Devil in Disguise

by Julian Clary

  ‘That’s my tea!’ replied a gruff Geordie voice.

  ‘Oh, it’s your tea, is it? Are you sure it’ll be enough for you? Or will you be tucking into your girlfriend’s minge for afters?’ Genita plucked another sardine from the bag and swung them around like a mad cheerleader. She stuck her fingers through their gills and began to improvise a mad puppet show. The sardines became a pair of lesbian lovers called Caroline and Caroline, billing and cooing and passionately expressing their love for each other. Then, just as a civil ceremony was imminent, the third sardine entered the fray. She was called Helga, and was determined to seduce Caroline. As the love triangle erupted in a violent climax, Genita juggled the sardines as best she could, bashing them together, tossing them in the air and catching them, slapping them on top of each other in a fishy orgy as she spat out the commentary like a wild, possessed Natasha Kaplinsky. Eventually it was all too much for Helga, who split dramatically in two, spilling fishy guts over the stage before she was hurled headlong into the crowd.

  Just then the DJ, in an inspired moment, played Frankie Howerd’s ‘Three Little Fishes’. The excited crowd sang along lustily with Genita, who waved the triumphant, lucky-in-love Carolines above her head in time with the music. As the track finished she popped them back into the cooler bag and returned them to their rightful owner before she exited the stage to which she would return for no less than five encores.

  Boris was the first person backstage. ‘Brilliant!’ he said. ‘Fucking brilliant!’ He paced up and down, clearly thinking aloud. ‘Fish. That’s the thing. You must make the sardines a regular climax to your act. Who knows? Maybe haddock, too. And a few sprats to throw into the crowd.’

  ‘You really think so?’ said Simon, bemused.

  ‘Trust me,’ said Boris, eyes glazed, staring into an imaginary future. ‘Now we’ve got the sardines on board, I don’t see any reason why it shouldn’t be “Jongleurs, here we come”!’

  ‘Imagine,’ said Simon, deadpan.

  ‘I have faith, my son,’ said Boris, patting his discovery on the shoulder and smiling confidently. ‘If you listen to me, I’ll make you a household name. I guarantee that within two years you’ll be selling out the Albert Hall. I’ll take you on a journey from Camden High Street to the North Pier at Blackpool.’ He paused for effect.

  ‘Be still my beating heart,’ said Simon, starting to remove his makeup.

  ‘You’re not listening to me,’ said Boris, uncharacteristically earnest.

  Simon was lost in thought. His mind swirled with adrenalin and post-show euphoria. Sardines. Who’d have thought they’d be the key to his future?

  ‘I’ve got it!’ said Boris. ‘You’re a performance artist! I shall call the Purcell Rooms first thing in the morning. I expect the Guardian will want to do a spread and Front Row will be gagging to get you on.’

  ‘Okay, I’ll do it!’ said Simon. ‘Anything to shut you up.’

  Meanwhile Simon couldn’t shake his desire for Daniel, which had grown to possess him like a succubus. Where only a short time before he’d been scolding himself for even looking at Molly’s boyfriend, he was now plotting and planning to create opportunities where he might be with the object of his affections. He’d grown obsessed, erotically and emotionally. All he could think about was Daniel, and Molly was fast becoming little more than an irritating obstacle to his passion. He had taken to turning up at Molly and Daniel’s flat late at night after he’d done a show, always in high spirits, a little drunk but full of post-show exuberance. ‘But I bring champagne!’ he’d screech down the intercom, if ever Molly said they were asleep and maybe another night would be better. He just wouldn’t take no for an answer. A couple of times a week he was sitting on their sofa while Molly sat opposite him in her towelling dressing-gown, her eyes heavy with sleep, urging him to speak more quietly in case they woke Daniel — he had to be up at six.

  ‘Oh, he could manage a glass of bubbly!’ said Simon, as if it were equal to a few pennies for a blind beggar. Eventually, if he made enough noise, Daniel would appear like a vision, scratching his head, and join in the late-night drinking.

  He knew he shouldn’t … but the lust that possessed him was too strong to fight.

  Then, one night, Molly excused herself at three in the morning and staggered back to the bedroom while Daniel slumped on the sofa dressed only in a once-white towel that clung perilously to his toned twenty-eight-inch waist. ‘Don’t be long, Dan,’ she murmured, as she drifted by on her way to bed.

