Oligarchs

"Hey it's the Genie!" exclaimed a voice behind Yevgeny as hands landed roughly on his shoulders. He looked back and down slightly to see a thirty-ish brown woman in all her finery.

"Ah Rosa my dear!" He turned around and embraced her. "I was looking for you in the crowd while I was on the stage." He released her and held her body with his gestured arms. "No wonder I couldn't find you! You're so radiant that you blinded me."

Rosa flashed a disbelieving smile. "Why you little shit! No, no, no, no, no way! You know I know you're flirting with me, right?"

"No."

"Yeah, yeah soft guy. I see you've already stopped playing the part of the 'modest tycoon.' Does that mean you'll have a dance with me or is your cock block locked?" she asked as she, with surprisingly discreet and genteel movements mind you, cupped her hand at his crotch. Yevgeny barely flinched but instead shared a slight frown with Rosa when she discovered his chastity belt remained in place. Ever since puberty he had had it on always except for night time when he could pleasure himself and be secure from women attempting to "take advantage of him." Not all men in his position wore them but he knew of at least twenty in that very room.

"Darn..." Rosa pouted "...I was hoping to get some blue blooded baby in me so I won't hear anymore snickers when I get to the office," she added half kidding.

"Sure. But you're forgetting it would be doubly good for you since I have blue balls as well," he joked but quickly became serious. "That's too bad about the snickers. I consider myself a society gentlemen like every man here but you'd more than proved your skills before the Assembly made you chairman."

Rosa smiled and quickly grasped his hand. "C'mon, let's dance!" she exclaimed behind her as she snaked through the large crowd and dragged him closer to the stage. The music playing fit more with rock swing and big band than the jazz played before so it was next to impossible for anyone not to dance. This was no musical where everyone moved in coordinated song and dance with their neighbors; occasionally couples stepped on each other's toes, crashed, and no one threw the women into the air like rag dolls. This was especially true with Yevgeny and Rosa because, though beautiful, she was voluptuous and would be hard to lift. He resigned himself to simply grasping her fleshy waist during the faster songs and gently pressing her head and breasts against his chest as they rocked during the slower ones.

For what seemed hours Yevgeny and Rosa danced with many interruptions. It was custom for the unmarried to change partners every once in a while but most of the time they danced together. Yevgeny had to dance with a few society girls to please Maria. He never understood why near perfect strangers cared to dance with him. All it would do is create emotional attachment and later heartbreak when it turned out his stepmother had chosen someone else for his bride. Why risk falling in love? He loved Rosa for sure but it was not a practical love; it was one of the close friendship they shared the last few years. Besides, all the girls were annoying; they were always bashful and rarely looked him in the eyes.

The two dancers retired to the bar, sipped their drinks, and talked as they gazed at their peers who slowly danced with expressionless stares over their partner's shoulder. The details of the conversation at the bar would not be worth mentioning unless outback mining projects in Australia's Northern Territory was interesting so no further mention will be made.

"But I wanna know where the name 'Australia' came from!"

"Who cares Genie! It doesn't matter!"

"That doesn't mean I still don't wanna know!" Yevgeny shouted above the music. He moved closer to Rosa's smiling face and hushed his voice. "You know why I think it's called 'Australia?'"

"Why?" she adorably scrunched her eyes and nose and brought her face closer to his. She did not really care—she simply liked seeing him get worked up about something other than work.

"Think of Aurora-Australis, OK? The 'Southern Lights.' Then break down 'Australia.' Aust-ral-ia. So that means it's 'southern' something, right? So where does the 'ia' come from? I think it's half of 'Asia' so therefore 'Australia' is 'the southern Asia.'"

"You do?" Rosa asked in disbelief.

"Yes," he replied with all seriousness.

"You could just look that up and know for sure, you know."

"What fun would that be?" he smiled.

His eyes wandered back to the people around the bar and he spotted Maria for the first time since they came down from the stage.

"There it is again!" he exclaimed in a whisper.

"What?"

"That smile of hers—she's looking at us right now. She's up to something I know it. That's the smile of a pleased woman Maria only sees a few times a year. Someone so impressed with something she's done. But what?"

