An Honest Deceit

by Guy Mankowski

Looking back, I can see how lacking in self-awareness I was at that moment. I should have realized that Violet was not only inquisitive, but resourceful too. At that point I didn’t fill her on Marine, and the trial, not because she was a stranger (as she felt simpatico) but because I didn’t want to bore her. But I didn’t realize what a powerful intrigue I had triggered in her by so blithely dismissing my own apparent problems and what she called my ‘fame’. I should have known someone like Violet would become more determined to find out the true story. Sometimes, the universe hands you a lifeline and I got the sense just then, that Violet was it.

  It felt good, in the low heat of that bar, to be able to ignore the dark clouds about Juliette, and the trial, as I bantered with this vibrant young woman. But the moment she got up to ‘powder her nose’ the miasma descended. This conversation is a little bubble, I thought, and it’s about to break. She can’t genuinely care about me, and I’d be a fool to hope for that.

  The venue was packed. The city hall looked resplendent, with its pillars, wide staircases, and 1930s ushers. A mass of young people were inching themselves inside. Thick beards, lustrous hair, and whipped scarfs studded my eye line. ‘Phillip’s show has sold out,’ Violet said, looking at her ticket. We made our way to our seats, close to the front. ‘It must be all those rumors about his set.’

  With the chaos going on in my own life, I had barely paid attention to the news. I had caught, in passing, recent reports of extremist Islamic groups once more targeting newspapers that contained cartoons of the Prophet Mohammed. Some publications had drawn praise for their bravery, by responding to this extremist violence through printing the cartoons even more widely. Refusing to bow down to this extremist ideology.

  I had an inkling that Violet was alluding to those rumors. The theatre was, indeed, full and the lights turned low as we waited for Phillip to appear. I thought how similar the stage seemed to a classroom. Onstage a mike stand and a table holding a bottle of water were bathed in gold light. Behind them a large white writing pad was propped up on an easel.

  Phillip came onstage to the Marilyn Monroe’s ‘I Just Want To Be Loved By You’. He was wearing a creased blue dinner jacket that was far too large for him, and he flapped his hands in greeting as the audience applauded. A spotlight followed Phillip to the middle of the stage. As he adjusted the mike stand, and waved away the cheers, I noticed how he was now adopting a bumbling, staggering persona. It was fresh and yet, in flashes, pure Phillip.

  ‘Thank you, thank you for having me,’ he said, seizing the mike.

  The audience quieted. His voice was much softer when he began to speak. ‘When my agent asked me if I wanted to do a show in the North East, I said ‘No, I don’t want to do a show in the North East’.’

  I noticed that he had adopted a lisp, to further exaggerate the sense of his incompetence. I found myself leaning forward, with the rest of the crowd.

  ‘And my agent said to me ‘Why don’t you want to do a show in the North East?’ and I said ‘Listen to me, there’s a very good reason why I don’t want to do a show in the North East. Because I’ve heard it’s horrible. And if it’s anything like that Middle East …’’

  The audience started laughing. Smiling, Phillip said ‘I know, I know. So it seems to me like we are all on the same page, and you understand me, and I understand you.’

  Violet leant against me. ‘I feel nervous,’ she said, her hand on my sleeve.

  ‘Now I know what you’re thinking,’ Phillip said, closing his eyes, and patting an imaginary concern with his hands. ‘You’re thinking ‘this man clearly is a great intellectual, as well as a sexually powerful presence - and you’d be right, you’d be right.’

  More laughter.

  ‘But I just want you to settle down and relax, because tonight I’m going to use my intellect to educate you about what is going on in the news. So.’ He turned towards the white board. ‘There’s been a lot of issues in the news about people portraying the prophet Mohammed. And my job here tonight, ladies and gentleman, is to fix this mess once and for all. Using this pen.’

  An icy gasp rose from the audience as he took a marker pen from his pocket and moved to the pad. He flicked the cover of it to reveal a clean white page.

  ‘I know people have been getting very upset because they feel - and I quote -’

  He took out a small crumpled piece of newspaper from his top jacket pocket and scrutinized it.

