Curse of the Potency

by Oliver Franks

  I pretty much blasted these words into his face.

  He just shook his head now, rubbing his eyes with his fingers.

  Then he took a deep breath and looked up at me.

  “Alright,” he said, nodding, suddenly talking normally again.

  “Alright what?”

  “I’ll sort the money out. I’ll have to talk to our investors, square it with them. But I’ll sort it for you, okay?”

  Wow. Sometimes the direct approach really does work.

  “Good,” I said, a little shocked at my apparent success. “And what about the plumbing—”

  “Dave, don’t push it, alright? Since you did talk to Byron and Marcus, I am sure you’re aware that it is a technical issue. I’ll see what they can do, but we can’t work miracles.”

  “Alright,” I said, accepting that he was probably telling the truth on that.

  “Good. Now please leave. I don’t think I want to have pizza with you anymore.”

  I let out a snort. “Me neither.”

  I turned to leave.

  “Oh, hang on, Dave,” he said. “Just one more thing.”

  “Yes?”

  “Don’t think you’ll ever be what she wants in a man. You won’t,” he said, nasty words coming out of his mouth with such speed it was impossible for me to do anything but listen in shock. “She’s interested in you professionally, nothing more. She and I had something truly special. We had passion, culture, sex. And you… What? You think a stiffy on the examination table constitutes true love?”

  “What?”

  I hardly knew where to begin.

  “How the hell do you know about that?”

  He just smiled and winked at me.

  “Right, that’s it,” I said.

  And without any further thought I ran straight at him and lamped him good and proper. Right on the nose.

  He fell back into his chair, clasping at his bleeding face, whimpering.

  “You had that coming,” I said, leaving him to it.

  My turn to storm out.

  “You might want to get him a few tissues,” I said to Christine with a laugh on my way to the lift.

  Once inside and on my way down, I stood looking at myself in the mirror, breathing deeply. I felt a deep sense of satisfaction mixed with rising panic. Everything was going to shit. How the hell did he know about that incident? Had Molly told him? Actually written it down somewhere? How else? What would happen now? Even if I wanted to, I wasn’t sure I could stay. Not after that. I’d just lamped the bloody CEO! It felt good though, that punch. So good. Clenching my fist. Swinging my arm. The crack as my hard, everyday knuckles slammed into his soft posh nasal bone. The look of utter terror on his face. That pathetic scream.

  I wouldn’t say I was proud. I wasn’t one to go around lamping people, after all, though to be fair, he was bloody lucky I didn’t piss on him.

  *****

  The problem was that such drama and excitement rendered me physically incapable of just hanging out in the basement and twiddling my thumbs for the rest of the afternoon. I mean, I sat on the bed there for a minute, contemplating what the most sensible course of action should have been at that point. But who was I kidding? Screw sensible. I could barely keep myself still. Everything was up in the air now. Big decisions needed to be made. But I was in no fit state to make them. I just needed to get out, get some fresh air, clear my head and maybe scoff some good food.

  Nah, what a load of old bollocks. What I needed was a good few bevvies. There was only one thing for it, really—pub.

  I see now that my hitting Daryl caused the day to go the way it did after that. I’d opened the floodgates inside of me—my dangerous and risky side was let loose. I’m not trying to make up excuses, but punching someone was not a normal thing for me to be doing at all. My head was spinning. I was spinning. I’d just had a massive bust-up, twatted my boss in the face. The woman who was supposed to be working on my case and who, frankly, I fancied the pants off, had just quit. And I’d just found out the only way I could ever be normal, maybe, and not pee luminous green acid wee for the rest of my life was to be a flipping teetotal vegan leaf-eater.

  No excuses, but these things were hard to consider calmly at the best of times, to say nothing about making a sensible adult decision. At the very least, before I attempted to get my head around anything, I had a strong need for release. And for me that means scoffing my face and some good hard drinking and banter.

