by Paolo Hewitt
‘What happens now?’
‘Nothing,’ Dillon replied. ‘Nothing?’
‘For now, nothing. Half an hour and then it’ll kick off, the best fucking feeling in the world.’
‘Right. Let’s get a drink then.’
‘Look,’ Dillon carefully said, ‘the worst thing you can do is worry. Just relax. It’ll be fine. Everybody else is on it and they seem to be doing alright to me.’
He turned and I followed him to the bar not failing to notice against the corridor wall a couple viciously kissing each other up, seemingly unperturbed that everyone could easily spot the guy’s hand slipping purposefully up his gal’s skirt.
‘How does this shit work?’ I asked Dillon as I joined him at the bar for now, truth be told, I was dreading what I had let myself in for.
‘Well, stay off the alcohol or orange juice because that works against it. Pretty soon you’ll get a rush and you’ll feel yourself about to go. You’ll also want a shit like nobody’s business but that disappears in a minute. After that, you’re up and away. But the worst thing you can do is worry. Go with it, man, go with it.’
‘Have you done it a lot?’
‘Four times. This is my fifth. Believe me man it’s wicked. I dropped one last night.’
‘Yeah, we noticed.’
‘When?’
‘This morning, in the shop.’
‘You came in?’
You could see Dillon searching his brain for confirmation of my statement and it was not a pretty sight. I panicked even further.
‘Look Dillon, how can I get rid of this?’
‘You can’t. But stop the worry. Look around you. No-one’s dead are they? No-one’s being carted off to hospital. You’re too cool for your own good. Relax. Everything is fine. It’s a wicked feeling. Everyone here will tell you the same thing.’
‘I know,’ I replied, gazing over at a group of herberts, one of whom was now indulging in a mock striptease to the loud encouragement of all his friends.
‘It’s like this lot have just discovered there’s more to life than bloodshed down The Shed at Chelsea on a Saturday afternoon.’
‘They’ve been coming here since the club started. You wouldn’t believe it, would you? Ecstasy has done more to put them on the right track than anything or anybody ever will.’
‘Jesus,’ I put in, ‘you sound like Timothy Leary.’
‘Who’s he? A DJ?’ Taking our soft drinks, we found a vacant table and started parlaring on the usual subject of our respective business, Dillon filling me in on some up and coming releases, how the shop was doing, and more chit-chat, chit-chat, chit-chat, when suddenly, about twenty minutes into the conversation my stomach suddenly turned warm, as if someone had just lit a small fire inside, and I began taking deep breaths hoping that the smoke filled air would somehow extinguish the sensation.
Dillon noted me with a knowing smile, reaching inside his pocket and pulling out a pack of gum at precisely the moment my teeth started to grind. Hastily, I stuffed a stick into my mouth and began chewing hard. The next thing I knew a huge yawn, like I had not slept for fifteen days, opened up my mouth and, as I started to stretch, another yawn hit me, and then another and another and another, until I felt a violent urge to visit the gents, which I somehow resisted before it mercifully passed away.
Like an electric shock, the pill had disconnected me to everything around me and all I could do was stare at my glass until, with a hard jolt, I became acutely aware of the sheer cacophony of noise around me, as if I was able to pick up on any conversation, in any part of the bar, and tune into it.
I gazed around me at all the guys and gals present and somehow they didn’t seem real at all. I could hear them but they appeared distant and dreamlike. Another urge hit me and this time it was to run my fingers through my hair, which I did for a minute, marvelling at the sensation whilst chewing even harder on my gum.
I looked up to see Dillon smiling at me and realised that all the time this was happening, I had completely forgotten he was there.
‘What’s up?’ I asked him. ‘I asked you two minutes ago if you wanted a drink and all you did was stare at the glass and then push your hair back. You’ve started early, it hasn’t hit me yet. Also your eyes have gone a bit weird.’
‘Get us a lemonade,’ I urged him, ‘Alright, alright,’ he said, patting me on the arm.
‘I’ll pay, I’ll pay. I don’t mind but I don’t think I can move.’
‘That’s cool, I’ll get them.’
‘You sure, yeah? It’s just that...’
‘I know,’ said Dillon smiling as he went off in search of refreshment.
