Červenà

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?”

“Two years off and on. Work’s hard to find for someone who didn’t graduate and has no fixed address. There are more people than jobs as it is. Sometimes I was able to get rooms but not often. It’s been a couple of months since I had either work or a bed for the night.”

I nodded and opened the kitchen door. Immediately noise filled the room, and Sasha winced, turning away from the sounds. I indicated he should follow me along the corridor. Tomáš almost bumped into us as he returned from the club, his tiny red jock stuffed with koruna. From what I could see, Sasha was about the same height but possibly thinner.

“Tomáš, how long before you’re on the podium again?” I asked, continuing to speak in English.

“Forty minutes.”

“This is Sasha. Will you take him upstairs, let him get a shower, and lend him some clothes? Jeans and shirt will do.”

Tomáš’s eyes widened as he looked at Sasha, then back at me. “Joel?”

“Hurry up.”

“Of course.” Tomáš nodded. Leaving them together, I returned to the bar.

“Another beer?” Pavel shouted in order to be heard above the music.

I shook my head. “Coke. Thank you.” I checked on the progress of the bachelors, most of whom were now crowded around the podium, waving cash at Marek. When I turned back, a tall glass of Coke with ice and a slice of lime had been placed on the bar. I saluted Pavel with the glass before I took a sip.

I checked my watch several times, and almost thirty minutes passed before Tomáš and Sasha appeared. Tomáš had pulled on denim shorts over his jock, and he wore a pair of horrible red plastic sandals on his feet. Sasha walked behind him, head down.

“Here you go. I need to get back to work,” Tomáš said, the words possibly aimed at both Sasha and me. Tomáš slipped away, leaving the young Russian standing beside me.

Sasha’s hair shone wetly from his shower, and the scent of pine-scented shower gel drifted to me. He was clean-shaven and the removal of the hair revealed a firm chin and high cheekbones. He pressed his full lips together and kept his eyes down.

I’d been right about him and Tomáš being of similar size, but I wasn’t so sure Tomáš’s style suited Sasha. The electric blue shirt seemed too bright for him and the faded jeans were so tight they looked to have been painted on. It was impossible to miss the decent package he had crammed in there. I jerked my eyes back to his face quickly, noting the color in his cheeks. “Would you like a drink?”

Sasha glanced at my Coke and nodded. I didn’t really want the drink, and I pushed the glass along the bar toward him. He wrapped long slender fingers around the glass and lifted it to his lips, draining half the contents before placing it back on the bar.

“You asked if I could dance?” he reminded me.

“Yes. This is my club. Well, mine and a partner’s. We’ve been thinking about taking on another dancer. You’ve met Tomáš. That’s Marek up on the podium.” I pointed and Sasha turned to look over his shoulder. “There are three others. I mentioned before that they’re strippers, and you can see for yourself now. Would you feel comfortable taking your clothes off?”

“Um, I’ve never done anything like that, but yes. I could do it.” He met my eyes. “I’ll do anything. I mean, not anything, but, um….”

“I’m only suggesting you dance, Sasha.” I gave him a warm smile. “There are private rooms upstairs for lap dancing, but that’s the dancer’s choice. You don’t have to do it. You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to. But if you do lap dances, you keep half of what the guys pay.”

Sasha nodded solemnly.

“Why don’t you get out on the dance floor and show me what you can do? Call it an audition.” I doubted Karel would be happy about missing this, but I didn’t like the way he auditioned new dancers. He made them get up on the podium when the club was closed, clad in only their underwear, and dance for ten minutes in front of the two of us. I remembered Andĕl’s audition vividly. The boy’s face had been as red as his boxer briefs, and his movements jerky and uncoordinated. Karel would have said no but I’d overruled it. Andĕl was beautiful, and I’d known the men would love him. I’d given him a second audition, fully dressed, in one of the upper rooms. Funnily enough, dancing virtually naked in front of hundreds came to him pretty easily once he got started.

Sasha finished his Coke and walked onto the dance floor. He was a little too thin but otherwise stunning. He’d need a haircut and a few decent meals, but if he could dance, he’d make plenty of tips. I did my best to think of the investment rather than the fact that he was exactly the type of man I liked.

He’s too young for you.

Sasha had told me he was almost twenty-one, but I usually preferred men closer to my own age. At thirty-five, I’d grown out of one-night stands a long time ago. Karel hadn’t and he was older than me, but after the club was set up I’d felt it was time to stop picking up random fucks and try a relationship instead. I’d had two since, both of which lasted over a year, but neither had been completely satisfying.

I shook myself in annoyance. I’d known the guy about three minutes and I was looking at him as potential boyfriend material. Ridiculous.

The music changed to a sensual tune with a heavy bass, making my chest vibrate. I tried to pay attention and watch with a critical eye as Sasha began to move. At first he merely shuffled from side to side, looking as awkward as Andĕl had that first time. Then he tilted his head back, half closed his eyes, and seemed to lose himself in the music. He lifted his arms above his head and moved his body in time with the beat, swaying and gyrating, virtually writhing on the dance floor. My cock swelled as I watched, and I resisted the urge to adjust myself.