  Simon saw his chance and pounced.

  First he lowered the lights and turned up the central heating. Then he sat beside his prey for ten minutes while he nodded off to sleep. Daniel’s head fell backwards and his arms splayed outwardly on the sofa, either side of his lap. As sleep took hold his knees relaxed and his thighs spread open invitingly. Simon sat on the edge of the armchair, poised like a panther about to spring.

  When the moment was right, he lightly ran the back of his fingers over Daniel’s chest. Simon gasped with delight, as Daniel parted his lips and sighed contentedly. This only encouraged Simon to stroke his chest a second time. After that, he allowed his fingers to fall, as if with the pull of gravity, downwards, to graze the knot in the towel. Daniel growled, so Simon proceeded, his fingers stepping inch by inch towards his Holy Grail, the one thing for which he would sacrifice everything: the aroused heterosexual penis.

  He stopped for a moment, got up, darted across the room and listened at the bedroom door. Assured by the semi-snoring within that the coast was clear, he returned to the sofa, gently lifted Daniel’s towel and eagerly set to work.

  At the point of orgasm, the mannequin came to life. Daniel reared up, his panting, by the third expulsion, changing from pleasure to vocal distress. He roughly removed himself from Simon’s mouth, pulling the towel back over his waist, the aftershocks of his nocturnal ejaculation causing involuntary moans of satisfaction. ‘What the fuck is going on?’ he said, fastening the towel, his expression shocked and angry.

  ‘Sssh!’ said Simon, holding his finger to his lips.

  ‘Oh, Jesus, no, no, no!’ said Daniel, rubbing his eyes, then his hair.

  Simon sat back on his haunches and gave a wicked half-smile. ‘Don’t spoil a beautiful moment,’ he whispered. ‘I know I’m bad. But so are you.’

  ‘I was asleep!’ said Daniel, his voice croaking with emotion, like a schoolboy protesting his innocence. His fists clenched dangerously.

  This was always a difficult moment, as Simon knew only too well. Things could go either way. He wasn’t sure if he should expect a smack in the mouth, so he flinched slightly, still relishing that familiar salty taste. He looked contritely at the carpet and decided discretion was the best policy. ‘I think I’d better be going,’ he said. He let himself out of the flat and went on his way, guilty but rejoicing.

  The next difficulty Simon had to overcome was to make sure that his ‘affair’ with Daniel continued. The moment his lust had been ignited, the entire energy of Simon’s being had become focused on achieving his desire. There was no going back. He asked Molly if Daniel could come and give him an estimate for painting his fiat.

  ‘Sure, honey,’ said Molly, blissfully unaware of her best friend’s secret agenda. ‘How about if he pops in on Thursday around sixish? He’ll be a bit knackered but 1 know he’s looking for some more work.’

  ‘I’ll get him a couple of cans of Special Brew, shall I?’ asked Simon.

  ‘You know the way to a man’s heart,’ said Molly, oblivious.

  Simon drew the curtains in his flat, even though it was still daylight outside. Daniel seemed on edge when he arrived, but he did his best to remain professional, looking over the flat and rubbing his chin, asking if it was to be emulsion or eggshell. ‘Have you thought about colours?’ he asked.

  ‘I’ve thought about little else,’ said Simon, staring at Daniel as he spoke. ‘I’m into red and brown and sometimes yellow. Bold, I agree, but I know what I like.’


  ‘Aha,’ said Daniel, unsure of the subtext. ‘Whatever you say.’

  ‘Ready for another can?’ asked Simon, brightly.

  ‘Er, cheers,’ said Daniel.

  Simon was nervous too, but the extra-strong lager would ease the awkwardness of the situation, he hoped. He got the drinks from the fridge and passed one to Daniel, who was perched on the edge of the sofa.

  ‘So,’ said Simon, in his best Mae West voice, ‘do you think you could fit me in? Can you sort out my interior?’

  Daniel took a swig of lager and nodded. ‘Okay,’ was all he said.

  After that the pattern was set. Things would nearly always commence with Daniel lying prone on a bed or settee. Even if he wasn’t asleep he would act as if he was. It was important for his sexual status, Simon assumed, that what ensued was initiated by Simon and not by him. Simon would gently caress Daniel’s chest and thighs, and sensual arousal would slowly envelop his subject. Simon’s tongue and lips would come into play. Daniel simply responded to the stimulus, a slave, it seemed, to his body. No intellect, no thinking, just biological response. That was precisely what floated Simon’s boat, what satisfied his thirst.

