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- Story Listed as: Fiction For Adults
- Theme: Mystery
- Subject: Art / Music / Theater / Dance
- Published: 10/10/2013
A CASE OF COMPOSITION - PART 2 of 2: Last Part
Born 1969, M, from Herten, NRW, Germany.jpg)
No, Gerald and Jolesh were already in Switzerland. Mishka had a mansion there and the C.I.A. had already followed them close at hand. Mishka had himself disappeared to one of his many huts in the Swiss mountains in order to try to track the lost art in the web.
The plane soon landed on a big airport and a limousine picked Rosseau and his entourage up. They drove throughout exquisite rural areas and all the time Olinka flirted with William. He was confused by all this, but felt that these people really wanted to save Gerald. The sex had been stupendous yesterday and perhaps it was destiny that they had met.
Rosseau’s manor was huge. The gateway gave way to a large forest split apart by a road that lead to huge vineyards. Ultimately, the 17th century mansion could be seen on the pinnacle of a rise overlooking the grounds. There were stables in close proximity and horses running around behind a fence under trained riders.
The castle itself was huge. The vestibule had chequered floor with chandeliers hanging over white marble staircases and portraits of what obviously were ancestors.
Rosseau took Olinka and William to their rooms, that lay next to one another, while a servant brought in the luggage. A butler would come in two hours and bring them to the dining room for supper. After that, Rosseau had something to show William.
The rooms of his suite were exquisite. It had a complete new set of towels in the bathroom and a TV with DVD functions and a small selection of films. The furnishings were a nice blend of blue rococo and red baroque. The paintings were mostly Rubens and Van Eyck reproductions, judging by what he could differentiate. These art guys must’ve had a liking for chubby lasses, because Rubens’ second wife Helene Fourment as well as Boucher’s Venus were everywhere flaunting their stunning billibongs.
William was unpacking his bags when again a knock came on the door of his small suite in the mansion. It was Olinka and she asked him if she could come in. He said yes and she came in and sat down.
Very quickly, she explained that she really hadn’t wanted to fool him and that she was no hooker. She actually had been told to seduce him, but not as a prostitute but as someone needing to save someone’s life. She had known Rosseau when she had worked in a gallery with Mishka and Rosseau had also saved Olinka when Mishka wanted to kill her. She had fled Russia as a young girl. Now she was working with Rosseau exceedingly and managing his financial affairs, trying to bring the mafia to its’ knees.
They sat there for quite a while just talking about how Mishka had become greedy and how Rosseau now cared more about catching him than taking care of his vineyards. After all, he had many people taking care of his company. There was only one person competent enough to stop Mishka. Rosseau himself.
The butler came and led them into a large room with wooden panels. A very hefty oak table was readily available and a renaissance chandelier with candle resembling illumination bulbs hung from the ceiling. Behind the banquet table was a group of brown leather couches between which a glass counter stood. There were art books on the table and a stone terrace with the balcony door open to a gorgeous view of the Provence.
The table was set with four sets of cutlery. Fish soup, Escargot, Filet Mignon with Sauce du Vin and Croquettes and Creme Brulée. To this he served his own red wine, which he had to say was the best he had ever tasted.
Rosseau arrived and ordered a gang of chamber musicians to arrive. All through the supper the played Schubert, Brahms and Beethoven. The last song was dedicated to William and was entitled “Somewhere where the thistles don’t grow” and was from his first show with Gerald, a fairytale named: “Been There, Done That”.
After supper, Henri Rosseau poured them all a Remy Martin on ice and led them to a large hall down the corridor. The red carpet and the large hallway paved the way. It was a dance hall used only in rare occasions, but the amazing paintings here was a collection to envy. There were originals by Tizian here and even a Picasso or two. An original Caspar David Friedrich and a Boucher. The rest were reproductions.
The hall looked like one of the dance halls from 19th century Vienna. Five chandeliers lining a thirty meter room with parquet floor and six balcony doors with golden curtains.
In between every door was a painting and it all pointed one direction: toward the stage where apparently many chamber quartets and waltz orchestras and jazz bands had played to groups of flirting aristocrats.
When the assembled arrived in front of a facsimile of Alexander Roslin’s The Lady with the Veil, Rosseau pointed out that this painter had been the royal artiste of sorts during the political turbulence in the kingdom of Sweden. The kings of Sweden had modest supremacy during the 18th century before Gustav III took over the country in a coup de tat. The two parties the hats and the caps fought over the power until Gustav took over much like Friedrich the Great did in Germany. The royalty before Gustav came had time to spare and Roslin was given grand access to paint to his heart’s delight.
This painting in question was of his significant other Marianne and really was his best work of art. It had been modelled after the Mona Lisa and other paintings of its’ kind. The original hung in Stockholm.
