Page 7 of Sweet Thing

“Of course Mr. Duchamp, you can be assured of our discretion. The exhibition runs for a month, and after that, we can arrange for delivery, is that to your satisfaction?“

“Ja, Alex has my number and my email. He can contact me anytime,“ Simeon drawled, meeting Alex’s gaze, a tiny hitch of his mouth betraying understanding.

“Will you be returning for the opening?“ Alex enquired, back to his business-like self.

“Of course, I haven’t seen the whole collection yet; you never know, I might pick up something else.“ Sim turned and waggled his eyebrows at Alex, who shied away.

“Oh, we have one last thing to do, Mr. Duchamp“, Alex exclaimed. He went to the desk and rummaged in a drawer. Then both Simeon and Monika followed Alex into the gallery. Alex held a sheet of small red dot stickers. A red dot beside a painting at an exhibition denoted that it had been sold. Alex peeled off a tiny sticker and gave it to Sim. Simeon grinned, took the sticker and placed it on the wall beside the title placard ‘Our Awakening by Emily Raven.' The deal was sealed.

****

Chapter 3

OH YOU PRETTY THINGS

Simeon hailed a Taxi on Unter den Linden to take him back to his apartmentonTucholsky Straße. He lived alone, rent-free in a grand old four story building that had been split into apartments. Sim‘s papa used to be an Ambassador for France, and on retirement from the Government, he dealt in property. Patrice Duchamp lived in the lower apartment when he was in Berlin and Sim had the top floor. The two middle apartments were unoccupied and only in use when Patrice had business in Berlin and needed accommodation for his staff.

On arrival, Sim unlocked the front door and entered the building, dipping to collect the mail scattered around on the ornately tiled hall floor. He rushed up the marble staircase, embellished by ornate wrought iron Art Deco balustrades.

Shrugging off his jacket when he entered his home, Simeon walked down the hall toward the kitchen. He then quickly sorted through the bundle of mail, taking those letters not addressed to him or his father, Patrice and dropped them in the recycling bin. He tossed the remainder of the bundle on the kitchen table and zoned out, still lost in thoughts of Pieter.

Simeon had collected lots of friends throughout his life, but few of them were real friends. Most were fashionista hangers-on or fairweather friends. Pieter Bayer had been the real deal, the best friend Sim had ever known in his whole fucked-up life—the only man in the whole world who really knew him, and Simeon had treated him abominably. Sim was offered that rare second chance at having a friendship with Pieter, and he was determined he wouldn’t blow it this time. He had no idea how or where he could fit into Pieter’s new life. Pieter had his young family now, and they would always come first. Simeon knew he would have to accept that fact. But any time with Peety is better than nothing, right?

Sim strode into his bedroom and flopped onto the king-sized bed. He lay with his arms behind his head and stared at the patterns in the cracks on the high ceiling. The room was lined with shelves filled with books. Anyone in the fashion industry who thought they knew the vacuous, outrageous, party-boy model Simeon Duchamp, knew nothing. The real Simeon Duchamp was a quiet, sensitive, bookish young man. The outrageous party boy facade had been built to help him cope in an industry that made all of his insecurities seem magnified and mountainous. Sobriety brought Simeon‘s true personality back to the fore, and he wasn’t ashamed by his need for peace and reflection anymore.

The only art in Simeon’s bedroom was a sexy, half naked Bowie poster on the wall opposite the bed. David Bowie had helped Simeon through many difficult times, not only through music. He was his God and his therapist. An excellent listener, David never asked awkward questions, and never judged Sim for his decadent behavior. Pieter and Papa were the only ones who knew he had regular, one-way, conversations with a poster of David Bowie. Everyone else would wonder about his mental health and would have sent him straight back to the Swiss clinic, but it was an imaginary relationship he‘d fostered since he discovered Bowie at fourteen, and it helped him to stay sane. The passing of his mentor in 2016 cut deeply, but Sim continued conversing with Bowie as if his idol was still around.

Sim decided that the portrait of Pieter he had just spent a staggering amount of his Papa’s money on would hang above his bed, opposite Bowie. Then his two favorite boys could admire one another.

****

Simeon showered and gave himself an enema. He might just see if Alex was interested in an encore, or maybe more. As he dressed, Sim thought about all of the people he would be facing tonight. They were all people who loved Pieter—and they had loved Sim. He really did miss their old group of friends. He always had such fun with Gretchen, her partner Lena, Oli, and his husband, Daniel. Simeon didn’t know what he could do to atone for his past behavior.

