time. I was very
young when I met Christian. I think I need to find out who I am. Who is
Philipp? You see?"

Tim turned his head and looked down at his feet. Yes. Men come and they
go. And none of them remained.


                              * * * * * *

"Made in Heaven
The fairy godmother popped out from the television screen where a
coupling pair dropped its sweat onto the mattresses of the heaving
waterbed. Amidst a close-up to an intruded arsehole her face appeared
and with it an outstretched wand, aiming directly at him who sat with
his trousers down to his ankles in his armchair, his fist clenched
around his dripping cock.

His eyes grew large, his mouth fell open. As fast as he could he pushed
a cushion over his exposed abdomen and continued to stare into the
screen.

   "I'll grant one wish," he heard an impatient sing-sang which could
only come from the godmother's moving lips. Her hat had twinkling moons
and stars and from her wand's tip emanated a little blue cloud like dust,
filling the space between him and the television.

He coughed. One wish?

   "Quick, young man!" The voice chirped niggling. "I need one wish from
you. But think carefully."

   "How..." He coughed again. "How can I think carefully when my
decision has to be made quickly?"

Of course it was Roman. Yes, Roman! he thought instantly. His porn idol
for whom he would gladly open his legs. The godmother was hiding his
splendid cock right now and he wanted her to go away.

   "I wish one night with Roman", he blurted out.

   "Roman Who?"

   "Roman... whatever his name is." He grabbed for the video cover. "The
guy on the video", he said impatiently. "I want a night with him."

The fairy godmother closed her golden eyes in resigned obedience. Those
earthly men were really impossible. The giggling in her throat changed
to a deep, bronze sound, echoing in Klaus' mind: One fulfilled wish is
the father of many wishes to follow.... He shook his head to get that
frightening voice out of his head.

Full of expectation he looked at the TV screen again. The face of the
fairy godmother wavered unsteadily. "Your wish shall be granted," the
words reverberated through the room. More dust enveloped him.

The screen was clear again, showing Roman pumping his cucumber-broad
cock into the arse of a coffee-brown adonis. Klaus stared. What would
happen now? Would he ring at his door? Would he have to search for him?
He blinked. Probably he had fallen asleep with a nice dream.

He removed the cushion and finished where he had been interrupted.
Shortly before he reached his climax the bell rang at his front door.
He cursed heartily, pulled up his trousers and went to open. He gasped.
He would have recognised him anywhere in the world. It was him: Roman,
the porn star, beaming at him, in his arms a bowl with a palm. "I'm your
new neighbour. I'd like to say hello."

He dropped the plant and outstretched his hand. "Roman."

   "Klaus. Do you need any help?"

Roman agreed and so Klaus spent the evening inspecting Roman's new flat,
helping him to move furniture to the right place and received an
invitation to spend the rest of the evening with a bottle of wine and
a pizza.

When Roman sat down his enormous cock stretched the centre of his
trousers. Oh how he longed to touch it... Then Klaus was shocked when
Roman put a framed photo upon a shelf which showed an attractive woman.

   "Your sister?" he asked weakly.

   "No, my ex-girlfriend. Well, I'm still hoping she'll come back to
me."

Klaus sat dumbfounded. The wine suddenly tasted sour. "Does she know
about your profession?"

Roman turned quickly. "Profession?" he asked sharply.

   "Well..." Klaus came to his feet; his eyes moved to Roman's groin.
"What are you then? Bi?"

   "Don't know. Actually I'm looking for somebody brave enough to take
me."

   "Huh?" Roman wasn't shy with his statements. Then it dawned on him
why Roman had become a porn-star. "But haven't you ever had sex with
your ex?"

Roman pierced his eyes. "Have you ever had the feeling that wishes are
made in hell?"

   "Wishes?"

   "Yes. I forgot to wish a girl able to take this." He brushed his
cock. Klaus' eyes started to sparkle. "I could easily."

   "Be careful. You don't know what you're talking about."

   "I've watched you often. I know everything about you."

   "Do you?" Roman said doubtfully. "You know nothing. You're the same
as all guys I've met. Cock-obsessed. You laugh about everything that
hasn't at least ten inches, isn't it so?"

   "Don't tell me you haven't wished for it too." Klaus poked now
blindly. "Did you make one wish or not?"

Roman blinked. Yes, he had. He was a man like all men, straight or gay.
Cock-obsessed. What did it matter then if he went to bed with a girl or
a boy?

He stretched out his arm and Klaus took his hand. "You're right. I
suppose we both made the same mistake then? The old crone with her magic
wand? The wish? I wished to have a big cock and you?"

   "To spend a night with you."

   "Oh. Well, the night is over almost. You forgot to wish that I was
gay."

   "How could I do that when I have just ONE wish? That would have been
two of them. Besides, I thought you were gay, why would you do gay porn
otherwise?"