This reproduction, however. was also special. It had diamonds in the frame and embedded into the painting itself were diamonds, as well. This replica had been the start of the whole illicit subject matter with reproductions in the first place. Rosseau, Olinka and Mishka had been colleagues of sorts in the gallery in Montmartre in Paris a decade ago. Rosseau at that time had a big business in Paris, before his company began concentrating further on the Riviera. He cruised the galleries in hunt of high quality paintings that he could buy and finally found this posh gallery called Boucher et tres ami a few kilometres away from Sacre Coeur.
Mishka and Olinka at the time were lovers, but she was being abused by him. Rosseau saw this and tried persuading her to come to his mansion and work for him as an art consultant.
Rosseau started sponsoring the gallery heavily and soon the gallery was pretty much dependant on Rosseau’s money. So much that Rosseau one day could purchase the gallery from Mishka, who at that time actually had discovered the allure of the art mafia and the commencing trade with reproductions at the black market.
One day, when Mishka had become just another employee, he was taking a walk with Olinka and Rosseau. In an art gallery near Foquet’s at the Champs Elysée Mishka saw this reproduction that now hung on Rosseau’s wall.
The curious thing about it was that a rich man had hired an artist to paint it for his brother. He had fallen in love with Marianne and wanted to make her more valuable just on order to make the painting more eye-catching. So he had diamonds built into the frame and two more diamonds stuck into Marianne’s fan and suddenly the painting became worth a million francs.
Mishka vowed to acquire it. Rosseau heard that Mishka kept contacting every underground elite chief he knew in order to steal away the thing. By that time, the three former colleagues had split up and had nothing to do with one another.
Rosseau bought the reproduction for its’ valued million francs. Mishka never found out who had bought the painting, but swore to kill the man who did. He started the entire commerce in smuggling art and creating priceless reproductions because of this painting and now this piece was on Rosseau’s wall
Rosseau knew that he would have to confront Mishka if he told him that Marianne was in his possession. The time had come to bring him down. The way to crush The Velvet Rose as well as get back Gerald was actually to fool Mishka into revealing himself. He would send anyone to get art anywhere, but for this painting he would come himself.
All that Rosseau had to do was to stage an auction. A rich man was selling his art. The mansion along with all the things would be sold to the highest bidder. That was the story.
Rosseau explained that he had a whole cellar full of old art and an extra mansion a few miles from here that could be used as a mock auction site. The individuals to cooperate as buyers and sellers were ready. The contacts with the C.I.A., the Interpol and the local police were taken. Jefferson was contacted. The premiere date for An Orchid Washed Ashore was not set, so there was no stopping them from staging the sale.
Meanwhile, Gerald was travelling the globe tied up in a limousine. Mishka was always by his side in order to retrieve the lost art. Gerald and Mishka were in Sydney of all places when one of his operatives told him that a posh art magazine had announced a complete last auction of a mansion in the Provence. Among the things being sold was a famous diamond studded reproduction of Alexander Roslin’s The Lady with the Veil.
Mishka left Sydney so rapidly that Gerald more or less was left behind. Back in the Provence, Olinka and William were turning into an enthusiastically copulating, conversing, gourmand love couple. They enjoyed the good life at the mansion to such a degree that the servants really had more work with them than with Master Rosseau. The cold October weather didn’t really invite to long picnics, so they spent most of their time together inside the stately home. They gained weight, although their extra flesh was sweated out during their amorous extravaganzas of physical activity. Long breakfasts, late suppers, lengthy stays in Rosseau’s extensive library leafing through art and theatre books, cinematographically terrific experiences in the mansion’s digital cinema, painting pictures in the basement art studio and making love in front of the fireplace on a bear pelt. These were the scenes from a time of happiness at Chateau Rosseau.
The whole thing was heavenly and like a panorama from a Bond picture. William found himself so much in lust and in love with this Russian bimbo that he woke up with an erection and went to sleep with one and in between found himself deep into philosophical discussion. It seemed to him he was at a ski resort for philosophers.
Then the date came when the auction was to take place. Mishka, who officially was a respected St. Petersburg gallery owner, had already announced that he was coming. The C.I.A. and the Interpol had been notified and were positioning out operatives along the sidelines.
Now, the Chief of Police Reinforcement at the Central Park Precinct in New York had been notified. His close cooperation with the secret agents had led him to visit the auction himself and knew that Gerald had a real chance of being saved.
What the agents wanted was to have real proof of Mishka’s purchase of the painting. That would maybe lead them to a vault of some kind and maybe even receive proof that these paintings actually went to other buyers in exchange for drugs.
These diamond studded reproductions were a real gamble for the international drug cartels. Their South American bosses bought the duplicates and gave away kilos of drugs for them. That meant that Mishka could make tons of money when he bought a painting. The drugs he got for them was something he could twofold at the black markets. If the secret service could prove his participation in international crime, they could bring down an entire operation.
