The Day I Interviewed – Hang On Right There! –
Roman Alastair F*ck-Me-Rigid Castell!
By Emancietta “Emasculetta” Berkley
Sunny morning, late spring, and I still can’t wrap my head around it – I’m sitting on a park bench with Roman Alastair Northcott Broughton Castell, admiring the riot of colours in the park gardens. It’s his park, open to the public six days a week. I mean the man is not even twenty-nine yet. He’s wearing one of his signature suits – no tie, cufflinks the price of Midas.
The Park, as it is popularly known in the city, as if it was the only park in Hamburg, surrounds the RAC Business Park, a building complex of chrome, glass and marble that reaches up to the skies. He dedicated the building to his mother, Lady Marissa. There’s a ginormous statue of her as the goddess Nike, the Goddess of Victory, riding a chariot, right in the middle of the park. So don’t mistake it for his other buildings, like the RAC Business Centre where he has his offices. We sit facing the statue. I decide that’s a good opener for the interview with this extraordinary man. But his blue eyes on me unsettle me and I say:
EB: Mr Castell, tell me about yourself, the real Roman A.N.B Castell.
[His smile is as straight as a shepherd’s crook.]
RAC: Ms Berkley, if you don’t know about me you’re yet to be born. There’s no Real Roman Castell and Unreal Roman Castell. I’m all of me.
[Those eyes and the smile are really hard to deal with. At least as a woman, and believe me I’m not the timid sort. But I’m thinking I only have one minute with him – yapp, ONE. He dictated that as the condition for this chance in a zillion to interview him out here in the open. There might never be another interview granted for the next decade. To anybody. So I skip asking about his mother, the woman he calls his favourite girl.]
EB: Is it true that you and Ms Berg broke up at the opera house La Scala in Milan? If so, why? You’ve been together for the longest time known in your history with the ladies as Europe’s Most Chased-After Bachelor & Dominant.
RAC: I’ll answer this for both of us. For me and for Ms Berg. We’re no longer sleeping with each other, but we’re the best of friends. In fact she may be my only close female friend. And I’m sure you can answer your Why question for yourself.
[Damn. I’m still chewing his first sentence in my racing brain. Was it a secret message to Ms Marie Berg? Or a coded one to me? Like: Don’t you dare bother her, Ms Berkley?]
EB: Mr Castell, there have been talk in certain close circles about you chasing after another lady, Ms Shana Lindqvist. We’re all wondering why you continue this quest when you can have any woman in the world at the—
RAC: Prof Dr Lindqvist is my novelty. She ups the anticipation while cancelling out the expectation. I prefer a woman with fire in the belly. The harder she battles me, the harder I get, pun not just intended but included. I don’t want a Stockholm syndrome relationship, with her bending to my will and doing everything I demand or anticipate, to please me, her captor. Instead, Prof Dr Lindqvist captivates me with womanhood defiance of the highest order. We are two sides of the same scale. In order for the equilibrium to be maintained, for us to work, we have to each have equal weight. That’s her, my woman.
EB: That’s not exactly what is associated with a Dom, Mr Castell.
RAC: You should never associate that with me, ever, Ms Berkley. Look for those breed of Dominants elsewhere. When all my commands are meekly followed, where’s the challenge? What’s left there to dominate?
EB: You sound as if you and Ms—ah, Prof Dr Lindqvist are already an item. Anything we, as the public, should probably know?
RAC: You should learn the art of listening, Ms Berkley. I’m a ©Domristocrat. One of a kind. And I’ll make Dr Lindqvist my woman. My ©Subristocrat. I’ve patented those two words just for the two of us. A full century patent.
EB: I’m not sure I got that, Sir.
[I don’t know why I call him Sir – it just slips out of me. He smiles. I damn near fall off the bench, shift a little away from him. His aura-pull is forbidden and outlawed in Christendom. Or should be.]
RAC: Again, I derive no joy from boot-licking servility of the current trends in the scene, Ms Berkley. It has no originality to offer me and make me feel as if I were some feudal lord who needed slavish dependence to prop up my dominance. What I need is a woman with fire in the belly, dynamite in the brains and an indomitable spirit. A woman who would give me a good fight before I brought her down under my command. A woman who offers me half a dozen wars in hundreds of strategic battles simultaneously. A ©Domristocrat’s woman. My woman. The woman worthy of all of me, heart and soul. Did you get me this time, Ms Berkley?
[Gulp. OhJesusLordGulp. I’m not sure I have, and I’m not asking for clarifications. I dread what I might hear. For my own womanly safety. Normally I’m granite. I have a reputation and have been labelled “ball-crusher” and “Emasculetta” in my career as a journalist. My column, Emancietta’s Column, was dubbed Emasculetta’s Column.]
EB: It was an intriguing explanation, Mr Castell. You’re a determined man.
RAC: In all I do, Ms Berkley.
