Surviving Michael

by Birchall, Joseph

  The lobby of the Westbury is quite busy. I check my Rolex. I’m a bit late but he can wait a few minutes. I nod to the girls at reception, and shake hands with the two porters, Brian and Jim. I know most of the staff in all the nicer hotels and restaurants in the city. Richard makes sure that they all get their little cash bonuses throughout the year. ‘Oiling the wheels,’ as he calls it. Keeps everything running smoothly. They’re not being paid to do anything. Look the other way, that’s all. I’m mad for a coffee now. I always need two or three espressos afterwards, but I never hang around the hotels. I like to go to Carluccio’s in Dawson Street or I’ll walk down to Botticelli’s in Temple Bar if I’m on the north side of the city, which is rare. Either way, I get out of the hotel. A bit like leaving the scene of a crime, but I always need a bit of time to myself afterwards. Every now and again, while I’m walking through the city, I’ll see one of my clients. Perhaps they were a one-timer, or perhaps they’re a regular. Unless they see me, of course, I never acknowledge them, but if they see me and there’s eye contact, I just offer them a quick nod of recognition and move on. They might be with their husbands or their kids, but a lot of times, because of the way I reacted to them, in a real casual way, they’ll be in touch with Richard within a week to book me back in. Most men don’t pay close enough attention to their girlfriends or wives, so they’d never even notice that momentary smile or blush or change in their posture. I always notice. I remind them of a nice time they’ve had, a brief date with physical pleasure. I like to think that just by seeing me, I’ve brightened up their day. Put a pep in their step, as Richard says. Not a lot of people can say that, unless you’re someone like Tom Cruise or the Pope.

  ‘Anything to eat, Charlie?’

  ‘No thanks, Trish. Just the coffee.’

  He’s not here yet. Good. There’s a stool by the window and I take my first espresso and sit there. Someone’s left a newspaper, and I flick through it. I like to look up which celebrity’s birthday it is and hopefully they’re older than me. Then I look out on to the passing crowds of Dawson Street. It helps me to clear my head. Everyone always seems in such a rush to me, even on this hot Friday afternoon. Rushing for a bus, rushing to work, and then rushing home again, even rushing when they’re on their lunch and taking a break from rushing. I’m sure that a few people wonder how I’m able to do what I do, but to be honest, I don’t know how they do what they do. I could never get up early every morning, and certainly not before nine, and then do the same thing with the same people every day. They should all get medals as far as I’m concerned. When I left school, I went to the Gaiety School of Acting for three years. I thought it’d be three years of late mornings, pissing about doing plays at night, lots of cheap drinking and non-stop screwing, and I was right. I managed to get a few jobs after it, and even did a couple of commercials for TV. I was doing loads of auditions for plays, and even films, running all over the country, but a lot of the time they’d pick me based on my looks, but then at the audition I wouldn’t be able to remember the lines. I was never very good at remembering poems or anything like that in school either. I stopped going to auditions about five or six years ago. I don’t suppose now I’ll be what I once thought I would be. But then who is? Young, dumb and full of cum, as Richard says. He hasn’t called me that in ages. Trish puts another espresso down in front of me without me asking. She places her left hand on my shoulder and then slides it down my back, leaning into me, presenting her cleavage to me like two huge cream cakes on offer.

  ‘Fancy anything else?’ she asks.

  I smile. If Richard turns up soon, I could get her back to my place, bang her, and then still meet the lads at Broderick’s for nine. It’s my first free Friday in a while though and I haven’t seen any of them in a couple of months so it’d be good to catch up. She’s a bit of a clinger though. Last time she asked me to go with her to see some movie. I got her out of there quick. Jesus, a movie! Can you imagine? She may just as well have asked me to meet her parents. Best not taking a chance.

  ‘No, thanks, babe,’ I tell her. ‘I’m waiting on someone, and I’m in a bit of a rush today. Meeting the lads tonight. Some other time?’

  She can’t hide her disappointment, but she tries.

  ‘So what’s her name?’

  ‘Who?’

  ‘This girl you’re waiting on.’

  ‘It’s my agent.’

  I still tell everyone that I’m an actor. That helps explain how I pay for everything. They always ask, so what I have I seen you in? Corporate videos, mostly, I say. I have no idea what that means, but it seems to keep them happy.