  Thankfully, Daniel was not the sort to attempt any kind of analysis of his behaviour. A little discomfort, a mild display of post-orgasmic guilt and/or shame was gratefully received by his seducer; anything more articulate or insightful would ruin everything.

  The arrangement, or rather the encounters, continued in this tenuous way. Each sexual opportunity took days of planning on Simon’s part. The anguish of a ‘near miss’ would keep him awake for nights on end, but his suffering seemed to be in direct proportion to the joy and satisfaction he experienced when he hit the jackpot.

  He was in bliss and rapture. And as for Molly — well, what she didn’t know wouldn’t hurt her.

  Molly noticed the change in Simon straight away. Since the day after his gig at the Black Cap, he had been on the phone to her incessantly: how was she? Did she feel okay? Was everything all right between her and Daniel?

  To begin with Molly was pleased. She thought Simon was making up for their short estrangement but also in need of true, trusted friends. The sudden success and popularity of his alter ego, Genita L’Warts, must have been a shock to his system. She was touched that he included Daniel in all his invitations, but she’d been surprised when he turned up at the romantic anniversary dinner when she’d specifically said it was an occasion for just her and Daniel.

  Then he’d started wheeling up to the flat at all hours, armed with drink and begging them to get up and share it with him.

  Whenever she told Simon that she and Daniel couldn’t meet him because they were doing something on their own, his tone seemed to turn a little minty. ‘Well, pardon me for intruding,’ he would snap. ‘Maybe you can fit me in some other night when you’re not celebrating the romance of the century.’

  ‘I’m worried about Simon,’ Molly said to Jane, one afternoon soon after Christmas. They were taking tea at the Honest Sausage in Regent’s Park after a brisk walk in the crisp sunshine. ‘He’s been a heavy drinker as long as I’ve known him, but now it’s in a whole new league. He’s working in pubs and clubs every night, drinking before he goes on stage, while he’s on stage and even more afterwards.’

  Jane looked thoughtful. ‘Perhaps this new identity of his means he’s losing touch with reality.’

  ‘Reality has never really featured in Simon’s life much,’ said Molly. ‘I love him dearly, of course, but he’s so unpredictable these days.’

  ‘In what way?’

  Molly sighed, as if it was all too difficult to put into words. ‘Well, just after we first saw him as Genita, he started turning up at our flat really late at night and getting us out of bed.’

  ‘Looking for drinking companions?’

  ‘Yes. But Daniel has to get up early for work, so it wasn’t exactly convenient.’

  ‘You had to nip that in the bud, then.’

  ‘I tried to. But Simon wouldn’t take no for an answer, and because I’d been away for so long and we’d had one of our fallings out, I found it really hard to say no.’ Molly sipped her coffee. ‘He was so wired and excited after performing, I think he was looking for someone — anyone — to be with. Anyway, all that seems to have stopped now.’

  ‘Good.’

  ‘But there are other things. He makes appointments with me and doesn’t turn up. Four times recently I’ve been standing outside a cinema or a tube waiting for him, and he’s left me dangling. It’s not like him. He’s never acted this way before.’

  Molly sighed. ‘I can sense so many other things that don’t seem quite right. He doesn’t seem to look me in the eye any more. He hardly ever kisses or hugs me, and he used to all the time. I’m so worried. He should join AA before it’s too late.’

  ‘I’ll send some psychic healing,’ said Jane, reaching over and touching Molly’s arm reassuringly.

  ‘I think I could do with some myself,’ said Molly, suddenly tearful.

  ‘I know. You don’t have to tell me. I send you healing all the time,’ said Jane, as two big tears rolled down Molly’s cheeks.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ she said. ‘It’s just that Simon means so much to me. I hate to feel like I’m losing him.’

  ‘Sssh!’ Jane comforted her friend, giving her a big, love-filled hug. ‘You’ll never lose Simon. I can’t imagine you two apart. Besides, you’ve always been there for him. Remember that time he got gay-bashed when he came on to some straight bloke under Charing Cross bridge? It was you who sorted him out and got him to casualty. He won’t forget things like that.’