As I sat there, from out of nowhere I felt a huge wave sweep up inside my body and literally knock me backwards against the wall.
I was gulping for breath when Dillon returned with the drinks. ‘I’m getting the rushes,’ he said, sitting down. ‘Jesus, they’re strong.’
The both of us sat there in complete silence for about five minutes, staring into space, completely removed from all that was going on around us. I had never felt anything like it before.
All of a sudden, without any warning, this dreamlike state stopped and it was as if I suddenly clicked into life.
I had been AWOL from the world, and no doubt about it, but a new sensation was now starting to come through and I could feel myself being taken over by an indescribable energy, a force so positive that I had to release it there and then.
‘Come on,’ I said to Dillon, who looked like he was just coming to after a three rounder with the world champ, ‘I want to go and see what’s happening.’
He looked up at me.
‘Too fucking right,’ and with that we exited the ba r and started to push down the still heaving corridor, only this time I wore a huge grin because now I could understand everything I had witnessed earlier and, stranger still, felt a camaraderie for every smiling herbert I passed. As I jostled through the crowd I heard a noise behind me and turned to see that Dillon’s feet had been taken from beneath him by some carelessly spilt drink. In a flash, four people were helping him to his feet, asking if he was hurt, did he need to sit down for a bit, would he be alright and all the time, Dillon was laughing hysterically. I too saw the funny side and felt a surge of real companionship towards the guy, and, what’s more, couldn’t help but express it when we finally reached the dancefloor.
‘You know Dillon,’ I shouted earnestly to him, ‘ever since I’ve been going into your shop I’ve always checked for you. You never try and rip us off, man and I appreciate that.’
‘Thanks man,’ he replied, putting his arm around me.
‘I always like it when you come in as well. And your friend,’ he added, ‘although the both of you are far too cool sometimes. You know that, don’t you?’
‘Are we?’
‘Yeah, sometimes you hardly say a word the pair of you. Always reserved, aren’t you? But that’s alright. You’re both good guys.’
It’s funny how you can walk around in this world and believe you are one thing while all the time other people check for you in a completely different manner. One day, I mused to myself, I’d love to find people who knew me at all different ages and sizes and see what their assessment of me was, it would tell you so much about yourself. In fact, mention of Brother P. made me wish that right at that moment he was by my side so I could relay to him my feelings towards him, how much I dug our friendship and all that good stuff, and suddenly I had a burning desire to get to a phone and bell him with the news when a tune came thundering through the speakers, and the next thing I was on the floor, dancing in abandon on a surge of energy and great self confidence.
Why, I thought to myself, I could take Sammy The Foot on here for I felt a joy for life pervade my every bone and fibre, and all around me people were obviously feeling the same because every time you looked over at someone, you would both grin and smile at each other, as if you had been friends for years.
The music started t
o become more urgent and I found myself locking into its relentless beat as sounds appeared from out of nowhere, like this voice demanding you to, ‘Move your body, move your body,’ and that’s exactly what you did, not even caring about the sweat that you could feel trickling down your face and into the corners of your mouth. The dancing and the music took me higher and higher and as both Dillon and I began to lose ourselves, I suddenly noticed a half naked, youngish looking guy, lanky and thin with a shock of red hair, approach the large bass bin speakers and actually attempt to climb into one, his head bent low with his left ear crushed against the speaker as he literally tried to get inside the music. I went over and put my hand on his shoulder to restrain him and he looked up at me with a look of pure contentment on his face before moving off, which was when Dillon tapped me on the shoulder and motioned that he needed a drink. The sweat now pouring off my face, I realised, was major but I had no care for at this precise moment in my life I had never felt happier with myself or the world. It was as if we were in heaven.
Suddenly, Sandra was a distant problemo not even worth thinking about so tiny was its concern to me. My belief in myself as a DJ was unshakeable and the only thought that bugged me out was, why can’t life be like this all the time? What stopped us from feeling this brilliant about ourselves and others every waking minute of our lives? It was a question that I wanted to ask everyone as we happily pushed our way back down the corridor and into the bar where I told Dillon to grab some seats and I’d get the juices in. One of the bar staff, a middle aged woman, came to serve me and I ordered two lemonades.
