Turpitude

by Young

  “Right on, lad,” he teased. “You must understand, Young, both Mary and Colin underwent a great deal of trauma in their childhood. Unlike most children’s books the effects of such trauma are not glossed over by the author.

  “Colin admitted to screaming himself into hysterics at the dark thoughts in his head, even though he felt worried about what his adult caregivers would think of him. He never revealed his thoughts to anyone but Mary.

  “He understood that she, also a child, would not laugh at him. His worst fear was to be laughed at. He was so positive he was an object of ridicule and was convinced of his imminent death. Yet, he knew his phantom pains and illnesses were of his own paranoia.”

  For reasons unknown to me, I expressed out of the blue, “Like Fahrib confiding his inner turmoil to me because I understand his emotional unease?”

  Both mentors took a moment, seeming astounded.

  Finally Andy vociferated, “In the Secret Garden, the household staff fed Colin’s anxiety and disquietude by letting him have his way. This only served to reinforce his childhood fears; rather than teaching him constructive ways to deal with his deep-seated depression and panic attacks.”

  My professor induced, “Young, your love for Andy has shed light upon your Master. Let’s hope your love will help the sheik overcome his embedded trauma and open himself up like the flowering blossoms within his barren winter garden.”

  He added, “The British titbit I just disclosed – let it be an exemplary admonition that copious conspiracies happen across cultures, including within the households we serve.”

  Just as Señor Triqueros uttered his final sentence, the two cultural attachés arrived to summon us to join our entourage on the way to the next destination.

  Chapter Fifty-Eight

  By Appointment to Her Majesty The Queen

  “‘Bunny’ is a character. He has an air of authority and reflectiveness astonishing in an infant.”

  Tad Abdul Hafiz

  1968

  At Fortnum & Mason

  Tad had set up an appointment for us to meet the Fortnum and Mason fashion impresario, courtier and socialite. He was also a stakeholder in the House of Hardy Armies, Queen Elizabeth’s official dressmaker.

  I shall never forget that day in the merry month of May 1968, when I walked into his haute couture salon at Queen Elizabeth II’s favourite store, Fortnum & Mason. This store was bestowed a Royal Warrant of Appointment, a mark of recognition for vendors that supply goods or services to the royal households of Her Majesty the Queen.

  The moment we entered, our entourage was confronted by a lean but broad-shouldered middle-aged male with a face that had obviously been enhanced by both surgery and cosmetics. It was a warm morning, and this extraordinary specimen was without compare. He was dressed for the weather in white slacks with shallow cross pockets and impossibly tapered legs. A mauve-coloured chiffon shirt was complemented by a flowing silk scarf and a Panama hat worn at a calculated angle to offset his ensemble.

  He clasped each of the men’s hands tightly when we were introduced. When it came to the Assalamu Alaikum ladies’, he held their hands to his lips and sealed them with a kiss before clasping his hand to his heart. I couldn’t help smiling to myself at this deliberate gesture. My Valet and teacher gave me sly glances to behave decorously.

  Little did I realize then that I was face to face with one of the greatest British dandies of the 20th century: a man famed for his outrageous style, his love of entertaining, his endless generosity and his playful sense of humour. He was none other than the Mr. Neil Munro Roger, more commonly known as “Bunny,” a nickname given to him by his childhood nanny.

  Bunny

  Mr. Neil Munro Roger, the second of Sir Alexander Roger and Lady Helen Stuart Clark Roger’s three sons, was born in 1911. The Scottish Sir Alexander was a self-made man: he began his career as an accountant with Fleming’s bank before ingratiating himself with three sisters whose family owned a telephone business. This move saw him rise through the ranks to chairman of the Telephone and General Trust Limited, a position that brought him a vast fortune and set his children up for life.

  Bunny’s family lived in luxury at Ewhurst Park in the English county of Hampshire with 14 servants. Although Sir Alexander had wanted his sons to undergo a gritty Scottish upbringing similar to his own, he dispatched Bunny to the famously dour Loretto boarding school. The initial sign that his middle boy was not going to turn into a red-blooded man arrived when Sir Alexander offered Bunny a reward for making it onto the Loretto Nippers football team: As his prize, Bunny chose a dollhouse.

