Imperial Bedroom

 

There is a first time for everything, they say. But there will always be one first time that you will remember for the rest of your life. I’m not talking about kissing a girl, or even grabbing her by the … Did I just say that out loud? I’m sorry, but I think that’s because of the nature of the job I was asked to do.

Really, my name doesn’t matter. And since I had to go into hiding, I’m not going to reveal my true identify to you. But since you insist, call me Kolya, if you like.

I used to live in St. Petersburg, Russia; not pensioner’s paradise in Florida, mind you. We have cold winters here and need to keep ourselves warm during those times. So, we do jobs, we’re not proud of. But you know, no one can really afford to be an idealist anymore, these days. So, I did this job. In that hotel. In St. Petersburg.

“You’re that cable guy, the television technician?!” the guy said, when he approached me at the entrance to my condo. He had something quite convincing about him. You know, this mixture of ham-fisted physique and that for-your-own-sake-don’t-contradict-me-expression on his face. When he put his coarse paw on my shoulder and said hello, I couldn’t do anything but go down on my knees, which made me realise instantly that this guy wouldn’t take no for an answer.

The pay was good, though, you see. I could even live of it for more than three months. It was one of those luxurious hotels that you usually wouldn’t even go near, fearing they would charge you for just looking at it. The largest suite, called Emperor’s Residence, had three times as many rooms as the tiny flat I used to share with my sister’s family of six. The beds and the rest of the furniture were made from this inconceivably costly tropical timber, the bathroom fittings made of pure gold. You know, this kind of palace-like place you only get to see in those ludicrous Hollywood films.

Those guys had all the equipment ready for me. The newest of the new, extravagant stuff, I tell you. I was only supposed to install all that stuff in the room, and make it invisible, and then leave. But since I’m good at what I am doing, I happened to have plenty of time left to talk to the girls afterwards. Those poor creatures looked so expensive. They said they were waiting for a extremely wealthy customer, even though they used the word client. They didn’t yet know who he was, but there were already two other girls with him out for dinner since after the business meeting.

Talking to the three girls here in the suite who were getting ready for their job, I inspected my work. I was proud of myself, as I wasn’t able to detect any of the cameras and microphones with the naked eye. And then everything had to happen very quickly.

Up until today, I can still remember that night. The scars on my knees and elbows are my witnesses and reminders. Nobody had thought of informing us that the client was already coming up to the room. So, I was the first one to hear the only door to the suite being opened. The girls were fluttering around like sacred up chickens, eventually draping themselves lavishly on the gigantic bed.

My heart was pounding up in my throat. My mind was racing. I had to get out! But the only way out was blocked by them coming in. The window curtains were ridiculous. I mean, hiding behind them. In the bathroom behind the shower curtain, even more so. Their steps came closer with every second. With the wardrobe, a funny thought entered my mind. But I dismissed it immediately, due to capacity problems. The instant they opened the door to the Imperial Bedroom with the girls and myself, I duck down, rolled to my left and skidded under the bed, causing painful friction between knees, elbows and carpet.

The guy’s security personnel did a lousy job when checking the rooms. I was clinging to the slatted frame when one of his bulldog-faced gorillas checked half-heartedly under the bed, without noticing the blood dripping down from my elbows and knees. Later on, squeezed into a corner under the bed, I was licking my wounds and biting my tongue – fighting fire with fire.

“Ladies, you can call me Donnie!” the guy said nonchalantly to the girls and threw his bulky frame onto the bed. “Hello Donnie!” the chorus of girls chimed back. Then the situation on the bed grew quite vivid. When I had to listen to some liquid being spilled onto the guys naked skin, I put my index fingers into my ears and hummed children’s song to myself, silently. I still want to believe, it was one of the girls pouring champagne on their customer.

After some time, the horizontal activities had gone quiet. He had fallen asleep, eventually. The girls gave me a signal that the coast was clear now. When I came out from under the bed, I saw that on the bed a slightly deflated orange balloon of a man had passed out. The big guy was lying there spread-eagled with a satisfied smile on his wrinkled-up face. That was when I saw him naked for the first time. I must say that I was deeply disgusted by his sight. I didn’t make much of it, though. But then girls told me who they had been pleasuring that night. And immediately I knew that I was in some big trouble.

Since the entrance was still guarded by two of his thuggish bouncers, I went out on the balcony and climbed down the ivy tendrils. I also knew that I had been caught on tape, as well. So, I decided not to go home straight away, and I was seriously trying to hide.

But not for very long, to be honest, I am not hiding anymore. Going into hiding is a feat of activeness whereas being kept hidden clearly defines a state of inactivity on my part. If you’re not good at hiding, you get caught, you see. And if you know something no one else is supposed to know, you are locked away.

I don’t know where I’m at the moment, but this place has one enormous flat screen TV. I am sitting in the middle of the room on an uncomfortable chair in front of that very screen. My arms are tied to the back of the chair. I’m also not able close my eyes, because my eye lids have been taped to both my forehead and my cheeks. And as some weird kind of punishment, they make me watch the orange ape’s inauguration, over and over again. But I’d rather be dead, because Donnie has been made the forty-fifth President of the United States of America, which is unfortunately not an alternative fact.