Turpitude Page 3

  “Unfortunately, the local government objected to these religious aspects of the project and fined the owners for infractions of building codes. After the 1909 Semana Trágica (Tragic Week - where the Spanish army and the working classes of Barcelona and other cities of Catalonia, backed by anarchists, socialists and republicans fought a series of bloody confrontations), the owners decided to follow the city’s ordinance and eliminated the statues and the archangels. In the process, Gaudi contemplated abandoning the project but was persuaded not to by a priest.”

  Andy questioned, “How did it become the Northern Insurance Company?”

  Smartass Lukas chimed in before Hans could provide a sensible explanation, “The Northern Insurance Company took over the building and made it their headquarters.”

  We laughed at the hippie’s remark. Our guide continued, “You see, Andy, when Pere Milà died in 1940, Roser Segimon sold the property to Joseph Balañá Ballvé Pellisé and the Pío Rubert Laporta’s family. They were known for their department stores in the San Antonio round, and they formed the Compañía Inmobiliaria Provence SA (CIPS) to administer the property. The former owner, Roser Segimon, continued to live on the main floor until her death in 1964.”

  While the Dutchman was iterating these historical accounts, Thor was haphazardly brushing his hand across my butt. He was testing my reaction. I pretended not to notice his flirtatious innuendoes. I continued to listen attentively to Hans’ commentary.

  “The new owners divided the building into five floors instead of the original two. In 1953, they commissioned Juan Francisco Barba Corsini to construct 13 apartments in the attic, which until then had been the laundry room. It had become unsafe for use and was filled with garbage when the property changed hands.

  “Fortunately, the new renovator, Barba Corsini, respected Gaudi’s original volume and structure, which we know today as the Logis-freedom approach. It provided plenty of open spaces with no right angles at the corners.” Our guide added, “The renovated apartments were located on the outer side of the space, leaving a corridor for the distribution of curved arches that led to the central courtyard. In the process, the darker areas between the two courtyards were exposed.”

  My chaperone queried, “Were any of Gaudi’s designs compromised during this major renovation?”

  “There’re bound to be trade-offs in any renovation. As you can imagine, Andy, several years ago, the mix of installations with the neighboring houses led to considerable losses of Gaudi’s work, especially the decorative elements. It was only a year and half ago that the current Northern Insurance Company took over the property. Thanks to the current owner, Alfonso’s dad’s friend Marcos, as much as possible of Gaudi was preserved.”

  Although Thor spoke very little English and did not understand the historical elucidations, his body language spoke a thousand words, especially while my chaperone was transfixed by Hans recounting of Casa Milà.

  On one hand, I was flattered by the hippie’s seductive allusions, but on the other, I was also terribly interested in the Dutchman’s narration about this idiosyncratic place. I decided to play hard-to-get with my suitor. Like my French encounters before, I was enjoying the unstated sensual foreplay I had perfected during my Quwah service. For now, I had cunningly dangled this salacious hippie like a puppet on strings as he scuffled for my affection.

  Casa Batlló

  Little did I realize Alfonso’s second stop was across the road – the exact building Hans and I had been ogling at before we entered the Northern Insurance Company. This time around, the Spaniard had scheduled a meeting with another insurance company’s owner, Augustin, from Seguros Iberia, the rival firm to the Northern Insurance Company. Our friend was negotiating the best deal for his father.

  These two businesses were competing to outshine each other both in architectural appellation and in providing the best services. The owners had deliberately set up shop opposite each other, at two distinctive historical sites, in the hope of attracting Spain’s wealthiest and most elite into their fold. In so doing, they had to offer excellent hospitality services to their time honored patrons, including Alfonso’s father.

  Augustin greeted us with his charismatic flair. Although I detected a hint of reservation upon his noticing of our hippie friends, his staff nevertheless served us champagne and entremeses variados (hor d’oeuvres). We waited for Alfonso and Augustin to finish their private consultation within an adjoining Art Nouveau chamber.