William, Olinka and Rosseau would be protected. As of yet, The Velvet Rose knew nothing of their cooperation.
William had grown a beard and changed his hair colour. He wore fake glasses and came with a cane and cowboy hat to the auction. Olinka posed as his wife Olina Mayakowskaya–Hunt. William was the eccentric oil millionaire Roy James Hunt.
Sixty percent of the guests were posing as buyers. The rest really were interested in the art and there were plenty of things that could be considered valuable. Mishka did come and he stuck around until the very end of the auction. The agents that were there analyzed the team that Mishka had brought and looked into their CPU archives in order to situate the operatives. They did unearth four of the seven. All four men were suspects of criminal action, one of them had a criminal documentation and the rest were not proven guilty.
Where Gerald was no one knew. Mishka was suspected of having Gerald with all along just to track down all the lost art that Gerald had sold, but no one knew. The Interpol had all the cars traced and checked, but Gerald was obviously not there. Maybe he had been left in Australia, maybe in Russia or Switzerland.
Mishka did obtain the reproduction of Alexander Roslin’s The Lady with the Veil. William was able to push up the price to an amazing two million francs. Mishka finally bought it for slightly more. Now the agents had to work in tracing the art.
Important was not to disturb them until they traded the painting for cocaine. The cars drove all the way to the city of Nice unseen, where one of Mishka’s assistants met with a someone in an alleyway and gave him money.
The C.I.A. filmed the unidentified gentleman coming out with Gerald and handing him over to Mishka’s operate. Together they drove off to the subsequent aerodrome and flew over to Bogota by way of three flights.
It was a elongated flight and Olinka was very tired. She had the flu and William spent most of the time taking care of her. Rosseau sat with Jefferson and some secret service agents trying to decipher what was going to happen subsequently.
The events after the landing turned out to transpire more adventurously. The entire entourage had actually managed to follow the mafia all the way to the exchange of the painting for drugs, when Mishka himself saw the flashing of a camera lens behind foliage.
A battle began between the Interpol, the C.I.A., the drug cartel and the Russians that killed twenty people. Olinka, Gerald, Jefferson, William and Rosseau escaped into the Columbian jungle aided by guerrillas that were assisting the agents.
In the heart of the tropical forest they discovered that Mishka’s men were persuing them. The only link to success were the films that the C.I.A. had filmed and already had sent via internet to the office in Washington. Unfortunately, the mafia caught up with them before the C.I.A. did and seized Olinka and promised to kill her if the films were not returned.
A helicopter flew in overhead and dropped agents down into the forest that killed Mishka and left Olinka battered and set for the hospice. Mishka was gone, but his assistants had escaped and so it wasn’t clear if the operation would continue at all.
It took a while for William and Gerald to reacquaint. The Velvet Rose was crushed, Rosseau was happy and the Musical Stars flew back to New York. Gerald was still quiet and could not digest what had occurred. He spoke at length with William about the matter, but to no avail. Basically, he blamed himself for being so gullible.
To protect William and Gerald, the whole kidnapping incident was treated with the highest secrecy. There was some small interest by a few people to make it public, but the agents knew that if they did William and Gerald would be gone again.
Olinka was back in the Provence and missed William, but knew that her life was in France. She also felt safer with Henri Rosseau.
Marilyn was now rehearsing the finished score for the role of Jennifer and a young black tenor named James Charlton Douglas was hired. Under Cameron’s supervision, the Minskoff theatre was booked for April 4th the following year and auditions were being held. The young soprano Kristin Chenoweth was hired to sing Jennifer’s rival Eleonore and her coloratura singing would match Marilyn’s belting.
Something astonishing happened that spring. Tim Schneider started getting bored with Gerald and Gerald started getting bored with Tim. Some Hollywood manager had seen him perform and in point of fact thought there was potential there. Tim was assigned to dance in An Orchid Washed Ashore and was already in training. However, it was palpable that Gerald had transformed. He had been captured by an intercontinental fanatic and dragged across the world tied up in a car. He carried a secret within him that made him much more reserved than before.
William and Gerald had really become a great deal closer since finding each other again somewhere in the Columbian wilderness. Tim had been very pleased to take in Gerald into his arms yet again, but it became clear that Gerald wasn’t the same man as before and neither was William.
What brought the team together was that no one else knew what they had gone through. The C.I.A. had told everyone involved to keep absolutely calm about it. No words to the journalists. They could not converse about The Velvet Rose or the art mafia or the South American drug conspiracy at all or someone would find out and lock them up. The operation was closed, but people had escaped. Not everyone had fallen into the clutches of the secret service. The cheese had holes.
Gerald told Tim about his entire experience, but the crack was widening and the quarrels were worse and more often in number.
