A nod’s as good as a wink... if he was doing that... who was minding the club?
Course, I know. I know I should have said, ‘To hell with it all,’ taken the money and run. But I’d liked Ben and I’d given him my word and not kept it. If nothing else, I owed, if not to the bigger picture, at least to the Big Issue.
The day of Reed’s departure, I headed to Bayswater. Jeez, what a calm place. Nobody speaks English and maybe that helps. I checked into The Coburg and ordered a bottle of Old Tennessee. I’d some calls to make.
Jack first... he came on the line in Hackman mould, full of fire and ferocity, demanded:
‘Where the hell have you been, mister?’
‘No hello?’
‘Don’t be impertinent, you know what that brings.’
‘Gee, I’m nervous now. Anyway, I gave the cash to Leon.’
‘So where’s my girl.’
‘Leon said... hold on a sec Jacko, I had to write it down, no wonder help is at such a premium... oh yeah, here it is...’
And I waited. I was remembering how I felt when the thug bounced me off the dashboard.
He shouted, ‘Well, get on with it.’
‘Oh, you want me to read it... okay, so... he said: “Go fuck your white ass.” ’
More silence, so I added, ‘Anyway, he’s busy with the funeral for Benjamin, he’ll be walking behind the hearse. I think Roz will stay home, service the other blacks.’
The hate channelled down the wire and I actually held the receiver at arm’s length. You can get too close.
He said: ‘You better run, boyo, run fast and far.’
‘Why?’
‘I’ll be talking to you, Mr Brady, right up close.’
‘Promise?’
And he slammed the phone down.
Next I got the desk to connect me to Jeff’s room.
‘Tony, is it you?’
‘Alive and shaking.’
‘Oh God, I’m running up a bill here Tony.’
‘Let it run sweetcakes, my mate Reed’s picking up the tab.’
‘Who?’
‘Nobody, not no more, he’s gone to the mountain seeking the prophet.’
‘When will I see you?’
‘How would five minutes be? I’m on the top floor.’
‘I’m on my way.’
I had intended getting a pair of those Calvin Klein briefs, be on the bed with them on and a rose between my teeth.
Room Service came and I tipped freely. Opened the bottle and smelt it... ah, poured and sipped. Tasted like the good times that hadn’t yet rolled. A tap on the door and there was Jeff.
I said, ‘Wotcha waiting for? Drop them jeans.’
He did.
I wish I could say it was sublime. That when emotion got added to sex, you got Nirvana.
Naw.
What it was, was energetic and sweaty and brief. He was disappointed. I suppose if you’ve been cooped up in a room, terrified and bewildered, a wham-bam is somewhat less than enchanting.
He said, ‘You’re not big on foreplay.’
‘No, I like to get to the main event, punch in, hit the canvas.’
I poured the Old Number 7, clinked his glass, he knocked it back like a fish hand.
I said, ‘Aw shit, it’s sipping whiskey... you got to smell and savour, let it tease yer tastebuds.’
He rounded on me, ‘I don’t believe it... you want foreplay with a bottle but not with a person. That’s very sad.’
‘Jeez Jeff, don’t get deep on me... c’mon.’
Can a man pout? Jeff sure tried and being an actor, it came easily.
He said: ‘I’ve been so worried.’
I got off the bed, rummaged in my clothes, said, ‘I’m glad you said that, I’ve got just the thing for you.’
And handed him the worry beads. I then gave the Spiro spiel and embellished a bit. The bottom line emphasising the trouble I’d gone to procure it. His face wasn’t lit up and I figured I’d told it badly, asked, ‘You don’t like it?’
‘I got one on Mikonos last year.’
I snapped it back, growled, ‘Fuck, sorry to be predictable.’
He moved over to me, asked, ‘What happens from here, can I return to my flat?’
‘How’d you like to go to San Francisco, like tomorrow, how’d that be?’
‘I have an audition in a few days, a part in Eastenders.’
My plans were sliding down the toilet.
I said, ‘Jeff, you can’t go back to yer life yet. Gimme a couple of days to sort out things, wait for me in America and we’ll have a ball, hell we’ll even have foreplay.’
He stood up, said in a prissy voice, ‘I don’t think so. We do have a police force to deal with this sort of stuff. I can’t jeopardise my career and — loathe though I am to say it — I don’t think we’re compatible.’
I grabbed him by the back of the neck, whispering, ‘This is real life, son. There’s people out there who’ll do untold damage to you and they like doing it. I’m trying to help you, for fuck’s sake.’ And I let him go.
He was white with fear and/or anger... bi-agitated, in fact.
Drew his body up in that English way. You kick the living crap outa them but they’ll have the last bloody word. Always sound as if they’re terminating an interview and you didn’t get the job. He said:
‘I see. Well Tony, I’ll be leaving now. I won’t say I’m not disappointed, I had hoped that...’
‘Can it buddy, okay?’
‘I beg your pardon, I’m not finished.’
Now it’s my turn to get English, said, ‘You didn’t by any chance write a letter for Danny’s dad, did you? Don’t beg any frigging pardons with me. I HATE THAT SHIT! See, I’m shouting now. You actors are all the same, one shag and you’re history. Go on then, fuck off.’
He did. I stood for a few moments, deep breathing and struggling for control, muttering, ‘I’m okay... yeah... loosen them muscles... yeah... I’m creator of my own life... I have a right to be here!’
Stood a second, let the serenity settle — then I punched a hole in the wall.
Outside The Coburg a guy asked me for change. I gave him the worry beads, he asked, ‘What’s this shite?’
‘My question exactly.’
I was going to need a gun. Only one place I knew was stocking them and that was Danny’s place. But it meant I’d have to see Crystal.
What was I going to tell her? That Danny was in lust and had buggered off with a young woman with a degree. Yeah, she was going to love that.
But I couldn’t go to Brixton with just a bus pass. The bat wouldn’t be quite the speed when I actually went ballistic. I thought of my derailed plans for Jeff. How I’d wanted to reenact the part of Maupin’s ‘Tales’ where the guy raves about weejuns. If there’s a more comfortable pair of shoes, I hadn’t heard of them.
Took a cab to Danny’s place and I was nervous. Stood outside and willed myself to ring the door. Did... and no reply. The relief was enormous. I put on that bemused look, so beloved of Neighbourhood Watch watchers everywhere. I didn’t scratch my head but gave the impression. Started the dance of looking up at the windows the — ‘Gee, someone should be home.’ Then the slide round the side of the house. Again, the looking round and whacked my elbow into a window. No alarms unless it was one of those silent jobs, in which case I was fucked. Put my hand through and opened the frame wide. How fast would the cops come to a burglar’s home... yeah, he’d not be top priority. The smell hit me straight away. In my very worst moments of depression, it had lived in my nostrils...
The smell of death.
She was hanging from the light-chord in the bedroom. From the bruises on her face she’d been beaten first. Dressed in an old nightie, there was a sock on one foot... Mickey Mouse. I wanted to throw up but kept control.