Are they all Emily’s friends now?

Had Emily stepped into the space he vacated? How would Simeon fit back in if he was a single amongst a group of couples? Doubts crowded Sim’s mind. He was putting himself in a room with people who hated him, and there would be free booze on tap that he could not drink. FUCK! Sim sighed deeply. He needed to man up and just get the night over and done with.

****

When Simeon arrived back at the Franzen Gallery, it was quite a different affair. Twilight changed the atmosphere. The doors had been open for only fifteen minutes, but the gallery, and pavement outside on Neustädtische Kirchstrasse, was already thronged with people. Photographers were milling around taking shots of German media celebrities, high-powered business people, socialites, artists, and critics. Guests were conversing in the cool spring evening air, with cigarettes and glasses of wine in hand. Not everyone had made an effort to dress in smart attire, and Simeon felt like the belle of the ball in slim-fit cotton/silk blend black trousers and a skinny fit navy Moneschto tee with silver sequin hearts in clusters on the front. A cropped black leather jacket and pixie boots completed his ensemble. He glanced at his reflection in the gallery window andsmiled, flicking his bangs dramatically away from his eyes. Simeon stood on the street feeling those familiar last minute nerves he’d always felt when he was about to walk the runway. He took a deep breath and then stepped through the gallery door and into the spotlight.

The wealthy and connected of Berlin were already in attendance. Simeon surveyed the faces in the crowd. Pieter wasn’t there yet, but he saw Alex by the front desk greeting guests. Alex nodded and blushed in recognition when his gaze met Sim’s. Simeon felt a frisson of pleasure in his gut at the remembrance of the blow job he had given the man hours earlier. He edged through the crowd to the drinks table and huffed when he saw the line of wine glasses filled to the brim. The itch beneath his skin made him grind his teeth with frustration. Every time he was close to alcohol, that demon inside him clawed at his chest, craving just one sip. But even one sip would be too much. Sim was proud that he had been dry for a year, so in spite of the stress he felt with the circumstances of the exhibition, he refused to fail tonight. Simeon picked up a glass of apple juice from the table and then joined the milling crowd, his gaze ever alert for a nice ass or a face from the past!

Sim took a stroll around the perimeter of the gallery, viewing the whole exhibition for the first time. There were forty paintings of varying sizes. Emily truly was an exquisite painter, and Simeon’s envy flared as he viewed all the beautiful men she had captured in oil on canvas. Simeon liked that Emily seemed to have a thing for gay men. Several of the canvases showed men in fevered erotic couplings, naked wrestling, and bizarre sexual gymnastics. He noticed one of the full-body nude portraits was of Max Dimitri, a dancer he and Pieter knew. Max surely did have a stunning physique; pity he was straight, or Sim would have added him to the notches on his bedpost.

Simeon paused, sipped his juice, and glanced around the room. He noticed a group of people around ‘Our Awakening,' the painting that he had just purchased. He sidled on over to listen in on the comments.

“This piece is so sensual and evocative, don’t you think? I can’t believe it is sold already; it’s only 6:30.” a woman said.

“I know! I’m in deep shit. Bastian’s going to be livid; he asked me to reserve it for him. But what can I do?” a man replied in frustration.

Gleeful warmth flooded Simeon’s chest. He felt like a guard dog, patrolling up and down past the painting. He wanted to announce his ownership to the crowd, overjoyed that he had even a tiny piece of Pieter Bayer, but he caged his boastful declaration. Simeon took another swallow of apple juice and looked up as a red-headed woman strode over and stood beside him. She was also holding a glass of apple juice.

“Not drinking either?” He grinned; she chuckled and clicked glasses with him.

“A toast… to sobriety,” she exclaimed.

“I’ll drink to that!” Simeon smiled. He looked the woman up and down. She appeared to be in her mid-thirties, had loose, long, straight russet hair. Her skin was wrinkle free, and her cheeks flushed pink. She had silver-gray eyes and pretty, sensual lips. She was a shapely woman, the kind who would never get her moment on the runway, but she was beautiful. He liked the blue silk wrap-dress she wore that accentuated the curve of her wide hips. The woman grinned mischievously at him, and Simeon felt awkward for a moment, at being caught sizing her up.