to Hell now and then. I have more than seven years in this shit of a profession because I'm too stupid and illiterate to get something better, but you don't have to cope with it. Get a job in a bank or sit under a tree and make portraits of the tourists! You will be making much more than here. One of my cousins plays the hippy in Plaza Francia every weekend since 1986 and gets over $2,000 per month for two days work in a week! Does he have talent? No way, it's rubbish what he draws but the gringos pay because he knows how to rub their egos. He charges them $50 for each picture and they pay gladly because, at home, they would have to pay $100 for the same crap.”
“Sir, that has been the best lecture on modern arts and economy I've heard in many years,” Constantin chuckled.
“Thank you. Go away, Guntram. Finish your thing and tomorrow come to work or don't. Who cares? See if Martin has the balls to fire you and face the hassle of looking for a replacement who can speak two languages, the old ladies love for $975. The world is full of shitty jobs, if you want another one, Guti.”
“Perhaps I could offer you a ‘shitty job’ myself, Mr… call my assistant tomorrow. He will find something according to your abilities. We are planning on overtaking several companies in the energy sector,” Constantin said, handing him a card with his name and Zakharov's number.
“Luis Canclini. Thank you,” he replied, very surprised at the Russian's self confidence.
“We go now, Guntram,” Constantin said, steering the boy by the arm out of the place, his patience over.
The dumbfounded boy stood in the middle of the busy street looking at Constantin in disbelief. “Do you want to dine somewhere or do you prefer my home?”
“I'm going to my own flat, thank you. I have a monster headache,” Guntram said slowly, doing his best to be polite before he would shout and tell the man to piss off for the way he had put him out of his own workplace.
“That's for not eating since yesterday. We dine at my place. You don't look fit enough as to go out tonight.”
“Mr. Repin, I'm sorry if I didn't go back to your house today, but I have a life of my own. Tomorrow, I'll offer my excuses to Martin.”
“For what? The car is here. Get in,” Constantin growled, starting to loose his cool once more, when he saw the big Mercedes stopping in front of them and one of his bodyguards opening the door for him, Guntram looked at him as if he were crazy, but the Russian only pushed him in and said something in his language to the guard.
The boy sat inside the car, furiously, his eyes throwing daggers at Constantin, unimpressed at the display.
“Mr. Repin, tell your driver to let me out on the next corner.”
“We dine and discuss about your future tonight. You can stay at home or my driver will take you to your flat later.”
“Your behaviour is outrageous, sir. There's nothing to discuss for us.”
“I beg to differ, Guntram. This man, Canclini, was right in every word he said. Clever boy, if I might say.
Could work fine for us.”
“Did you really mean it? About a job offer?”
“Of course. The sooner you learn that all my words are true, the better for you. I never bluff or make a threat or promise that I'm not ready to fulfill.”
“He has only a High School degree.”
“Like yourself. Did I ask you for any kind of credentials when I saw your work? No. I looked at your talent and I want that you're properly trained to fulfill your potential to its maximum.”
“I'm no artist. I almost flunk the arts class in school,” Guntram confessed, embarrassed and feeling miserable.
“Why?”
“I didn't want to paint for that teacher. We didn't get along since the first day. She was too chaotic and criticizing me for being too restrained and scholastic. So I sent her to hell till the Headmaster found about my little rebellion and forced me to paint in front of her so she would grade my work. I got four out of ten possible
“Sir, that has been the best lecture on modern arts and economy I've heard in many years,” Constantin chuckled.
“Thank you. Go away, Guntram. Finish your thing and tomorrow come to work or don't. Who cares? See if Martin has the balls to fire you and face the hassle of looking for a replacement who can speak two languages, the old ladies love for $975. The world is full of shitty jobs, if you want another one, Guti.”
“Perhaps I could offer you a ‘shitty job’ myself, Mr… call my assistant tomorrow. He will find something according to your abilities. We are planning on overtaking several companies in the energy sector,” Constantin said, handing him a card with his name and Zakharov's number.
“Luis Canclini. Thank you,” he replied, very surprised at the Russian's self confidence.
“We go now, Guntram,” Constantin said, steering the boy by the arm out of the place, his patience over.
The dumbfounded boy stood in the middle of the busy street looking at Constantin in disbelief. “Do you want to dine somewhere or do you prefer my home?”
“I'm going to my own flat, thank you. I have a monster headache,” Guntram said slowly, doing his best to be polite before he would shout and tell the man to piss off for the way he had put him out of his own workplace.
“That's for not eating since yesterday. We dine at my place. You don't look fit enough as to go out tonight.”
“Mr. Repin, I'm sorry if I didn't go back to your house today, but I have a life of my own. Tomorrow, I'll offer my excuses to Martin.”
“For what? The car is here. Get in,” Constantin growled, starting to loose his cool once more, when he saw the big Mercedes stopping in front of them and one of his bodyguards opening the door for him, Guntram looked at him as if he were crazy, but the Russian only pushed him in and said something in his language to the guard.
The boy sat inside the car, furiously, his eyes throwing daggers at Constantin, unimpressed at the display.
“Mr. Repin, tell your driver to let me out on the next corner.”
“We dine and discuss about your future tonight. You can stay at home or my driver will take you to your flat later.”
“Your behaviour is outrageous, sir. There's nothing to discuss for us.”
“I beg to differ, Guntram. This man, Canclini, was right in every word he said. Clever boy, if I might say.
Could work fine for us.”
“Did you really mean it? About a job offer?”
“Of course. The sooner you learn that all my words are true, the better for you. I never bluff or make a threat or promise that I'm not ready to fulfill.”
“He has only a High School degree.”
“Like yourself. Did I ask you for any kind of credentials when I saw your work? No. I looked at your talent and I want that you're properly trained to fulfill your potential to its maximum.”
“I'm no artist. I almost flunk the arts class in school,” Guntram confessed, embarrassed and feeling miserable.
“Why?”
“I didn't want to paint for that teacher. We didn't get along since the first day. She was too chaotic and criticizing me for being too restrained and scholastic. So I sent her to hell till the Headmaster found about my little rebellion and forced me to paint in front of her so she would grade my work. I got four out of ten possible
Similar Books
