I adore the strange names of these drugs. I think the exoticism forms part of the appeal, like the philatelist’s enjoyment of stamps issued in strange and distant lands.
Of the many collectors’ stratagems I have devised over the last fourteen years, simple blackmail has often proved the most effective. A naive doctor, an older gentleman, usually. Doctor Proctor is nearing the end of his career rainbow, his retirement gold awaits. You lead him gently into overprescription and soon you have him where you want him. Your requests increase, new varieties, everything in greater bulk. He says this is not possible, you start throwing names at him. Medical councils, local politicians, newspapers. Being a journalist, you tell him, you can always claim you were carrying out a sting. He is already in over his head, the risk is all his.
Your collection grows.
IX(ii) I stop typing to take in a lungful of world, to breathe in its scents as I stand by my window. And that’s when I see something wonderful. Small and fading in the southern evening sky, I catch the returning airplane’s loops and swoops just a moment before they start to melt away. HELLO NEW YORK, reads the sky. And then a few seconds later, when its first-written letters have faded, O NEW YORK.
I clap my hands and the air in my soul turns bright.
And while I have been describing to you this propitious sight, its cryptic significance has dawned on me. Yes, I must stop taking my pills. I am in serious training, the outside world is my medicine now. I must wean myself off them.
And I promise. I won’t forget. Starting tomorrow.
X
X They were arranged in height order with the tallest at the left. He wore a single-breasted jacket, woollen and greeny-grey, and beneath this a crisp white shirt with only the topmost button unfastened. The shirt was tucked into jeans with a snowy fade to them, half a decade or more out of date. Tallest’s haircut was short and neat, the hair parted to one side. He wore spectacles with large teardrop lenses like those of an aviator’s sunglasses. He had about him the air of a young London accountant dressed for a weekend in the Cotswolds. Twenty-five but going on fifty.
The other two were similarly dressed with jeans and tucked-in shirts but without jackets or glasses. Middle had black hair both on top of his head and sprouting from his nose like frayed electric cables. Shortest was a fading blond. They looked like science postgrads, serious types when they weren’t quoting from Douglas Adams or Monty Python.
Chad was normally so nervous but now he was leading from the front, first up to the stall and planting his palms with intent. Jack had seemed ready to say something but Chad snatched away the opportunity. ‘I have a proposition for you,’ he said, ‘for an entirely original and inventive game.’ No one from Game Soc flinched. ‘But I can turn straight around right now, if you don’t think original and inventive ideas are your thing.’ He lifted his hands and made to leave.
‘Continue,’ said Tallest.
‘Six people, a number of rounds, each one separated by a week. A game of consequences, consequences which must be performed to prevent elimination. These consequences take the form of psychological dares, challenges designed to test how much embarrassment and humiliation the players can stand. Throughout the rounds players who fail to perform their consequences are eliminated until only one is left standing.’
Jolyon moved forward to stand shoulder to shoulder with his friend. ‘The game takes place in utter secrecy,’ he said, joining in and feeling it was important to mention secrecy early on in the sell.
‘Yes, complete secrecy is vital,’ said Chad.
‘Success within such a game would rely upon a mixture of luck and skill,’ said Jolyon, ‘just like in the real world.’ And then he reflected upon the analogy, this being the first time he had thought of it. Yes, he liked it, a game of life.
‘Each player will be asked for a security deposit,’ said Chad.
‘Yes,’ said Jolyon, ‘failure to perform a consequence results in loss of deposit, which has to be a not inconsiderable sum. And any lost deposits get added to the grand prize.’
‘Stop,’ said Tallest, raising his index finger. And then he said, ‘Name please,’ while looking at Chad.
‘Chad Mason.’
Middle took a small pad from his jeans, then a pen from his shirt pocket and wrote something down.
‘Name please,’ repeated Tallest, looking at Jolyon this time.
Jolyon said his name and again Middle made note of it.
‘Continue please,’ said Tallest.
‘And I’m Jack,’ said Jack, ‘Jack Andrew Thomson, no P in Thomson.’
Middle made no movement of pen toward paper.
‘Continue please,’ said Tallest again. ‘And tell me in more detail about these consequences.’
Jolyon looked to his friend. They had not discussed the Game all the way down to its dots and crosses.
‘They start out as humorous dares,’ said Chad hesitantly.
‘Yes, humorous dares,’ said Jolyon, playing for time as he tried to snatch some ideas from his mind. ‘And it would fall to all the players as a group to finalise the details, but in the early stages consequences would prove merely entertaining, only a little embarrassing. For example, you would agree to advertise to the entire college – using posters, a note in the weekly newsletter and so on – that you would perform a solo singing concert at a certain time, in a certain place.’ Tallest’s expression did not alter. ‘Or a magic show,’ said Jolyon. ‘Magic’s so passé, don’t you agree?’ Tallest continued to look unaffected. ‘It wouldn’t stand a chance of going down well at Pitt,’ said Jolyon.
‘Or something as simple as turning up to one of your tutorials bare-chested or maybe wearing a bikini top if the consequence were drawn by a girl.’ said Chad. Briefly he pictured a particular girl in a blue bikini top. He imagined the lines of her shoulder blades nuzzling the leather armchair in a tutor’s room, an essay resting lightly on her lap like a starched white napkin.
‘Or the opposite,’ said Jolyon, slightly desperately now. ‘You have to wear a suit and tie for a month.’ Jolyon looked at Tallest and felt a sense of the sand in an hourglass falling too quickly away. ‘And not only would you lose your deposit for the non-performance of a consequence but you would also lose your money if you revealed to a single person outside of the game why you were behaving in such an eccentric fashion. As we mentioned, secrecy is vital.’
‘And then round by round the consequences would become tougher,’ said Chad. But then he paused because to continue speaking, his imagination would have to venture into territory they hadn’t yet explored.
‘We don’t intend to put anyone in danger and we wouldn’t ask anyone to do anything excessively illegal. It’s not that sort of game. But like Chad said, the consequences would become tougher and more embarrassing. But for me, that’s one of the most interesting elements of the Game. Embarrassment is in the eye of the beholder, don’t you agree? Personally the idea of singing in public would terrify me so much I might throw in the towel and forfeit my security deposit on the spot. Other people might have no problem with singing, the person who drew such a dare might even be a great singer. It’s all definitely very psychological rather than physical. And that’s one example of the element of luck involved.’ Jolyon was playing for more time, hoping some appropriate escalation would simply appear wholly formed in his mind. ‘You might, for example . . . you might ask someone to run naked three times round front quad.’ Jolyon flinched inside. Like drunken rugby players, he thought, how painfully unoriginal.
‘Or put on an art exhibition,’ said Chad, regretting the words as soon as he spoke them.