  ‘I can’t read exactly what it says because I left my contact lenses on the bus. But I’m pretty sure this article says that the Prophet Mohammed has been portrayed badly in cartoons.’ He looked up, as people exchanged glances, chuckling. ‘So tonight, ladies and gentlemen, I’m going to portray the Prophet Mohammed properly.’

  As he pulled the lid off his pen there were a few nervous titters.

  He turned to the audience, spreading his hands. ‘Now there’s no need to be nervous,’ he said, with a tiny smile. ‘What I’m saying is, let’s look at organized religion in a responsible way. Let’s admit we’ve got an issue in this country, with our attitudes towards other cultures. Let’s admit that, please. Let’s not argue. Let’s have an adult debate about an adult topic, using a cartoon.’

  ‘The thing the cartoons have often got wrong,’ he said, drawing the face of a man, ‘is they’ve not got Mohammed’s features right. We’re talking here about a great man, a wise man, a prophet. So he’s going to have strong features.’

  In hard, quick strokes Phillip drew bulging eyes, a large nose and a big mouth.

  The audience gasped. ‘I know, I know,’ Phillip said. ‘I’m sorting the situation out and don’t worry, you can thank me later. By this time tomorrow Israel and Palestine should have sorted their differences out once and for all, and not before time. Anyway, I think another reason people think Mohammed is being portrayed badly …’

  ‘Oh God,’ Violet said, laughing as she covered her mouth.

  Phillip turned to the board and started to zigzag a large, zany beard onto his already inane caricature. The audience shuffled forward, hands clasped to mouths. A spike of laughter pierced the air.

  We met Phillip at the after party, where he was being engulfed with well-wishers. They were a strange blend of angular young journalists, and mostly male comics. The comics all seemed to be exaggerating the nuances of normal personalities to try and make an impression. I was surprised by the pang of jealousy I felt as one cornered Violet, and asked her what she thought of the show. She said ‘it was nice to hear a comedian who doesn’t just offer knob gags’.

  ‘I know what you mean,’ he said, looming over her. ‘You don’t want to pay money to have a man tell you all about his ablutions. If you wanted that you’d go into a gent’s toilet and sit there with the toilet door open, wouldn’t you?’

  She winced. ‘I’m not sure I’d handle any problem by hanging around a men’s toilet,’ she said. I sensed Violet’s intellect was a trapeze on which this man was unknowingly being bounced. I found myself wondering what she was here for, why she had entered into Phillip’s world, and mine by proxy.

  ‘You alright?’ I said, taking a can from a nearby table as Phillip moved over.

  ‘Thank God you two are here,’ he said. ‘I feel like I’m playing the role of Simon Cowell in a shite comedy version of X Factor.’

  ‘Interesting set,’ Violet said. ‘Half of it was funny and the other half just downright worrying.’

  ‘Well, that’s the reaction I hoped you’d have,’ he said, cracking open a can.

  ‘Glad to be of service,’ she said, looking at him from the side of her eyes.

  ‘Right,’ Phillip said, looking between Violet and I. ‘You two, meet me on the roof garden at Chaise Longue, in half-an-hour,’ he said. ‘I’ll have to deal with the Greek chorus and then I can meet you up there.’

  On the way to the bar Violet had clearly sensed a preoccupation in me. She took me wordlessly through the winding streets, to a black door, where a small sign signaled that we’d arr
ived. As I followed her inside I wondered how Phillip knew about this hidden place, a spacious bar decorated with retro plastic furniture, containing plenty of discreet corners. Synth music chattered quietly in the background as she led me through the sea of people, leather and jewelry shining on the cusp of each tide. We went up a narrow flight of stairs, opening out onto a roof garden. The high walls of the surrounding buildings framed the terrace, lined with rows of sofas. Glass tables housed teeming cocktails. Once we had our drinks, we weaved between fake palm trees to sit at one. On Violet’s insistence I slowly unraveled the story of recent days. Once or twice I thought she might have blinked away a tear. As I described the hearing she seemed drawn into the story, and became part of its intense texture. I barely realized she had begun to press against me, her fingers subtly weaved into mine. When I finally said ‘and that’s that,’ she lapsed back into the chair, pulling our hands apart.