  No sooner had we started savoring the beverages and delicacies than my guardian and Hans were ready to explore the premise. As ardent as I was to join the tour, I was famished and stayed behind to taste the scrumptious hor d’oeuvres placed before me. I found myself with Oscar, Lukas and Thor as they consumed glasses of champagne within the four walls of this exquisitely decorated visitors lounge.

  Thor wasted no time in maneuvering himself closer to my side when Oscar and Lukas were in heated conversation. When I leaned across the settee to gather some munchies, the Swede slipped his hand into the back of my exposed underwear. He ran a couple of his fingers onto the top of my ass crack. I made no effort to move away from this unexpected titillation. The hand remained within my jeans when I leaned against the settee. The hippie continued to tantalize my cleft. This unanticipated eroticism caught me off guard. Before I knew it, he had nervelessly inserted his other hand into my pants to stroke my manhood. I tried to find my equilibrium when I heard footsteps entering the room. My lover and the Dutchman had returned in time to liberate me from this cache.

  As rapidly as the hands had invaded my privacy, they disappeared, leaving me relived but disconcerted.

  The two of them had returned for some beverages before continuing the exploration of the premise. Seizing the opportunity, I joined them for the remainder of this beguiling Art Nouveau tour. Oscar tacked along, leaving Lukas and Thor to their own devices.

  Conversation with Oscar

  I fell in step with Oscar when Hans and my Valet were intensely in discussion. I queried, “How did you and Alfonso got involved with the commune?”

  My ex BB grinned, “Several of the residents are Alfonso’s school mates. We decided to give communal living a try while we were here. Do you like the place?”

  I simpered sheepishly, “It’s an interesting experience. I don’t think it’s my kind of long-term living arrangement.”

  He smiled mischievously. “We have something exciting planned for the both of you,” he iterated with a sly twinkle in his eyes.

  “What have you planned?” I pressed.

  “Ahh! You’ll have to wait. You are always so impatient, my little one,” he sniggered, “You’ll know soon enough. It’ll all be revealed when the time is ripe.”

  I impelled, “Will Andy and I get to have some alone time with you?”

  He smirked, “I’m afraid you’ll have to include my boyfriend, Alfonso, now that we are officially a couple.”

  “It’s fine by me, but I can’t speak for Andy,” I declared before adding, “We’d like to see more of Barcelona while we are here.”

  “You will, lad. I’m sure Lorenzo will loan you guys a car. Maybe we’ll join the two of you after Alfonso is done.”

  Oscar’s beau was already waiting for us at the visitor’s lounge when we returned.

  The women with the three male hippies remained in the city to run some errands when Oscar, Andy, Alfonso and I paid homage to the Spaniard’s parents. When we bid our temporary farewells to the group, Thor gave me a lingering, lascivious hug. His hand cupped my backside when no one was watching.

  He whispered, “Nice!”

  Free at Last

  Alfonso’s parents couldn’t be any more pleasant. Their warmth welcomed us into their lavish villa. Antonia reminded me of my mother: she doted over Oscar, Andy and me as if we were her sons, making sure we were well fed and excellently nourished. She made us promise to take good care of ourselves before we drove away in Lorenzo’s red Alfa Romeo Giulietta Sprint. The elder Span
iard had generously handed Andy the keys to one of his assorted vehicles, parked gleamingly inside his expansive garage. Behind the wheels of the camper, my ex and his lover departed to Passeig de Gràcia to collect the rest of their hippie gang.

  My chaperone and I were glad to have our freedom of movement again instead of relying on the art mobile to spirit us to and from Strawberry Fields Forever.

  Chapter Four

  Gloria In Excelsis Deo

  “Laudamus te,

  Benedicimus te,

  Adormus te,

  Glorificamus te.”

  (“We praise you, we bless you, we adore you, we glorify you.”)

  2014

  Andy’s Email

  My dearest Young,

  How are you, kid? Thanks for the password to Turpitude. It brought smiles to my face when I saw the photos you posted with each chapter. We were so young. I barely recognize myself. I remember the hippie commune and a couple of key events from our week at this out-of-nowhere place.

