Roadrage

by M J Johnson

  "Christmas was alright ... the holiday since has been immeasurably better," she replied clutching Gil's arm.

  "Uh-oh, she means filthy sex, David. Best cover our ears," interjected Klaus.

  Sally playfully punched Klaus on the chest, "Gil, I'd like you to meet Klaus's partner, David Simpson."

  "Very pleased to meet you, Gil," said David, offering his hand more formally than Klaus had done.

  "Hello David, nice to meet you."

  Sally asked, "How was New York?"

  "Hectic!" answered David.

  "Absolutely bloody marvellous," answered Klaus simultaneously.

  "Which one?" asked Gil.

  "Both," laughed David.

  Having introduced themselves their hosts went off. Sally led Gil through the throng of people who had congregated around the room's central table, the main source of food. Over the next hour or so Gil found himself introduced to untold numbers of people whose names he didn't stand a chance of remembering. Sally was clearly well-liked and popular.

  In his feverish illustrator's imagination Gil had pictured rooms packed like sardines with operatic heavyweights, like singing sumo wrestlers. He was surprised to discover that the majority of the guests were not performers; like Sally and Klaus a good many had ancillary roles. Some were connected to David through legal work and nothing whatsoever to do with opera; a lot of those present were the friends or neighbours of their hosts.

  "Klaus and David know cartloads of people!" Sally told Gil as she fanned an overheated cheek with a floppy hand.

  "I know what Klaus does, how about David, do they work together?"

  Sally found the suggestion amusing, "I don't think they'd survive long if that was the case."

  "It's just that you asked how New York went and they both replied, so I thought that perhaps ..."

  "David took a sabbatical to be with Klaus. He's a solicitor, legal aid mostly. He's very socially committed. He's a real love … gentle, calm. Not a bit like Klaus who's totally extrovert. Remember I told you a friend had given me legal advice after my trouble with Michael? That was David."

  "You look absolutely gorgeous tonight," said Gil, not meaning to change the subject, just suddenly struck by her attractiveness.

  "Play your cards right, and well, you never know …" she said as she raised her eyebrows.

  Their chat soon came to an end when Roz came down the stairs. Her eyes alighted on Sally and she forged a path to them through the animated crowd.

  "Sorry. I've got to borrow your girlfriend," she said to Gil taking Sally by the arm.

  Sally resisted, looking bemusedly at Gil.

  "Come on Sal, I need your help. He'll be safe for five minutes." Roz assumed a mock seriousness, "There's this prat, who says he works for the ENO. He clearly doesn't know his arse from his gonads. He's been dissing the work of Matthew Bourne." Roz laughed, then gave them both a quizzical look, "See. It's really serious."

  "I think you'd better go," advised Gil, who had not long before been introduced to Matthew Bourne's name in a Sunday paper. He decided to trade on this knowledge and add Brownie points to his street cred, "The honour of dance is at stake," he said.

  Roz appeared to give him a perplexed look. Gil felt a moment of self-doubt about whether he'd made the right connection. Then she exclaimed, "See, Gil agrees!"

  "Sure you'll be alright?" chuckled Sally, the two glasses of red wine she'd consumed beginning to show.

  "Yes, of course."

  Sally handed Gil the empty plate of canapés they'd been sharing and planted a gentle kiss on his lips.

  "True Love," expressed Roz, eyes rolling heavenwards as she led Sally away.

  Gil, alone with an empty glass, cut a course through the crowded room to the young man and woman serving drinks at the bar at the garden end of the room. Mission accomplished, he moved on to browse the buffet table.

  "These are rather good," said a blonde in a vibrant dark red evening dress he suddenly became aware of beside him. This was entirely typical of Gil, who although observant by trade, had the peculiar knack of sometimes missing the blindingly obvious. She was the kind of woman it was very hard to miss.

  Her dress gleamed with sequins that twinkled hypnotically as she moved, particularly in her generously over-prescribed chest area.

  "Yes? Then I'd better sample them," said Gil, thinking 'massive breasts' and flushing at the thought of making even the slightest unintended double-entendre. He bent and peered at some Japanese-style canapés with almost forensic interest, then took a plate and made his choice. When he straightened up to speak to the woman again he tried to avoid the breasts, but couldn't be certain whether his eyes had fluttered onto them during their nervous flight past.