An Orchid Washed Ashore opened that spring to full houses and the press were excited. They called the musical “The Showboat of the 21st Century” and “The old musical reborn”. It made Todd and Brown world eminent over night. Not only on Broadway were their tunes sung, but also in Stockholm and Johannesburg.
The Tony Awards were coming up and the duo were nominated in four of the categories. Tim was spending more and more time in Hollywood, working on choreographies. He had obviously met someone and was not really keen on coming back. His understudy did most of the shows, so when he did come back to do a show the theatre was not really interested in keeping him for another season.
That was okay by him.
In September of that year he broke up with Gerald and moved to Hollywood to another mansion, that of gay single film star Josh Sanders on Venice Beach.
It really didn’t take long for William to change. He had been so disappointed. Olinka had received his mail address and his phone number. Nothing arrived. No trace of their love remained.
Gerald’s anniversary bash was held in his penthouse that October 18th. His lawyer George Markstein arrived, Police Chief Thomas Jefferson joined in, Marilyn Jones had brought her new boyfriend and co-star James Charlton Douglas along, Todd and Brown’s agent Marvin Klein came with his dog, Cameron MacIntosh came alone, Michael J. Fox brought his entire family and Shirley MacLaine happened to be in town so she brought her brother Warren. It was an evening of stars and stripes, goulash and hors d’ouvres.
Gerald had cooked tomato soup and his very spicy Beef Stroganoff with Gratin de Pommes gave the prominence flatulent giddiness. French wine and Irish whiskey was poured into dozens of glasses and the CD-player ended up very hot at the end of the day.
When Mike Fox went home to join his wife and kids, who had left early, everyone talked about how well his dopamine was working and that he hadn’t had a Parkinson’s attack all night. Warren announced he was flying to Paris in the morning and Shirley was having brunch with an editor at ten.
William and Gerald were talking by themselves after Markstein and Jefferson left. Marilyn and James were still in the corner kissing. Soon they left for their Jaguar, throwing the men a soft good bye before hitting the hay.
So, there they were. The former womanizer and the former choleric perfectionist. William thought about Marilyn and how it really hadn’t mattered a bit that he’d seen her kiss James. In fact, there was not even that familiar sting in his crotch.
Was William Todd turning ...
Gerald turned to William and said in his upper-class, British voice: “You mind Marilyn fondling Jim?”
William shook his head. “No, I don’t. I’m surprised to say that, but I don’t.”
Gerald sighed. “Bill, I haven’t told you this, but I am eternally grateful for what you have done for me. I would probably not be here if it weren’t for you.”
William laughed softly. “No problem.”
Gerald giggled. “You must’ve suffered.”
“You were the one stolen away to join the demons of hell,” William added. “Not me.”
There was a lengthy silence. They looked at one another for a long time and knew that they were feeling the same thing. William had known this man for some twenty odd years, ever since he gave him the first opportunity to write lyrics for his Off-Broadway songs and hold lectures at the University about writing books.
Gerald had never believed it, but he was in love with someone he had despised during many times of his life.
Their lips met to the sounds of Glenn Miller’s Moonlight Serenade. The CD had been playing over and over for the last hour or so. Automatically, the couple started dancing in the kitchen to the soft sounds of an ancient big band. Without opening his eyes and maybe not daring to, for fear of facing himself, William said:
“You know what, Gerald? I don’t where my lucky pen is and I don’t care.”
Gerald laughed and kissed William again.
The fuzz was driving back and forth on Park Avenue that evening, searching some shoplifter, their loud sirens flashing. At King Cole’s Bar some rich drunk was leaning against the posh table drinking gorgeous Irish whiskey and crying.
In Greenwich Village, Vladimir Fomenko was talking to professional killer Sergei Karpoff on the phone and inviting him to an art exhibition next month. Marilyn was making love with Jim. In the Provence, France Olinka was embracing Rosseau. On Times Square a homeless man named Robert met his old girlfriend again for the first time in six years, who turned his life around and giving him a home.
At a restaurant near Central Park two laboratory assistants, a new couple named Jack and Carrie, were discussing cloning and kissing their way through a bottle of wine to the sound of Billy Joel’s “Scenes from an Italian Restaurant”.
There were auditions and singing and laughter and tears and love and sex and marriage and children and theatre.
In a very expensive penthouse on Park Avenue there was another sanctuary as well. There was music and wine and romance. A new couple, that had known each other for twenty years, danced to a soft melody and the guy that had thought he was straight didn’t care what the press would be saying the next day.
He was in love and that was all that mattered.
So the story ends where it began: with a lucky pen and one man’s resistance of letting go. William Todd had travelled all the way to the Columbia in order to find that you don’t have to go far in order to find peace. A very bright future can be found right at home.
The next day, Gerald and William celebrated their newly found happiness at King Cole’s Bar at 2 East 55th Street in New York City at the St. Regis. Oh, yes. William brought his notepad along.