  ‘Okay, then,’ she says. ‘Another time, perhaps.’

  She gives my back another massage and then leaves. Where is this fucker? It’s not like him to be late. An afternoon Botox session running into overtime, no doubt. I don’t want to be too late for meeting up with the lads. I haven’t seen them in a while, but I try not to miss this date every year. They’re already a cantankerous bunch of fuckers at the best of times, so I don’t want to piss them off for my tardiness as well. Here he comes. It’s in the high-twenties and he’s carrying an umbrella. That is one nice fucking suit though. With my twenty percent, he can afford it.

  ‘Just a cup of tea for me please, princess,’ Richard calls over to Trish as he comes in. ‘Earl grey if you have it. If not, well never mind.’

  I heard Richard had a pretty rough and tough upbringing. Somewhere in East London, I think. I’m not sure. I’ve never asked, and I never would. Either way, it was from some place that he’d never be able to afford that Oxbridge accent he now sports.

  ‘And Charlie, would you like something?’ he says, pointing his nose at me.

  ‘Oh, that’s okay,’ Trish calls back to him, ‘I know what Charlie likes.’

  ‘I bet you do, my lovely,’ Richard tells her, showing her his polished, and sharpened teeth. ‘I bet you do indeed.’

  Trish acts all coy and shy, and even manages to produce a blush for his amusement. The last time Trish and I spent the night together, or the few hours anyway, she confided in me that she had always fantasised about doing it with three blokes, except it sounded more like a request than a confession.

  ‘Charlie, darling,’ Richard says, turning back to me, ‘how are you?’

  ‘I’m okay, Richard, thanks. You know, getting by.’

  ‘Good,’ he says, but he says it just as I’m finishing my sentence. As if this was going to be his reply no matter what I said.

  ‘And your family?’

  ‘Fine, thanks.’

  ‘Good, good. And your friends?’

  ‘Jesus, Richard. Are we going to go through my fucking address book of how everyone is?’

  ‘It’s very important to have friends, Charlie.’ he says, ignoring me completely. ‘Good friends that is. More important than even family.’

  ‘What’s going on? Richard.’

  ‘Whatever do you mean?’

  ‘I never had you down for much of a family man. Or for having too many close friends for that matter. No disrespect intended.’

  ‘No, no, dear. None taken. I can see why one might have that impression of me.’

  ‘Trust only cash. It’s your only true friend. Isn’t that what you told me?’

  ‘Yes, quite. Which reminds me.’

  He reaches into his jacket pocket, but then leaves his hand there as Trish approaches the table with his tea.

  ‘I brought you an espresso, Charlie,’ she says, all sweetness and charm.

  ‘How awfully delicious and thoughtful of you dear,’ says Richard.

  ‘Anything for Charlie’s agent. We’re all big fans of him.’

  ‘Well, I just hope that he realises how very lucky he is.’

  ‘I doubt it,’ she says. ‘Only ever interested in one thing. Like most men. Present company excepted, of course.’

  ‘Oh, don’t mind me. I know exactly what you mean.’

  ‘Piss off, Trish,’ I tell her.

&nbs
p; ‘See what I mean?’ she says and makes a face at me, before shuffling off.

  ‘What an absolutely ravishing and charming girl,’ Richard says, making sure that she hears him as she walks away.

  It produces the desired result, and she throws him back a smile over her shoulder.

  ‘And what an absolutely cock straightening arse she has as well,’ he says to me, and removes his hand from his jacket. He places the envelope in front of me. I lift it as he pours his tea.

  ‘You know what she said to me last time, just before we fucked?’ I ask him as he sips his tea. ‘“Go on, Charlie. Lash me out of it”.’

  Richard spits out his tea, and almost breaks the cup as he places it back down on the saucer. A couple of people look over, including Trish, and I can’t help but smile myself.

  ‘Apologies,’ he calls to her. ‘It’s still a little hot.’

  ‘It’s a bit light, isn’t it?’ I ask him, holding open the envelope.

  He doesn’t answer as he pours himself another cup of tea, fully composed again. He raises the cup to his lips and slurps noisily.

  ‘Don’t you think I earn my twenty percent, then?’ he asks.

  ‘Of course, you do. It’s just…’

  ‘Just what?’