  "Are you a friend of Klaus and David's?" he managed, looking at the woman's face with an unnatural keenness; he really wanted to drop his eyes and gawp, not in any way lasciviously, only to digest the phenomenon they truly were.

  "Klaus has designed some of the opera productions I've sung vith," she replied.

  Gil noted her accent, Eastern European, he thought. "You're an opera singer!" he exclaimed, restating what the woman had just told him.

  "And vot are you?" she asked, her chest appearing to inflate after the question mark, which Gil couldn't fail but notice with his peripheral vision.

  "I draw," he replied timidly.

  "Vot, are you gunfighter?" she smiled playfully, as a pussycat might with a mouse in its sights.

  "Sorry?" he asked lamely.

  "You draw, like gunfighter in cowboy films?" she quipped, performing a little mime of pistol drawing, shooting, then with puckered lips cooling the imaginary gun barrel with a laconic out-breath.

  "Ah! I see," he managed with an unconvincing laugh, his legs starting to feel unsteady, "No, the art kind of drawing."

  "You are painter?" she asked, and before Gil had time to put her right, added, "Perhaps you paint me?" She turned and indicated her body in profile, "How vould you have me pose?" she asked.

  Gil's mouth suddenly felt as parched as a desert landing strip. "I ... illustrate … books."

  "How fascinating," she said, moving closer.

  Gil felt himself deflate, her chest appeared to monopolise most of the available air space.

  "Gil!" came the happy sound of reprieve. It was Klaus. He wore a bemused expression. "I see you've met Marika and her pet seals."

  "You're incorrigible, darling," giggled the diva, placing a hand, many sizes too small, onto her capacious bosom for the sake of modesty. "Ve discuss art."

  "Sorry to be a party-pooper at my own party but I'm afraid I need to take him away," said Klaus, taking Gil's arm.

  "Shame. Perhaps ve meet later."

  Klaus led the relieved Gil upstairs. "You looked like you needed rescuing," he smiled.

  "Who was that?" asked Gil.

  "Marika Novotny. She's playing Lady M in the new production of The Scottish Opera that Sal and I are about to start work on."

  "Scottish Opera?"

  "It's considered bad luck to say the name, you know ... Macbeth," said Klaus, suddenly not seeming to mind being accursed.

  "Should I have known her?"

  "Not unless you're an opera buff. She's up and coming, from Budapest, a fine soprano. Unfortunately, a lot of singers with clout won't work with her."

  "Why?"

  "Rottweilers."

  "What?"

  "Her unspeakably large puppies - they tend to upstage everything. Audiences are mesmerised by them. 'Never mind the singing, did you see those tits!' Dressing them down is going to be Sally's biggest headache."

  "They are seriously unavoidable," gulped Gil.

  "I suspect she crushes her victims between them like a Bond villainess."

  Gil found the idea amusing.

  "Was she coming on to you?"

  "I'm not sure."

  "Marika Novotny is a woman with large appetites." Klaus underlined 'large appetites'.

  Gil sighed with relief. He began
to wonder where Klaus was leading him as they ascended the stairs from the hallway to the first floor.

  "Sal mentioned that you illustrated books. But it was only tonight, after being introduced, that the penny dropped and I realised who you were. Sorry."

  "Don't worry. Most people haven't heard of me even if they're fans of Felix's."

  "I remember reading about your car accident. Several years ago now, I think?"

  "Five," said Gil.

  "Really? As many as that?"

  They were now approaching the second floor landing and had to step around a boy and girl in their mid-teens snogging on the top step. Klaus and Gil might have been invisible.

  "Evening!" exclaimed Klaus as they passed.

  The teenagers broke off momentarily and replied with a cheery, "Hi, Klaus," then resumed kissing.

  To the right of the landing was a games room where a group of youngsters was gathered around a billiard table.

  Klaus took a key from his pocket and opened a door directly opposite the room where the kids were playing into what immediately revealed itself to be his study, "It's not normally locked, but thought it better to tonight. Come in. I'd love to hear your views on some designs I've been working on with Sal."