After all, Liz Smith needed something to write about in her column.
A CASE OF COMPOSITION - PART 2 of 2: Last Part(Charles E.J. Moulton)
No, Gerald and Jolesh were already in Switzerland. Mishka had a mansion there and the C.I.A. had already followed them close at hand. Mishka had himself disappeared to one of his many huts in the Swiss mountains in order to try to track the lost art in the web.
The plane soon landed on a big airport and a limousine picked Rosseau and his entourage up. They drove throughout exquisite rural areas and all the time Olinka flirted with William. He was confused by all this, but felt that these people really wanted to save Gerald. The sex had been stupendous yesterday and perhaps it was destiny that they had met.
Rosseau’s manor was huge. The gateway gave way to a large forest split apart by a road that lead to huge vineyards. Ultimately, the 17th century mansion could be seen on the pinnacle of a rise overlooking the grounds. There were stables in close proximity and horses running around behind a fence under trained riders.
The castle itself was huge. The vestibule had chequered floor with chandeliers hanging over white marble staircases and portraits of what obviously were ancestors.
Rosseau took Olinka and William to their rooms, that lay next to one another, while a servant brought in the luggage. A butler would come in two hours and bring them to the dining room for supper. After that, Rosseau had something to show William.
The rooms of his suite were exquisite. It had a complete new set of towels in the bathroom and a TV with DVD functions and a small selection of films. The furnishings were a nice blend of blue rococo and red baroque. The paintings were mostly Rubens and Van Eyck reproductions, judging by what he could differentiate. These art guys must’ve had a liking for chubby lasses, because Rubens’ second wife Helene Fourment as well as Boucher’s Venus were everywhere flaunting their stunning billibongs.
William was unpacking his bags when again a knock came on the door of his small suite in the mansion. It was Olinka and she asked him if she could come in. He said yes and she came in and sat down.
Very quickly, she explained that she really hadn’t wanted to fool him and that she was no hooker. She actually had been told to seduce him, but not as a prostitute but as someone needing to save someone’s life. She had known Rosseau when she had worked in a gallery with Mishka and Rosseau had also saved Olinka when Mishka wanted to kill her. She had fled Russia as a young girl. Now she was working with Rosseau exceedingly and managing his financial affairs, trying to bring the mafia to its’ knees.
They sat there for quite a while just talking about how Mishka had become greedy and how Rosseau now cared more about catching him than taking care of his vineyards. After all, he had many people taking care of his company. There was only one person competent enough to stop Mishka. Rosseau himself.
The butler came and led them into a large room with wooden panels. A very hefty oak table was readily available and a renaissance chandelier with candle resembling illumination bulbs hung from the ceiling. Behind the banquet table was a group of brown leather couches between which a glass counter stood. There were art books on the table and a stone terrace with the balcony door open to a gorgeous view of the Provence.
The table was set with four sets of cutlery. Fish soup, Escargot, Filet Mignon with Sauce du Vin and Croquettes and Creme Brulée. To this he served his own red wine, which he had to say was the best he had ever tasted.
Rosseau arrived and ordered a gang of chamber musicians to arrive. All through the supper the played Schubert, Brahms and Beethoven. The last song was dedicated to William and was entitled “Somewhere where the thistles don’t grow” and was from his first show with Gerald, a fairytale named: “Been There, Done That”.
After supper, Henri Rosseau poured them all a Remy Martin on ice and led them to a large hall down the corridor. The red carpet and the large hallway paved the way. It was a dance hall used only in rare occasions, but the amazing paintings here was a collection to envy. There were originals by Tizian here and even a Picasso or two. An original Caspar David Friedrich and a Boucher. The rest were reproductions.
The hall looked like one of the dance halls from 19th century Vienna. Five chandeliers lining a thirty meter room with parquet floor and six balcony doors with golden curtains.
In between every door was a painting and it all pointed one direction: toward the stage where apparently many chamber quartets and waltz orchestras and jazz bands had played to groups of flirting aristocrats.
When the assembled arrived in front of a facsimile of Alexander Roslin’s The Lady with the Veil, Rosseau pointed out that this painter had been the royal artiste of sorts during the political turbulence in the kingdom of Sweden. The kings of Sweden had modest supremacy during the 18th century before Gustav III took over the country in a coup de tat. The two parties the hats and the caps fought over the power until Gustav took over much like Friedrich the Great did in Germany. The royalty before Gustav came had time to spare and Roslin was given grand access to paint to his heart’s delight.
This painting in question was of his significant other Marianne and really was his best work of art. It had been modelled after the Mona Lisa and other paintings of its’ kind. The original hung in Stockholm.
