A Shock

by Keith Ridgway

  — There was nothing else love, I promise. I mean obviously I checked, and I did think it was odd that you didn’t have a phone or a wallet but there you are.

  — Where are they?

  — You must have left them at Sammy’s.

  — What? My wallet? Oh fuck where is my wallet?

  Frank got on his phone and called Sammy’s and eventually got Sammy on the line and Tommy could hear him laughing.

  — How long did that take my Christ he’s been gone hours is he ok?

  — Oh he’s fine, said Frank, staring at Tommy’s cock. But did he leave his phone there? And his wallet?

  More of Sammy laughing. Oh. Frank had put him on speaker phone.

  — We talked about it! We had a twenty-minute fucking conversation about whether he should take them with him. He decided not to. They’re here. They’re in the safe. He’s twatted. Stick him under the shower. Slap him around a bit.

  — Oh well, that’s fine then, they’re in the safe love, you’re fine.

  — But I got the bus. How did I get the bus.

  Sammy laughed some more.

  — You said you didn’t want to get the bus. You were afraid of people. You thought you were too sweaty.

  — Oh you should have seen him when he arrived. Looked like a drowned rat.

  — Is he ok?

  — He’s fine.

  — I’m fine.

  — Oh there you are you numpty. You all right?

  — Yeah, yeah. I just didn’t remember. Thought I’d lost . . .

  — You’re all right, you’ve just got the heebeegeebees. Have a shower, have . . .

  — I had a shower.

  — . . . something to eat. Have something to eat. Promise?

  — Yeah I will.

  — Do. Before you let Frank at you or else you’ll forget. And call when you’re coming back. And bring Frank with you. Gotta go, Miguel needs me.

  He hung up.

  Frank stroked his cock and they kissed for a while. Then Frank sucked him for some sort of length of time which was either very long or just an average length of time for cocksucking when cocksucking is amongst other things that you’re doing, going to do, and then Frank bent him over, bent Tommy over the kitchen table and rimmed him, but then they moved position almost immediately because it wasn’t working as well as it might, and Tommy leaned over a chair instead, bent right over it, a kitchen chair, gripping the edge of the seat first and then the actual legs of the chair.

  He was sure he remembered getting the bus. Tommy was. But he couldn’t have. Because he had no cards. They didn’t take cash on the bus. They hadn’t taken cash on the buses in years. Unless he’d taken a card out of his wallet. He lifted himself up a little, moaned, and reached out and nudged the coins and the keys on the table but there was nothing there. Frank was very good at this stuff. He forgot about everything for some period of time. Tommy did. Just became the enjoyment, became the experience of being rimmed by Frank in Frank’s kitchen while the washing machine spun.

  Frank stopped then.

  — This floor is hard, he said.

  Tommy ate some salmon and a half a pot of spinach pine-nut pasta and Frank made them teas and went out for a minute and came back wearing only a jockstrap. They talked about Sammy and who was down there at Sammy’s place, or who had been there when Tommy had left, and how Sammy was the sweetest man they knew but that this couldn’t last. And Frank said he had a cough. That he, Frank, had a cough.

  He coughed.

  — He’s got the cabinet, you know, I love that, and the safe, and his . . . I said to him I said you should get a clipboard dear.

  — He’d probably really like that Frank.

  — He’d love it. He really would. We should get him one. I should get on Amazon and get him one. He could write down all the times, everyone’s G timings and what have you, I mean he does that anyway on his phone, he has some sort of system with the cabinet, I can never quite work it out. Let’s get him a clipboard, he’d love that.

  And Frank went into the other room and got his laptop, coughing a bit. He picked it up as if to come back into the kitchen. But Tommy had followed him. They bumped into each other.

  — That’s quite nasty Frank.

  — I know. I should get some honey, some of that expensive stuff, the cheap stuff is useless. Hakuna matata honey. Oh look at this. Messages. Look at this one.

  They stood there, Frank holding the laptop, and scrolled through the messages that had come in on the website for Frank. Tommy thought he knew one of the men, face in shadow, a hard chest, nice cock.

  — Is that Gary?

  — Which Gary?

  — From Sammy’s.

  — Black guy?

  — No. Oh. No, yes, that Gary. No not that Gary. Is this guy black? There’s another Gary.

  — Which one love?

  — Oh it’s gone now, never mind. Are you high?

  Frank laughed.

  — I smoked a pipe while you were in the shower.

  — Nice.

  — First of the day. Have you been on it since last night? You look fresh though Tommy, look really good. A lot better than when you arrived, my god, what a mess.

  — It’s hot out isn’t it?

  — He’s hot, look at that.

  — Yeah.

  — My god.

  — But it is hot out isn’t it?

  — Yes, it is. I don’t know what the temperature is but it got up to thirty something yesterday. It’s not that hot yet, but it probably will be. Very hot. It’s the climate warming.

  — Will we sit down?

  — I think we won’t last the century that’s my honest belief, I think a few more generations and that’s our lot.

  — Yeah?