Out of nowhere, a young man no older than eighteen approached Rosa and offered his hand to her. She quickly glanced at Yevgeny.

"I hope you figure it out dear. This young man is gonna give this old girl a good time!" she laughed. He may be young, but she needed to make her mark in society somehow and making an impression with any landed boy or man would help her; unless of course he was a bad dancer and she would have to find some other young boy to seduce. This left Yevgeny enjoying a second martini and staring at the dancers. Moments later, the band stopped playing and Maria climbed to the stage. The ball became deathly quiet as she held the microphone.

"Don't worry everyone the party is not over quite yet. In fact, it's only just beginning for one of us. I could say something eloquent to express everything I'm feeling for my son at this moment if only it..." she seemed to hold backs tears "...if it weren't these same emotions I want to express are choking me up." This time she shed some tears though Yevgeny doubted they were real. "I have found my son Yevgeny a bride..." she blurted. Astonished gasps left every mouth but the ones of single women from twelve to thirty-five; they cried real tears because they knew they were not the chosen one. "Unfortunately weather grounded her flight but she will be here tomorrow and we'll all see you at the wedding in a week at Hawai'i!"She dropped the microphone on the floor and quickly left the stage. Those who could see Yevgeny slowly turned their heads and gawked. They all offered enthusiastic applause though he wondered how genuine it was. Nearly all the single women certainly did not mean it and nor did many of the bonded ones; these married couples knew the love-lessness of their arranged union was a cage but the facade of happiness had to be maintained. Such quirks in his society were not noticed by Yevgeny who simply accepted it as the reality of his world.

Yevgeny was easily the most wanted bachelor under thirty, maybe under forty depending on one's taste, and now he was not for sale. What was more, who was this woman? Did Yevgeny, or anyone else for that matter, know who she was? He could only lean against the bar, sip his drink, and give a pleasantly surprised smile in reply. Only the surprise was genuine. "I don't need a queen...." he said to himself.

ENTER THE PROTAGONIST

"My dear Edith, my love for you has existed since the moment our eyes met all those years ago!" exclaimed an obese soft man inside a trendy St. Petersburg café. The Edith he was talking to sat across from him. "You're the most beautiful girl in the whole city and I must have you for my wife! Please, insist your mother pick me and I will make you eternally happy!"

Edith wore a face of disinterest. In certain Muslim cultures, betrothed or even "looking" women are meant to keep an air of disinterest and avoid eye contact with their potentials. This girl however was not Muslim nor was she interested in what the man was saying and out of disgust wished not to look into his pudgy face. After he called her, only an average beauty, "the most beautiful girl in the whole city," she knew the rest would be bullshit. She did not consider the possible allure of the quarter Asian blood in her veins which gave her slightly fatty eyelids because she utterly hated them every time she looked in the mirror. Rather than pay attention to him, she reviewed what she had to bring for an American cousin's 21st birthday the following day.

"I have begun to write poetry again with you as my muse. I dare not read any of it to you without your request however..." He remained quiet and awkwardly awaited permission but received none.

"Why do you say nothing my sweet? Please, what do you think of me?"

Edith realized this was a question worthy of response and if she did not discourage him at that moment, he would continue to "woo" her. To think she specifically did not wear make up and chose her mangiest overalls for no use.

She could say many things to him. "You have no business sense, you lack social tact, and you're incapable of doing anything without servants" were the first to come to mind. "You can write all you wish and because of your position in the market people will listen and some will even humor you with good reviews but that's about it. Mother will find me a better husband whom I cannot talk down to...." All these were perfectly accurate things to say but instead she chose the same three and a half words she used every time he asked that question.

"You're useless, Oblomov." With that she guzzled her remaining coffee, removed her thick parka from the hooks by the door, and left the fat society man sitting dumbfounded at the small round table. Edith did not smile over her victory because this was only one of a dozen such exchanges yet still he pestered her for lunches or breakfasts together.

The café was mere blocks from Edith's family's building but the December chill and snow stretched the handful of minutes into ten before she was in the elevator and came to the receiving floor of her family's apartment. A whole wall was one large window and gave the room and its plush couches a very warm feeling despite the cloud cover of an impending snow storm. She bent the back of her knees on one couch and with her arms crossing her chest, fell backwards onto it. She closed her eyes and absorbed the greenhouse-like heat and texture surrounding her.