  For a year, Bunny read History at Balliol College, Oxford before he went on to study drawing at The Ruskin, from which he was expelled for his homosexual activities.

  In 1937, Bunny established his dressmakers, Neil Roger, in Great Newport Street, London. The actress Vivien Leigh and Princess Marina were among his famed clients in the early years of his fashion career. In 1949, he was credited for inventing the Capri pant while vacationing at Capri, Italy.

  Invitations

  Tad had met Bunny at one of his numerous outlandish parties at his London home. Within his inner circle, this neo-Edwardian dandy was known to dress in women’s garb and pursue good-looking, domineering men, the likes of my stalker, Tad. The day we met, he was besotted by the males in our entourage, except for the two heterosexual and plain looking attachés. Moi, he saw as a competitor.

  Though he was civil throughout the meeting, his roving eyes would stray from my Valet to my teacher to the art historian and back to the athlete, as if they were competitive sports to be trounced.

  By the end of our session, he had arranged for the ladies to meet the Queen’s dressmaker, Mr. Hardy Amies. In private, he dished out secret invitations to the men to his upcoming ‘Fetish’ soiree, where bondage and chains would abound. Although these lavish gatherings were kept confidential, word got out some years later, and a British tabloid published a photo of semi-naked ‘Miss’ Bunny, the slave, tethered in a diamond studded dog-collar and wearing nothing more than a black lace lingerie. He was outraged and sued the newspaper for breach of privacy. The brouhaha subsided when a settlement was reached out of court.

  That day at Fortnum & Mason, Tad achieved what he’d set out to accomplish:

  ● On the exterior, to secure an appointment for Kifah and her bridesmaids to consult with Hardy Amis regarding her bridal trousseau.

  ● In private, to substantiate that he had the capability to get us (the men) invited to one of Bunny’s idiosyncratic parties.

  After all, he had talked Bunny’s soirees up to us in private as one of the city’s quirkiest aristocratic conclaves, a playground for the city’s wealthy closeted homosexuals, bisexuals and transvestites. That day he was proud of his mastery.

  To celebrate his proficiency, our host and his male companions proceeded down to the Food Hall, where Fortnum and Mason’s famous hampers were sold, while the women and their accompanying attachés continued shopping in the Home and Gifts departments.

  Hampers

  This store has a notable history dating back to the 18th century, when it supplied coach-faring customers with delicatessen items packed in traveller’s baskets – game pies, cooked fowls, fresh breads, West Country butter, scotch eggs, cheeses, hot house fruits, and rich fruit cakes to satiate hungry travellers on lengthy journeys.

  Towards the end of the 18th century, during the height of the Romantic Movement, the upper social echelon dined outdoors while enjoying the English countryside. By the 19th century, Fortnum & Mason was the chief supplier of picnic hampers for the majority of London’s vibrant outdoor social events.

  In 1968, the company, already established with its upscale Picnic and Christmas hampers, boasted a list of famous clients that included Oscar Wilde, Elizabeth Taylor, Frank Sinatra, Charles Dickens and even the Ethiopian Emperor Haile Selassie, whose hamper was adorned with the colours of his country’s flag.

  Tad wasted no time in purcha
sing several picnic hampers. These F&M logoed wicker baskets were carried by several Fortnum’s liveried footmen to the nearby Green Park - a short distance from the store’s location for us to enjoy the pleasant outdoors while waiting for the women to finish their shopping.

  When our host found the perfect spot to rest, the footmen laid out blankets and picnic accoutrements within these baskets. There were matching cream-coloured cutleries, cups, saucers, and sandwich boxes, along with a wine bottle opener and, to complete our celebration, a bottle of champagne with an accompanying little umbrella to shade it from the sun.

  I felt as if I had stepped back in time to the pocket of the 1920s so eloquently described in Evelyn Waugh’s book - Brideshead Revisited, The Sacred & Profane Memories of Captain Charles Ryder. I had no explanation for why this reverie washed over me, but I felt as if I was the teddy bear carrying embodiment of Lord Sebastian Flyte, the troubled younger son of the aristocratic Lord Marchmain. In the novel, Sebastian had taken his friend, Charles Ryder, to his family’s country mansion, Brideshead Castle in Wiltshire, where they spent the lazy hazy halcyon summer in a clandestine intimate relationship. One memorable scene was that of Charles and Sebastian having a picnic on the tranquil grounds of Brideshead Castle. Their fondness for one another was a love that ended in acrimony.