‘God almighty,’ she cried, ‘what is it with you lot? Don’t none of you drink or something? All I’ve done all night is hand out bleedin’ lemonades and lucozades.’
‘Lucozade,’ I said on the spur of the moment, ‘make it two lucozades.’
‘Alright dear, don’t have a heart attack. Do you want some jelly to go with it?’
She went off for the drink and I fished for some coins in my pocket.
‘That’s two quid,’ she said on her quick return, putting the bottles down in front of me. I handed over the cashola and was about to move on when I heard her shout, ‘Oi! I said two pounds not two pence, and, sure enough, that was the exact amount I had placed in her hand.
‘Oh, I’m so sorry,’ I said and pulled out all my change with the express and honourable intention of paying her correctly. Yet, to my great bemusement, I found myself with another problemo; I couldn’t, for the life of me, distinguish one coin from the other. Everything in my hand was just a blur. As I stared down at the coinage, furiously debating what to do next, a hand appeared, picked out two, one pound coins and handed them over to the bar woman.
I turned to face a gal, young looking, short, curly blond hair, wearing dungarees and a smiley t shirt.
‘They get kind of mixed up, don’t they?’
‘Tell me about it,’ I said. And then, ‘Who may I ask are you?’ She smiled ever so sweetly and it lit up her face. ‘I’m Aretha.’
‘Franklin!’
We both shouted it at the same time but she did so with a predictable, haven’t heard that one before tone.
‘Sorry,’ I said, ‘you must get that all the time.’
‘Tell me about it,’ she said trying to mimic my accent.
‘Well, seeing as how you have just rescued me I think it only fair that you join myself and my good companion sitting over there for a drink. I promise that there will be no more obvious jokes.’
‘Promise,’ she said playfully, looking up at me and I couldn’t but help notice her form which, covered up as it was, truly demanded another form of promise.
I felt the familiar sensation of John Thomas pass through me, heightened like never before, and suddenly all I could concentrate on was this gal. Nothing else seemed to matter. I had to get with her. I took her gently by the arm and led her over to Dillon who sat vacantly staring at the table, as if he had made a trip to Mars and was still not earthbound.
‘Dillon,’ I announced, the words of which shook him back to life, ‘this lovely young lady who stands before us is named Aretha. No,’ I quickly put in before he could say anything, ‘not Miss Aretha Franklin for unfortunately the Queen Of Soul has, unwisely I would say, decided not to join us tonight, but, in her place, we are very fortunate to be graced by her namesake. So, as my good friend Papa Supino always says, salute!’
‘Hi,’ Aretha said, sitting down and smiling at Dillon. Instantly, I got a little jealous and so I decided to take her whole attention and find out everything about her.
‘Are you from London?’ I asked, directly looking into her eyes. No? Where are you from? Really? What was that like? When did you move up? As long ago as that. And what do you think of my native town? Yeah, I can dig that. And do you work? For a PR company? Is that what you want to do? Is the money any good? How are the hours? What about your boss? Yeah, they all are. I showered her with a million questions and as she answered I continually looked into her soft blue eyes each and every time, for, to be honest, if she had stood up and thrown a drink in my face, I wouldn’t have cared, such was my confidence.
I also found myself edging nearer and nearer to her until the next thing I knew I had slipped my hand into hers and, much to my delight, she gave it a little squeeze and let it rest with her. (Told you so and thank you, Enzo).
Emboldened, I leant over and whispered in her ear, ‘You know you’re the best looking girl here tonight. I really would like to kiss you.’
Aretha smiled gently at me for the other notion that came into my mind was that she had dropped one as well. I was convinced of it although God knows where I got that info from.
‘Why don’t we go and dance first? I want to let off a bit.’
‘Baby, your wish is my command.’
Two minutes later, dry ice swirling around our ankles, I could stand it no longer and reached over, took her waist and pulled her to me. Without shame or any other form of restraint, I kissed her hard and boy-o-boy was that some sensation where you could close your eyes and be aware of nothing but this warm, wet and small creature exploring your mouth while all the noise around you receded into the distance.
It was like being on a merry go round and then my hands were moving into the sides of her dungarees and downwards, for I had genuinely forgotten the numbers around us, when she quickly grabbed them and murmured, ‘not here.’ I came to in an instant.