[He adamantly refuses to call me Emancietta, even after I’ve asked him to do so several times before we embarked on the interview]
EB: Do you have a way of knowing which woman is submissive simply by a glimpse at them, Mr Castell?
RAC: That’s part of the nature, Ms Berkley. It’s what a ©Domri is all about. I’m a ©Domristocrat and a hunter. I must know how to locate and single out the prey blindfolded.
EB: So what’s the difference between a Dom and a Domristocrat?
RAC: Me. I’m one of a kind. Patented, remember?
[His listing-to-port-smiles are nipple clamps, you can quote me on that. And then the under-look? Lordamercey!]
EB: Suppose, just suppose, you discover Dr Lindqvist is not inclined to the BDSM lifestyle, what would—
RAC: I’m thrilled she isn’t. That’s why she is my woman. She’s no submissive, she’s Subristocrat, Ms Berkley. And now, [he looks at his watch – a piece that cost about a third of America] you said you needed a minute. We’ve surpassed that.
[He rises, like an unfolding laid-back panther, towers over me, and holds his hand out to me. I look at it.]
RAC: I enjoyed the minute.
[My hand has found its way into his ultra-soft palm… Emancietta is Emasculetted.]
EB: Thank you, Mr Castell. The pleasure’s mine. And good luck, Sir.
[Over his shoulder… with that go-shower-little-one look]
RAC: For once, I just might need it, Ms Berkley. But challenges are me.
I watch him stride smoothly across his park to his Limited Edition Veyron, not any of his chauffeur-driven limos. The black and maroon thing he left parked a few hundred yards from the statue on the gravel paths that only gardeners’ vans are allowed to drive on.
I watch him drive himself off like a god in his own version of a chariot, out to outdo any other modern Ben Hur who would dare.
Wow. Make a note and chisel it on marble: I, Emancietta Berkley, had a private interview with Roman Alastair Northcott Broughton Castell, on a sunny May midmorning in front of the statue he dedicated to his mother, Lady Marissa, at the RAC Business Park, for over one minute…
Blurb: Golden Shana: The Chase (Book 1)
An evening at the opera house La Scala in Milan twirled the lives of five people into a web of intrigues, heartaches, human hunts, loss and revenge.
Roman: I never chased after a woman. It was always the other way around. Then I caught a glimpse of the woman I would kneel for, at the opera, and I didn’t even know her name. But I determined to find her if it took me the rest of my life.
Shana: He stood in the room with her. The frisson in the currents freaking between them was as solid as a steel portal. The mutual force of predator and prey blasted its way into her core … her soul … Danger. Keep far away from him.
Marie: Some men were born to rule the world; others were born to ruin it. Roman Alastair Northcott Broughton Castell was born to do both. But she loved him and awaited his baby.
Alyssa: He was the lover she wouldn’t tire of. Roman had something so damned perilous about him he was addictive. Who gets addicted to safe and riskless? Not her.
Grieg/Phoenix: Had His Girl interpreted that Friday night as abuse? He’d only done what she wanted – protection of her cherished innocence.
Excerpt from Golden Shana: The Chase (Book 1)
What a difference a day makes… And it hadn’t been a day. It had been an evening in Milan. Brief moments of an evening. I didn’t care about the consequences to whomever. Through my obsession with Svadishana I became aware of the fact that I was a person. A human being, not an almighty god, with all the baggage that comes with being that. I too – eureka! – had a heart pumping white and red corpuscles through my veins. Blood, not icicles.
Was it love I felt for Svadishana? A woman I’d spoken three whiny words – Please call me! – to? Was it more than simple lust and desire? Did I want to possess more than just her body?
Pondering these questions alone was so unlike me. That woman had turned me into an alien even unto my own self. What I felt, my inner voice said, was more than the thrill of the hunt. More than lust, desire, need, passion, the excitement of possession, and subjugation.
Of course all that was part of it. But the basis or the source, the seedbed on which all that sprouted and was growing to full blossom in me, could well be something else.
When I thought of her, saw her image from Milan in my mind, watched how she moved in long smooth strides in YouTube, my brow beaded with sweat. I couldn’t pull my gaze away from the few photos I’d fished out of the Internet. Group photos at a family birthday or the authorized biography of her father. Her movements in a YouTube conference clip were springy and powerful even in their smoothness. She exuded strength all over the place, laughing, talking, gesticulating.
A breath-taking beauty. Such beauty that I dared not believe it at times.
And brains to go with it.
In love or not, I knew what I wanted and Svadishana was the answer. I wanted her and would do anything short of suicide to get her. Who knows – perhaps when it came to that as the only means available, I’d really murder too. I didn’t in the least care about the consequences, as long as they got me to where I wanted to get to.
Svadishana’s arms and knickers and… heart?
What obsession, Roman. Get back to real.
No chance. Real was Svadishana.
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