  Then, the soothsayers’ predictions of Andy’s and my imminent separation came gushing to the forefront. Melancholy engulfed my person, sending shivers and goosebumps down my spine. I needed to get away from this idyllic setting that would dissipate any moment from an impending storm.

  Andy saw my discomfiture. “Young, are you alright?”

  I shook my head. “I need to use the men’s room,” I lied.

  “I’ll take you back to the store,” my Valet offered.

  As rapidly as we had arrived, we bid the men a temporary farewell and arranged to meet them at Fortnum in an hour.

  The moment the men were out of sight, I broke into tears. My chaperone wrapped me in his arms. “What’s wrong, silly boy?” he whispered.

  “I want my teddy bear,” I blurted stupidly.

  “What teddy bear? I’m your teddy bear,” he answered amusingly.

  But that was all it took. Like a gust of wind, his loving comment had chased my blues away as rapidly as they had manifested. Instantly, I found my cheerful self again.

  By the time we reached the entrance of Fortnum & Mason, airs played on bells sounded high above. Looking skywards, I saw two handsomely crafted mechanical dolls in the likeness of Messrs. Fortnum and Mason. They had magically appeared on either side of the store’s iconic clock, on the hour, to make sure that their emporium’s standards were kept faultless.

  I stared at my handsome ‘teddy bear’ and uttered, “Do not leave me. I’d be devastated if you did.”

  My Valet pinched my cheek and assured, “You silly boy, I’ll never leave you. I’m always with you.”

  Chapter Fifty-Nine

  Designing Men

  “A man should look as if he’s bought his clothes with intelligence, put them on with care and then forgotten all about them.”

  Sir Hardy Amies

  February 2013

  My Email to Andy

  Hi Andy,

  I empathize with your Philippine experience. As with many third-world countries, corruption runs rampant. While the rich get richer, the destitute find ways and means to survive, even if it’s through illegal channels. Law enforcers turn a blind eye in order to extort hefty amounts from these unlawful operators.

  I, too, have a tale to relate.

  1974

  Bangkok

  On my way from London to Kuala Lumpur that summer, I stopped in Bangkok for a few days, since I had never been to Krung Thep Maha Nakhon (Bangkok in Thai). I thought it an excellent idea to visit this vibrant city, known to some as the ‘Sin City of the East’ due to its liberal stance in sexual issues.

  As soon as I’d stepped out of the airport to flag a taxi to the legendary Oriental Bangkok Hotel, I was confronted by hordes of haggling Thai men jostling for my business, bargaining with me in broken English to deliver me to my luxury lodging for the best price. But just then, a suave-looking foreigner in his thirties stepped in to dissipate their heated transactions. He wasted no time to disperse all the drivers except one.

  The gentleman had bargained in Thai for the best price on my behalf. He spoke in German-accented English, “I’m Max. The cab driver will take us to our hotel?”

  “Oh, you are also staying at the Oriental?” I chirped.

  “Hop into the cab so we can get out of this madding crowd,” he expressed vehemently, opening the car door to let me in.

  As soon as we were comfortably situated at the back seat, he asked, “What brings you to Thonburi, Mr.…?” He trailed off.

  “I’m Young. Thank you for your assistance! It’s my first time to Bangkok. I wasn’t expecting such a rowdy welcome. If it weren’t for you, I may have landed in a Thai hospital,” I joked. “Where’s Thonburi?”

  He sniggered mischievously. “Thonburi, the city of treasures gracing the ocean, is Bangkok’s official name, although some refer to it more appropriately as Meụ̄xng k̄hxng khwām s̄uk̄h kām, the city of erotic pleasures,” he quipped.

  Overhearing the words Meụ̄xng k̄hxng khwām s̄uk̄h kām, the cab driver commented, “You want boy, girl or boy-girl or girl-boy? I take you to happy place!”

