The Boys at the Top of the World

Chapter 4: Teddy Bear

— Christmas 1934 —

Mikhail's animosity did not last forever, though neither of the boys remembered the holiday fondly. By the time they were teenagers, Mikhail had begun to invite Andrei to nearly everything, and to permit him to refer to himself in the first-person. And this was how Andrei found himself serving drinks at Mikhail's father's Christmas party.

Mikhail stood between his father and the other wealthy and powerful men and women, conversing with them as though he were a powerful man himself. Andrei was rather envious of Mikhail, who had thought himself deserving to stand among men ever since he was old enough to stand. Mikhail certainly looked the part, as he was closing in on six feet tall - only his youthful face belied his true age, and his youthful face was not much visible at present, as it was hidden behind a pair of fashionable sunglasses. The sunglasses had been a Christmas present, imported specially from Italy for the young master's countenance. Andrei had gotten presents too - a slow gold watch that had once belonged to Mikhail, and a sweater to match the fine wool Christmas sweater that Mikhail wore now. He planned to pawn off the watch and give the money to his family, but he had put the sweater on right away, for the idea of matching Mikhail (in all his glory) was rather appealing. Mikhail had good taste, didn't he? Wasn't it good to dress in fine garments, to look as if your father was someone worth knowing? Makar had called them brother bears, Mishka Makarovich and his teddy bear.

Andrei pushed his way shyly into the circle of people, holding his tray of drinks aloft. "More drinks, sirs and ma'ams?"

Mikhail took a drink from his tray and sipped it. "These are pretty good, Andryusha. Did you try one?"

"Misha sir, there's alcohol in that."

"So?" Mikhail kept drinking. Of course, thought Andrei. He had been naive again. There was no reason that the young master Mikhail, who had taken up smoking cigarettes and cigars a few years back, should not also enjoy a bit of champagne at a party. (Nevermind that Andrei did not much like Mikhail's smoking habit, as it required him to always be fetching Mikhail a light, and Mikhail liked to blow acrid smoke in his face and threaten to put out cigarettes on his skin).

One of the women in the circle chuckled and patted Andrei on the back, then allowed her fingers to linger demandingly on Andrei's sweater. Andrei shuddered under her touch. "This is your little servant, Mishutka? Such a sweet young boy. How old is he?"

Mikhail smiled without amusement. "Ivana, you old pervert. Just because I've gotten too tall for your tastes, it doesn't mean that you can try to move in on my servants."

Makar laughed and took a drink from Andrei's tray. "Sorry, Iva. It seems that my son still has no interest in women. I did try to explain the benefits to him, but he's too focused on his studies, I suppose."

Mikhail pursed his lips. "Come, Andryusha, there's a nice song playing. Let's dance." Before Andrei could protest, Mikhail swept the drinks tray out of his hand and set it on a nearby table. Mikhail gathered Andrei into his arms, replacing Ivana's hands with his own, and Andrei shivered. He felt a strong and sudden urge to go and weep in the supply closet, which he had not done in several years. Still, he supposed that Mikhail had saved him in a way, and that he should be grateful for this.

Mikhail wanted to dance, and so they danced, their bodies pressed more tightly together than was really proper for dancing. Andrei had never been so close to Mikhail in the daytime, and his cheeks flushed at the idea of what everyone must think. Andrei was not well acquainted with the norms of the upper class, but he often felt a sense of shame at his strange closeness with Mikhail. Was he sick? Was Mikhail trying to display his sickness to everyone, so that they might see it and laugh? But Mikhail seemed genuinely pleased to have his servant in his arms, and perhaps a bit tipsy. If Mikhail said it was alright, then it was alright, surely? Mikhail dipped Andrei low, laughed at Andrei's gasp, pulled him back up and spun him around. "Kirill, come take our picture in our sweaters."