Chapter 6

The middle of the week was intense and fruitful. Kurt managed to escape from the everyday bustle as the day drew closer to dinner. He paid a visit to the Ellington restaurant. Behind the counter stood the owner's wife - Martina Ellington, a tall, thin woman with a kind face. "Good afternoon, Mr. Rhein. As usual?"

"Good afternoon, Mrs. Ellington. Yes, please," Kurt nodded and was about to take a table.

"Oh, Mr. Rhein, a gentleman is waiting for you," Martina said and pointed to a man sitting at a table in the center of the hall. Kurt couldn't see his face - the man was sitting with his back to him, but Kurt recognized him immediately and felt familiar unpleasant excitement. He was taken aback.

For a moment, he stood unmoving, gathering his strength. He didn't like that John had the upper hand again, and Kurt had to keep up with his emotions.

"Thank you, Mrs. Ellington," Kurt smiled politely and walked to the table where he usually sat in the far corner.

Having taken a seat, he opened the morning newspaper and delved into the headlines, though his thoughts circled around the man in the center of the hall. Kurt didn't look at him even once, but it seemed to him that he felt the gaze of those wolf eyes.

The waitress served Kurt lunch. The alluring aroma teased his appetite, but Kurt had a lump in his throat. He regretted that he didn't turn his back to John, but now it was too late. And he couldn't eat under close supervision. Kurt looked in the newspaper for another few minutes, but he couldn't read it. He was just hiding behind it, hoping the thin paper would save him, and at the same time, he began to despise himself for cowardice. He sincerely hoped that John would leave, yet he knew this would not happen. John hadn't come for that.

Making an indifferent face, Kurt put the paper aside and picked up a knife and a fork. After a moment, he decided to look at John, who sat with a grin on his face. Catching Kurt's glance, he began to laugh silently, which was quite discouraging for Kurt. The absurdity of his position was becoming increasingly evident. Kurt wanted to leave, but he knew that he could not afford such a shameful flight. Gathering all his will into a fist, he began to eat, calmly looking at laughing John. This lasted for about five minutes. And as soon as Kurt's nervousness retreated, John stood up and walked over to him.

"Look, Kurt. I accidentally have an invitation for you to my reception," John said, his voice low. "You can enter through the front door," he winked at him. Having left the envelope on the table, John headed for the exit. Kurt watched him, and when the door closed, he looked at the envelope.

It was an invitation, exactly the same as the one Philip had brought him. Only the handwriting was different. Kurt read it several times and put it in his coat pocket.

He was thoughtful when he returned home; even Eliza immediately noticed the change. "Are you unwell, Mr. Rhein?" she asked sympathetically.

"No, no," Kurt shook his head absently, "but please cancel today's appointments and notify the patients. I am not accepting anyone today," he finished and walked into the living room, closing the door behind him.

Leaving his coat on the armchair, Kurt built a fire and sat down. For a while, he looked thoughtfully at the fire. Then he took the envelope with the invitation from his coat pocket and examined it again. Then he threw it into the fireplace. Fire dealt with it in seconds.

***

Kurt checked the schedule; Smith Johnson was scheduled on Monday at four o'clock. The clock struck four, and someone knocked on the door of the study.

"Come in," said Kurt and saw... John Fenrir coming through the door. Kurt looked at him through his glasses while John sat comfortably on the couch and looked expectantly at Kurt.

"Mr. Johnson?" Kurt asked.

"I assumed that you wouldn't find a place for John Fenrir in your busy schedule," John replied.

"Mr. Fenrir, you're almost thirty, and you still haven't had enough of games? But since you are here as my patient..." Kurt sighed and moved to the chair opposite the couch. "What do you want to discuss this time? My books? My education? The habits of wild animals?"

John's face became unusually serious. His hazel eyes were still staring fiercely, but his face was pensive and sad. "Kurt, do you love anyone?"

"Mr. Fenrir, the time of your session is limited. Let's talk about you."

"Everybody is talking about me!" Outraged, John stood up. Kurt watched him in surprise.

"And what can you say about yourself?"

Looking out the window, John took the time to answer. Kurt noticed that John tensed as if trying to keep words behind his teeth. The silence dragged on, but Kurt was in no hurry to interrupt it. As practice showed, one could learn sometimes more in silence than in conversation. Silence itself was often an indication of how much one had to say. And silence is a wall of fear and weakness that separated one from freedom.

John sat on the couch again. "It's very quiet here, Kurt." He unabashedly continued calling Kurt by his first name, as an old friend, but this time his tone was different. He wasn't trying to offend; on the contrary, it seemed like he truly wanted Kurt to be his old friend with whom he could easily keep silent or speak from the heart. Even if it was a game, Kurt decided to play it.

"You don't like silence, Mr. Fenrir?"

"Please, call me John."

"As you wish. John, you don't like silence?"

"No, it's very tedious and boring," John said, changing his tone to a familiar mocking one. "Your patients must fall asleep?"

"Some of them do," Kurt calmly replied.

"They sleep, and you get paid? Smart!"

