Made in Heaven

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

Chapter 6: I just wanna feel real love ...

Maxim's finger tips slid over Christian's exposed body. Shortly after Maxim had awoke, he had crawled into his arms, enveloping them both with the bed cover and listened to Christian's steady breath. The nights with him had become enchanting; Christian was truly romantic, more than Maxim had ever expected or imagined.

A rosy scar led across his belly, just short of his belly button, another over his collarbone. Slowly Maxim crawled lower and blew a kiss on Christian's resting penis. On his legs were more scars.

Maxim studied him like a map of an unknown country. Unknown but not foreign anymore. He stirred and Maxim cuddled quickly into his arms again. This was their last day together in Paris and Maxim felt sad. Last night they had spent in "Le Queen", a huge dance dome at the Champs Elysees whose temperature was sizzling till the very morning dawned. All of a sudden Christian had discovered his love for dance music, much to Maxim's surprise.

Maxim remembered Christian's offer to move in with him. Certainly it would be nice to wake up each morning together. But something within him refused. It was too early still he didn't know Christian well enough. He would miss his familiar surroundings, the neighbours, friends and the vicinity to his work place. He didn't even have a car, but maybe Christian would leave him his own, but certainly Maxim wouldn't ask him to do so.

Christian moved and turned to him, wrapping his arms around Maxim's body. This closeness did him good. The sex was good too and Christian had never cried out for Philipp again. But did this mean he didn't think about his ex-lover? Why was Christian so keen on having someone move in with him? Couldn't he take care of himself?

Maxim lifted his head and glanced at the clock. Time to get up. He gently touched Christian's arm, pulled him over on to his back and tickled him.

Christian woke up with a gasp, giggled and avoided Maxim's hands. "Ok, ok, I'm awake...I'm awake! Stop it." He rolled out of the bed and jumped to his feet, his semi-hard penis dangling very invitingly between his thighs. "I'll be late for the final meeting," he said, rubbing his eyes, but Maxim had pulled him close, touching the rosy scar over his belly button. Christian flinched.

"Does it hurt?" Maxim asked.

"No. It doesn't hurt", Christian said softly. Just the memory. The monotone humming of the motor beneath him. With the speed he broke the walls of his consciousness. He closed his eyes and saw a huge sun sink over the wavering, red asphalt and he was speeding directly into it.

He wasn't dead because death shall have no dominion. He had felt himself lying on the hard, wet earth - on his back and spread-eagled. He had tried to keep his eyes open and stared at the glassy West moon in the cloud-torn sky. Its pale shimmer mirrored itself upon his arms and feet; a cemetery shimmer smiling at him through a puddle of black blood. Now that was the truth when you die upon the hard, wet earth: lovers had fallen, but love shall not. He had sensed it. The world would turn on even if it was one love lost.

"Your motorbike accident?" he heard Maxim's voice from afar.

"Yes." One of them. The handlebars of the motorbike had ripped his stomach and he had ruptured and lost his spleen. Death had been close indeed.

"I'm sorry."

Christian wondered if Maxim was repelled by all his scars. But he felt drawn even nearer, while Maxim glided his palms over his buns and started to kiss him from the scar down into his pubic hair and the still half- hard penis. He cupped his firm ball-sack and licked the shaft above, played with his foreskin, grazing it softly with his teeth. Christian let it happen and closed his eyes. In his mind appeared pictures of Philipp but they were overlaid very soon by Maxim's face and his body he longed for.

He WAS late indeed for the final meeting and received a suggestive remark from Sonja. Christian grinned. "You've a dirty fantasy, my dear."

"I know everything about it is true," Sonja grinned back. "We'll celebrate later the conclusion of the agreement. Will you bring Maxim?"

Christian shook his head. From former experiences he knew that it wasn't a good idea to reveal his "abnormality." Not every customer was open minded enough not to care.

"What happened with Philipp?" Sonja asked later when the drink was over and they strolled together through the Champs Elysees in search of souvenirs.

Jesus, how many more people would ask him this, was Christian's initial thought but then, they had a right to ask questions. Christian and Philipp - that had been a pair not imaginable to be apart. Their relationship had worked well, what had gone wrong then?

"What had gone wrong with both of you?" Sonja insisted. "And why have you replaced him so fast?" Sonja took a place at a small table outside a café and pulled Christian beside her. She placed her bag with the advertisement of Hermes on an empty seat. Christian knew her teenage daughter and that she would expect a gift from Paris, the more expensive the better.

"What brought you and Arthur apart?" he answered with another question. "The same old things. You drift apart, you don't talk with each other, you don't know what's going on in the head of the other. And then there's a point when you don't bother anymore with what's going on in the life, head, and heart of the other."

Sonja nodded briefly. "I thought gays would be different." She smiled a little uncertain. "You know, cling to. More aware of what they are doing, afraid to lose the partner. There isn't such a choice as for us."

"I know. But what's the use of clinging when it doesn't work in the end. Better to live alone than to make compromises."

"Oh, darling," Sonja called out. "Love doesn't work without making compromises. Do you fancy a yes-sayer? Someone who idolizes you no matter what you're doing?" She interrupted herself because the waiter had arrived.

Christian watched her from aside. What was wrong with idolizing? As long as HE was the object of the idolization? No, Christian - he shook his head inwardly - that's over the top. Philipp hadn't idolized you, he just didn't express his own wishes and was satisfied with the things Christian had planned for both. Right?

"Philipp and I had the same wavelength," he said when the waiter had gone. "Liking the same things doesn't mean one of the partners is giving up his own interests. It was only per chance that we appeared to always do the same."

Sonja nodded not very convinced. Perhaps the new situation was good for Philipp. "And this Maxim? Does he share your interests, your ideas, your likings, your thoughts?"

