The Rolls and the Pipe Ch. 01

It is not very often that you see an unpretentious looking young man step out of a Rolls-Royce.

My name is Paige d'Lephaunt. I am a journalist working for a major Chicago newspaper, and on this particular night, I was waiting for my subject at the Riva Café on East Grand Avenue. For those who have never been there, the restaurant is a fairly large building on Navy Pier, overlooking Lake Michigan. The large dining room is open and is strewn with tables in what is best described as organized chaos. I had never eaten there, and with the prices as high as they were, I am glad that my bosses were paying for my meal.

I was sitting in the foyer, purse in hand, waiting for my date for the evening. I had not been told his name, only that he was a wealthy academic from Europe. Dave, my editor, suggested that I dress nicely – apparently the Riva is a ritzy place. Oh, and trust me, it is! I may be a journalist, but I was treated as royalty – it helps that I have a by-line and I used to be food reviewer. As I walked in the door (ten minutes early), the maitre 'd appeared at my shoulder and asked if I had a reservation, calling me by name.

"Yes, I do. I'm here with, uhm..."

"I understand. We were informed that you would be here – your guest requested that he remain anonymous. Please wait here until he arrives." With that, the dark haired young man disappeared, returning a moment later with a high backed oak chair. "He called ahead to inform you that he might be a moment late. 'Business calls', he said."

"Oh," I said, disappointed. I hate waiting. "Alright then." I felt like I was on display, sitting there in the foyer of one of Chicago's foremost restaurants, without a partner. Not that I was complaining too much. I'm twenty six years old and I keep myself in shape. I stand just over five and a half feet tall, and I have dark chestnut hair that hangs to my waist. As any woman with curls can tell you, it's a pain in the proverbial ass trying to keep curly hair of that length neat. I'd struggled for three hours this evening trying to get it tamed. I love my hair – because of an accident at my birth, I have golden blonde streaks shooting through my chestnut curls, and I never have to worry about tangles.

I'd sat near the window for nearly twenty minutes before a decently sized car rolled up. It was a silver thing, long in the bonnet, conservative headlights and coach doors. It was a Phantom.Oh, my god!I thought. What shocked me more was that a young man stepped out of it, handed the keys to the valet and walked toward the doors. He was dressed in a dark blazer, jeans, and a white turtleneck. I suddenly felt overdressed! He had long hair pulled back into a ponytail, glasses and a trimmed beard. A sudden bustle behind me had me standing up and checking my hair and makeup. The maitre 'd had informed the owner of the new arrival, and Phil Stefani came bustling out of the back room. Four servers appeared out of no where, and I was left standing in the middle of the foyer. Which, I assure you, was a distinctly uncomfortable feeling.

I tried to step out of the limelight and behind the welcoming party, but the maitre 'd smiled and pushed me back into the middle, whisking my chair out from behind me.

I gulped.

"Is that who I think it is?" I asked the room in general. The welcoming party tittered an affirmative.

"Oh crap." The laughter rose.

Now, bear in mind that I'm an experienced journalist. I've interviewed the president, celebrities (Bruce Willis was thoroughly entertaining, and I nearly got into a cat fight with Jada Pinkett-Smith), oil moguls and five star generals. I have never in my life been this intimidated. All this happened in a span of thirty seconds, and I was already a nervous wreak.

The glass doors opened and I heard a peal of deep laughter and a healthy chuckle from the doorman. My guest walked in the door (wearing steel toed boots, nonetheless!) and raised his head to look at, well, me. I nearly fainted.

All of my fetishes, everything that I considered attractive in men was personified on this one individual. I barely heard this man cheerfully chastise Mr. Stefani for such an elaborate welcome – I was focussed on his steel grey eyes, his blonde hair, trimmed beard and shoulders that threatened to break out of his jacket. This man was enormous! He stood over six feet tall and looked like a cross between Triple-H and the Beast!

Oh God! I thought again, this time in desperation.

I stood in the foyer, unnoticed by this man while he joked with the owners, complimented the maitre 'd, flirted with the female servers and intimidated the waiters. I felt small, all of a sudden, and wanted to crawl back into whatever hole I'd sprung from. I shifted cautiously on my high heels and waited for whatever was to come to happen. It did.

"And I imagine that this enchanting creature is Miss D'Lephant."Oh God! He's standing right in front of me!

"Yes sir," said Mr. Stefani. "She is the reporter from the newspaper."How did he know...oh. It took me a moment to remember who I was.

The man seemed to think for a moment before stepping a half pace backward. He grinned, bunching his cheeks like apples and showing a pure white grin of perfect teeth. He stuck his hand out. "It is a pleasure, Miss d'Lephant. I am Kaiser Mattananthas."