  *****

  The Hole in the Toad. Hardly what I’d call my local, but I had been there maybe two or three times. I knew where everything was, recognised one or two of the bar staff. From the moment I walked into the place, I was clearly in some kind of a mood, for the first thing I did was to try ordering a bloody Pina Colada, my secret favourite cocktail and something I only ordered on very, very special occasions.

  “Piss off,” was the answer I got from the girl behind the bar.

  Fine. Beer, cider and vodka it was then.

  I sat at the bar for some time, just chilling, drinking, trying not to think about all the shit in my life.

  “You just gonna sit here all afternoon getting off your face then?”

  It was one of the girls behind the bar. A clean-looking lass with a down-to-earth way about her—big eyes, bigger earrings, and wearing a colourful sort of a red and purple dress with lots of dangly fabric bits.

  “That’s exactly what I’m going to do,” I said, deciding on the spur of the moment to say whatever I felt like and screw the consequences.

  “Why not, I suppose,” she said.

  “No rest for the wicked,” I said.

  “On your day off then, are you?”

  “You could say that.”

  “And got nothing better to do than sit here and drink yourself senseless?”

  “What better thing is there?”

  This was definitely an out-of-the-ordinary sort of a day. First lamping Daryl and now engaging a woman in quick-fire chit-chat. Whatever next?

  “I don’t work actually,” I said.

  “No?” she said. “Loaded, are you?”

  “You could say that.”

  She laughed, rolled her eyes, and bent down to fetch some glasses or something. I wasn’t loaded, of course, but I was starting to wonder what the hell it mattered what story I told her.

  “I won the lottery, see,” I said when she stood up again.

  “Really…” she said, suppressing a smile.

  “Yup,” I said. “Never have to work again, me.”

  “Lucky for some.”

  A couple of punters came in then and she went to serve them.

  “So you won the lottery,” she said when she was done, “and now you hang around in bloody Shoreditch? Not sure I’d do that if I won the lottery.”

  She had me there. I had to be sharp in thinking up the next line in my web of fantasy.

  “I’m here on business,” I said. “Investing my millions in a tech start-up, you know.”

  She shook her head. “You’re full of shit.”

  “No, really! It’s a great little company. It makes this material that can withstand any heat—”

  “I’m sorry,” she said, still shaking her head. “I can’t talk to you anymore. Too much bullshit, you know.”

  “Would you talk to me if I told you I was poor?”

  It was a crap thing to say, and she gave it the response it deserved—a snort, yet another shake of her head, and to swiftly refrain from talking to me anymore.

  Damn. And she was cool. Well, I only had myself to blame.

  Anyway, that was just the start of the evening, just a taste of the crazy mood I was in and the unpredictable way events were now unfolding. If you thought the day that had just passed was unhinged, it was nothing compared to the night that followed. That really was next-level stupid, even for me.

  Chapter 13

  Several drinks later I found myself talking to a bunch of lads out for some post-work Friday night drinks.r />
  “Here’s to Fridays,” I said, by this point feeling very friendly to the world indeed. “Cheers!”

  The weird thing was I’d hardly been aware it was a Friday at all till one of them mentioned it. Friday meant precisely diddly-squat to the sort of stuck-in-the-basement freak that I was now.

  “So how’s work been treating you all this week?” I asked, pushing on with the banter, throwing caution to the wind, almost as if that crazy toxic wee had entered my bloodstream.

  “Busy as hell, mate,” said one in particular who I got to talking to.

  Tim, his name was, a tallish, clean-shaven, good-looking guy with a much better haircut than me.

  “But all good,” he continued. “New clients, old clients, tricky clients. You know.”

  He gave me a knowing smile.

  “Yeah.” I nodded as if I knew exactly what he was talking about.

  And so we covered the usual ground of jobs and stuff, and I had to inform him that I wasn’t a coder (people round there always seemed to ask me that).

  “What do you do then, mate?” Tim asked.

  Time for my backstory to kick in.