Christian had the queasy feeling that Sonja was pulling his leg. Or exactly: she probed his mind. Good that the ice coffee arrived and the ice cup for Sonja. "To the agreement" he said, not answering Sonja's questions.

"There's a lot of work coming up," she said, smiling and eyeing him from aside.

The Seine was blue-grey and sparkled with tiny, golden splinters. Maxim stood at the railing and looked over to Notre-Dame. It had become his favourite place - albeit he might find another when he had seen everything that Paris had to offer. "Each American author will sometime come to Paris," he remembered a quote from a film. "You live on the left bank of the Seine; you go along RueMargot and reach the river; see Notre-Dame to the right hand and the Ile St. Louis. Cool breezes blowing, you fill your lungs ... and you are ... inspired. You can do everything." [*]

Tim, as an author, would really like this, perhaps he would find new inspiration here with a croissant and a glass of red wine watching the Clochards and mourning the big covered market - the belly of Paris - now torn down. Maxim laughed about himself. What an all too romantic sight. The Paris of the Bohemian was dead. The Paris of Emile Zola's "L'Assommoir", the pubs where anis liqueur made it's round, or absinth, "the green fairy." The time of the Fien de Siecle and of Art Noveau, the lascivious times in the painter's workshops, Toulouse-Lautrec at Moulin Rouge, painting the girls dancing Can-Can.

Maxim looked to the island, Seine-washed around. The hunchback, the grotesque gargoyles, the facade's stony lace. He had read that the church had been plundered during the French Revolution. Statues and monuments had been shattered and thrown to the ground from high above; the complete interiors had been destroyed and the church was then a pagan temple to celebrate the folk's free spirit. What a barbaric drama. A few meters afar stood Sainte Chapelle that housed the most precious thing Holy King Louis had brought from his crusade: Jesus' crown of thorns. He wondered what happened to the crown, no travel guide could tell him.

Maxim leaned his elbows on the railing. Tim would really like all those stories, he was sure. He remembered a chapter of his novel he had just finished. A woman wishing for endless beauty. She was still beautiful when she had died of cancer. Another one had wished for everlasting happiness. The fairy godmother had said this would be a wide range and she didn't know how to specify it.

"Happiness?" she had squeaked. "How do you define happiness?"

"To be satisfied with the Status Quo," he had answered.

"Satisfaction means stagnation," she had said. But in the end she had granted the wish. "Be always happy with the Status Quo. And this time there's no wish following the first one," she had muttered under her breath. "Lucky you." Although she rather looked as if she felt pity for the man.

He had led a relatively good marriage, but from one minute to the other he lost everything: His wife wanted divorce and took her daughter, he had adopted years ago, with her. He didn't feel real pain for his wish protected him from being unhappy. Then he lost his job. Again no problem. He was happy and didn't care if he had money enough to eat or to pay the rent for his flat. After some time he didn't even care if he was dressed or shaven and spent his days in bed, happy with the Status Quo. When the income support stopped because he didn't want to work anymore, he moved to a park bench and lived a happy life among kindred spirits. He saw his daughter when he begged for money, but she didn't recognize him. He didn't bother anymore anyway. Happiness had become stagnation as the fairy godmother had prophesied. He was now stuck in a poor lifestyle, without money, without flat, without work, but with lots of friends. The community of beggars, homeless, alcoholics and drug abusers was something special. He found there a mutual spirit and friendship he had never found before and he was happy.

Maxim wasn't sure what Tim wanted to say with this. Perhaps that even the most unexpected and unlucky things can turn into something good. Although he didn't see the point of being happy to live under a bridge and catch a cold that would kill you.

He was thrilled to learn which part of the novel Tim had chosen to read at the bookshop next week. Surely it would be a part without too much sex. Perhaps the last one, there wasn't any sex at all.

Silently he said goodbye to Paris while still standing at the embankment, watching the ships and boats, the passengers, the light and enjoyed even the fishy smell. Perhaps he would come back. But there was so much to see still. He had never been to Italy or Spain. Or Greece. How exciting that all these things were possible now for him. At home, back in Russia he had just dreamt of this while he yearningly looked over the Volga to its invisible other shore. Surely he had felt like the last gawk when he and his parents had come to Germany. But it hadn't meant that he had lived in a tree house and would still eat with his fingers, as some of the Germans seemed to think. Education was good, even in a Russian village, and Maxim was proud of that.

A soft wind blew his hair when he turned and started to walk back to the hotel. Too bad Christian hadn't the time to stroll through Paris with him. But he had the feeling that he wasn't really interested in sightseeing, while history was the most exciting thing Maxim could imagine. If the stones and trees could speak to him they would tell him the most interesting stories. Perhaps he would tell Christian some of them.

"Home at last," Maxim thought when he turned the key in the lock and opened the door to his flat. Berlin was sweltering hot, so he rushed through the rooms and opened each window and the door to the balcony. Then he opened his suitcase and gathered all the presents around him on the carpet. The gift from Christian - a watch from Lalique - he placed separately. He still couldn't believe that Christian had given him such an expensive gift. Cautiously he opened the black cover and looked at it. It was square with etched jungle decorations in midnight blue and silver; the strap of the softest blue leather. He supposed it would run with rubies and diamonds. Maxim had never possessed such precious things and he felt awkward. Had Christian wanted to buy his love with it? Hadn't he told him again that he loved him? But how could this be after such a short time. Christian didn't know what he was saying, he didn't comprehend the deep meaning of his words. Or he told this carelessly to each man he liked.

Then Maxim shook off these thoughts. He took the parcels and rang at his neighbour's door. Instantly Joost opened, beaming from ear to ear. "Bonjour Maxim," he shouted, pulling Maxim through the door.

"Coco was pretty unhappy. He refused to eat for awhile."

