The Boys at the Top of the World

Chapter 8: Grains

— Summer 1939 —

It was Andrei's eighteenth birthday, and Mikhail was throwing a party, which seemed more like a party for himself than a celebration for Andrei.

"Andryusha, can you go get us another round from the bar?" slurred Mikhail. Andrei could hardly hear his master over the pounding music, but he understood the man's meaning. "I can't get up right now, as you can see." Mikhail gestured to the two women who were perched on his legs. Andrei recognized the women as the dancers that Mikhail had hired, the same ones who had whirled on stage in small outfits while Andrei shifted uncomfortably in his seat. "Just don't let the tab go too far over four thousand," added Mikhail. "We're trying to have a budget-conscious affair here." The women giggled and nuzzled against Mikhail, and Andrei pursed his lips.

Andrei was wary of leaving Mikhail with these women who seemed very interested in Mikhail's half-open shirt. Still, he was a good boy, so he went to the bar and ordered Mikhail's favorites, which he had long since memorized. Yes, Andrei knew all the esoteric details of Mikhail's life as though they were his own: when Mikhail rose in the morning (between 8:53 and 8:56 a.m.), when Mikhail went to bed at night (between 12 and 1), when Mikhail took his dinner (5:30 p.m.), whether Mikhail preferred red or white wine (red), which leg of his trousers Mikhail put on first (the right one). So he was rather mystified when he walked back across the rented club space and Mikhail looked at his tray of drinks as though there was something wrong with it.

"What did you get for yourself, Andryusha?" asked Mikhail, who had now attracted a third young woman to nestle against his side and do something with one of Mikhail's store charge cards and some suspicious white powder. Andrei supposed that the women saw Mikhail as a very eligible young bachelor, which Mikhail was, and he understood the appeal of Mikhail very well, but still these women irked him for reasons that he had only just begun to understand.

"For myself? Misha, you know that I don't like to drink."

"Hm? But drinking is fun, Andryusha." Mikhail stood, sending the women scattering like flushed birds. "Let me show you." He wrapped his hands around Andrei's waist, picked Andrei up, and set the smaller man on the edge of the table despite Andrei's protests. "Ladies," said Mikhail without taking his eyes off Andrei, "allow me to introduce you to Andrei Semenov, my right hand man. Handsome, isn't he? And very single."

Handsome? Andrei blushed. Single? Well, that's a bit unfair, Misha, I wouldn't be single if you were a woman and also had much lower standards... Out of the corner of his eye, he saw that the women were now regarding him with interest. But they did not take up much of his attention, for his gaze was on Mikhail's wandering hands. Mikhail pushed Andrei back against the table, his hands pushing Andrei's shirt up out of his trousers, and Andrei shook his head. "Misha -"

But Mikhail had his way with Andrei, as he always did. "Shh," said Mikhail, and he plucked a lime slice from a tequila glass and pushed it between Andrei's lips so that Andrei would shh. He pushed his finger along the edge of the glass to gather the salt, then trailed it beside Andrei's navel. Andrei felt the grains roll and come to rest in the wake of Mikhail's finger, felt his whole body lean towards the grit of the gesture. Fuck, what was happening to him?

"I'll do it," piped up one of the women, and she reached for the shot in Mikhail's hand. Mikhail looked at her as if he had seen a madwoman.

"You'll do what? Encroach on my territory?" said Mikhail, and he didn't hand over the shot. Andrei's navel had felt rather cold and exposed, but now he felt a warm flush rising through his stomach at the thought of being Mikhail's territory. What the hell was Mikhail doing?