  “Stocks and shares.”

  “Cool, cool.” He nodded, impressed. “You don’t look much like a stockbroker though. No offence.”

  “You mean I’m not wearing a pinstripe suit and braces and all that?” I said, taking a swig of my beer.

  “Exactly,” he said, taking a good old swig himself.

  I should mention that throughout this conversation we both took regular, healthy swigs of our beer.

  “It’s a different world now, mate,” I explained. “Don’t have to go to the stock floor. I do it from home. Only have to work maybe an hour or two a day, just sitting there on my laptop. It’s a bit of a joke, to be honest.”

  “That’s brilliant,” he said. “I wish I knew something about it. Sounds right up my street.”

  “You could do it too. No probs,” I said. “I learned everything I know on YouTube.”

  “Seriously?”

  “Yeah. If I can, you can. Trust me.”

  This was all utter nonsense of course, but I was quite enjoying spinning this guy the tale and seeing him lap it up.

  “Maybe you can give me some tips, yeah?” he said. “Say, do you fancy another pint?”

  I looked at my Guinness. Nearly empty. Why not?

  So Tim and I had a couple more bevvies and course it came to the point when I could feel a wee on the way. Bloody annoying, actually, always having to scuttle back to that Solar Ray basement for my pees, honour-bound to keep schtum about my super wee, a fog of lies all about me. Not to mention never being able to stay out on the town for more than an hour or so. But there’s no need to dwell anymore on the hand that nature had dealt me.

  “You sure you have to go?” he said. “We’re staying for one more.”

  “Nah,” I said. “I’ve got a lady to meet.”

  Now that Tim and I were buddies, I couldn’t just walk out of the place without at least some explanation, could I?

  “On a Friday night?” He laughed. “I’d watch that one, mate. I always keep Fridays clear for the lads.”

  “She’s a special lady,” I lied, thinking how much I was getting to like this Tim bloke. “So I don’t want to mess this one up. Anyway, nice chatting to you, yeah. Have a good one!”

  “You too, mate,” he said.

  And we shook hands.

  “Don’t forget. I’ll be picking your brains about those stocks and shares later!”

  I gave him a drunken little nod, then a general nod to the rest of the bunch, and reluctantly skedaddled away.

  *****

  It was night-time now and more than a bit chilly. Well, it was dark, only around 5:00 or 6:00 p.m., really, but this was a British winter and that’s how it goes. I was also more than a bit pissed. God knows how much I’d had to drink. Yup, I’d definitely done a good job of forgetting my troubles. Also, I certainly wasn’t ready to turn in for the evening. This was the piss-up I’d been promising myself for the past few weeks, and even if Molly couldn’t be here, the night was still young!

  Once I’d done my business in the basement, I stopped for no longer than the time it took to spray on a bit of deodorant and splash some water over my face.

  As I closed the door to my place, I heard a voice calling from down the corridor.

  “Hey!” it said.

  “Alright, Bill!” I said.

  I made a point of being outlandishly friendly to him now. It was sort of our little game, I think.

  “You forgot to push the button,” he said, skipping up towards me.

  “Did I?”

  “Yes.”

  He opened my door and hurried inside.

  “Sorry.”

  He worked furiously to uncouple the green tank thingy. Once he’d done so, he carefully lifted it, then came out into the corridor.

  “You’re drunk,” he said, stopping for a moment. “Really drunk.”

  “So?”

  “Don’t you think you’d better be careful? You know, what with your condition and everything?”

  Cheeky sod! If there is one thing that winds me up more than anything when I’ve had a few too many drinks, it’s being told that I’ve had a few too many drinks.

  “Nah…” I waved a hand, stumbling away from him and towards the stairs.

  I could practically hear him shaking his head behind me, but I didn’t give a toss. He had no clue what sort of day I’d just had.

  But neither of us could have known what kind of downfall the night still had in store for me.