"What?" Oh gosh, where was he? Then he saw the stark white fur gleaming at the end of the hall. Maxim rushed to him, but Coco jumped back, into the living room and sat in front of the TV, his tail elegantly draped around his body.

"He's in a huff!" Maxim said laughing.

"Surely he is," Rainer said, bending down and taking the cat up. "You left him alone too long."

"Cats!" all three sighed in unison before they started to laugh. "How was Paris, my dear? You look good; recovered."

Joost's cajal-framed eyes examined him carefully. He wore a soft falling suit in Marlene-Dietrich-style and had his finger nails already varnished. Probably he was about to go out.

"It was great," Maxim said, eyeing his cat that still refused to look at him. "Here, a souvenir d'Paris," he smiled, handing out the parcels. "I would have liked to buy you a scarf from Hermes, Joost, but it really was too expensive for me."

"Oh, darling," Joost said genuinely pleased when he opened the box with the chocolate orange pieces. "You didn't think I would have taken this then, do you? If I need a scarf from Hermes, I'll go to Friedrichstrasse and buy it there." He looked up and smiled. "Do you think this goes well with my diet?"

Maxim laughed. "You sound like my colleague. Oh, before I forget, he will be reading next week in my bookshop from his novel, it would be nice if you both could come." He hoped that Joost wouldn't have to perform on stage then. Rainer looked through the schedule and said after a while it would be possible.

Coco sniffed the chocolate pieces and Joost put a tiny one of them into his mouth. But Coco spat it back into Joost's palm. "Good, now it's all mine," Joost grinned and pressed the cat into Maxim's arms. It was good to feel his warmth again. Coco snuggled his head at Maxim's neck and he knew that everything was okay.

With the cat in his arms he went back later. Maxim was sure that Joost and Rainer had inhibitions with Christian and they wouldn't tell why. Coco though took possession of his rooms again and sat down then expectantly beside his feeding bowl. Maxim opened a tin and spooned the contents into the bowl.

From the balcony sounded music, obviously coming from his neighbour's flat. A melancholy melody, though pointed in its structure, intonated by a deep voice.

"Der Wind hat mir ein Lied erzählt..." Maxim couldn't figure out if it was Zarah or Joost's husky voice, but he listened involuntarily, crouched beside Coco's bowl, still holding the tin in his hand.

"^Å The wind has told me a song

about a happiness, unspeakable great.

It knows what my heart is missing,

for whom it beats and glows...

it knows for whom^Å"

Maxim smiled. Right now his heart beat certainly for Christian. After all a dream had come true he had dreamt for a year long. But everyone of his friends seemed to be reserved. Well, Tim was just jealous he supposed, and Nadine thought perhaps she would lose a friend.

He fondled Coco's neck and learned that Coco had picked out some meat crumbs from his bowl and played with it instead of eating them. Then eventually he decided to finish his meal and looked up at Maxim. He wondered each time about the depth of this look. It was soulful, as if he wanted to tell him important things. Maxim took him up and searched in his CD collection for Elvis. He chose his gospel songs and leaned back in the sofa. Zarah Leander's song had stopped and Elvis' sonorous, black voice replaced it.

Maxim knew his parents expected a call but he wasn't in the mood to talk. The cat seemed to sleep and Maxim examined his room. Christian had renewed his offer to move in with him, but still Maxim couldn't decide what to do. The bigger part of him longed to be with Christian. What was he doing right now? Thinking of him?

Cautiously and without disturbing the cat he opened a box with Toulouse' Violets Christian had given him, and tried one of the little candied flowers. All this sudden abundance, he thought. What would they say when they'd see his new watch? Would they think that Christian showered him with disproportionately expensive presents? And what would come next?

Coco sneezed and sniffed then at the open box of violets. Disinterested he closed his eyes again. "Would you like to move, sweetie?" Maxim asked him. Coco said nothing, he only opened his eyes again and looked questioning. "I haven't seen it yet, but what if I'd like it? Last time you were not pleased to see him, do you think you could start to like him?"

Coco blinked conspiratorially. "Do it for me, please." Coco started to purr.

The next morning the daily routine was back. The sun, despite the early morning hour, was hot when he stepped out on the balcony with a coffee mug in hand. The hibiscus was about to open its big pink flowers. Maxim took the watering can, when his phone rang.

"I miss you," he heard Christian's voice in his ear. "I wished you wouldn't have to work today." He paused to give Maxim time to say something but his throat was suddenly closed up tight. "I'd like to say thank you for a couple of wonderful days. Would you do me the favour and go out with me tonight?"

Geez, Christian sounded so formal, as if he was doing a proposal in front of Maxim's parents, Maxim grinned to himself. "I too enjoyed the days," he finally managed to say, "sure, I'd like to go out with you. Whereto?"

"Surprise," Christian said mysteriously. "I'll pick you up around 9 P.M. No jeans, please, ok? I love you."

He had hung up. Maxim stared at the receiver. Hmm. Then he started to rush through the flat, gathered the gifts for his colleagues, blew Coco a kiss and closed the door behind himself.

"Prinz Eisenherz" was a jumble when he arrived. Somebody had taken Tim's photo for he was looking from each wall with a stern expression, though a bright twinkle in his eyes. Maxim loved it very much. He also had seen the poster hanging at the front door, announcing Tim's reading for next Tuesday. Too bad that his novel wasn't published so he could sell it. Luan nodded at him from a distance and came closer. "Hi Maxim, you were greatly missed, he said. He only reached to Maxim's nose. "So, why? I see I missed the preparations for Tim's big performance. He must be nervous as hell," he laughed, looking around.

"Tim isn't here today; he took the day off."

"Oh." Maxim was more disappointed than he wanted to admit. "Listen, Maxim," Luan continued, dragging him to the coffee-corner, starting the water heater to brew himself a tea, for Luan, as Vietnamese, never drank coffee.