"This must be what the womb feels like..." she said quietly to herself.

"Of course you'd be a fine judge of that, wouldn't you," said a stern woman by her head in slightly accented Russian.

"At the very least it's the closest I've been to the real thing since birth," she replied dreamily without opening her eyes.

"I'll give you that dear. So how was your date with Oblomov Konstantivich?"

"Mother! Why do you insist I see that man! He's denser than platinum and is wasting other elements—namely oxygen."

"But he's well off dear" she said as she exhaled an unseen puff of smoke from her imported Lucky Strikes "...and not many well off men would like a 25 year old plain wife with a brilliant mind no matter what family she's from. They'd worry you would kill them in a few years, take over, do a better job, and soon everyone would 'forget' how he died."

"Have you been reading my diary, Mom?" Edith replied jokingly. But not really. Indeed those thoughts were in there and she would resort to such methods if she were stuck with an incompetent like Oblomov. For the sake of surprise, her mother Constance but especially her father Stanislov Ivanovich Zamyatin kept her business training and, with all modesty on her part, great skill in management a secret. The best chance of landing a successful husband was to be beautiful, intelligent, cultured, and have no practical experience in handling business affairs. An intelligent, cultured, but plain Jane girl like Edith needed training just in case she ended up with a forty year old man-child like Oblomov.

"Oh dear, you..." the mother stopped abruptly as a maid caught her attention.

"Mistress, you have a phone call and it seems urgent."

Constance put the cigarette to her lips, quickly inhaled, and noisily exhaled to express proper annoyance. She pointed an unoccupied and unseen finger to her daughter's closed eyes and scowled. "You'll take who Stanislov and I pick, do you hear me?" With unnatural volume, Edith snored. When her mother finally left the room, she instantly 'woke up' and climbed the first spiral staircase to the next floor which contained the bedrooms. She put on her glasses, climbed onto her bed, turned on her stereo, and caught up on the week's worth of newspapers she neglected while she practically slept in her father's office during a crisis situation. Beneath her she heard her mother periodically make great shouts in English over the phone-- "'Sounds urgent'—Yeah right."

Moments later Constance nearly ripped Edith's bedroom door off its hinges as she pushed it open.

"I have found you a husband! He's my late sister's son Yevgeny Fillmore!"

"Yevgeny Fillmore? Tall guy, American, really shy?" she asked with cautious interest.

"Yep, that's him."

"I don't know. He always seemed kind of a soft boy to me."

"And you're a delicate flower? That's the beauty of it, honey. Sometimes I have to get the scoop through that bitch who took my sister's place, but it's quite clear to me that it's just an act like we do with you. Why, this is unconfirmed of course..." she said lowering her voice and inching closer to her daughter "...that after his step-uncle tried a hostile takeover, Yevgeny killed him. In less than a year he lost his first mentor, my old brother-in-law, and killed his other mentor. And Fillmore shipping..." her voice resumed a normal volume "...is doing quite well. Look it up in one of those newspapers you have—I'm sure his stock will be in there."

"So is there going to be an announcement at his birthday party or something?"

"Absolutely. Maria, his stepmother, told me he won't know until then. I think she believes this is a kind of punishment for him or something but we know better. You two will be a perfect match! And to think, I was just about to promise you to that disgusting Oblomov! So pack your bags, freshen your American English, and we'll get going!" she said giddily as she skipped away like a stereotypical Japanese school girl her race vaguely made her resemble.

Edith smiled to herself and sat cross legged as she scanned the stock pages. Indeed, Fillmore Shipping was doing quite well. There was even an article about innovations spearheaded by Chairman and majority stockholder, Yevgeny Fillmore, that saved millions USD with minimal job cuts. Whether or not people got fired in order to save otherwise wasted money did not concern her; the handsome man's featured engraving stared competently at her and she became moist underneath her chastity belt. If she had to marry someone, a woman certainly could do no better.