  ‘What is it?’ I said.

  ‘You must fight this,’ she said. ‘Morally, you have no choice about the matter.’

  ‘How so?’

  ‘Because you have enough of a profile to get this scandal into the news. You know, get it dealt with. Have you ever heard that saying, ‘All that is necessary for the triumph of evil is that good men do nothing’?’

  I sipped. ‘Yes. But have you ever heard the phrase ‘playing with fire’?’ I asked.

  I didn’t know it then, but I was merely kicking the embers of her glowing curiosity. She nodded, her eyes fierce.

  Phillip appeared in front of us at the bar, in an electric blue suit that fitted him snugly. He made a circling gesture and Violet raised a thumbs-up, agreeing to another round. When he sat down, Violet said ‘Ben’s been telling me about his awful situation. If your show tonight was about anything -’

  ‘Anything other than extremist terrorism?’

  ‘Then it was about how entertainment can be used to make a serious point, to the masses.’

  ‘The masses that fill comedy venues?’ Phillip asked. ‘Ben, have you ever thought about using your profile to speak out against what you’re being put through right now?’

  His anger is coming out again, I thought. He was able to express it onstage, through comedy, but finds it harder when talking about me.

  ‘Exactly what I was saying,’ Violet whispered, mixing her drink with a straw.

  ‘How do you mean?’ I answered.

  ‘Art has been asking me again and again if you want to sign to him. In fact, he promised to call me in a few minutes to find out how the show went. He’s yet to venture north of the Watford Gap and actually see me perform. But why don’t I pass him over to you when he calls?’

  I looked over at Violet, who cocked her head at me encouragingly. ‘Okay,’ I said.

  Over the course of the evening, Phillip was gradually surrounded by fans on the roof garden. My friend seemed to be a diffident Pied Piper amongst all the culture rats that scurried around him. He kept throwing looks at Violet, perhaps hoping for evidence that she was impressed. But Violet seemed oblivious to his glances. I had just become trapped in a conversation with a performance artist, who was elaborately telling me about her alter ego called Isobel, when I felt someone tug on my elbow. It was Phillip, holding out a mobile phone.

  ‘Art,’ he mouthed.

  I nodded, and tried to find a quiet corner. There were none.

  ‘How’s it going?’ I said, into the mobile.

  ‘Ben! So you’ve finally come to your senses, I see. You know, there really is so much more you could be doing to capitalize on your profile.’

  ‘I had no idea.’

  ‘Such naivety! Beautiful. I am part of the second largest talent agency in the UK. So you couldn’t be talking to anyone better. How about we get together to shoot the breeze this week?’

  After the conversation, as I hung up the phone I turned to see Violet looking at me. Her expression suggested concealed amusement.

  ‘You alright?’ I asked.

  ‘I’m going for a pint,’ she said. ‘Fancy it?’

  ‘Sure. Just let me tell Phillip.’

  ‘Phillip was last seen allowing a young female admirer to buy him a cocktail genuinely made from half a pineapple. We can catch up with him later,’ she said.

  ‘Okay,’ I answered. ‘You sure you don’t mind him being left with someone like that?’

  ‘I don’t know what you’re on about,’ she said, standing still.

  ‘It’s just - I couldn’t quite work out if there was something happening with you and him.’

  She looked to one side. ‘Nah, not at all.’

  ‘I’m not sure that’s how he sees it.’

  ‘I just talk to people who seem interesting. That’s all. Dead chatty, me.’

  On the ground floor Violet blanched at the sudden influx of footballers, and the fur-lined coterie that breezed in with them. She texted Phillip to say we were going next door. I found myself wondering how honest she’d just been about her and my oldest friend.

  We found a quiet corner in a mock-Tudor bar, next to a crackling fire. I bought our drinks and, having set them down, I pulled an armchair up next to hers. She smiled as she lolled her hands on top of my arm.

  ‘You going to sign with this agent, then?’ she asked.

  I noticed that her long, sandy hair had stuck to the lapels of her coat. Its fragrance mingled with the heat of the fire, to create a seductive air.

  ‘Looks like it,’ I said, leaning into my drink.