"Those Philipp-guy made contact with journalists of a boulevard magazine that's attached to a big newspaper. So two of them will be here for his reading. We haven't told Tim for he will be even more nervous."

Maxim's mouth fell open. "That's great, Luan. Though how did he make it?"

Luan shrugged and poured water over the loose tea leaves in his mug. Nadine came around the corner, beamed and gave him a hug.

"I see you were busy with decorating, huh?" He took his bag and pulled out the diverse presents from Paris. "That's a little something from Paris for all of you," he said while the others unwrapped the paper and devoured the sweets. Tim's present he left laying on the table. He was sad that he wouldn't see him now for the whole weekend and tell him about the trip. "Come on, don't be so lazy and tell us about Paris," Nadine said, licking chocolate from the corner of her mouth. "I'm dying to learn everything!"

"Everything is private," Maxim teased her. "But you can learn the rest."

"And this evening he has invited me to something special I guess. No jeans, you know," Maxim ended his report.

"Hotel Adlon," Nadine suggested. "Nightclub Adagio," Luan said. "Or the Casino at Potsdamer Platz."

"Rubbish." Maxim hesitated. "Well, perhaps?"

"Is he that rich that he would invite you to those locations?"

"Think yes. Though I don't know. He's made a contract in Paris. The remodelling of a hotel with a wellness- and conference area. He said the customer liked his concepts of connecting all those parts and the material he likes to use." Again Maxim thought briefly how Christian's flat would look. Well, he just had to ask Philipp. But perhaps this night was the night and Christian would take him home later.

The mountain of clothes grew with each piece Maxim threw behind his back. He stood between the open doors of his wardrobe and didn't know what to wear. When the next shirt flung around Coco's ears, he started to hiss. Maxim turned and saw the white cat upon the heap of clothes, looking miffed. He burst into laughter. "Alright. You tell me what to wear." Coco jumped down, rushed to the wardrobe and tugged with his little sharp teeth at a pair of leather trousers.

"Careful, sweetie." Maxim took the trousers and examined them. He hadn't dressed in them for quite a time. Actually not since Leon had left him, for it was a gift from him. Although he had teased Maxim for his shopping fits, he had seen the longing looks and made him large birthday - and Christmas gifts. At least as much as he could afford from his journalist's salary. Maxim looked out of the window where the sun was still bright but had softened in its colour. The shadows had become sharper and the air was clean. He rummaged again between his shirts and pulled out a long sleeved that had black and white ornamental prints on breast and back with a tint of red. It was loose and could be well stuffed into the trousers which would emphasize Maxim's slim hips. He hoped it would be enough for wherever Christian wanted to go with him.

He was too nervous to eat anything, he just took a glass full of wine and sipped it while standing and watching the street from the kitchen window. Nervously he stroked through his hair and rubbed his cheeks. Whenever he was excited he was pale like an old cheese. Then he heard the honk from Christian's car and opened the door. Erik, the neighbour from a floor below, crept down the staircase with a bottle in hand and passed him. He beamed and looked Maxim up and down. "Hi sugar lump, you look like I should devour you completely." He drew nearer. "Up to?" His hand rubbed his penis sticking out from the thin material of his trousers and Maxim smelled cheap alcohol. "Piss off," he said, not meaning his rude words.

A moment later Christian was behind Erik and grasped his neck painfully with his strong hand. Erik ducked and pulled up his shoulders.

"What do you want?" Christian hissed.

"Nothing! Let me be," Erik whined but Christian didn't release him. "Fuck off and don't dare to come back."

Maxim lifted his eyebrows. What was that? Maxim could watch out for himself, thank you. No reason to treat Erik so badly. Christian gave Erik a push and he tumbled down the stairs. Christian looked sinisterly until he heard a door close. Then he turned around smiling as if nothing had happened, stepped closer and planted a big kiss on Maxim's lips. The he looked down his body and whistled through his teeth. "No wonder you made the little shit horny. Look at you." He took Maxim's shoulders and turned him around himself. Then Maxim felt pushed into his flat and the door closed. In the hall, Christian pressed him against the wall and crumpled his shirt with his body while he was kissing him until both were out of breath.

"You know," Maxim panted, "that was just Erik, a neighbour." Somehow he felt he had to defend the poor guy.

"He was certainly after you!" Christian protested. "About time you move in with me, to be away from such miserable guys."

Maxim laughed and shoved him away. "I can take care of myself! Erik's after every pair of pants in town, at least in this house. Apparently he just came back from a one-day-stand with Lena's boyfriend."

"Huh?" Christian went on into Maxim's living room and looked around. "Lena's boyfriend?"

"Just a joke." Maxim waved off. He watched Christian going through the room and looking then at the icon showing the Mother of God with her child in her arms. An archaic smile on her dark face that was delivered over the centuries since icon-painting had its blooming days in Greece and Russia.

"Is it genuine?" Christian asked.

"Yes. The priest gave two of them to my family when we departed. It's sacred."

Christian nodded and watched the broad golden frame, the embossed gloriole around Mary's head, and the odd darkness of her tiny lips. Her cloak was decorated with amber stones. "It's precious, honey. Have you been often to church?" he asked.

"Yes. Russian orthodox."

Christian nodded once more. "I suppose you know the orthodox church at colony Alexandrowka?"

"Oh yes, the Alexander-Newski-chapel. Babuschka wanted to go there urgently." Maxim had placed himself beside Christian and touched his arm. The colony along with the blockhouses of Nikolskoe had been built by King Friedrich Wilhelm for the last twelve singers of a Russian choir who fought in the Russian-Prussian military-union against Napoleon and remained in the Prussian army. King Friedrich erected a settlement in original Russian style. Of course they needed a church too. It's throne is high above the river Havel overlooking the sea-landscape, the forests, over to Potsdam, Berlin's neighbour town.