  "I know very little about theatre design," replied Gil.

  The space was more eclectic than Gil's own work area. Shelves packed with reference books lined one whole wall; posters, mainly for opera productions, adorned most of the free wall space, and the ubiquitous computer was stationed at a desk in one corner. The focal point was a large table, and placed around the room's periphery were a couple of Chesterfield sofas. This room suggested collaboration.

  "Have a seat," Klaus pointed to a sofa, "It's good to escape for a bit." He opened the door of a free-standing cabinet and produced a bottle, "Brandy okay?"

  Gil peered down at the empty glass in his hand; he'd unwittingly drained it after his rescue from the Hungarian prima donna. "Thanks," he said.

  Klaus poured the brandies, then sat on the Chesterfield beside Gil. "What's the time?" he asked earnestly, raising his wrist to show that he didn't have a watch.

  "Eleven-O-five," replied Gil.

  "Good. I've got to do the fireworks at half past."

  "Fireworks?" enquired Gil.

  "We generally start the New Year with a few bangs. The kids like it."

  "Great."

  "Do you have children, Gil?"

  "No. My late wife and I didn't quite get there."

  Klaus seemed to consider for a moment before saying, "My own kids are grown-up."

  "You have children?"

  "Don't look so surprised," laughed Klaus.

  "I didn't mean to ..." fumbled Gil.

  Klaus gestured that it was okay, "My ex-wife and the two youngest are here tonight."

  "No bitterness then?"

  "Not now. But I caused a lot of pain. There had been attractions, a few minor infatuations, but nothing too serious. I'd realised the truth, but lacked the courage to do anything about it. I was happily married, believe it or not. I constantly fought with myself. I didn't want to lose the good things I had. Then, David came along and everything changed, for everybody."

  "Not the first time that's happened," said Gil.

  "I was lecturing when we met. David was one of my students."

  "Sally said David's a solicitor."

  "I lectured in law. Becoming a stage designer was one of many changes I made."

  "Sounds like you underwent a major re-think."

  "I'd been groomed for legal stardom. My father was a barrister before moving into politics. He grew up in the South Wales coalfield, a grammar school boy from a mining family who dragged himself up by his bootlaces. Christ he could be a hard bastard! I did what I was told. After Cambridge I suppose my first rebellion was to become a lecturer rather than choosing to practise law. I thought the veins in his forehead would explode when I told him."

  "So you're Welsh …that explains the Williams part. But where did the Klaus come from?"

  "My father met my mother in Germany during the post-war years."

  Gil said, "My mother was Welsh, but you couldn't tell. She'd grown up in Birmingham. My grandparents went back to Wales after they retired."

  "Where?

  "Llandysul, Ceredigion. Do you know it?"

  "No, but I've heard the name."

  "I used to spend my school holidays there. They had a smallholding, not much, a few chickens and a pet pig. Actually, I still keep a little place in Wales."

  "At Llandysul?"

  "No, on the coast, a bit further north. It's a tiny cottage on cliffs overlooking the sea, between Llangrannog and Newquay."

  "A bolt-hole?"

  "I suppose it was."

  The tone of Gil's reply prompted Klaus to ask, "Don't you get there much?"

  "Not anymore. I should sell it."

  Gil hadn't visited the cottage in Wales since Jules' death.

  "Take Sally sometime."

  Gil nodded, "Perhaps."

  "Sal's very taken with you."

  "I'm very taken with her."

  "I don't know if she's mentioned it to you, but she had a very hard time with an ex-boyfriend a little while back. Poor thing, it nearly destroyed her. Sally's a wonderful girl, Gil," Klaus looked directly at him before adding, "I don't think she could handle an emotional ordeal like that again."

  It suddenly occurred to Gil that the whole reason behind this little tête-à-tête might possibly have been to check him out.

  If so, Klaus skilfully covered his tracks in the next breath by saying, "I'd better show you these designs." He fetched a leather-bound portfolio and unzipped it to reveal his drawings for the Verdi opera, which he spread out over the table. He let Gil peruse these while he fetched a 3-D model of the main structure. "Mostly bits fly in and out to change the scene. It has to be relatively light and easy to handle for touring."