This reproduction, however. was also special. It had diamonds in the frame and embedded into the painting itself were diamonds, as well. This replica had been the start of the whole illicit subject matter with reproductions in the first place. Rosseau, Olinka and Mishka had been colleagues of sorts in the gallery in Montmartre in Paris a decade ago. Rosseau at that time had a big business in Paris, before his company began concentrating further on the Riviera. He cruised the galleries in hunt of high quality paintings that he could buy and finally found this posh gallery called Boucher et tres ami a few kilometres away from Sacre Coeur.
Mishka and Olinka at the time were lovers, but she was being abused by him. Rosseau saw this and tried persuading her to come to his mansion and work for him as an art consultant.
Rosseau started sponsoring the gallery heavily and soon the gallery was pretty much dependant on Rosseau’s money. So much that Rosseau one day could purchase the gallery from Mishka, who at that time actually had discovered the allure of the art mafia and the commencing trade with reproductions at the black market.
One day, when Mishka had become just another employee, he was taking a walk with Olinka and Rosseau. In an art gallery near Foquet’s at the Champs Elysée Mishka saw this reproduction that now hung on Rosseau’s wall.
The curious thing about it was that a rich man had hired an artist to paint it for his brother. He had fallen in love with Marianne and wanted to make her more valuable just on order to make the painting more eye-catching. So he had diamonds built into the frame and two more diamonds stuck into Marianne’s fan and suddenly the painting became worth a million francs.
Mishka vowed to acquire it. Rosseau heard that Mishka kept contacting every underground elite chief he knew in order to steal away the thing. By that time, the three former colleagues had split up and had nothing to do with one another.
Rosseau bought the reproduction for its’ valued million francs. Mishka never found out who had bought the painting, but swore to kill the man who did. He started the entire commerce in smuggling art and creating priceless reproductions because of this painting and now this piece was on Rosseau’s wall
Rosseau knew that he would have to confront Mishka if he told him that Marianne was in his possession. The time had come to bring him down. The way to crush The Velvet Rose as well as get back Gerald was actually to fool Mishka into revealing himself. He would send anyone to get art anywhere, but for this painting he would come himself.
All that Rosseau had to do was to stage an auction. A rich man was selling his art. The mansion along with all the things would be sold to the highest bidder. That was the story.
Rosseau explained that he had a whole cellar full of old art and an extra mansion a few miles from here that could be used as a mock auction site. The individuals to cooperate as buyers and sellers were ready. The contacts with the C.I.A., the Interpol and the local police were taken. Jefferson was contacted. The premiere date for An Orchid Washed Ashore was not set, so there was no stopping them from staging the sale.
Meanwhile, Gerald was travelling the globe tied up in a limousine. Mishka was always by his side in order to retrieve the lost art. Gerald and Mishka were in Sydney of all places when one of his operatives told him that a posh art magazine had announced a complete last auction of a mansion in the Provence. Among the things being sold was a famous diamond studded reproduction of Alexander Roslin’s The Lady with the Veil.
Mishka left Sydney so rapidly that Gerald more or less was left behind. Back in the Provence, Olinka and William were turning into an enthusiastically copulating, conversing, gourmand love couple. They enjoyed the good life at the mansion to such a degree that the servants really had more work with them than with Master Rosseau. The cold October weather didn’t really invite to long picnics, so they spent most of their time together inside the stately home. They gained weight, although their extra flesh was sweated out during their amorous extravaganzas of physical activity. Long breakfasts, late suppers, lengthy stays in Rosseau’s extensive library leafing through art and theatre books, cinematographically terrific experiences in the mansion’s digital cinema, painting pictures in the basement art studio and making love in front of the fireplace on a bear pelt. These were the scenes from a time of happiness at Chateau Rosseau.
The whole thing was heavenly and like a panorama from a Bond picture. William found himself so much in lust and in love with this Russian bimbo that he woke up with an erection and went to sleep with one and in between found himself deep into philosophical discussion. It seemed to him he was at a ski resort for philosophers.
Then the date came when the auction was to take place. Mishka, who officially was a respected St. Petersburg gallery owner, had already announced that he was coming. The C.I.A. and the Interpol had been notified and were positioning out operatives along the sidelines.
Now, the Chief of Police Reinforcement at the Central Park Precinct in New York had been notified. His close cooperation with the secret agents had led him to visit the auction himself and knew that Gerald had a real chance of being saved.
What the agents wanted was to have real proof of Mishka’s purchase of the painting. That would maybe lead them to a vault of some kind and maybe even receive proof that these paintings actually went to other buyers in exchange for drugs.
These diamond studded reproductions were a real gamble for the international drug cartels. Their South American bosses bought the duplicates and gave away kilos of drugs for them. That meant that Mishka could make tons of money when he bought a painting. The drugs he got for them was something he could twofold at the black markets. If the secret service could prove his participation in international crime, they could bring down an entire operation.
William, Olinka and Rosseau would be protected. As of yet, The Velvet Rose knew nothing of their cooperation.