"Do you believe in God?" Christian asked.

"I do. But I don't need to go to church to prove it. Just when I feel like it." Uncertainly he looked over at Christian's profile but it remained unreadable. Then it turned and smiled at him. Something touched his leg. It was Coco's tail who rubbed up against Maxim's feet, meowing. "Oh, there's the little fellow that hissed at me recently," Christian said good- humoured and wanted to stroke Coco. Be he slipped away. At least he didn't hiss, which Maxim took for a good sign. "There's the balcony and the bedroom is here."

Christian looked at everything that was to be looked at and then beamed. "Maxim, it's a very nice flat indeed. But you certainly have more room in mine. There's a terrace upon the roof and a small swimming pool. And I have a fire side." He embraced Maxim. "Ever loved in front of a fire side?"

"Sure," Maxim said dryly. "We had a fire side too, no central heating, you know. We had such a big tiled oven!" he showed the span of three meters with outstretched arms, "and an open fire."

"What! You made love by an open fire?? With whom?"

"With a girl, what do you think?"

Christian looked warily at him. "You're kidding me, eh?"

"Nope. Each house had a tiled oven and some had an open fire." He laughed at Christian's facial expression. "That's not what you meant, right? It wasn't in our house. She had open fire too."

"You have slept with girls? Why?"

Maxim rolled his eyes and dropped Christian's hand. "What for, huh? Perhaps I didn't want to remain a virgin my lifetime long."

"Wasn't there any boys?" Oh shit, what was he talking here, Christian thought instantly. "Well," he said quickly, "I thought you would do at least the stuff that little boys do when they reach puberty."

"Ah!", Maxim's eyes glistened amused. "In the stable, between milking the cows and removing the dung from the pigs? Or do you think we fucked the hens?"

"Jesus, spare me the rest," Christian laughed. Then he looked into his eyes. "Have you?"

Maxim didn't think he should answer this. He pulled Christian from the room into the hall. "Do you really think it's ok the way I look? I mean you made a pretty mystery."

"You look absolutely ravishing," Christian answered. "Watch out for all the girls tonight, they'd like to seduce you straight on the dance floor."

"Girls? You said, I shouldn't go with girls."

"No, you shouldn't."

Maxim looked back before he locked the door and waved Coco good bye who sat amid the hall. He blinked.

When the car approached the glistening towers of Potsdamer Platz, Maxim's anticipation grew. The last sunbeams met the glass fronts of the houses and mingled with the neon signs and lights from countless windows.

Christian drove into an underground car park. "That's the house where you live," Maxim said, when he closed the door.

"Right. Come."

But Christian didn't use the lift up to his apartment, but went out on the street and vanished with Maxim in the many streets. People filled the restaurants, sitting outside due to the warm weather. Music hung in the air and Maxim thought to see a scenery of an Italian piazza. The Hyatt Hotel towered above them in a soft brown colour; to the right side opened a place he knew as Marlene- Dietrich-Platz, with the Stella Musical Theatre, the night club Adagio and the large Casino.

Also there, people filled the places at tables, eating and chatting. Maxim felt excited with Christian by his side. Would it be the Adagio? Those pompous, baroque club, famous for V.I.P.'s, evenings of fulfilled decadence and astronomic prices?

He read the huge poster advertising the new performance of "Cats" at the musical theatre in the same house. "First I thought this place is monotone with all its Terracotta tiled facades, you know," Christian started. "Well, they could win Renzo Piano for the architecture models, and he was very inventive. Look at all the forms and details."

Maxim knew what he was talking about and surely Christian must be interested in his famous colleague's work. He, too, had thought that those places were just a gigantic desert of stone. But it was not. There were some old houses integrated, patches with trees, inviting one to have a rest and the terracotta facades changed their colours.

Christian passed by to the other side of the wide place where a neon sign read "Blu". Young folk waited in front of it, talking and smoking; dressed up girls and boys besieged the guard.

"That's the place?" Maxim asked. Christian shoved him through the people, up to the guard and was examined from head to toe. A smug grin appeared on the wooden face of the bulky man with a grey ponytail and he waved them through. Christian paid the entrance fee and a moment later Maxim was enveloped with a blanket of a cacophony of music, of voices, and laughter. With smoke from cigarettes and joints, mist from a fog machine, brilliant spotlights and the familiar scent of perfume, sweat and after shave. Mirrors on walls, two bars and staircases leading up and down. The people twisting and turning looked as though they had jumped from a glossy magazine like MAX or VOGUE.

He sensed Christian's hand on his shoulder and felt secure. Faces passed by, smiling and winking at him, while Christian pulled him to the down staircase where the music had a bearable volume, although there was a dance floor, too, that was filled with all kind of people. He couldn't make them out clearly in the blurry blue light and he didn't know who was the man and who was the woman. Everybody danced mixed up, men with men, embraced like lovers, women with women, or was this drag kings? Women with men. Nothing seemed to matter here.

Maxim detected a snack bar and felt his stomach suddenly growling. He eyed the sandwiches, tapas and sushi. "I'm hungry," he said and lined up in the short queue that had built. Christian joined him, taking several tapas with vegetable and salsa sauce while Maxim tried the sushi. He didn't allow that Christian paid for him and ate happily the artful decorated pieces of raw fish. He loved it instantly once he had detected these Japanese dishes a year ago, but Christian shuddered. He hated sushi. Then he lifted Maxim's glass. "Japanese beer?" he asked amused.

"Authentic," Maxim grinned.

"You like it here?" he shouted over the music.

Maxim's look wandered to all corners of the large room. People dancing to disco music of the 80's that lived a reminiscence lately. He was itching for a dance. Christian's red, tight fitting shirt defined his upper body, he saw the supple muscles bending and stretching with each movement he made. "I do like it. It's a new club?" Christian nodded and dipped his wrapped tapas into salsa.