  Gil recalled the play from school and assumed the overall story remained much the same. "It certainly has a claustrophobic feel, a definite sense of foreboding."

  "Good," said Klaus.

  "I love these shapes, like tree roots," Gil added, referring to the organic shapes that made up the castle walls, like the ribs of some gigantic beast. Gil was reminded of the HR Giger designs for Alien. Of course, he didn't mention this, nobody appreciates it being pointed out that their work is derivative.

  Klaus peered down at Gil's wristwatch, "Shit, I'm sorry to rush you after inviting you to see my work, but I really must get on and organise these fireworks. David's not very practical, couldn't light a candle. He'll be frantic."

  "That's okay. I look forward to seeing the production."

  The sketches and model were left on the table as they exited the room.

  A couple of boys appeared from the room opposite, one asked, "What time are the fireworks, Klaus?"

  "One-forty-seven precisely," replied Klaus.

  "Huh?" said the other boy.

  "Midnight, you donkey!" corrected Klaus as the two men started to descend.

  "I thought so," said the boy.

  "Then why'd you ask?" Klaus called back, turning to exchange a smile with Gil.

  "I dunno. I just didn't know the time."

  "Donkey!" exclaimed Klaus.

  There was a slight pause, then came a less distinct, "Ass," and an extended, "Ho-o-o-ole," followed by giggling.

  "Cheeky little sods," said an amused Klaus, "these spawn of the chattering classes."

  "Where did you get that t-shirt?" asked Gil coming a step behind him.

  "Like it?"

  "It's terrific."

  "It's a one-off. The hand is mine incidentally."

  There is something about voices raised in anger that brings instantaneous alertness. Both men were aware there was something amiss a few steps before the turn of the staircase brought visual confirmation.

  Before he saw her, Gil heard Sally; unable to make out any words but aware of the plaintive note in her voice.r />
  There was another female voice, more distinct, angrier, screaming, "Leave her alone you bastard! Are you too stupid to get the message? She doesn't want anything to do with you! Just fuck off!"

  There were two male voices amidst the cacophony, one low and sneering, the other light and calm.

  Klaus rushed ahead out of sight. Almost at once, Gil could hear him shout, "Get out of my house!"

  Gil turned the bend in the staircase. Klaus had already reached the hallway floor, where, prompted by all the commotion, a sizeable crowd was gathering. His face was flushed with rage, body weight centred down like a Welsh forward waiting to enter the fray.

  "Fuck off!" Roz shouted directly into the face of a tall man with his back set against the front door who wore an expression of contempt. There was a dullness about his eyes that suggested he was drunk. The man's attention appeared to be concentrated on Sally, who was standing beside the balustrade at the base of the stairs. Roz and David had formed a protective first line of defence; Gil didn't doubt for a second this was Michael Chilvers.

  "Are you getting out of my house, or do I have to kick you out, you stupid shit?"

  Michael Chilvers gave a condescending laugh, "And what are you planning to do, attack me with your annual subscription to Chanel No. 5?" sneered the interloper.

  "Right!" exclaimed Klaus as he rushed at the man ready to do as promised.

  "Please Klaus, let me handle this!" interceded David who got between the two warring parties. Two other men, one of them Roz's boyfriend, stepped alongside to lend support.

  Gil was now beside Sally and had taken hold of her arm. He wasn't sure she was even aware of his presence. Her face was ashen, the look in her eyes like that of a panic-stricken animal. Gil, unsure of what to do, merely held on to her.

  "He's got thirty seconds to get out that door, David," warned Klaus, boiling with rage. There could be no doubt he meant to carry out his ultimatum.

  Michael Chilvers appeared not to heed this warning at all. Gil had become the new focus of his swaggering glare, a fact Gil was conscious of but tried to ignore. Sally, suddenly aware she was no longer the target of Michael's attention, said in a tearful voice, "I'm sorry this had to happen, Gil."

  "Gill?" mouthed Chilvers, "Like the fish have?"

  David came in, "Michael, you've forced your way into a social gathering that you most definitely aren't welcome at. You have been asked to leave and I should advise you that if you don't go immediately ..."