‘Sorry,’ I said, ‘I’m getting a bit carried away here.’
‘Yes, you are,’ she replied, ‘but it’s nice.’
‘You on one?’ I asked. Aretha nodded faintly and then I kissed her again, moving away from her mouth and onto her neck until I felt a pinch on my arm and there was Dillon.
‘Easy, you’re being watched,’ he pointed out, nodding to the dancers around us who were smiling at our public indiscretions. Once again, I had totally forgotten Dillon but he didn’t seem to mind. He just turned away and started his manic dance, the one that I had witnessed that morning.
I took Aretha’s hand and whispered in her ear, ‘would you like to come back to mine. We can have a smoke and listen to some tunes, if you like.’
A look of doubt flashed into her eyes.
‘And tomorrow?’ she asked, ‘what happens then?’
‘Tomorrow,’ I grandly announced, ‘we can go out again,’ and I meant every last word. ‘Promise.’
‘Cub’s honour.’ Aretha gave me a discreet nod and then said, ‘don’t tell your friend, okay?’
‘Sure, not a word.’
‘I’ll get my coat and meet you outside.’
I went over to Dillon who was now standing by one of the speakers, his eyes closed as he jerked to the music.
‘Dillon,’ I said, ‘I’m outta here. Early start tomorrow. I’ve really enjoyed it tonight, it’s been great. We should go out more often. I’ll bell you at the shop.’
And then I hugged him and, believe it, if you had told me that very morning that I would
be standing in a house music club embracing Dillon, of all cats, you would have won an awful amount of cashola off me, and that’s the truth, Ruth.
But there it was and before I knew it I had made it to the cloakroom, where Aretha was waiting, and she took my hand and up the stairs we went, two at a time, past the security guys and into the cold night air which I greedily gulped at, for it seemed to put me right back on top of the high, and we went in search of a cab.
Removed from the club’s noise and chaos, it took me a minute to re-orientate myself and it was then that I caught my reflection in a shop window and I was stopped dead. My hair was all over the shop, my eyes were half closed like a boxers, even though I had perfect vision, and I chewed my gum like a camel, my jaw relentlessly working overtime.
Yet, description above exempted, rarely had I felt this contented with life. As far as I was concerned, the world was as it should be, neat and ordered and without hassle, and as for myself I felt no fear about anything or anyone because in this mood I could take on the worst and come up smelling of roses each and every time. Such confidence is near impossible to find, believe it, for all of us live and breathe our insecurities, battered every day by clouds of doubt and covering up our weak points as best we can. On this shit, such notions don’t even come into play and, once again, I wondered why I and everyone else couldn’t be this way all the time.
A cab came into view and we hailed it down, and, safely ensconced in the back, holding hands, Aretha asked with a please prove me wrong smile, ‘I suppose you’ve got a girlfriend.’ The word instantly brought Tuesday into my mind. I thought of her at the record fair, and then I was at the hotel room and she was putting her arms around me, but this time, instead of feeling grief or sadness at her vision dancing into my mind, I felt a strange contentment as if I was finally letting a bird out of its cage to fly off into the free beautiful sky.
‘No,’ I said with a smile, ‘I’m not linked up at all.’ The next thing my mind brought up was Sandra but, as you can do in a dream, I quickly moved her out of the way, the only real value of her appearance being that it forcefully reminded me I needed some condoms, and that we should stop off at the 7-11 near to where I lived. Directing the cab there, I held Aretha’s hand all the way, stroking her fingers and pleasantly coming down now that we were away from the chaos and it was just the two of us anticipating what was to come. I could feel John Thomas twitch every time I looked over at her dungarees which I intended to remove with the care of a surgeon. It was 3.30 in the morning when I entered the 7-11, telling Aretha I needed sugar and milk. I gave a cheerful, hello-ah! to the extremely bored looking guy behind the counter and made towards the fridge to get some juice. It was there that I ran into my first spot of bother because, without warning, I suddenly became transfixed by all the bright and garish packaged cartons of juice in front of me, a riot of bright words and colour that literally hypnotised me, and if it hadn’t have been for the polite couple who waited patiently behind me to grab some milk, I guess I would have been there all night.