More young women strutted down the staircase on high heeled boots, the décolleté reaching to their belly buttons, exposing the round, artificial breasts. Maxim would have liked to prick them with a needle to see if they would fly off like a pricked balloon. He grinned at Christian who must have had the same thought. He eyed them curiously when they started their lascivious dances. Swinging endless legs, showing their string tanga's and the round globes of their asses too and behaved as tarty as they could. Probably they looked either for customers or better: for a rich fish.

Christian caught several hot looks and many fluttering lashes while Maxim caught Russian words. Under the tons of make-up he detected the same high cheekbones as he had himself, the Slavic faces with the slanting eyes. Just another charge of fresh meat from Russia he thought grumpily when one of the girls sat at their table and smiled obtrusively and potted at the same time. She eyed both from under false lashes and couldn't decide which of the two she could pick up. "You look like a hungry cat," Christian said, repelled.

Her eyes started to glow. "Hungry for you," she started with a very hard accent. "You treat me something to drink?" She conjured up a cigarette from under her skirt and held it provocatively in Maxim's direction. Automatically he pulled out his lighter. She inhaled deeply and then her long artificial finger nails caressed his chin and cheeks. Christian jerked. "Go and buy yourself something to drink. We're not interested."

She laughed a drunken, hoarse laugh, followed by a strong, Russian swear. Maxim stopped eating. He looked at her sinisterly and started to shower her with Russian words. In no time both were involved in a high-pitched quarrel from her side and a strong gush of rolled "r's" and impressive words from his side.

Christian pulled Maxim aside and she was dragged away by her friends.

"What was that? What did she say?"

"Oh, just some nice words for what we are."

"What are we?" He was impressed by the sharpness of Maxim's tone and that he could protect himself. The pack of girls had pulled her back to the upper dance floor.

"You don't want to know," Maxim said. "I'm really sorry," he added.

"Sorry for what? It wasn't your fault."

"But my fellow countrymen."

Christian leaned forward. "What are you? German or Russian?"

"I don't know," Maxim said. "Both. I know that the emigrants behave like shit. Mafia, prostitution, crime, extortion, drugs."

"Again, it's not your fault."

"But I'm thrown into the same pot!" Maxim said.

"Nobody's making reproaches. Had any of your friends or boyfriends ever had inhibitions? No. You see. I know that they behave like shit. They don't have any other choice when they are held in a ghetto. And besides, it's you who throw them into the same pot. Not all of them are bad."

Maxim shook his head. "They don't have to live in a ghetto. I was lucky my parents taught me German, almost none of the kids coming to Germany speak German nor will find a work to do, or finish even their school here. It's just that one family draws the next and, of course, when nobody speaks German well enough except the old ones, they are dependent on each other and on their own language. I'm ashamed of their behaviour." He lifted his glass but it was empty.

Christian went and came back with a bottle of wine and two glasses. "Cheers," he said warmly and stroked Maxim's cheek. "Forget it. Let's have a great evening. You can't solve all those problems yourself. And even if you wreck your pretty head, it won't help." He smiled at him and clinked his glass with Maxim's. "Let's go up then, I like to dance with you," he whispered into his ear.

He pulled out his package of cigarettes, lit one and pushed it between Maxim's lips, then he lit one for himself. They smoked in silence for awhile. For Maxim the theme wasn't over. He thought about Christian's words: Are you German or Russian? He honestly didn't know. He could feel the inner conflict of the young Russians coming here with their families. They hadn't any relation to Germany because their native place was Russia. Now, thrown into a completely different lifestyle - they are losing their minds. Scoffed at in school because they speak a funny German or not a German at all. Damned to fail, they search for money elsewhere to buy all the things they see in shop windows although they got rich support from the government. Maxim knew people who drove expensive cars, were dressed in posh clothes and had two mobiles, which caused envy from those who had to work hard for those signs of wealth.

He felt Christian's look. Stupid to gloom when he had the most desirable man by his side. Maxim smiled and played with Christian's fingers. He longed to sleep with him.

But then Christian's face turned to stone. Maxim followed his stare and detected Philipp standing in the queue of the snack bar. Next to him stood Christian. No, wait. Christian was sitting beside himself. Must be a look alike. Perhaps it wasn't Philipp at all. But a look into Christian's face told him he had seen all right. Then it dawned on him. Surely Christian had told about his brother.

"What a coincidence," he said out loud, "there's Philipp." He waved and attracted Philipp's attention. But then Philipp's face fell too when he stared at Christian. "Holy crap," he muttered, pushing Martin and whispering. But there wasn't a return. With sandwich laden plates and a bottle of wine, both sat at the table. The tension between Martin and Christian was tangible like thick fumes. Maxim, on his behalf, looked from one face into the other and couldn't decide who was who. Finally his look met Philipp who lifted his eyebrow. He leaned over to Maxim and said into his ear, "Don't tell me you didn't know that both are identical twins."

Maxim was mute with surprise. All of a sudden he comprehended the incident at the bookshop: it wasn't Christian Philipp had come with, it was Martin. Which meant... Bewildered he wanted to say something, but Philipp pushed his shin painfully hard.

"I see you've found substitute, honey," Christian said nonchalantly to Philipp. Philipp looked warily but Christian's eyes were calm. Perhaps he had over come it.

Christian himself felt nothing when he saw Philipp, his old love. What did it matter that he was shunned by him when he had Maxim by his side. Maxim was now the centre of his world. He was much brighter, much more exciting, much more everything! And he didn't want to know if Philipp fucked his brother while they were still living together. He was sure anyway. Nothing really mattered to him concerning this. He sipped at his glass of wine and gave Martin a broad smile. "I'm really glad to know Philipp is in good hands, you know."