  To be honest, I was thrilled to spend a couple of nights at that charming Barcelona hotel (I can’t remember its name) after Lorenzo loaned us his car. As much as I love the beauty of Andorra, I’m not one for communal living. I prefer my privacy when on vacation.

  As much as I enjoyed the company of the residents in the commune, I didn’t care for a couple of the guys, especially the Swede. He kept writhing into your pants the entire time. I loathed his arrogance and the way he lusted after you. I knew he was up to no good the first time we met.

  The highlight of our holiday was the Vivaldi concert at the Basilica and Expiatory Church of the Holy Family. That afternoon, when you had a bout of your external detachment, I was in a state of panic. During those early years, I couldn’t understand your ‘out-of-body’ experiences. I wasn’t sure if you feigned your fainting spells or if you actually lost consciousness. The only thing I was sure of was that I needed to be there for you when you awoke. There were times I thought you would never wake, and I would never be able to forgive myself. That, Young, was how enamored I was with you. Boy oh boy, you were a handful. Need I say more…? ☺

  Love,

  Andy.

  1967

  The Basílica i Temple Expiatori de la Sagrada Família

  By the time Andy and I arrived at this impressive Basilica, it was already late afternoon. Although the exterior and parts of the interior of this Gaudi’s resplendence were under construction, there was already a long queue of concertgoers purchasing tickets to a Vivaldi chamber orchestra concert in the cathedral’s main sanctuary. Since I had never been to a chamber music concert, my Valet bought tickets for us.

  The moment we set foot inside this majestic house of worship, I was spellbound by the breathtaking spirals that seemed to disappear into heaven. Every ornately decorated art nouveau-style column was intricately arched and curved. The towering stained-glass windows stretched up to the ceiling, attenuating my mortal humility. Biblical scenes were painstakingly etched onto these colorful glass mosaics. I knelt behind a pew to elocute a prayer of adoration to the almighty while Andy sat enthralled by this display of religious magnificence. He was appraising the impeccable artistry of this architectural wonder.

  When Vivaldi’s musical resplendence began to surround the sacred sanctuary, deep within me, my mind swirled with visions of angelic splendor. Tears of irrepressible revelry flowed down my cheeks. I was filled with awe and bewilderment. When I opened my eyes, the winsome angels in the windows burst forth from their ambit. Artful drapes fell away from their sinewy torsos only for them to disingenuously conceal their human traits as they circled the opulent ceiling. I was obfuscated by such a hypnotic celestial display. Mesmerized by their otherworldly presence, I was filled with indescribable reverence. I stared at these celestial beings as their mighty wings glided toward me.

  Before I knew what had transpired, Michael had enveloped me against his strapping chest, lifting me skywards. Gabriel held my wrist as I floated on air. I gazed down at the orchestra and chorus. Verses upon verses of enchanted melodies from Vivaldi’s Gloria traversed my ears, piercing the fiber of my soul, relinquishing my jealousy of Albert and Andy’s dalliance, which I had kept so zealously camouflaged behind my happy-go-lucky facade.

  As the chorus reached the crescendo of “Domine Deus, Agnus Dei filius Patris, qui tollis pecatta mundi miserere nobis” (Lord God, Lamb of God, Son of the Father, you take away the sins of the world, have mercy on us) I lost equilibrium and tumbled to the ground. Just as I was about to hit the marble floor, a pair of sturdy arms scooped me up, lifting me once again. The moment I opened my eyes, a dizzying halo of light dazzled my vision. I heard a manly voice whisper in my head, “I am Adabiel. Call me Abdiel. I’m always here for you.”

  I stirred to Andy’s beckoning voice as he cradled me back to reality. I gasped at my beloved, wondering why he was in such despondency. Tears of desolation trickled from his eyes. Several landed on my face.

  My guardian was overjoyed to see me wake, he continued to rock me back and forth. For a brief moment, the lights above me blinded my sight. I was not sure if I was in the present. When I reopened my eyes, I found myself lying on a hospital bed. I was no longer kneeling in Gaudi’s monumental creation.