Roman laughed. "You'd be surprised how many guys stress they are
straight. But inwardly", he stepped closer, "every man longs to have
great sex. And this you only can get from another man. This is what
I've learnt."

And his kisses started to overwhelm Klaus until he knew that some wishes
are made in heaven."



Martin lifted his eyes from the paper sheets and he grinned to himself.
Would this ever have the chance of being published? A carousel of people
meeting and touching in a lustful round dance? He thought that these
episodes had more meaning behind them than it seemed at first glance.
Surely Tim was right. Each man was fond of his own cock, probably
because it was the centre of our world.

How shallow indeed. But was it really that bad? Surely neither a
straight nor a gay would deny it.

Absentminded he thumbed through the rest of Tim's novel. There was much
more to come. Martin found that he was looking forward to reading the
rest.

He was getting hot; the sun had been too strong for the past few weeks
and everything had started to dry out; the lawn, the flowers and the low
bushes that marked the border of his garden. Luckily in the middle of
the week it was peaceful here and there was enough silence for him to
do his work.

He rolled the pen between his fingers. How long was it since he had
heard from Philipp? Once there was a time when he showed up twice a
week, jumping into bed with him and leaving as he came: without a bad
conscience and without taking anything with him that belonged to
Martin's soul. Philipp just received him gladly and vanished. Now that
he and Christian had broken up for good Martin had thought that he would
come to see him more often, but it hadn't happened.

He closed the manuscript and slid his palm carefully over it. Too bad he
didn't know the author personally. A few words with him would be
interesting. He lit another cigarette and leaned back. Actually the
publisher must have his address. But first he had to do something.

With the burning cigarette in the corner of his mouth he gathered the
heaps of papers lying on the table, went into his house, left it again,
stepped into his car and drove into town.


Nollendorfplatz, that was the Mecca of the gay community. A blue sign
announced the subway-station and he knew he was on the right way. He
drove his car into Fuggerstrasse and stopped at the corner, eying the
pink-washed art noveau building of the hotel "Connection". He hoped
that Philipp was on duty today.

He saw him instantly, talking to a newly-arrived guest, according to his
travel bag. Philipp peered over the shoulder of the business man in his
expensive coat. Much too warm for this season he thought briefly before
he broke into a broad grin. He shoved away his cinnamon hair, seeing
Philipp's response to his grin.

Surprised Philipp raised his eyebrows. "How did you find me?" he said,
handing the key to the guest, wishing him a marvellous stay at the hotel.

   "Hi", Martin said, leaned over to give Philipp a kiss. "Haven't seen
you for a while. What are you up to?"

   "Well... you see. Work to do." He fell silent again.

   "I've waited for you."

   "Yeah."

Martin's grin fell. "You won't come again I suppose?" A deep wrinkle had
built between his eyes. Just the same as Christian's, Philipp thought.
The twins were too similar. A surprising realisation for him, for he had
always considered both were too different to be real twins in mind.
Probably he had been wrong all the time.

   "I'm not sure, Martin", Philipp said quickly. "It's all too recent
still."

   "Well, now you have what you always wanted. Free from his suffocating
presence. What else do you want? I'm free, you are free. It's worked out
easily."

Now Philipp frowned. "You sound like Christian. As soon as I'm free you
want to envelop me in YOUR presence. You've put it right: I'm
suffocating!" He had raised his voice.

Martin quickly took hold of his hand and pressed it. "Shsh. I don't want
to suffocate you. I was just asking if we can see each other again. What
do you think of me? It was an easy question, no need to flip out."

   "Yeah. Sorry."

   "When are you finished? Fancy a dinner with me?"

Philipp glanced at him, then nodded. "Have you finished Tim's novel?" he
asked then.

   "Made in Heaven? How do you know the name of the writer?"

   "I don't know just his name, I know him personally. He's a friend of
Maxim's."

   "Who is Maxim?"

Philipp impatiently rolled his eyes. "Christian's new one. He travelled
with him to Paris."

   "Did he?" Martin examined Philip's reserved face. His mulberry eyes
seemed sad. Martin touched his chin. "It's your town, right?"

   "Right." He sighed. "Well, it's over. There's nothing for me to
mourn. As you said: I'm free."

But not inwardly free from my brother's presence, Martin thought.

Someone called for Philipp's help. "Ok, when shall I pick you up then?"



Pino Bianco was a large and gruff man from the Basilicata in the south
of Italy. He and his lover Gennaro ran the Trattoria a Muntagnola,
served the guests and his mother - Mamma Angela - did her best in the
kitchen, along with the cooks. His white/black-melange shock of hair
was to be seen everywhere, bringing plates and trays, wine and glasses.
In front of Philipp he put a plate of antipasti and for Martin a shrimp
cocktail. Philipp broke off a piece of bread and started to eat. "How do
you like Tim's novel?" he asked.