  Molly started to sob. ‘I’m just so fed up, Jane. I’m out of work and Dan’s working all the time. Now that Simon’s got a bit of money, he’s decided to get his flat decorated. I can’t deny that it needed it — it was a complete tip. So, of course, he asked Daniel to do it, and for the last few weeks he’s been decorating Simon’s flat in the evenings. I never see him. He comes back late, drunk and in a bad mood. I’m sick of it. We’re usually so happy but he’s been distant with me lately.’

  ‘Why don’t you go round there and spend some time with the two men you love most in the world? You could keep an eye on Simon’s drinking.’

  ‘I can’t. Dan likes to be alone when he’s working and Simon’s out most evenings apparently. Besides, paint fumes are the worst thing for a singer. I sit at home, eating chocolate and feeling sorry for myself. I’m getting fatter by the week! I’ll never get another job at this rate.’

  ‘Come on, Molly, you’re not fat. You’ll get work soon. You’re just in a negative state of mind.’

  Molly sniffed. ‘My agent says it’s very quiet. There’s nothing. Not even an audition. Not that I get to speak to him ever. According to his assistant, he’s been in a meeting for the last three weeks.’

  ‘It always seems like that between jobs,’ reasoned Jane. ‘Here, have a tissue and wipe your eyes.’

  Molly did as she was told.

  ‘Let’s look on the bright side, shall we?’ Jane continued. ‘You’re a beautiful young woman with a gorgeous voice. You have a dashing boyfriend and friends who love you. Isn’t that more like the truth?’

  ‘If you say so. Sometimes I think I’m a fat, ugly, penniless, unemployed wannabe whose boyfriend is never at home and whose best friend is becoming a star. I’m trying not to be jealous of Simon but it’s hard. I’ve been striving for years to get somewhere and he’s just stumbled into the limelight without even wanting it. It’s not fair, Jane. When do I get my break, eh?’

  ‘Hush now,’ said Jane. ‘Time to put a stop to all this. Jealousy is a very low emotion. Don’t give it house room.’

  As the weeks went by, Molly became accustomed to Simon’s increasingly bizarre behaviour. But when he asked her to call him. ‘Genita’ from now on, she was horrified. ‘No!’ she protested. ‘It was Simon I met at college and it’s Simon I care about. I’m not calling you Genita. For goodness’ sake, get a
grip!’

  ‘That cabaret act is fucking with his mind,’ she told Daniel, over macaroni cheese and rocket salad one evening. ‘He needs to watch himself.’

  Daniel only grunted.

  ‘I mean, good luck to him and all that, but all this success is making him crazier than ever. Don’t you think?’

  ‘Dunno,’ mumbled Daniel. ‘He seems the same to me.’

  ‘You don’t know him like I do,’ declared Molly.

  Daniel frowned at his macaroni cheese.

  ‘He’s changed. I miss him! I don’t want him to become some fame-crazed drag queen. And as for his delusions of grandeur —well, he could become the Archbishop of Canterbury but it doesn’t mean his shit don’t stink.’

  ‘Please,’ said Daniel, ‘I’m having my tea. Can we change the subject?’

  Simon will come back to me, Molly thought. He always has. One day, all this will be over and forgotten, and it’ll be the same as it used to be again. I just hope it happens before he goes completely off his rocker.

  ‘Fancy some ice cream?’ she asked Daniel, who looked as if he needed cheering up.

  Simon was now totally infatuated with Daniel and their sexual encounters were regular events. There was a kind of sweetness to the planning involved in each one. He had learnt that a number of crucial factors needed to be in place if he was to have his way with Daniel. Obviously the first, and in some senses the most difficult, was that they had to be alone. The greatest obstacle to this was Molly. Having his flat decorated was a particularly good wheeze: not only was Daniel’s time accounted for but Molly had to stay well away from the perilous paint fumes. But once this job was done, Simon’s imagination had to be artfully employed. A couple of times he had arranged to meet Molly for a trip to the cinema. Knowing she was standing patiently outside the Odeon in Leicester Square, he had dashed over to her place in the hope that Daniel would be home alone. But this plan was seriously flawed: Daniel might not be in, and if he was, time would be somewhat limited. When Molly realised Simon wasn’t going to turn up she might jump on the tube and be home in half an hour. Hardly long enough for Simon to achieve his goal and get himself away from the scene of the crime.