"And how do you sleep, John?" Kurt asked suddenly.

"Naked, of course," John smiled.

"Oh!" Kurt portrayed surprise. "And nude beauties warm you at night?"

For a second, John's face winced with such profound contempt Kurt hadn't seen yet. But John quickly pulled himself together again and smiled defiantly. "Why? Are you curious, Kurt? Or jealous?" He bared his teeth in another wicked grin, fire in his eyes burned Kurt. He couldn't take a proper breath. Air became hot and thick.

Kurt took off his glasses as if it could save him from John's eyes. As if it could help him to gain control. But he only played for time, hoping his face didn't turn red.

Along with the shame and inappropriate nervousness, Kurt was angry with himself. No matter how unprofessional behavior it would be, Kurt wanted to get back at John.

No, more than that. He wanted to hurt John, offend, and wound him, using his knowledge and talents in order to find John's weak spot and hit there as hard as he could. To pay back for such humiliation.

But all he could manage was, "Stop it, John." And Kurt was hoping it sounded more tired than pleading.

"Struck a chord?" John grinned. "Well, you came to my house uninvited. And the way you look at me..." he caught Kurt's glance, and Kurt realized that he couldn't avert his gaze. "I've seen it oh so many times," John smiled. "So maybe you're just in love with me?"

Kurt closed his eyes, breaking the contact and dispelling the charms. He walked into his inner salon. The woman in red was sitting at the counter. But now there was a table in the center where John was sitting, and Kurt was waxing floors, leaning on a mop. John, not Kurt, was the host here. When did it all change?

This little intermission returned Kurt a shred of self-control. "Do you want me to be in love with you?" He asked, checking his voice.

"It would be fun, don't you think?" John chuckled. "A man fell in love with another man... The attention of the ladies, you know, I've had enough. And then what a nice surprise! I have at least one such admirer..." John clicked his fingers."Forgot his name. But ! I've never seen such fidelity before!"

Kurt immediately thought about Archie. "And what are you going to do?" he asked carefully.

"Nothing," John glanced at Kurt. "Small fry. Let him frolic while he can... But you..." John said as he approached him and leaned forward, looking into his eyes. "...are different."

From this vicinity, Kurt gasped. For the umpteenth time, he tried to keep up with his emotions. And now he realized how much it would be apparent to John, who, with undisguised pleasure, watched Kurt's vain attempts to suppress his excitement.

"Or maybe it's the other way around, John?" Kurt breathed out quietly. "Maybe it's you who are interested in me, and I don't show interest in you, don't come to your reception to your personal invitation. Maybe it's bothering you?"

John changed his face and pulled away. Kurt sighed calmly. Pursing his lips, as if lost in deep thought, John sat on the couch.

"It would be amusing," John suddenly smiled predatorily. "But what can you offer me?"

"Nothing," Kurt smiled. "I am neither a trader nor a buffoon."

"I told you, it's boring."

"Nevertheless, you are here," Kurt retorted. It seemed to him that the air began to quiver. He didn't realize fully that he had teased John, summoning him to a verbal duel, and Kurt was not entirely sure he could win.

John's laugh made Kurt disconcerted.

"I don't know how you do it, but you always know how to make me laugh. And I don't even have to gibbet you. Yet. But you're completely clear, Kurt. This is your whole world. This couch, frames, and heads of patients with the same problems. How have you not yet died of boredom?"

"Why do you think that I'm bored? Not everyone needs a big feast every week and a crowd of creeping suitors to know that he is worth something."

"If you weren't bored, you would never have come to me. You're sickeningly wise! And I bet, my brother already told you what a monster I am!" John objected.

"Why did you decide that I'm familiar with your brother?"

"Kurt, stop," John frowned. "These antics and questions. I know and that's that."

"Yes, you're right, I know your brother," Kurt admitted. "We met at your portrait at Danee's gallery." Catching the expression in John's eyes, Kurt bitterly regretted he had said that. "And your brother indeed tried to warn me about you."

"Yet you still came," John smiled. "Was it from a sense of curiosity or excitement? It reaffirms that I'm right - your life is boring."

"But yours is too," countered Kurt. John looked expectantly at him. "I'm not afraid to be alone with my thoughts and feelings. I'm not trying to surround myself with something that will distract me all the time. You, on the contrary, behave as if you are afraid to death of staying with yourself. Your festivals are like a weekly dose of medicine, which you can't live without."

"So save me from this!" John facetiously exclaimed, leaning back on the couch.

"Find a company that you like, and, even better, look inside yourself and try to identify what is fretting you. Have the courage to face your fear, then the need to fill your inner emptiness with ostentatious glamor will disappear."

John gave him a bored look. "And this you advise to your patients? Look inside yourself? Isn't that your work?"

"My work starts from the moment when one agrees to look inside, to admit that something is bothering them, and then my task is to help them to find the cause and eliminate it. But I can't help a person who is happy with everything," Kurt said and smiled.

"You can send the bill to my house." John got up from the couch, smiled, and walked away.