  They were sitting down now. Tommy stuck his hand between Frank’s legs. Frank shifted a little, held Tommy’s cock for a moment, then he put the laptop down on the floor and picked up the pipe. All the time talking, talking all the time. A day in an envelope. A day in a drawer. A put-aside day.

  — I think so I really do. I mean people don’t care do they? It’ll take something horrible to make people care. You know, I don’t know, New York melting, or Venice finally sliding into the sea. I don’t like Venice. Have you been to Venice? No? I mean don’t get me wrong it’s full of the most amazing things, all those churches, that art, that beautiful culture, it’s fantastic, but the tourists my god all these Japanese and Americans by the truckload all stamping their way around after those little umbrellas, I hate them all I really do, and the locals are just furious now, they’ve been driven mad by it you can’t blame them but they’re so unfriendly and it stinks, it just stinks permanently of shit, of shit Tommy, it really does, I’m sorry but it does, literally of shit, actual shit, the whole thing is like a monument to human shit and I really think it would be better if they just took all that art off somewhere else, and maybe took some of the churches, they can do that sort of thing now, and then just let the rest of it slide into the stinking sea, with as many tourists as possible. Oh my god listen to me I think I become a bit of a fascist when I’m high I really do my god, I take it all back, what ridiculous nonsense.

  — You just talk more than you would, you know, you take the things off.

  — Yeah.

  — The brakes. Not the brakes. You take off the things.

  — Yes exactly.

  — The wheels. Oh for fucks sake what’s the word. You take the

  — The blinkers.

  — You take the blinkers off.

  — There.

  — No that’s not it, that’s something else. You take the things. Fucks sake. You take them off anyway.

  — And talk too much. I know, it’s awful.

  — It’s universal though Frank. We’re all at it. Babble babble.r />
  — Toil and rabble.

  — What?

  — Here hold that. Oh, that’s nice. There’s nothing I wouldn’t say, that’s what it is. The inhibitions are gone. So the slimiest things slide out. You see people as they really are you know, they can’t hide. The aggression, the weird ideas, all that.

  — Well that’s paranoia.

  — Well yes there’s that as well. And the anger comes after it. Or with it. You know, like Arthur, you remember Arthur?

  — No.

  — Oh you’d know him if you saw him. Regular at Hamza’s place in Lewisham. Or used to be. Sammy’s a few times but I don’t think Sammy, oh that’s lovely whatever you’re doing, I don’t think Sammy ever liked him. Polish maybe, or Lithuanian, Estonian. One of those. And a beautiful body, and a lot of fun, and a lovely guy to talk to as well, but then at some point he’d just flip, get angry, start making accusations, everyone’s got hidden cameras . . .

  — Oh god.

  — All that, you know. He was slamming of course and that just slipped him really, and he was stuck in it and Hamza put a stop to him coming over, but he was worried for a while. Hamza was. Wrapped it up for a month or so, went very quiet, Hamza did, couple of months, just in case.

  — Do I know Hamza?

  — I don’t know love, do you? Look at me waving this around. Will you have a hit?

  — Yeah why not. All my stuff is at Sammy’s.

  — I know that.

  — I can’t believe I left my phone and wallet there.

  — Well it’s in the safe. You trust him. I trust him too. He really looks . . .

  Frank was holding the bowl up to the light.

  — Is there anything in there? Oh god yes there is, my god, there’s a whole chandelier in there. Ok.

  — He really does, yeah.

  Frank lit the lighter and held it to the bowl. Only brought it to his lips when the vapour burst. Little grey marble on a stick, Frank breathing, looking at Tommy, raising his eyebrows.

  — Are you coming?

  — Oh. Yes. I suppose.

  — I mean, no rush obviously. I have to wait for my clothes obviously.

  — Oh you know sometime we should go out to the Heath or something and just get naked and see what happens. Even over there sometime.

  He looked around. Tommy did. The washing machine was starting into a spin. He stared at it for a moment or perhaps a little longer. He felt fine. Everything was good. But underneath everything was something else which was the annoyance, very predictable, and he could feel it in there like something he’d eaten. All the food had been disgusting but he felt much better. He felt much better now. He was naked. He wasn’t cold. It was warm, perfect. He went and stood in the doorway and looked at Frank who was putting some T into a pipe. Tommy played with his cock and watched him light up. Frank took a hit, offered the pipe to Tommy, who walked over and stayed standing and took it so that Frank could suck him while he took his own big hit, a big hit, a great big hit.

  There was only the two of them.

  He stood there, Tommy did, with his head back, his hands still holding the pipe (left hand) and the lighter (right hand), just holding them away a little from his face. He closed his eyes for a long time. Then opened them again almost immediately.

  — Let me put these down.

  They had sex in the living room until the spinning of the washing machine became too annoying.

  — Have you had your PrEP today?

  — Yes at Sammy’s this morning.

  — Good man.

  — You?

  — Oh me I’m undetectable.

  — Oh yeah, I knew that.

  He didn’t. Well, he did now.

  They sat on the couch and made out and Tommy played with Frank’s arse gently, and they chatted some more about Sammy and about other people and about what they were doing.

