Into the Lion's Den (82 page)

“I wanted that we do it by ourselves!”

“Kitten, I have no idea of such things. Just nothing from Disney or any of its factories and no vulgarity.

No electronic toys at all or plastics; look for good wooden German toys. Go to Steiff or to Kösen for plush animals and perhaps a Märklin train. I liked them very much when I was a child.”

“Konrad, they are babies! They can't play with a train! All kids love Mickey Mouse!”

“I hate that rat. It does not enter in this house.”

“All children have them as decoration; half of the furniture has one character from Disney!”

“Says the man who used to have a Bronzino in his room?”

“I never knew what it was! I just liked it!”

“Then, you see my point. We shouldn't ruin the boys' aesthetic taste. Soft colours in the walls, good furniture and look for something functional.”

“All books say that bright colours stimulate babies!”

“If they're blood of my blood, you will be planning to put a tranquillizer in their bottles very soon.

Lintorffs don't need external stimuli to make troubles. Ask Friederich to tell you how was a typical afternoon with Albert, Ferdinand and I in the playroom after we had finished our homework. I believe my father sent me to the boarding school at fourteen to save Friederich from a stroke. If my cousin Armin was invited, we had to warn the insurance company in advance.”

“You're so exaggerated!” Guntram protested.

“No, it's the naked truth. Ask Friederich.”

“He told me you studied the whole time! That you made your homework several times till it was perfect!”

“Yes, that it's partially true. He forced me to work very hard in a useless attempt to make me tired. The problem was after it was finished and we were free to play. When I was ten or eleven years old, I wanted to get one of the Rotweillers inside to sleep with me. Totally forbidden. I tried several methods to smuggle one inside, but Friederich was always catching me. One day we, Ferdinand, Albert and I, decided to built a pulley system and lift the dog and get it through the window. It worked.”

“Poor animal! Did it survive?”

“Yes, of course. The dog didn't like heights any longer and the cherry tree needed some extra gardening, but Friederich caught us and punished me. I had to clean the kennels for a month and wash several of the dogs.”

“I understand why he has white hairs!”

“That's the natural ageing process. I was the serious one of the group,” Konrad said with a haughty voice. “Like nowadays,” he added and Guntram laughed with all his heart. 'That's the moment to check the damages,'

he thought and asked with a light tone: “how was your day, kitten?”

Guntram gulped and decided to go for the truth. Konrad had the right to know before Ostermann would tell him. “Not very good, Konrad. I received some bad critics over my work in an important magazine. In short: I make exhibitions because I'm the lover of a Swiss banker and of a Russian collector. I'm terribly sorry that your name was hinted at. All of your friends must be laughing now,” Guntram confessed.

“Guntram, no one laughs at me. Most of the people I care about know you and I have never hidden my love for you. I'm only concerned that it might affect you.”

“It's not the first time I get critics like these. In fact, when I was in London from the teacher to the last pupil thought so, but I didn't care. I paint to the best of my abilities and can't do much more than that. Take it of leave it.”

“But you care a lot about Ostermann's opinion or mine.”

“Ostermann tells reasonable things and knows about it. He's generally right and I like working with him.

Coco van Breda offered me to publish a book for children with her. Traditional stories. We have to speak with Ostermann still.”

Konrad didn't like the idea not a single bit. The van Bredas were new money and parvenus who had built their fortune on transport and discount supermarkets. Obviously, that woman wanted to use Guntram to come near him. “Guntram, you're not an illustrator; you're an artist. Focus on what is important like the babies, your art and your studies. As you have finished the second year, perhaps it would be good that you consider to change University, and finish your studies in Zurich for example. Think about it and tell me your decision in a few days.”

“But I want to make that book!”

“Guntram, do it and we will look for a better publisher. I have no objections to the project, only to the people involved. I will speak with Ostermann about this.”