  ‘It’s just not what it used to be,’ I tell him.

  ‘Nothing is as it used to be, Charlie. It’s all ephemeral, I’m afraid.’

  ‘It’s all what?’

  ‘It happens to us all, Charlie.’

  ‘What does?’

  ‘The changing of seasons. Starting a new chapter, and various other such metaphors. Not just for you. For both us.’

  ‘Are you saying I’m getting old?’

  ‘Old?’ he laughs. ’No, dear. I’m getting old. You...’ he pauses, ‘you are merely over-ripening.’

  ‘Don’t be crazy. I’m fitter than I’ve ever been in my life. I spend two hours a day in the gym. This,’ I tell him, holding up the envelope, ‘this is just because of the recession. Things have taken a downturn for everyone.’

  ‘Have they?’ he asks, taking out a silver cigarette case and lighter from his pocket.

  ‘You know you can’t smoke here, don’t you?’ I tell him.

  ‘Yes, yes of course. Their mere presence gives me comfort.’

  Delicately with the tips of his fingers, he turns the lighter over and over on the cigarette case, and I think he’s gone into a slight trance, when, without looking at me, he asks, ‘do you remember when I first approached you, Charlie?’

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘You thought that I was just a dirty old man trying to come on to you.’

  ‘Well, I was half right, anyway.’

  ‘Yes,’ he laughs, ‘I suppose you were. We spoke for a while. I thought you were the perfect candidate.’

  ‘Thank you.’

  He stops turning the cigarette lighter, and looks at me almost sternly.

  ‘That wasn’t a compliment, Charlie.’

  I look into his English blue eyes. They somehow don’t seem to be as sparkling as I remember.

  ‘You know something I never told you,’ he continues, looking away from me again. ‘After you gave me your number, I almost threw it away. But avarice and a certain amount of affection got the better of me, and the Lord knows only too well how weak my flesh is.’

  ‘Are you trying to get more than twenty percent from me?’ I ask him. ‘Is that what this is all about?’

  ‘Oh Charlie, don’t be so asinine,’ he says and puts the lighter down. ‘Of course not. I wish to make amends.’

  He reaches into his inside jacket pocket again, and pulls out another envelope.

  ‘There,’ he says, sliding the envelope over to me.

  It’s a lot thicker than the first one, and I open it slightly. Inside are several thousand Euro, stacked in bundles of fifties.

  ‘You’re firing me?’ I ask.

  ‘I’m not in the business of giving redundancies, Charlie, but you can tell yourself whatever you wish. Consider it a parting gift, if you like, but the truth is that it’s your money.’

  ‘I don’t understand.’

  ‘It’s every penny of commission that I’ve ever earned from you.’

  I look into the envelope again and whistle for effect. ‘That sure is a lot of fucking, Richard.’

  He laughs. ‘A lot of satisfied customers.’

  I place the envelope back on the table.

  ‘And what if I don’t want it?’

  ‘Then you’re a bigger fool than me, boy,’ he says in suppressed anger. ‘But we all have to live with the consequences of our decisions. So too will you.’

  I look inside the envelope again. He leans into me and puts his hand on my knee. ‘The recession has changed things, you’re right. But not in the way you imagine. I have young bucks contacting me on an almost daily basis. They all want a start. I can’t keep up. There’s a legion of talent out there who’d rather choose this business than emigration, even if they tell themselves that it’ll only be for a few months.’

  He pours some hot tea into his cup, but doesn’t drink it.

  ‘The way I see it, Charlie, you have two choices. You can change your image and upgrade, which means investing in a few nice suits, trim off some of those golden locks of yours, even dye it to a more sophisticated colour. Some elocution lessons, a bit of serious reading. Learning a little more subtlety, or even grace. Begin escorting and entertaining the ladies, rather than just banging them in the hotel lift.’

  ‘And buy an umbrella?’ I suggest.

  He laughs.

  ‘You could also take the cash. Walk away.’

  ‘Into the sunset?’ I say.

  ‘If you like. There’s enough in that envelope to choose any sunset you’d like in the world. Take that waitress out on a proper date?’

  I sneer at this.

  ‘When was the last time you were on an actual date?’ he asks. ‘Today, it might seem somewhat implausible but believe me, soon it will be impossible.’

  I look down subconsciously at the envelope.