Martin blinked confused. This couldn't be the same Christian he knew. Where were his fits of jealousy? First he had thought that Christian would beat him but from one minute to the next he seemed to change his mind. His eyes wandered to the young man by his side. This could only be Maxim, the new boyfriend. Their eyes met and he saw the shock in Maxim's eyes about the similarity. No. Identity. Except the colour of the hair but that wasn't to be seen in those lights. Maxim: The man Christian had hung his heart on now; Maxim the man he counted on when he wanted his brother to be mentally safe. He needed private words with him to probe his mind.

"Are you coming to Tim's reading too?" he heard Maxim saying and nodded. "Sure I'll come. Philipp here had pestered me that long until I played with the publisher's connection to magazines and newspapers. Two of them will come and listen and write a column."

"I know," Maxim threw in. "But Tim doesn't know anything about that. You have connection to a publisher? Ah yes, Christian told me you're translator of English books, aren't you."

"Right, and he read Tim's novel already. Like we all probably," Philipp said.

"I haven't so far," Christian said, "but Maxim told me a lot of it. I'm looking forward to the event."

Even the voices were identical, Maxim thought. Meanwhile, Christian must have realized that Philipp had a dally with Martin when they were still together, but he seemed to take it easy. Although Maxim found the idea very odd that Philipp had a relation with Christian's twin. Didn't it mean that Philipp still had a heart for Christian when he used the same body, just the mind was different? And anyway, what was with Tim?? Shouldn't Philipp be with Tim? He guided his questioning eyes to Philipp who returned the stare. No way he could ask him here. They needed a private talk.

"We have been to see Cats," Philipp said. "We always wanted to go to Hamburg to see it there." He turned to Christian, "But you never had time."

"Well, now the mountain came to the prophet," Christian said. "Was it good?"

"Very good."

"Interested in seeing it?" Christian asked Maxim. Maxim didn't answer. First he wasn't that fond of musicals and second he didn't understand why Christian had to hurt Philipp. But Christian didn't wait for his answer but had suddenly decided to repeal the round, go upstairs to dance and enjoy the night.

Maxim hadn't seen anything from Christian's apartment. Except the bath and the bedroom. Christian lay bent over him, caressing his body with his finger tips and smiling into his face. Then he saw something, picked it from his cheek and held it out. "An eyelash. Make a wish and blow it away," he said.

Gosh, a wish? Maxim had become sensitive on this theme. Well, it didn't count seriously this time. So he closed his eyes and whispered to himself. "Be always happy with you." Then he blew the lash away.

It was a cosy place in Christian's bedroom although it had been used by Philipp before. The walls were painted with a warm mango colour with rosewood fitted wardrobes and expensive looking spot lights on the ceiling. Christian pressed some buttons set into the head of the bed and thus used the hi-fi system. Low music started and Maxim listened. The sound seemed to come from everywhere, from hidden loudspeakers, placed in well thought locations in the room. Pompous music and a very cultivated voice, trained as tenor, sang classic pieces.

Through the drawn old golden curtains slipped a very pale light although the sun had to be high already. This was a real love nest Maxim thought and he felt well. He closed his eyes and listened to the unknown voice, felt Christian embracing him, breathing slowly and relaxed. But he had so many questions. Instead of starting a discussion he asked, "Who is it?"

"Bjoern Casapietra," Christian answered. Then he opened his eyes and bent over him again. "When are you going to the bar to play piano? Who taught you this actually?

"I learned in school. My teacher had a piano and she gave me lessons. Unfortunately I couldn't practice because neither me nor my parents have a piano."

Christian said nothing, but he seemed to ponder.

"Well, actually I have to play in the evening of the weekends," Maxim continued, "which means today and actually yesterday too. Dario will be pissed that I didn't come yesterday."

"Don't bother with Dario. I'll deal with it. So, it's tonight? But what if I don't want to spend the evenings waiting for you? And I can't dance with you when you're playing at the same time."

Maxim laughed. "I have breaks, you know. And I need the money."

"You're mad for clothes, I see." Christian said, laughing too. He lifted Maxim's G-string from the fluffy white carpet that covered the whole room.

"Right." Maxim fished for the cloth, but couldn't reach it. They

struggled playfully with each other until Maxim started to kiss Christian's body, the skin, the scars, rolled him over to his stomach, followed the line of his spine down to his buttocks, parted them and lapped at his orifice, tasting the sweet scent of Christian's banana lubricant they had used in the night before. Christian started to breath harder and wriggled on the smooth red blankets.

Meanwhile Maxim knew all the sensitive spots on Christian's body and this one was one of his favourites. Well, whose favourite spot was it not? He tried to enter him with his tongue until it hurt and then kissed the hole instead, licked and blew, hearing Christian moaning. He rolled over on his back again and Maxim embraced his erection. He looked into Christian's bright grey eyes, saw the longing and thought that perhaps his wish would come true. Some wishes were made in heaven as Tim had written and right now Maxim was convinced this was the truth.

Christian spread his legs, giving Maxim's fingers access to enter him.

Later he didn't hear the music anymore, just their own voices, giving expression to their feelings, until everything blurred to a bright red curtain front of his closed eyes. He was just a sensing being, reduced to feel and smell and it was heavenly.

An hour later the CD was over and all that Maxim heard was Christian's murmured words of love. "Please stay here," he said into his ear. "I need you. I promise you everything you want. Will you?"

Maxim stroked him. This very moment Christian seemed to be a vulnerable child under his hands. Odd, how he could change from a dominating man to an obeying lover. He seemed to fill the whole range of a human being. An why shouldn't Maxim move in with him?

"I need to feed Coco," he said low.

"That's no answer." Christian rose. "Take Coco and come back, please."

