Cervena
Červenà
By Louise Lyons
When Joel Jones finds homeless Russian Sasha outside his gay nightclub in Prague, he cannot find it in his heart to turn him away, so he offers him a home and a job as a dancer and stripper.
Despite a fifteen-year age gap, romance develops between them but is interrupted when Joel has to return to England for many weeks to deal with a death in the family.
Upon Joel’s return, he is horrified to discover his business partner, Karel, has gambled away the club’s money and put them all at risk. Joel buys him out of the club, but when Karel continues to gamble, the people he owes pursue Joel for the debt instead—and they’ll stop at nothing to get paid.
Suddenly Joel and those he cares about—especially Sasha—are in danger, and Joel finds himself with no choice but to seek the help of known criminal, Vincenc Jankovic. Ensuring a happy future for himself and Sasha will mean a struggle and some difficult decisions, but Joel is determined to protect what they’ve built together.
Table of Contents
Chapter One
PULLING THE
collar of my overcoat up around my ears, I stepped outside. My breath steamed in the icy air, and for a moment, I considered taking a taxi. Quickly dismissing the idea, I set off on foot. The walk between my block of condos and the nightclub was less than a mile, and the exercise was good for my awkward right leg. Cold, damp weather caused me discomfort and stiffness, relieved only by keeping my leg moving as much as possible.
I strode along the street and cut across Wenceslas Square. Already feeling the chill, I thrust my hands deep into my pockets. Only that morning I’d received an e-mail from my sister in London, telling me how warm the weather was there. Rosalyn had been planning to take my little niece, Rachael, to London Zoo.
I knew I ought to try to get home more often. Our mother hadn’t been well and I’d already flown back three times this year. The final time had been only two weeks earlier, when Mum had been admitted to the hospital after a suspected minor heart attack. As strong and determined as she was, she insisted we continue as normal rather than spend our time fussing around her and worrying.
My family occupied my thoughts as I walked along the dark streets flanked by an assortment of tall buildings—hotels, bars, apartment buildings, and offices. Despite the late hour, people bustled along the main thoroughfares, most in pairs or groups, likely heading for pubs and clubs. Chatter in a range of languages from Czech to English to French filled my ears, occasionally drowned out by the rattle and roar of a tram. The city center hummed with life no matter the hour or the chilly season.
I quickly reached Červenà, the nightclub I jointly owned with my Czech business partner. Gay men flocked to see Červenà’s performers, get on the dance floor, and enjoy the extensive range of cocktails. The private areas reserved for lap dances were rarely empty, and the five permanent dancers lived in the studios on the top floor of the building. Entering via the side door, I checked my wristwatch and noted it was fifteen minutes before opening time. I’d always made a point of being on the premises during business hours if possible. I liked to make my presence known, to support the staff and dancers. My partner Karel’s attendance was more intermittent, but he was usually there on Saturday nights, propping up the bar and encouraging the patrons to book lap dances.
The club was my pride and joy, built up from nothing over many months of hard work. I stood a little way from the door, taking a moment to gaze up at the building with a smile—a habit that had formed over the years. The ancient stone facade glowed red beneath the lit sign above the entrance, beckoning clubgoers to enter. The city offered many popular nightspots, but Červenà’s reputation had gradually lifted it to the forefront of Europe’s gay scene.
I passed the dancers’ dressing room as I made my way to my office and paused at the door to greet the boys. Marek and Tomáš sat in front of the mirrors, applying makeup, while Andĕl and František wriggled into impossibly tight glittery outfits.
“Evening, boys.” After ten years, it had become more natural to me to speak Czech than English, much to Rosalyn’s amusement. She often teased me when we spoke, claiming my English had become accented.
“Hi, Joel,” four voices chorused.
“Where’s Bohdan tonight?”
“Running late again,” Tomáš answered. “He’ll be down in time for his first podium.”
“Okay, see you later, then. Have a good night.” Leaving them to get ready, I continued to my office.
The club was in full swing before I ventured out again, the bass of a dance track vibrating through the building. I headed for the bar to get a beer and greet Karel. As usual he was already tipsy, and had a skimpily dressed blond boy draped over his lap.
“Karel.” I nodded at him as Pavel the bar manager passed me my usual light beer.
“Joel. Where’ve you been?”
“Checking the books. It’s busy in here tonight.” It was always packed on Saturdays, but there seemed to be more going on than usual.
“We had a bachelor party waiting at the door. Twelve guys from your homeland, my friend.” Karel gestured with his cocktail to a crowd on the dance floor. “The pair wearing the devil horns are the grooms.”
I looked at the noisy, jostling crowd, some of whom had found other boys to dance with. The revelers were easy to spot, with their matching white T-shirts showing a printed picture of two grooms on a wedding cake. I stayed at the bar while I sipped my beer, trying not to pay too much attention to Karel as he pawed the boy on his lap. The man was my friend, but he was crude and lecherous, and he liked his men much younger than I thought appropriate. Karel thought me old-fashioned and couldn’t see what my problem was, as long as they were legal.
When I’d finished my drink, I took a walk around, greeted a couple of the security guys, and wandered upstairs onto the balcony. Looking down at the podium, I was able to watch František performing, surrounded by an excited crowd of men. Fran was down to a tiny silver jockstrap, which barely held everything in, gyrating and shimmying on the small stage. Even from my distance, I saw the flutter of bills sticking out of the elastic straps of the jock. I watched until the end of the dance, then continued on my way, passing couples kissing and touching on the comfortable leather seats around the perimeter. I made my way down the stairs at the other end of the balcony and scanned the bar area. Karel and his blond had disappeared, probably into the restrooms.