  Her eyes bobbed on my profile as I leant back. A delicate smile hovered on her lips.

  ‘Don’t you think that’s dead exciting?’ she asked, her fingers stepping over my arm. I looked sideways, the fire illuminating the strip of hair that had fallen from her left ear. It was a narrow white margin, laced with flames. ‘Surely you see all the possibilities open to you right now, Ben? You could be a stand-up like Phillip. Use your media profile to pin those bastards down. Have a whole set about what they’ve done to you.’

  ‘I don’t think it would make for a very funny show.’

  She lightly punched me, and then looped one arm through mine, and drew her lips close to my cheek. ‘You know what I mean,’ she teased. ‘You could have a good crack at it.’

  I glanced at her, flattered and confused by this sudden intimacy.

  ‘Well, I think so, anyway,’ she whispered. ‘You could channel all this anger. You are in such a strong position.’

  ‘You are the one in a strong position,’ I said, reacting to the proximity. ‘You’re young, you’re hungry to make something of yourself.’ She smiled. ‘You’re beautiful too,’ I said, ‘which helps. Unfortunately, it’s often only when people are older that they see all the potential they had. But you can achieve whatever you want.’

  She looked past me. I wondered if her expression was guilty, somehow.

  ‘Did I say something wrong?’

  She frowned, her eyebrows drawing closer to one another.

  ‘What is it?’ I said. ‘Did I say too much?’

  A hand flashed up to her eyebrow. ‘Nothing. It’s just … I suppose you’re saying some of the things that I say to myself, to keep myself going. But no one has ever said them to me before.’

  ‘I’m surprised. You have to be careful though. People will try and butter up someone like you. To exploit them.’

  ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘People do try and exploit one another. You need to watch out for that too, Ben.’

  ‘It’s happening to me already,’ I said.

  The remark made her sigh, as if she was surprised by the emotion of her reaction.

  ‘I probably keep people at a distance, so they can’t do that,’ she said, quietly. ‘But … something tells me I can let my guard down with you.’

  ‘I don’t know,’ I said.

  She flashed her eyes at me, mock-alarmed. ‘No, what I mean is,’ I said, sitting up, ‘I have just the same frailties as any bloke. But, that aside, you probably have a greater capacity to achieve something than
anyone else I know.’

  ‘Coming from someone who’s actually made an impact on the world, that actually means something,’ she said. ‘You know, when I watched those episodes of Educating Bristol I’d never seen someone talk so directly as you did to that girl. When you were coaching her to get through her GCSE’s she had the same look on her face that I must have had when you complimented me just now. People generally just don’t encourage and nurture each other. But for some reason you do.’

  ‘Thanks.’ I sipped.

  ‘Which means you have the ability to fight this situation. And I think you can win. You’ve got the public on your side once already!’

  I had a flash of realization, just then, that this was one of those fleeting moments in life. When all the formalities that have to be overcome, to allow someone to speak directly to you, have been traversed. One of those instants when someone, for once, was speaking so directly to my soul that I had no option but to absorb the nourishment of their observations. I could only see then how famished I was, how much I needed that sustenance.

  ‘It’s funny,’ I said. ‘But no one has said that to me before, either.’

  ‘I feel sure that what I’m saying is true,’ she said, with a sweet smile. ‘I don’t know how I feel so sure, but I do.’

  It was such a relief to have someone identify these qualities in me that night that I almost broke down. I needed to hear that I had the strength to get through this. I understood then why people were so often defeated by this world. Perhaps the web of support that they required just did not come into alignment when it had to. Or perhaps our culture lacked the channels by which to offer this support. ‘It means a lot to me to have you say that,’ I said, looking up at her.

  As I turned to her, the two of us were immersed in a cloud of intimacy that felt completely natural. Underneath that intimacy was a delicate throb of eroticism, a willingness on the part of this beautiful young woman to bear my burdens upon her own young shoulders. Somehow, Violet didn’t see my burdens for what they were. She instead interpreted them as a somewhat thrilling challenge. I didn’t know if that was because she had empathy, or because she lacked it. But she had already, in life, accrued the strength to take that weight onto herself.