His eyes were shaded. Now they looked like a snow covered glacier. Maxim would have granted him each wish right now. He kissed his lips, stroked his hip and leg and felt hungry suddenly. "Give me some days to organize and pack my stuff, ok?"

Christian smiled drunkenly. "Sure, everything you want."

"You owe me the grand tour," Maxim said, climbing out of bed. The carpet felt very soft between his toes. It was like walking over feathers.

The bathroom with the round bath tub and the mint green tiles he knew already when they walked with a toast and coffee mug in hands through the apartment. Maxim knew he would feel good in this surrounding, although it was all Christian's and not his. As if he had read his mind, Christian said, "If you like something different, say it. We could decorate new, buy new furniture or so. It's probably a little cool."

"We'll see. Probably a little more colour couldn't do harm." Maxim said, stepping to the large windows in the living room. The view reached to the cupola of the Reichstag and the huge, rainbow striped balloon, a TV-channel used as advertisement place. Suddenly the room was filled with another voice singing and Maxim got goose bumps.

Christian was behind him, embracing his waist. Bombastic string player, a choir and a tenor voice made the windows tremble. Now he knew that Christian loved classic pop music.

"Come," he whispered into Maxim's ear and led him up a spiral staircase in a corner of the room. Sunlight hit them with all its might when they stood on the roof terrace, protected with an iron fence. Blue water shimmered invitingly in the small pool. Maxim dropped the short bath robe, sat at the tiled rim of the pool and splashed the water with his legs. "Come, it's warm." With a smooth, catlike movement he slipped into the water and dove. Under water he heard splashes and saw Christian beside him, embracing him and kissing him under water. They exchanged air until they couldn't hold on any more. Panting they broke the surface, paddling in the warm water.

Maxim cornered Christian finally at the rim and pressed his naked body against his. He sure would move in, no matter what his cat would say. He would give him a cosy place and he wouldn't miss a thing. He just had to make sure that the door to the roof terrace was closed.

"Have you thought of a roof terrace garden?" he asked. "What a wasted place. Chris. My balcony is too small to grow a jungle, but here's plenty of room. Say yes."

Christian grinned. "I see, you're making plans." He kissed him. His lips were cool from the water. He stroked Maxim's body with one hand, fondled his testicles and the half hard penis. Maxim moaned into his mouth and battled with his own tongue. Their cocks pressed together, rubbing until they found release.

"Geez, look at the water," Maxim chortled. "What a mess. Do you have a housekeeper?"

"Yeah, once in a week."

"And judging what the kitchen looks like, you never cook in there, right?"

"Seldom. But I can cook if this should be your next question."

"A proof, a proof!" Maxim shouted and splashed Christian with water, before he swam away and stepped out of the pool. Christian came shortly after him. They chased each other down the staircase into the bathroom and dried each other. Christian gave Maxim one of his jeans and a T-shirt and vanished then into the kitchen, while Maxim finished the tour through the apartment.

He watched the displays in the glass boxes beside the fireside. Mostly large crystal figures. One of them was the carp he had bought at Lalique in Paris. The satin finished fish balanced on the crest of a crystal wave. Christian had told him the carp is an emblem of good fortune and longevity. It had found its place among other crystal animals and on each of them he saw the little engraving of "Lalique". He asked himself if he had been often to Paris with Philipp. In front of them all was a small black box, but Maxim didn't dare to open it.

The hunger urged him into the kitchen where appetizing smell came from the sizzling steaks in the pan. On another, potatoes roasted and broccoli in a boiling pot. He watched when Christian crumbled fresh rosemary over the potatoes and worked with an over dimensional pepper mill. Meanwhile he was convinced that Christian could cook, probably better than he himself.

They ate in the dining room, a little separated from the living room though connected by open door frames. "Can I ask you something?" Maxim asked. Christian nodded.

"You know, yesterday Philipp and Martin. You never told me you're identical twins. Not that it matters, but did you have the feeling too that Philipp was very familiar with Martin? I mean, what else should be the reason they went together to the musical and afterwards dancing? Do you think he was with him while you and Philipp were still together?"

Christian said nothing for a while. He chewed at his steak as if it would be a shoe's sole all of a sudden. "Well," he started then, "Actually I don't care in the least. Philipp had his time and it is over. I don't want to look back."

Maxim stared speechless at him. But perhaps he was right. What did it matter if Philipp cheated on him or not. It surely was Christian's right decision to finish their relationship. Although the lines in Christian's face and the pulled down brows told him a different story. He seemed to feel pain nonetheless. He reached out his hand and put it over Christian's, holding the knife. "Are you mad with your brother?"

Christian shook his head.

"I find it rather odd that he goes out with Martin. I wouldn't know which of you it was when I opened my eyes."

The steep wrinkle between Christian's brows grew even deeper. "Let's not talk about it, ok?" Then his face relaxed. "You're here with me. Leave the past, Maxim. I don't want to be reminded." He put the last bite into his mouth. "Let's drive to your home, feed the cat and then go to our bar."

"Our bar?" Maxim teased him. "Has it become our bar now? Perhaps we should find our very own place."

"Gosh, Maxim! You don't think I just want to replace Philipp?" Christian said sharply. "Go to Paris, go to "Made in Heaven" to find a piece of him still there? Have you ever heard me crying out his name while we're having sex? You don't want to hold reproaches?"

"Of course not." Maxim was startled by this outburst. He washed it away with a glass of mineral water. "It's our bar then," he said slowly. He rose and cleared away the dishes into the dish washer. When he turned, Christian stood, looking repentant. "I'm sorry. If you like to go somewhere else, we can."

"I like to play piano tonight," Maxim said determined. "I haven't in a long time." He stepped closer. "I promise to play only for you."

----------------------------------- [*] "Tune in tomorrow" starring Barbara Hershey, Peter Falk, Keanu Reeves