  Andy held my hand as he solemnly declared, “You, young man – don’t you ever abscond on me like that!”

  I did not understand a word he was uttering. I ogled at him, “Where did I abscond to?” I queried curiously.

  “Do you not remember what happened when you toppled over and landed on the floor unconscious?”

  “No,” I answered, puzzled.

  He leaned across and laid his palm on my forehead. “You blacked out and hit your head on the edge of the pew. You were bleeding profusely. The paramedics came to your aid and toted you to the hospital. You were out till now,” my chaperon pronounced.

  I responded pressingly, “Did I disrupt the concert?”

  Andy looked at me as if I had gone bonkers. “Never mind whether you interrupted the concert. I was more concerned with your safety. Why did you faint?” he admonished.

  I wasn’t sure if I should confide my angelic visions to my Valet. I kept silent for a while before I lied, “I must’ve been hungry and dehydrated. The last time I ate was the hors d’oeuvres at Seguros Iberia, and I had sipped some champagne…”

  “That must have done you in. You know you are allergic to alcohol. Why do you do that to yourself?” Andy reprimanded.

  “I was thirsty, and there wasn’t any water being served,” I muttered before closing my tired eyes.

  El Palace Hotel

  As soon as I was released from the hospital, Andy drove us to El Palace Hotel. In 1968, this historic building was truly a converted palace. As soon as we drove up to the porte-cochere, several pristinely dressed bell staff greeted us in Spanish, “Bienvenido a El Hotel Palace Barcelona, el Senior.”

  The moment we entered the majestic lobby, we knew we would have an exceptional stay. Inaugurated in the year 1919, this grand dame was splendidly reminiscent of 1930s palaces where hospitality, luxury and service were of paramount importance.

  Andy let out a sigh of relief as soon as we had closed the door to our private suite. He declared, “Thank goodness. Tonight we’ll have a good night’s sleep. No whimpering children or snoring adults to rattle us.”

  I looked at my lover affectionately, thankful that we had found quiet after our restless nights at the commune. Before I had a chance to enunciate, my lover voiced, “Are you up for checking out the eateries in the neighbouring vicinity, or would you prefer to order room service?”

  Always an adventurer, I assured my Valet I wanted to explore the locale, although my mind was still whirling like a windmill. Our forthcoming triplet relationship with Albert was secretly affecting my psychological and physiological insecurities. I knew I had to discuss my predicament with my lover but did not know how to broach the subject without sounding like a proprietorial bitch. I wanted to wait for the
correct moment to disclose my quandary to my beloved Andy.

  Els 4Gats (Four Cats)

  It was the hotel concierge who recommended we explore the Gothic Quarter and to dine at Els 4Gats, or ‘Four Cats’.

  “It is one of Barcelona’s most famous restaurants and was Picasso’s watering hole,” he had said.

  We were ready to fill our rumbling stomachs as soon as we stepped out of El Palace Hotel. We were lucky that evening to obtain an intimate table without reservations at this historical eatery. I thought this was the perfect circumstance to have a candid discussion with my beloved as soon as we had ordered.

  But before I could utter a word, the bubbly maître d’hôtel inquired in Spanish, “¿Dónde está guapo caballero de?” (Where are you handsome gentleman from?).

  Andy and I, not understanding his question, shrugged our shoulders. He gave us a grin and reverted to English, “I am Sergio.” He extended his hand to shake ours. After formal pleasantries he iterated, “Are you from England?”

  We nodded. Before my Valet could reply, the Spaniard chirped, “We have many customers from many places come here to experience our Catalan cuisine. Would you like me to give you a brief history of our establishment?” He did not give either of us a chance to refuse.

  He continued, “The story starts in Paris at the end of the 19th century. The original owner, Pere Romeu, worked as an entertainments presenter and waiter in the cabaret Le Chat Noir. He was seduced by that environment and decided to create a similar restaurant in Barcelona. He and a couple of friends opened this venue. It was a tavern with reasonably priced food and elegant piano music to entertain his patrons.