Munich

The writing of this particular article had been exhausting for Dudu, but after almost a month of hard work, she felt great about the results. “Stars and Stories” was going to sell many issues with this one. Her own editor was very excited with all the interviews and photos. 'Pity he's gay! He has such a nice face and big blue eyes!' Dudu thought for the hundredth time while looking Guntram's picture, taken from the Robertson's catalogue. The only picture she had gotten from Konrad von Lintorff was from an old charity party. 'He looks like a real executioner. Lord!

Can this man smile at all?' About the other lover, the Russian, it had been impossible to get his name or picture. The boy had a scholarship in a foundation, but the owner was nowhere to be found. Stefania had refused to tell her the name because “poor man, he has enough with all this!” and Gertrud von Lintorff only told her that “he's very rich, almost like my cousin Konrad. Billionaire, he's into transport and oil. Lost his wife very recently. Look up in Fortune Magazine lists! At least she had confirmed the whole story and spoken very lengthy of this Guntram de Lisle, Vicomte de Marignac, a truly despicable little slug.

She had tried to speak with other people in her circles, but no one had said a word beyond, “Guntram? I believe he's Lintorff's ward. He paints fine. Tita bought several things from him and the Vatican too.” Or a: “If I were you, I would leave him alone. He's very shy and Konrad never appears in this kind of magazines. He's very discreet with his private life and business. You will not even find him in a specialized magazine. He never gives interviews.”

Once more she took a look at the text before submitting it to the editor.

Munich

Since Marcel Theriault had troubles with his main financier, Alexander Weber checked personally all his magazines before they were distributed. It was the talk among the publishing industry. The man had loses for over seven millions euros and only because he had annoyed said banker with a stupid critic made by two old queens fighting with so much luck that they had dragged the banker's sweetheart's name to the mud. Poor Marcel was trying to get new financing, but most European banks had rejected his applications and those who accepted him demanded impossible to afford rates: twelve percent He had to close the magazine in an attempt to reduce his costs and sell the offices to pay the workers. If he was not able to refinance his debts with this banker, he was bankrupt. The name Konrad von Lintorff was one he would never forget and he had told all his editors that he didn't want a single line written about the man.

He took the copy of “Stars and Stories, Special Edition. New Baby at Brangelina's?” and looked distractedly the pages focused on Paris Hilton, the 'What Happened to?' section; several marriages; two divorces; recipes; diets for the upcoming summer, and his heart froze when he saw the two pages article about the same Konrad von Lintorff's boyfriend “Scandalous Past in Russia”.

“Shit!” he cursed, and yelled his secretary to call “the idiot in charge of Stars and Stories. Get his fucking ass in here, right now! Stop the distribution of this shit too!”

'If this Lintorff has almost destroyed a forty-seven years company in less than a week for a stupid line, he will make sausages of me with only five years in business and four tabloids for the supermarket!'

The Chief Editor of “Stars and Stories” burst into his office totally upset that the printing and distribution had been stopped by the owner's direct orders. “Where's the integrity of this publishing house?” he yelled.

“Integrity? This is a business, idiot! Did you authorise this?”

“Of course, it will sell like crazy. Rich gays and clever little sluts. Old aristocracy on top. Everything is confirmed with interviews. Their lawyers can't touch us.”

“I don't care if they fuck in the middle of the street. This is a well known banker. He invites presidents for dinner at his house.”

“So? Our compromise is to the truth and to our public.”

“Not if I'm broke in the process! This is not the fucking Washington Post or the Watergate! Eat by yourself all the fucking magazines if you have to, but stop it!”

“They have to go to the distribution channels in four hours!”

“No! Remove those fucking pages!”

“It's a 700.000 issues circulation! It goes to all Germany and Austria!”

“Stop it!”

“It will cost us a lot of money and our market share. If we are not in the stands tomorrow, we are good as dead!”

“Get the idiots from the design team to put extra hours and redesign anew without this article if you want to keep your job!”

“We can't do that! I don't think we have enough paper to make another edition!”

“Print what you can!”

“What about the advertisers?”

“We'll worry about them later! Now, go to work and fix this!”

“His name is Alexander Weber and Marcel Theriault gave him your private number. He says it's most urgent that he speaks with you.”