UNLEASHED

Yevgeny calmly walked through the gawking crowd and smiled his empty smiles until he passed them all and shock took over his face. He exited the ballroom and sat hunched over on a velvet bench. This move of Maria's was completely unexpected. As with aristocratic families both royal and business throughout history, they often intrigued against another for favor with the King. Yevgeny was incontestable and nearly the King. This meant her intrigue against him could produce only one predictable outcome—a punishment for her. But what could he do to her yet stay socially beloved? But going beyond the inevitable punishment for her, what outcomes could he not predict? Since he knew nothing of his bride and could not even begin to speculate, he simply rested his head into his hands—careful not to mess up his hair for when he returned to the party. It was not long at all before Rosa and two mutual friends, William and Franklin, exited the ball to look for him. They were pleasantly surprised when he was simply right outside the door which they closed after themselves.

All three friends searched each other for ideas. They loved their friend very much despite his often cold demeanor and knew he would loathe their consoling words. Besides, he was not sad. He was simply surprised—or so he wanted to convince himself. Marriage was very much like death; he knew both were in his future and was only reminded when the ceremonies for each were concluded but at which point he quickly forgot. He was even the best man at Franklin and William's weddings not nine and eleven months ago respectively yet he never once imagined himself with a bride.

"C'mon..." Franklin broke the ice. "...let's get fucked up..." They grasped his wallowing hands and pulled him smiling down the hallway.

The four friends sat in an elegant and large room distant from the hordes at the ball. The furniture was plush and the sofa they sat in was a large quarter circle looking onto a central stage where their eyes stared without blinking.

"So Genie..." William began. He said it slowly but correctly leaving one to guess his mind was occupied. "Any idea who this girl is?"

"Well she has to be..." Franklin inhaled deeply, "she has to be someone who wasn't here."

"And...she...is...um....probably on your stepmother's side. I doubt she would let you...get a wife who'll make you happy," added William.

Rosa, like the others, was quite flushed and grasped the couch cushions. "Who knows? Maybe she...um..." she licked her lips slightly "...she's being nice all of a sudden."

"Will you guys shut up about this for now, I'm trying to watch," said Yevgeny as he pointed to the stage in front of them where everyone's eyes lay.

Like a lotus flower in a decretive pot, an Indian woman seemingly straight from a harem laid her back against numerous soft pillows. Her legs spread before her audience not fifteen feet away, she gently rubbed her forefinger against her luscious labia. Her eyes gazed at the ceiling and she bit her lip ever so slightly as she caressed her sex. A few minutes passed and her wetness spread into every fold allowing quicker movement. Soon her wrist pressed against the sparse pubic hair and she furiously impaled her pussy with two fingers as she cupped one breast and massaged it. Every exaggerated moan was responded with four from her viewers as they enjoyed her erotic display. She was paid to entertain but if she could get herself off at the same time, it was all the better. The woman paced herself enough that twenty minutes passed before her, again exaggerated, screams echoed throughout the room and her audience waited with baited breath. The woman removed her fingers from her pussy ensuring gobs of her juice dripped down them nearly to her wrist. She walked to her onlookers with a sideways strut that shook her unseen ass and petite breasts.

The woman walked around a table and stood before them displaying her drenched fingers. She knew two of the men were married and thus it was against the rules to offer them her prize but this did not bother her. Instead she looked to the thirty-ish brown woman and offered her fingers. Rosa delicately held her hand and sucked the juice with a deep moan after she had sucked, licked, and separated her desirable fingers. As she finished, two more naked women, these ones white and carrying a hookah, appeared from nowhere.

The Indian seized Rosa by the head and brought their lips together in a deep kiss. The new girls placed the hookah at the table before the audience and prepared the fortified tobacco and coal. The men each grabbed a hose but kept their eyes upon Rosa who was currently holding the lotus blossom's head as they shared sloppy kisses; the blurbling hookah noise briefly drowned out the passion and their content eyes closed as they held mango flavored tobacco in their lungs; it was a special tobacco immune from narcotics laws but that did not matter anyhow as none present—except for the entertainment perhaps if no effort was made—would ever be jailed on drug charges. Separately they exhaled the bluish smoke and groaned pleasantly whilst the women unzipped the married men's pants. Intercourse was explicitly forbidden for the same reasons Yevgeny wore the chastity belt but blowjobs were harmless fun for bored men in their prime and wives understood that.