  *****

  I went straight back to the Hole in the Toad, hoping I might find Tim still there.

  He was, actually, but they were all on their way out.

  We passed at the bar.

  “What happened to your lady friend?” he asked.

  “Don’t ask…” I said.

  “That bad, was it?”

  “Nah…” I waved a hand. “She just had something come up at work. She’s a model, you see. Something about a photo shoot over-running.”

  He nodded, though I wasn’t at all sure he was convinced.

  “You off already?” I said.

  “Yeah,” he said. “Meeting some mates over in Soho.”

  I couldn’t help but look a bit disappointed.

  “You wanna come along?”

  It was frustrating, as I would’ve liked that, but of course I refused.

  “I’m meeting a mate around here later,” I lied.

  “Oh well,” he said, moving off. “See you around. Stay safe, yeah!”

  Why was everyone so concerned about my safety?

  *****

  “You haven’t got a model for a girlfriend.”

  The girl behind the bar said this to me seconds later when she took my order. The same girl, I might add, who I had so crapply attempted to chat up earlier.

  “What?” I said, somewhat shocked by her intrusion. “How do you know?”

  “I’ve seen you in here before. You always come alone. You haven’t got a girlfriend. Why’d you lie to that bloke?”

  “Leave it out,” I said. You don’t know what I have to deal with, I thought.

  “You’re not meeting anyone here later either, are you?” she said.

  “What’s it to you?”

  She shook her head and pulled me my pint.

  “Just don’t cause any trouble, alright. Punters are my responsibility here.”

  “Don’t worry about me. I’m not the trouble-making sort.”

  “I don’t know… I have to say you do act a bit weird.”

  “Really?”

  “Yeah. All that crap about the lottery you told me before. Plus, you’re always going into those offices opposite, day and night. Haven’t you got a home to go to?”

  “I can’t believe you’ve been watching me.”

  “I haven’t been watching you. I’m just observant. What’re you doing in there, eh?
It’s not drugs, is it?”

  “I could be working there, couldn’t I?”

  But the look she was giving me now told me she could see through all my lies.

  “Alright,” I said. “Do you want to know the truth?”

  “Go on then,” she said. “But this time, the real truth, okay?”

  Could she handle the truth? I wondered about that. Actually, I wanted to just bloody tell her. It was in no way a good idea, but I was thoroughly fed up with the lies. And drunk, of course. Very much so. Mustn’t forget that.

  “Alright, so here’s the thing,” I started. “I’ve been pissing this super-strong acid, and the only bog I can use is right there over in the basement of that godforsaken building. It’s been specially constructed, you see, using this material they’re developing called mega-dega-polly-alloy or something like that.”

  Sod it, all or nothing.

  She was staring at me seriously now—I couldn’t tell what she was thinking.

  “There you go then,” I said, staring back at her. “The truth. Happy now?”

  And do you know what? She burst out laughing! So loud, in fact, that several people looked round, including an extremely attractive blonde lady sat just a few feet down the bar from us. I found that laughter quite unnerving, actually, not to mention embarrassing.

  “Jesus Christ, mate,” she finally said. “You are a piece of work, you know that?”

  “You don’t know the half of it.”

  And I grabbed my pint and headed away. Over to a table. Any table. I didn’t care.

  *****

  I found a small circular table with stools in a corner near the toilet. Just for me. I was teetering towards being depressed now, what with losing Tim and being laughed at to my face, but I still managed to see the irony of being positioned close to the loos.

  So I sat there, sipping my pint, but was unable to relax. For one thing, I could see that waitress whispering to her colleagues, them all giving me looks. Even the pretty blonde lady was glancing over. God knows what she was thinking.

  To be honest, I wasn’t so bothered about people hearing the truth. I’d been through enough to know that it was an unbelievable tale unless you happened to be right there with me when I was taking a piss. What bothered me was people thinking I was mad, a loony, a drunkard, or a combination of the three. I couldn’t sit with that at all.