William had grown a beard and changed his hair colour. He wore fake glasses and came with a cane and cowboy hat to the auction. Olinka posed as his wife Olina Mayakowskaya–Hunt. William was the eccentric oil millionaire Roy James Hunt.
Sixty percent of the guests were posing as buyers. The rest really were interested in the art and there were plenty of things that could be considered valuable. Mishka did come and he stuck around until the very end of the auction. The agents that were there analyzed the team that Mishka had brought and looked into their CPU archives in order to situate the operatives. They did unearth four of the seven. All four men were suspects of criminal action, one of them had a criminal documentation and the rest were not proven guilty.
Where Gerald was no one knew. Mishka was suspected of having Gerald with all along just to track down all the lost art that Gerald had sold, but no one knew. The Interpol had all the cars traced and checked, but Gerald was obviously not there. Maybe he had been left in Australia, maybe in Russia or Switzerland.
Mishka did obtain the reproduction of Alexander Roslin’s The Lady with the Veil. William was able to push up the price to an amazing two million francs. Mishka finally bought it for slightly more. Now the agents had to work in tracing the art.
Important was not to disturb them until they traded the painting for cocaine. The cars drove all the way to the city of Nice unseen, where one of Mishka’s assistants met with a someone in an alleyway and gave him money.
The C.I.A. filmed the unidentified gentleman coming out with Gerald and handing him over to Mishka’s operate. Together they drove off to the subsequent aerodrome and flew over to Bogota by way of three flights.
It was a elongated flight and Olinka was very tired. She had the flu and William spent most of the time taking care of her. Rosseau sat with Jefferson and some secret service agents trying to decipher what was going to happen subsequently.
The events after the landing turned out to transpire more adventurously. The entire entourage had actually managed to follow the mafia all the way to the exchange of the painting for drugs, when Mishka himself saw the flashing of a camera lens behind foliage.
A battle began between the Interpol, the C.I.A., the drug cartel and the Russians that killed twenty people. Olinka, Gerald, Jefferson, William and Rosseau escaped into the Columbian jungle aided by guerrillas that were assisting the agents.
In the heart of the tropical forest they discovered that Mishka’s men were persuing them. The only link to success were the films that the C.I.A. had filmed and already had sent via internet to the office in Washington. Unfortunately, the mafia caught up with them before the C.I.A. did and seized Olinka and promised to kill her if the films were not returned.
A helicopter flew in overhead and dropped agents down into the forest that killed Mishka and left Olinka battered and set for the hospice. Mishka was gone, but his assistants had escaped and so it wasn’t clear if the operation would continue at all.
It took a while for William and Gerald to reacquaint. The Velvet Rose was crushed, Rosseau was happy and the Musical Stars flew back to New York. Gerald was still quiet and could not digest what had occurred. He spoke at length with William about the matter, but to no avail. Basically, he blamed himself for being so gullible.
To protect William and Gerald, the whole kidnapping incident was treated with the highest secrecy. There was some small interest by a few people to make it public, but the agents knew that if they did William and Gerald would be gone again.
Olinka was back in the Provence and missed William, but knew that her life was in France. She also felt safer with Henri Rosseau.
Marilyn was now rehearsing the finished score for the role of Jennifer and a young black tenor named James Charlton Douglas was hired. Under Cameron’s supervision, the Minskoff theatre was booked for April 4th the following year and auditions were being held. The young soprano Kristin Chenoweth was hired to sing Jennifer’s rival Eleonore and her coloratura singing would match Marilyn’s belting.
Something astonishing happened that spring. Tim Schneider started getting bored with Gerald and Gerald started getting bored with Tim. Some Hollywood manager had seen him perform and in point of fact thought there was potential there. Tim was assigned to dance in An Orchid Washed Ashore and was already in training. However, it was palpable that Gerald had transformed. He had been captured by an intercontinental fanatic and dragged across the world tied up in a car. He carried a secret within him that made him much more reserved than before.
William and Gerald had really become a great deal closer since finding each other again somewhere in the Columbian wilderness. Tim had been very pleased to take in Gerald into his arms yet again, but it became clear that Gerald wasn’t the same man as before and neither was William.
What brought the team together was that no one else knew what they had gone through. The C.I.A. had told everyone involved to keep absolutely calm about it. No words to the journalists. They could not converse about The Velvet Rose or the art mafia or the South American drug conspiracy at all or someone would find out and lock them up. The operation was closed, but people had escaped. Not everyone had fallen into the clutches of the secret service. The cheese had holes.
Gerald told Tim about his entire experience, but the crack was widening and the quarrels were worse and more often in number.
An Orchid Washed Ashore opened that spring to full houses and the press were excited. They called the musical “The Showboat of the 21st Century” and “The old musical reborn”. It made Todd and Brown world eminent over night. Not only on Broadway were their tunes sung, but also in Stockholm and Johannesburg.