   "I like it. Have you finished it?"

   "Yes. If you want to meet him, he's doing a reading of it at the
bookshop he's working at. "Prinz Eisenherz"."

   "Ah! Indeed so. Well, that's great, I'll certainly come. It's good to
have interaction with a writer. Though I don't think his novel will fit
into our publisher's programme."

   "I guessed as much. But can't you use your connections with other
publishers? Pink Plot, Bruno's or Quer?"

   "We don't have connections with the gay publishers, honey. All I can
advise is to search for an agent who will offer his manuscript."

   "They'll want money surely."

   "Don't we all? Everyone has to make a living."

   "Well, come and see how he's doing first. He must be nervous as
hell."

Philipp grinned and spiked a black olive from his plate. "Let me have a
taste of your shrimps."

He received a mouthful and started to cough. He had detected Tim sitting
at a table with two older men. "Gosh, there he is!"

   "Who?"

   "Tim!" Philipp waved to Tim's table and was pushed by the man,
sitting next to him. Philipp recognized him as Tim's father Moritz whom
he had met yesterday evening when he visited Tim at home. "It's his
father and his boyfriend," he said in a low voice.

Martin looked surprised. "Odd stories all over", he said smiling. "I
don't suppose you have ever told YOUR parents the odd story of yourself?"

   "What odd story? Being gay isn't odd, is it."

   "Surely not. Sorry for the bad pun." He eyed Tim, a fragile young man
like an elf. He smiled at Philipp and guided his questioning eyes to
Martin. Then they widened for shock. Martin reciprocated the stare, not
knowing the reason.

   "Gosh, he must think you're Christian," he heard Philipp gasp by his
side.

   "What a muddle all this is. Can't we go over and explain?"

And soon Philipp had jumped from his chair and went over to Tim's table.
After a minute's discussion he came back, took the plate and glass and
beckoned Martin to follow him. Martin sighed but did as he was told and
sat apprehensively next to Tobias on the table.

   "Excuse us the intruding", he said politely. "I'm Martin Kramer,
working as translator for the Bluebell publishers. Right now I'm reading
your son's novel."

He smiled at Tim. "Congratulations on a good read, Tim. I'm happy we met
finally. I heard you'll be reading next week at the bookshop?"

Tim nodded. Then he blurted out "Have you been to the "Bar jeder
Vernunft" recently?

Martin and Philipp looked at each other. "No, I haven't. Why do you
ask?"

Philipp quickly made the connection. Tim had asked him yesterday about
Christian's appearance at the bar when he was spying on Maxim. Probably
he thought it could have been Martin.

   "I didn't know Christian had a brother", Tim said, blushing.

   "A twin brother," Philipp said. "It's very hard to tell one from the
other, but when they are standing together you'll see that Martin's hair
colour is different."

Moritz and Tobias didn't understand a word. They continued to look at
each other, shrugging their shoulders.

   "Have you something to celebrate?" Philipp asked.

   "Yes. Tobias' birthday. And it's also our anniversary", Moritz said.

   "Oh. Happy Birthday," Philipp and Martin said in unison and everybody
burst out laughing. "Well," Martin looked at Philipp. "I don't think we
should disturb the celebration party then, don't you think. Come."

   "Wait." Tobias looked around. "Why don't you stay. Tell us about your
work. I'm sure Tim would like to hear more about it, am I right?" He
winked at Tim and saw him nodding.

While the evening continued with lots of chattering and toasting, Tim's
mind reeled. So there were two of them... Christian and Martin. He was
sure that Maxim didn't have any idea. And it seemed Philipp was pretty
familiar with Martin. He watched him for a while until he came to the
conclusion that Philipp's reluctance and rejection was because he was
Martin's lover. Again he felt a sharp sting in his stomach, and lost
his appetite. Being twice rejected for the same looking man... he knew
he stood no chance against these good-looking, blond studs.

Martin promised to do what he could for Tim's novel and asked if he had
written more of them which Tim denied. "Not yet," he said quietly. The
next story he would write would be a tragedy, he thought to himself. The
tragedy of a man always falling for the wrong person.


Philipp jumped into Martin's car. It was about midnight and the
Trattoria was closing. He yawned.

   "Tired?" Martin asked.

   "Depends."

   "Depends on what?"

Philipp shook his head. "Old saying, nothing more. Drive me home,
please."

   "Home? It's just fifty meters from here when you mean your hotel
room. What are you doing then in my car?"

Philipp saw Martin grinning amused. "Oh well, that's right. I'm still
not used to living where I work."

   "So, what now? Of course you can stay overnight with me." He looked
expectantly. His diamond eyes sparkled in the dim light of the lanterns.
Male pairs passed by, holding hands, embracing each other's waists,
standing and kissing. From the Connection Bar sounded music when the
door was opened. Deep basses and flickering blue lights.