I slipped through one of the doors into the rear of the club and passed the dressing room again. Fran marched by me, already counting his tips and crowing to the others. Bohdan had joined them, and Andĕl was getting ready to head out for his first turn on the podium. After giving the boys a smile and a thumbs up, I went into the kitchen to make coffee. I flicked on the light and closed the door to drown out most of the music. A sound from outside the window startled me and I almost knocked over the coffee jar. The noise could have been a lid from one of the metal bins crashing to the ground, but I wanted to check to be sure. Frowning, I unlocked the outer door, which led from the kitchen into the small backyard.
“Who’s there?” I took a step outside, peering into the darkness. The light from the kitchen window didn’t reach to the corners of the yard. There was no answer and I wondered if the disturbance had merely been a cat. A movement to the left where the bins stood caught my attention. “Hey! What are you doing?” I charged forward and a figure rose to its feet, hands held at shoulder level as if I were aiming a gun.
A young man edged toward me, dark shaggy hair framing a pale face, the lower half covered by a patchy beard. A homeless beggar no doubt, looking for scraps of food. Winter was a tough time of year for these types, and I was a soft touch. “Do you want something to eat?”
He stared at me blankly.
“Can you understand me?”
He shrugged. I tried English instead. The many visitors from different countries had made me used to the frequent language barrier, but most people could speak at least some English. “Can I help? Do you want something to eat?”
“I’m sorry. I wasn’t stealing. Only taking what you were throwing away.” He spoke fluently, but with a strong accent that could have been Russian.
“It’s all right. I’m not angry. Will you come inside? I’ll get you something better to eat than scraps.”
He looked at the open door, his expression one of longing. “Please.”
Moving aside, I ushered him toward the door and smiled wryly. Karel wouldn’t be impressed if he were around. He thought I was too nice, and that beggars should be kicked into the gutter where they belonged.
Shivering, I hurried back into the kitchen and closed the door. I’d left my coat in the office, and my casual suit and open-necked shirt offered little protection against the cold. The young man’s long threadbare coat, its buttons missing, covered a thin jacket. Beneath that a couple of shirt collars and something knitted were visible. His loose jogging bottoms revealed a denim cuff at the bottom of one leg, indicating he wore jeans underneath, and worn hiking boots with broken laces covered his feet. The black hair framing his thin face was unkempt and in need of a cut. His beautiful green eyes, striking in their intensity, showed a mixture of fear and gratitude. I paused for a long moment, unable to look away, before I turned to open the fridge.
We didn’t keep a great deal of supplies in there, but there was bread, cold meat, cheese, and tomatoes. I made some thick sandwiches and retrieved a second mug to make coffee for him. He stared at the sandwiches hopefully but made no move to take one.
“They’re for you. Go ahead.” I pushed the plate along the counter to him.
“Thank you.” He crammed as much food into his mouth as he could manage, struggling to chew the enormous bite. The man was starving, and I imagined his body would be painfully thin under the layers of clothing.
“You should take your coat off. It’s warm in here and it’ll feel worse when you go outside again.”
“Hm.” He nodded, still chewing, and shrugged out of the long coat. It fell to the floor in a heap, and I fought not to wrinkle my nose at the smell of stale body odor.
I didn’t speak again until he’d finished the sandwiches and gulped the coffee. I poured a refill and passed it to him. “What’s your name?”
“Uh, it’s, um….” He frowned as if considering what to tell me. “Sasha,” he finished eventually.
“I’m Joel. Where are you from, Sasha?”
“Kaliningrad. In Russia.”
“Your English is pretty good. But you don’t speak Czech?”
“Not yet. But I can learn. English is my third language. Polish second. I am good with languages. After I left my home, it’s easier to speak English. Most people understand a little.”
“I’m impressed.” I smiled but he didn’t return it. “What are you doing in Prague?”
“Looking for work.”
“How old are you?”
“Twenty; almost twenty-one.”
“And what type of work do you do?”
“Anything.” He shrugged one shoulder. “Do you have something I could do?”
Looking him up and down again, I considered whether under the ratty clothes, facial hair, and grime, he had the look of a dancer. Again, my gaze was drawn to his stunning eyes, and the defined cheekbones under his beard, and I knew he’d look good on the podium. Karel and I had recently discussed taking on another dancer. Bohdan was sometimes unreliable, and I got the impression he was looking for alternative employment. Karel wouldn’t want to pick up a homeless kid off the street and offer him a job, but mostly I dealt with the hiring and firing anyway.
“Can you dance?”
“Yes. I love dancing.”
“Look, I can’t promise anything, but I might have something for you. Do you know what kind of club this is?”
Sasha nodded. “For gay men.”
“And we have dancers to entertain the crowds. Strippers.”
“Yes.”
“And you’d consider that?”
“Yes.”
I had to wonder whether Sasha was so desperate he’d agree to anything, but I decided if I watched him dance with the crowd, rather than on a podium, at least I’d be able to gauge his reaction to it all. “Come with me. You need to take a shower and get into some clean clothes.”
Sasha flushed and hung his head. “I’m sorry about my appearance.”
“That wasn’t a criticism. How long have you been living on the streets?”