  Max burst out in laughter. He proceeded to have a conversation in Thai with the driver. I sat, silent, since I had no idea what was being said, until my acquaintance asked, “What brings you to Bangkok?”

  “I’m on vacation. What brings you to Thonburi?” I queried.

  “I’m here on business, and usually stay a while for leisure,” was his response. “Since we are staying in the same hotel, we’ll see more of each other. I’m happy to show you the city,” he added.

  “That’ll be wonderful. I’ll take up your offer,” I said appreciatively, glad I’d met someone to show me around.

  By the time our cab pulled up at the Oriental’s entrance, we had agreed to meet for dinner the following evening.

  1968

  The Queen’s Dressmaker

  The principal reason for Kifah’s choice to have her going-away outfit made by the notable Hardy Amies was none other than pretentious snobbery. She boasted to her peers and acquaintances that the Queen of England’s dressmaker had designed her ensemble.

  As much as I respected Mr. Amies’ fashion achievements, I wasn’t a fan of his orthodox designs, even though his fashion philosophies worked wondrously for the royal set, conferring their public personas with regal respectability. For this, he was bestowed a Royal Warrant as Queen Elizabeth II’s official dressmaker. Years later, he was knighted by the same woman he dressed and whom the world had come to distinguish as Her Majesty the Queen.

  In the spring of 1968, our entourage met this gentleman designer at his establishment - Hardy Amies Ltd: No. 14 Savile Row.

  He was seated stoically behind his desk when we met. His design studio resembled an attorney’s office rather than a creative workspace.

  This renowned couturier had just completed his costume commission for director Stanley Kubrick. It was 1968, just before the release of the now-classic movie that was nominated for four Academy Awards and received one for visual effects - 2001: A Space Odyssey.

  Formal introductions were made by the Fortnum & Mason fashion maestro and Amies’ friend, Mr. Neil Munroe ‘Bunny’ Roger. At our meeting, he took on a role as the designer’s ambassador.

  “Our beloved queen is a royal and loyal patron of Mr. Amies,” Bunny announced proudly, “but Hardy’s design capabilities extend beyond women’s haute couture to men’s fashion.”

  He patted his friend’s back. “Seven years ago, he made fashion history by staging the first contemporary men’s ready-to-wear catwalk show at the Savoy Hotel, where he joined his models on the stage.” He gave the designer an artful wink while the couturier r
emained impassive to Bunny’s peremptory hint at his homosexual inclination.

  “Amies also designed the active sports apparel for England’s 1966 World Cup team,” Roger offered.

  “Besides his numerous fashion accomplishments, this talented man also contributes regularly to Esquire magazine and has recently published Amies’ strict male dress code – ABC of Men’s Fashion!”

  “A book every gentleman should adhere to,” Bunny honed.

  Jabril asked wittily, “Do you abide by Mr. Amies’ fashion commandments?”

  We beamed at the art historian.

  All eyes were on Bunny, who was not dressed conventionally. He wore a razor-sharp Savile Row suit with the skinniest drainpipe trousers. To complete his dandy ensemble, he had donned a bowler hat and carried a black English umbrella - his à la carte fashion statement for that day.

  At first glance, the fashion impresario resembled John Steed, the dapper secret agent in the then-popular British television series The Avengers, starring Patrick Macnee and his unflappable sidekick Diana Rigg, who went on to become the 1969 Bond girl in the movie On Her Majesty’s Secret Service.

  Before Bunny could respond, Mr. Amies instructed his design director and life partner, Mr. Ken Fleetwood, to escort the Assalamu Alaikum ladies and their accompanying cultural attachés to the adjoining salon to discuss their women’s wear requirements. This diplomatic maneuver was Amies’ strategy to get the females out of the way in the event that Bunny’s vivaciousness might deter the ladies from ordering from The House of Amies.

  At the same time, he used this opportunity to advocate his men’s line to the males who remained in the room.

  No sooner had Mr. Fleetwood closed the door than the queen’s dressmaker began decisively, “My book, ABC of Men’s Fashion, is not a biblical ‘ten commandments of men’s fashion,’ but a guide to a gentleman’s wardrobe.”