A random dancer moved in behind Sasha and placed his hands on the boy’s hips. The blond man rubbed his groin against Sasha’s ass and slid one hand around to his stomach. Sasha stiffened and I edged forward, ready to step in. The other boys were quite capable of pushing away groping hands, but perhaps Sasha would think this was expected of him. The security guys always kept an eye on the podium, but they took no notice of the way the public danced.

Sasha made to pull away, glancing in my direction. I didn’t know what he saw on my face, but he jerked away from the blond, shaking his head. When he strode off the dance floor and returned to my side, I nodded and smiled in approval. “You move well.”

“I told you I like to dance.”

“And the guy who tried to touch you? You dealt with it appropriately, but does that worry you? Sometimes the patrons like to touch, but it’s not allowed here. Not even in the private dances.”

“I can look after myself. And it wouldn’t make me uncomfortable. I don’t know if it’s obvious, but in case you were wondering, I’m gay. That’s why I left my hometown. People found out and I was beaten. When I explained to my parents, they… they weren’t pleased.” He broke off and shrugged. I caught the flash of hurt on his face before he blinked and took a breath. “I really need to work. Dancing for people wouldn’t bother me, but I don’t sleep around. Wouldn’t, I mean.”

“I’m not asking you to. Like I said, the boys give private dances if they want to, but that’s all. There are cameras in all of the rooms and they’re well monitored. Anything happens that shouldn’t, security will go in and end it. It’s the same for the podium. I’ve been known to step in myself, and would have just then if you’d needed it.”

Sasha nodded and smiled. “Is the pay enough to get a room somewhere?”

“It’s enough to get an apartment if you want one, but the job includes accommodation. The boys all have a studio upstairs. You’ve seen Tomáš’s.”

Sasha’s smile widened. “It’s been a long time since I slept in a proper bed, without worrying some other person in whichever hostel I was in would rob me.”

I found it impossible to smile back. I knew very little about him yet. Beaten for being gay and, by the sound of it, shunned by his parents. I wanted to know more, find out how he’d traveled all the way from his home in Russia to Prague, but there was time for that later.

“Come to the office. There’s some paperwork to be done.” After pushing away from the bar, I led him through the back of the club. I closed the door of my office behind us and indicated a chair for him to sit on. “I assume you have a passport?”

“Um….”

“You don’t have a passport?” I frowned, picturing him sneaking across borders or stowing away in container lorries. I had a vivid imagination.

“Of course I have one.” He rose from the chair and shoved a hand into the back pocket of his jeans. “It’s, um, Sasha’s not my real name. I’m sorry. I… it’s what I… it’s what my….”

He sank back onto the seat, dropped his head into his hands, and wept quietly. His shoulders shook and his gasps and snuffles filled the office. I plucked several tissues from the box on the desk, waited for him to lower his hands, and passed them to him.

“Sorry. I’m sorry.” He took the tissues, wiped his eyes, and blew his nose loudly. “I have a sister. Twelve years old. She called me Sasha because she could never pronounce my real name when she was little. My name is Stanislav Vasilievich.” He placed his passport on the desk.

“God, Sasha. I’m sorry. You must miss her. I have a younger sister, too, in England. I’m English.”

“Do you see her at all?”

“Yes, we’re pretty close. She’s married with an eight-year-old daughter. They live in London. I did, too, until ten years ago.”

“That’s nice.”

“Yeah.” I picked up his passport and opened it. His birth date checked out with what he’d said. He would be twenty-one in December. The picture showed him a few years younger, maybe seventeen or eighteen, with shorter hair. I placed it under the scanner to take a copy, then returned it to him. Opening a drawer, I located one of the forms we asked new employees to complete, along with a contract, and passed them to him. The contract was written in both Czech and English, and he read the English part carefully. When he was done, he picked up a pen and began to complete the form.

“May I still be called Sasha?” he asked. “I hate my real name anyway.”

“You can be whatever you want.”

“What do I call you? Boss? Mister…?”

“Just Joel. We don’t stand on ceremony here.”

“What does that mean?” He continued writing, not looking up.

“It means we’re not formal. Everyone goes by their first names. My business partner’s name is Karel. I’ll introduce you to him later.” I glanced at my watch again. “Probably tomorrow. He’s occupied.”

Sasha finished writing in silence, then leaned back in his chair. “When do I start?”

“A week or so. I’ll arrange for a couple of the other dancers to give you some training. You’ll need a haircut and some outfits for the podium. Plus some everyday clothes.”

“I have no money to get those.”

“The club pays for everything the dancers wear for show. It’ll advance you enough to get a few casual outfits and personal items for the time being.”

“Thank you. I don’t know what to say. Thank you doesn’t seem like enough.” Sasha gave me another smile, this one brighter than the first. “Less than two hours ago I was stealing your rubbish and now I have a job and a home? Why?”

“Karel says I’m too soft.” I grinned at him.

“I think you have a big heart.”

“Thank you, Sasha.” I offered him my hand, and when he placed his in it, I shook firmly. “Welcome to Červenà.”