  Tommy could hear something weird.

  — What’s that?

  — What?

  — Is that jazz?

  — Yes love. It’s, what’s that now. It’s Mingus. I think.

  He looked at his laptop, did something with it.

  — Yes, Mingus.

  — Mingus?

  — Charles Mingus. You don’t know jazz?

  — I don’t know anything.

  — Bassist, composer, band leader, one of the real greats. One of the giants.

  — Has that been playing all this time?

  — Well not Mingus specifically.

  — Jazz though? Music?

  — Yes, I have Spotify on shuffle. Do you have Spotify? I’m addicted to it, I don’t know myself with it, my god, it’s every piece of music ever, at your fingertips, and all you have to do is look for it and it plays. You know. To have all this music. I would have to have been a millionaire before. You know. In the days of the LP and so forth. To have what I have now, for whatever it is I pay a month. It really improves my quality of life. It really does. I’ve said it to my doctor — it should be on the NHS. It should be nationalised and everyone should have it for free.

  — But then what would Mingus live on?

  — Mingus is dead love.

  Tommy laughed, Frank laughed.

  — All the great ones are dead. The young ones now I don’t know what they’re doing. Oh I’m an old fart I know but that’s just how it works isn’t it? What do you like?

  — Oh you know, oral, lots of oral, I’m versatile, I love arse play and . . .

  Frank was looking at him as if he hadn’t noticed him there before. As if alarmed.

  — I’m joking Frank, I’m joking.

  — Oh my god.

  They both laughed loudly, clutching onto each other.

  — I thought, I thought, Frank was trying to say. I was thinking Oh my god just how high is this idiot?

  They laughed and laughed and then Frank got some tissues and blew his nose and gave Tommy some water.

  — Do you have some G?

  — Yes but I don’t share G love, as well you know.

  — Mine is at Sammy’s.

  — Well there you are.

  — It’s been about . . . it’s been hours since I had any.

  — Tell it to the hand darling, you’re not getting any. I shouldn’t even have left it out. Temptation et cetera.

  Frank stood up and took away the little bottle and the syringe and the notebook and pen and disappeared for a few minutes.

  Tommy thought that was a bit much. He could hear odd little noises in the music. He liked it, the music. But inside it there were particular specific noises that seemed to him to be wrong. Wrong notes. He breathed in and looked out the window and all he could see was blue. He felt fine. A little annoyed at Frank. A little bored. Not bored. But he wondered what was going on at Sammy’s. He looked for his phone to text but then remembered. He drank some water. Frank came back. He was naked. He was holding Tommy’s wet clothes to his chest.

  — What am I doing? he asked, and then turned around and disappeared again. Tommy laughed.

  — You all right?

  — I forgot they need to be dried didn’t I?

  — Thank you Frank.

  — You’re welcome.

  He listened to the music again. In a moment of clarity he realised that the noises he had not liked had not been part of the music. They had been the beeps of the washing machine, indicating that it was finished its cycle and his clothes were clean, and he had heard them coming from the kitchen and had incorporated them into the Mingus.

  — Into the Mingus, he said.

  He peered into the bowl of the pipe. It was like a little patch of dirty snow, a winter pavement, a nice place for a crunchy, hesitant walk. They hadn’t, he realised, smoked very much at all. He ran his finger over the trackpad of Frank’s laptop and ch
ecked the time. 14:32. That seemed impossibly early. On the screen was a clutter of thumbnails of men. He opened a new tab to put some porn on, but then thought that Frank might be funny about him looking at his laptop and stopped and stood up and walked over to the door to the kitchen. His clothes were back in the washing machine, spinning around.

  — Is it a dryer as well?

  Frank was standing in the middle of the floor looking at his phone.

  — It is. Not a very good one, but it’s a light load.

  — I thought the beeping was part of the music.

  — The what?

  — The beeping of the washing machine, when it finished.

  — Oh it doesn’t beep. There’s just a click when the lock unlocks. But no beeps. Sammy wants us to go to his

  — I can’t believe I left my phone there.

  — Do you want to smoke some more? I’d love you to fuck me.

  — I’d love to Frank. You’re very sexy.

  They went into the front room again and smoked some more.

  — I swore I could hear beeps. Usually it’s voices.

  — Voices?

  — Oh don’t worry. Not voices in my head. But I sometimes think that I can hear mumbles from another room or whatever. It’s the T. I never think it’s real. I mean. I do actually, I think there’s someone outside the bathroom door in Sammy’s all the time, talking, like having a conversation, and there never is. I come out and there’s no one anywhere. And I’ve been convinced that there’s been two or three people out there chatting while I’m trying to douche or whatever.

  — Paranoia.

  — Well, I suppose. But it doesn’t bother me. I know what it is. I never think that there really were people out there. I come out and I immediately know that I’ve been hearing things, and I know it’s the T, and everything is fine.

  — You don’t slam do you?

  — Nah. You?

  — Very very rarely. I mean. Not in about a year. I don’t like it. It scares me.

  — I know what you mean.