  ‘Why me?’ I ask. ‘I can’t see you offering this to all your employees.’

  ‘I don’t.’

  ‘So?’

  ‘I don’t know, to be perfectly honest. Perhaps you’re just one of the nice guys, Charlie, and I’d like to see you keep some of that whatever it is you have, before it’s too late, and you end up like... well, someone you’d rather not be.’

  He gets up off the chair slowly, as if he’s aged ten years in the last ten minutes.

  ‘You okay, Richard?’

  He sighs.

  ‘I’m going away for a few days. Back to England.’

  ‘A royal summoning?’ I ask.

  ‘No. To bury my father, I’m afraid.’

  ‘I’m sorry, Richard. I didn’t know.’

  ‘How would you know? How would anyone know?’

  He picks up his umbrella.

  ‘I see you’re packed already,’ I say nodding to the umbrella.

  He smiles.

  ‘Goodbye, Charlie,’ he says and holds out his hand.

  I pick up the envelope and place it into his outstretched hand.

  ‘How much reading are we actually talking about?’ I ask.

  ‘No, Charlie.’

  ‘Just one thing though,’ I tell him. ‘I’m not touching my hair.’

  He closes his fist around the envelope, and then places it back inside his jacket pocket.

  ‘So you are a fool, then,’ he says.

  ‘Possibly,’ I say. ‘But then I’m learning from an expert.’

  Danny

  ‘YOUR DA WANTS YEH,’ Tony Tiernan calls out to me as he walks by.

  The spanner slips off the bolt and out of my hand, although you can barely hear it hit the ground because of the music blaring over the workshop speakers. Hit FM 106. From morning to night that’s all they play. I’ve spoken to my dad about it, but he just says it keeps the lads happy and working, and that’s the m
ost important thing. Of course it is.

  I usually wear small headphones during the day and listen to audiobooks on my iPhone. I know that it separates me from the rest of the lads, and I know sometimes they slag me behind my back, and even in front of me, but I can’t hear them because I have my headphones in and the radio’s blaring.

  I like to listen to contemporary novelists mostly; Martin Amis, Sebastian Faulks, Colm Toibin, Sebastian Barry. I also have a myriad of books from the self-help genre, but I prefer to read them rather than get them on audio. Brian Tracy, Tony Robbins, Robin Sharma, Wayne Dyer and a hundred more. My favourite book is The Alchemist by Paulo Coelho. It’s an allegorical novel about one’s journey through life in search of a personal treasure, and that’s what I believe we’re on, and that when we want something, all the universe will conspire in helping us to achieve it. At the moment, I’m listening to Stephen Fry’s memoir. It’s actually the second time I’ve listened to it. I love the intricacies of his flamboyant career, and he has such a serene and mellifluous voice that I sometimes…

  ‘For fuck’s sake, Danny. Your da’s fuckin’ waitin’ for yeh,’ Tony bellows at me again, and then returns to singing every third word from some banal song playing over the speakers. He sounds like a lobotomised gorilla that they’ve shaved and taught the rudimentaries of the English language. His big bald head and a six inch scar across the top confirms this. Girl... be... night... foreverrrrr…

  All the lads have great respect for my dad. It’s not just because he owns the place, he’s kind of one of those man’s man. If Shay says jump to any of them, they jump. One would think the fact that I’m his offspring would have some sort of positive bearing on their overall attitude towards me. It doesn’t. I believe it has quite the contrary effect. It’s as if they’re jealous that I’m his son and they’re not. I wish I didn’t feel that he sometimes endorses their sentiments.

  When he was a mechanic for the Formula One driver Nigel Mansell in the eighties, he was like a celebrity on our road. Flying off every few weeks. That was pre-Celtic Tiger, of course. A weekend away in Blackpool would have been considered alluring. I was only six or seven then, but I do remember him coming home from Rio de Janeiro, or Monaco, or even Australia, and he’d arrive laden down with gifts from wherever he’d been, and everyone would come round, all the neighbours and aunts and uncles, and I’d think he was just the biggest man in the whole wide world. He’d only actually stay in the house with us for an evening or two, usually to get over his jet lag, then he’d be down in the local, buying everyone drinks, and regaling them with stories of life in the fast lane. Then he’d be gone again. It’s no wonder I’m an only child.