"Kaiser?" I squeaked as I extended my hand. I'm ashamed to admit it, but I blushed and squeaked. Most embarrassing.

"A joke of my parents. They studied 19^th Century German history," he said as he dipped into a bow and kissed my knuckles. I had only had my knuckles kissed once, and it was a horrible experience. The poor kid who'd done it had braces and had never known a girl intimately, so I got heavily drooled on. This was completely different. His lips barely touched my skin, but the very touch sent intense tingles up my arm and sent shivers up my spine. It took every iota of strength I had to keep from falling to the floor. My mind was in a whirl, and I barely remember the walk from the door to the upstairs dining area. Mr. Mattanthas and I were given a corner booth, and from there we could look out over the Chicago skyline and out over Lake Michigan. Cruise ships and little tug boats flitted or plowed ponderously over the water, while personal vehicles cruised the street below us. Mr. Mattanthas walked behind me and pulled my chair out for me, letting me sit down as he pushed the chair in. He sat down across from me and folded his hands.

"So, what can I do for you, Miss d'Lephant?"

"Uhm, uh, well. I am supposed to interview you for the paper's new feature page on uh.... What?"

Mr. Mattanthas was laughing. "I've never seen a journalist so nervous! What's the matter?" he asked.

"What?" My first reaction was to deny it. "I've interviewed a lot of people more famous than you. Why should I be nervous?"

"Dunno. Why should you be?"

"Eh?" At that we both snorted and started laughing all over the place.

"That was the most articulate thing I've ever heard!" he laughed. We were still laughing as our waiter appeared at our elbows.

"What is your pleasure?" he asked. Mr. Mattanthas wiped his eyes as he collapsed into guffaws again.

"Sorry, give us a minute."

"Certainly sir."

We slowly got our selves under control, but we burst into laughter a number of times throughout the night. The waiter came and left again, bringing our order half an hour later.

"Let's start over," suggested Mr. Mattanthas, snickering a little.

"Excellent idea."

"I'm Kaiser Mattanthas, you're Paige d'Lephant, currently a feature writer for the newspaper."

"Correct, and I know nothing about you!"

"Correct."

"So, what do you want me to know?" I smiled.

"What do you want to know?" he countered, quirking an eyebrow.

Oh God. He's going to be difficult!

"Vital statistics, job information, you know. The usual."

"Oh really? Vital statistics are usual information?" I snorted at his facetiousness.

"Okay then. I'm twenty eight. I'm six-one, just under three hundred pounds."

What?"But you look less!"

"So I understand. It's mostly skeleton, but there's some muscle, and an equal amount of fat, let me assure you!"

"I'd have to see that to believe it!"

"Perhaps some other time."Again, what??? "I live in Sweden and Scotland, but I was raised in Canada. I was born in Saskatchewan, actually."

"That's in Czechoslovakia, isn't it?" He roared with laughter before gracing me with a look of disgust.

"I take it history and geography weren't strong points in school for you, were they?" I nearly slapped him.

"My majors, actually. Journalism was a minor, but it worked out for the best. I ended up getting a job as copygirl for the Tribune when I was twenty one, and the rest is history." He grinned as I realized what he'd done. "Stop that! I'm supposed to be the one interviewing."

"I see. I understand I'm also your guest....."Ooooh. Now he's being assholish! "Yes you are, now please answer my questions!"

"You have to ask them first! Ahh!" he cried as I tossed a balled up napkin at him. "Okay, okay!Pax! Pax!"

"Alright then." I was feeling rather smug at that point.

The time flew. He and I spoke for over three hours. He told me about the papers he'd written as a college student in Alberta, now widely known sources for academia. I learned that he had earned his first fortune in real estate as a youth (read: twenty) while in college. He petitioned the United Nations in 2008 for a UN funded university, designed it and hired the staff and faculty, and effectively dropped off of the face of the planet after its opening ceremony. He owned a string of restaurants and bars across North America and worked with the UN as education advisor. He presented me, at that point, with a collection of his written works for the newspaper – 28 volumes of history on World War Two. I'd used three of them while in university, actually.

"You're him?" I cried, shocked.

"Yep. That's my true name, but few people can pronounce it, so I use Kaiser Mattanthas as my daily name...and to the press."

"Oh." He smiled self consciously and shuffled his feet under the table.

We spoke for half an hour more before the maitre 'd informed us that they were closing for the night. Mr. Mattanthas rose and stood behind me as I got up. Ever the gentleman.

He paid and walked me to my car, the valet following in his Phantom.