Konrad sighed and left the cognac on top of the side table while Guntram continued to draw, oblivious to the butler's presence, with a frown in his face as he focused on the details. 'I could organize a meeting with the whole FED and he wouldn't notice,' Konrad thought briefly.

“Friederich, tell him to make an appointment with Monika!”

“He says it's related to Russia, sire. It's about a publication; Stars and Stories.”

Very upset, Konrad rose from his comfortable sofa and went to take the call to his own private studio.

“Lintorff,” he growled already upset with whoever was on the other side.

“Good evening, sir. My name is Alexander Weber and I'm the CEO of Weber Publishing Inc. Perhaps you know our magazine “Stars and Stories”. We have published a story about your relationship with a young man, Guntram de Lisle and his previous lover, a Russian industrial,” a young voice said on the other side of the line.

“If you print one single word about this, my lawyers will take care of your company,” Konrad said with barely contained fury.

“I'm holding the distribution of the magazine till we can reach a settlement that could satisfy us both.

The article is well documented.”

“Very well, we'll see each other in Courts.”

“There's no need to become upset with us. Imagine the scandal. You and a twenty-three year old, who happens to be the former little slut of another rich man? Don't bankers rely on their good names? Let's speak and I'm sure we can reach a solution.”

“I have nothing to hide and this is privacy invasion. I'm not a public figure.”

“We even have pictures,” Weber taunted Konrad, convinced that the man was playing hard.

“Very well, how much do you want?” Konrad asked, thinking that the man couldn't be so idiotic as to give a number.

“Look, I know you had already troubles with Theriault and I don't want the same mess here. I only want that you help me to cover the costs of withdrawing this edition.”

“No.”

“Mine is a very small company. We sell our products in Supermarkets. I can't afford the luxury of losing the entire run of a journal. We printed 700,000 copies and by sheer luck I found this rubbish before it was distributed.

I don't want troubles with you, but I can't carry on my shoulders the whole weight of fixing this inconvenience.

Publishing is not a flourishing business as finance, sir.”

“I'm listening Mr. Weber.”

“I sell each one of the copies for sixty-nine cents and we live mostly from our advertisers. If I stop the circulation, I'll get them on my neck for breaking the contract.”

“If your business can't survive a small inconvenience, then your business plan is very wrong.”

“I need a minimum of €600,000 to cover costs and keep the advertisers happy, sir.”

'At least he's honest with the numbers.' “What do you suggest, Mr. Weber?”

“If you could lend me the money so I can cover the costs and print another issue. I could pay you back in let's say, three years.”

“How old are you Mr. Weber?” 'Hopeless idiot or very inexperienced'.

“What? I'm twenty-six.”

“I understand. All right,” Konrad chuckled. “Obviously you have no idea with whom you're speaking and it's refreshing in some way. Most people would have asked much more from me.”

“I'm not blackmailing you! I'm only looking for a way out of this mess!”

“You have the manners of a rascal,” Lintorff laughed. “I will buy all the copies you have at forty cents.

You can tell your advertisers that you sold them all and I'll give you a credit for €350,000 at one percent for a year.

You have to destroy all the copies tonight and tomorrow someone will contact you on my name. I want all the material you might have on me. Is this satisfactory for you?”

“Very much, sir. Thank you.”

“Good-bye, we will in contact with you. One more thing.”

“Yes, sir?”

“Fire all the people who misled you so blatantly. I also started with twenty-two and my first lesson was keeping all my underlings in line with an iron fist. People mistakes young age with softness.”

“Yes, sir,” Alexander answered, feeling like a dunce in front of the school teacher.

“Good-bye, if we are pleased with your work, we might consider you for further deals in the future.”

Konrad hung the phone before the other could say anything. 'Ferdinand has to solve this tomorrow. He's back from Frankfurt and behaving very well since he was almost expelled by the board. Perhaps the separation from Gertrud might have been beneficial for him. And the Colombian girl was too much to have around. He was distracted all the time, like a teenager.'