The Tony Awards were coming up and the duo were nominated in four of the categories. Tim was spending more and more time in Hollywood, working on choreographies. He had obviously met someone and was not really keen on coming back. His understudy did most of the shows, so when he did come back to do a show the theatre was not really interested in keeping him for another season.
That was okay by him.
In September of that year he broke up with Gerald and moved to Hollywood to another mansion, that of gay single film star Josh Sanders on Venice Beach.
It really didn’t take long for William to change. He had been so disappointed. Olinka had received his mail address and his phone number. Nothing arrived. No trace of their love remained.
Gerald’s anniversary bash was held in his penthouse that October 18th. His lawyer George Markstein arrived, Police Chief Thomas Jefferson joined in, Marilyn Jones had brought her new boyfriend and co-star James Charlton Douglas along, Todd and Brown’s agent Marvin Klein came with his dog, Cameron MacIntosh came alone, Michael J. Fox brought his entire family and Shirley MacLaine happened to be in town so she brought her brother Warren. It was an evening of stars and stripes, goulash and hors d’ouvres.
Gerald had cooked tomato soup and his very spicy Beef Stroganoff with Gratin de Pommes gave the prominence flatulent giddiness. French wine and Irish whiskey was poured into dozens of glasses and the CD-player ended up very hot at the end of the day.
When Mike Fox went home to join his wife and kids, who had left early, everyone talked about how well his dopamine was working and that he hadn’t had a Parkinson’s attack all night. Warren announced he was flying to Paris in the morning and Shirley was having brunch with an editor at ten.
William and Gerald were talking by themselves after Markstein and Jefferson left. Marilyn and James were still in the corner kissing. Soon they left for their Jaguar, throwing the men a soft good bye before hitting the hay.
So, there they were. The former womanizer and the former choleric perfectionist. William thought about Marilyn and how it really hadn’t mattered a bit that he’d seen her kiss James. In fact, there was not even that familiar sting in his crotch.
Was William Todd turning ...
Gerald turned to William and said in his upper-class, British voice: “You mind Marilyn fondling Jim?”
William shook his head. “No, I don’t. I’m surprised to say that, but I don’t.”
Gerald sighed. “Bill, I haven’t told you this, but I am eternally grateful for what you have done for me. I would probably not be here if it weren’t for you.”
William laughed softly. “No problem.”
Gerald giggled. “You must’ve suffered.”
“You were the one stolen away to join the demons of hell,” William added. “Not me.”
There was a lengthy silence. They looked at one another for a long time and knew that they were feeling the same thing. William had known this man for some twenty odd years, ever since he gave him the first opportunity to write lyrics for his Off-Broadway songs and hold lectures at the University about writing books.
Gerald had never believed it, but he was in love with someone he had despised during many times of his life.
Their lips met to the sounds of Glenn Miller’s Moonlight Serenade. The CD had been playing over and over for the last hour or so. Automatically, the couple started dancing in the kitchen to the soft sounds of an ancient big band. Without opening his eyes and maybe not daring to, for fear of facing himself, William said:
“You know what, Gerald? I don’t where my lucky pen is and I don’t care.”
Gerald laughed and kissed William again.
The fuzz was driving back and forth on Park Avenue that evening, searching some shoplifter, their loud sirens flashing. At King Cole’s Bar some rich drunk was leaning against the posh table drinking gorgeous Irish whiskey and crying.
In Greenwich Village, Vladimir Fomenko was talking to professional killer Sergei Karpoff on the phone and inviting him to an art exhibition next month. Marilyn was making love with Jim. In the Provence, France Olinka was embracing Rosseau. On Times Square a homeless man named Robert met his old girlfriend again for the first time in six years, who turned his life around and giving him a home.
At a restaurant near Central Park two laboratory assistants, a new couple named Jack and Carrie, were discussing cloning and kissing their way through a bottle of wine to the sound of Billy Joel’s “Scenes from an Italian Restaurant”.
There were auditions and singing and laughter and tears and love and sex and marriage and children and theatre.
In a very expensive penthouse on Park Avenue there was another sanctuary as well. There was music and wine and romance. A new couple, that had known each other for twenty years, danced to a soft melody and the guy that had thought he was straight didn’t care what the press would be saying the next day.
He was in love and that was all that mattered.
So the story ends where it began: with a lucky pen and one man’s resistance of letting go. William Todd had travelled all the way to the Columbia in order to find that you don’t have to go far in order to find peace. A very bright future can be found right at home.
The next day, Gerald and William celebrated their newly found happiness at King Cole’s Bar at 2 East 55th Street in New York City at the St. Regis. Oh, yes. William brought his notepad along.
After all, Liz Smith needed something to write about in her column.
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