Martin bent over to Philipp and started to kiss his neck. "Say yes."




Philipp lay there with open eyes and smelled the scent of early roses
coming through the balcony door which was slightly ajar. Martin lay at
his side with closed eyes, breathing inaudibly, but he knew that he was
awake too.

   "Martin?" he whispered. "Do you think Tim will tell Maxim about us? I
mean, Christian will put one and one together then. He will know that I
have cheated on him with you."

Martin rose his head. "And then? What will happen? He always thought
you're going astray with other men. Why should it bother him now."

   "Yes, that's right. But..."

   "But what?"

   "He has never told me about his lovers before. While he knew
everything about me, I never learnt his story. Nothing of his life
before he had met me. Don't you think it's odd? He must have had lovers
before."

   "Sure he had." Martin was suddenly very awake. He opened his eyes and
looked at Philipp, sitting in the bed, his arms wrapped around his knees.

   "You must know them too", Philipp insisted.

   "If I'd tell you'd pass it on to Maxim, no doubt."

Philipp turned his head to look at him. "So what? Is it such a secret?"

   "Then why do you want to know?"

   "Well, Tim had made insinuations. He thinks Christian's behaving
strangely.

You remember his remark about the bar? He thought he saw Christian there
when Tim and Maxim had been on an invitation to a performance but
Christian wasn't invited too. But he popped up and looked at what was
going on. If Maxim would have a go with Tim for instance. Or whatever.
So, I want to know what's the right version of it."

Martin said nothing for a while. Should he betray his brother, telling
all about his dirty secrets? About Gregor? Christian had been in medical
treatment for a year afterwards. But he knew deep down inside, that for
jealousy there wasn't any real treatment. It's an illness of the soul,
not curable like the sexual urge to rape and kill.

   "Christian threatened me the day I went away," he heard Philipp
saying very low. "I want to spare Maxim the same thing."

   "What did he do?" Martin was suddenly alert. He sat upright and faced
Philipp.

   "Well, I came from Tim and he had given me some of his clothes and a
bag full of books to read. Christian was drunk and hit me."

   "He was drunk?"

Philipp didn't answer, so Martin forced his chin up to look at him.
"What else?"

   "He tried to rape me. Show me where I belong to. To him."

Martin was nonplussed. Should he believe this? Or was it an exaggeration
of a stressed young man, wanting to get free from his partner? But why
should Philipp invent such a story.

Martin swung his legs out of the bed and searched for his cigarettes. He
lit one and breathed out grey smoke. He needed to talk to his brother.
Soon. As soon as he returned from Paris. But what to tell without
revealing the origin of his information? He massaged his forehead. Then
he felt Philipp's hands on his shoulders. "Don't tell Christian, swear.
Perhaps he was just too drunk."

   "In vino veritas", Martin muttered.

   "He can be so tender," Philipp said close to his ear. "I don't know
why he has to turn into such a monster sometimes. He isn't in any need
of it."

   "No, he isn't." Martin took a deep breath. "Our mother was the same.
Jealous to no end. So jealous that she even hit father."

   "What did she do?" Philipp gasped.

   "Yeah, she attacked him with a knife one evening when he came home
too late from work. She was drunk too."

   "Jesus Christ." Within Philipp shrilled all possible alarm bells. He
imagined Maxim lying on the ground, blood seeping out from several
wounds and Christian standing upright, watching his prey. "What a
horror," he said. "I must tell Maxim."

   "No!", Martin flicked around. "You won't say anything. I'll speak to
him when he returns. No, don't fear, I won't tell about you. But, listen
Philipp, if you tell Maxim what you heard right now, Christian and he
will never have a chance, you understand? What he did to you shouldn't
mean an inevitable repetition. I know that Christian has himself under
control normally. He went under therapy. Perhaps Maxim is a big chance
for him to find confidence in someone he loves. What do you think about
Maxim? Is he worth it? Is he faithful? Is he worth Christian's love?"

Philipp blinked. "Well, I don't know him that well. Ask Tim, he knows
him better."

Martin shook his head. "You won't pass this on to Tim, understand? No
need to make it more complicated than it is already." He took a nervous
draw from his cigarette. "What did you do when he tried to hurt you?"

   "I punched him. He was peaceful again from one moment to the next.
Begged me on his knees to stay." Philipp's cheeks reddened. How
embarrassing for both of them.

Martin nodded. "No wonder you're fed up with me. I have many too many
similarities to my brother than is good for you."

   "Outwardly, yes. But you're different." Although Philipp had to admit
that Martin's similarity to Christian was disturbing. He couldn't get
free from him as long he was fucking with his twin. And hadn't he
promised himself to stay alone for a while? And what was he doing right
now? Going with Martin and renewing their relationship. He was really a
sod.

   "Sleep now", Martin said. But Philipp didn't close an eye that night.