Malcolm and Juliet

by Bernard Beckett

  ‘What?’ Juliet looked genuinely puzzled and Malcolm was forced to tilt his head in the direction of the bedroom.

  ‘Oh, that? Happens all the time. No biggie. Tell me when you want to try again.’

  And so she dismissed the second biggest calamity in Malcolm’s life to date (after last year’s Science Fair) with a wave of her hand. That hardly seemed just. Over the last day and a half Malcolm had grown used to his pain and he wasn’t about to let it go without a fight.

  ‘No, not just that. I was thinking more about my other problem, with Mr Ramsay, and the Science Fair. He isn’t going to let me enter.’

  ‘Oh my God, Malcolm. I’m sorry.’ She stepped forward and gave him half a hug, her other hand still holding the cheese. ‘How come?’

  ‘He says I’m a pervert.’

  ‘Well you are, but is that a bad thing? Can he really do that?’

  ‘He’s the principal.’

  ‘Well that’s outrageous, it really is.’

  So outrageous that Juliet paused between mouthfuls. Malcolm looked at her with renewed affection. He really was quite lucky, having a friend like her.

  ‘Anyway, what about you?’ he remembered. ‘What trouble? Is it still this money thing?’

  ‘Okay, you’ve got to promise not to tell anyone.’

  ‘Sure.’

  ‘Not even if they promise to have sex with you.’

  ‘Like I’d fall for that twice.’

  ‘Okay. Well it sort of started last year, when Dad got me moved into that Maths accelerated group.’

  By the time Juliet’s tale of fraud and extortion had finished Malcolm had to agree that in the world of problems Juliet had just moved him out of medal contention. They spent the next half hour trading sympathy while they waited for a cheesecake to thaw. And the more they shared their misery the closer Malcolm felt to his old, scientific, problem-solving self.

  ‘You know,’ he told her, ‘there has to be a way out of this.’

  ‘Oh, I just knew you were going to say that,’ Juliet shrieked, before he could qualify the statement.

  ‘Um, it’s just a matter of being creative,’ he said hopefully.

  ‘Exactly.’

  ‘We need to stop seeing the problems as problems.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘So we should, um, start by making a list. Yes, that’s what we should do. A list of all the things we have in our favour.’

  ‘All right.’ Juliet leaned forward and Malcolm saw the light he had sparked in her eyes. She really knew how to apply the pressure. ‘Well, I’m quite desperate right now, which could be to our advantage maybe.’

  ‘Okay, and I’ve got a good camera.’

  ‘I’m a good liar.’

  ‘I can be quite creative.’

  ‘I put people at their ease.’

  ‘Sometimes. I’ve got the tripod too.’

  ‘I’m a very good kickboxer.’

  ‘I’ve got loads of books on sex.’

  The final list had over fifty feel-good items on it. Malcolm wrote them out on a large piece of brown paper while Juliet finished eating the cheesecake. Then they arranged the points in groups, according to themes and possibilities. Then they talked about them, while they waited for the breakthrough to occur. Technically it was Juliet who provided the first spark.

  ‘Television!’ she screamed.

  ‘What about it?’

  ‘Don’t you see?’

  ‘Not really.’

  ‘Television. Video. Sex. Your camera! Yes, this could be perfect couldn’t it? This could solve both problems at once.’

  ‘I’m not sure I—’

  ‘Television. They have to pay heaps for programmes, don’t they? And that’s exactly what your Science Fair entry is, a programme. And it’s just the sort they like…sex, everyday people…no real storyline.’

  ‘Voyeurism.’

  It was crazy, but not too crazy. Malcolm had to admit half a chance was dangling there. ‘And we can claim that it contains banned material, that should help. Of course it’ll need some work.’

  ‘I’ll help you.’

  Their enthusiasm ran rampant, trampling the seeds of rational objections which by rights should have been given the chance to grow. Malcolm began to savour the thought of shaking free the shackles of academic rigour. This was his chance to be more creative, more blatantly popularist, and far far ruder.

  ‘You know what would just finish it off perfectly,’ Juliet free-formed as they lurched from one inspired impossibility to the next. ‘One of those fly-on-the-wall type things, where they throw strangers together and film them.’

  ‘Like on some sort of blind date you mean? I know a restaurant that owes me a favour, after I didn’t report them for food poisoning. I reckon they might let me do it there.’

  ‘So we should get a group of strangers then. How many would you say?’

  ‘Maybe just four or so. It helps to keep things simple, on television.’

  ‘I’ll be one of them. I can be bold and outrageous. They like that.’

  ‘We could use that guy Brian, from the party. He was pretty funny.’

  ‘Yes, and how about the naked statue guy? Oh yes! We’ll see people already in the film, so we have all that background. What a perfect climax!’

  ‘So that’s you, Brian, Kevin…we need another girl.’

  ‘It’s got to be Charlotte then.’

  ‘Yes, I suppose it does.’

  Malcolm felt the thrill of the new plan combine with the joy of hearing once again the name he thought he had buried. The future was back on schedule, and better still Charlotte was part of it.

  Ringing

  Charlotte was first on Juliet’s phone list that night. Back home, bruised by a half hour walk through wind and rain and missing Malcolm’s peculiar brand of enthusiasm, Juliet’s belief in the project was fading. Charlotte probably won’t be home, her new mood told her, and if she is, why would she want to subject herself to that sort of on-camera punishment?

  But she dialled the number anyway, because she had said she would, and because somewhere within, a low-battery flicker of hope still shone.

  ‘Hi, Charlotte here,’ spoken automatically, with one eye still on the evening’s DVD, trying not to miss the sub-titles.

  ‘Oh, hi Charlotte. It’s Juliet.’

  ‘Juliet. How are you?’

  ‘Good. Well, you know, getting by anyway. And you?’

  ‘Yeah, getting by, sort of.’

  Charlotte turned her attention back to the screen while she waited for the purpose of the call to reveal itself. It’s not that she and Juliet weren’t friends, good friends in some ways, but not of the regular calling-up-just-to-gossip type. There would be a reason.

  ‘Right. Hey, look, I’m ringing to sort of ask you a favour. Say no if you want. It’s up to you. But, well I was just wondering, well, we’re looking for some people to be in a documentary we’re making for television.’

  ‘What? I didn’t know you were involved in television?’

  ‘Well, I’m not. Not yet. But we’re going to be, that’s the thing. We’ve had this idea, and—’

  ‘Who’s we?’ Charlotte asked. She wasn’t a cynic by nature, but she’d met enough wannabes at local film festivals to know that half the world carried a dream of their big film or television breakthrough in their wallet; a dream that would quickly suffocate if released into the talent-deprived atmosphere of its owner’s life.

  ‘Yeah, it’s me and Malcolm, we’re sort of—’

  ‘Malcolm?’ Cynicism melted at the mention of his name. ‘Isn’t he already making a documentary for the Science Fair?’

  ‘Well, he was, it’s a long story, you probably don’t—’

  ‘I’ll do it,’ Charlotte said, knowing how the change of mood must have sounded, and not caring at all. Only fools and grown-ups pass up chances.

  ‘You sure? You don’t have to decide—’

  ‘No, definitely. I’d love to. I mean, yes please. Thanks
for thinking of me. Count me in. When is it?’

  ‘Bri speaking.’

  ‘Hello. My name’s Juliet. You probably don’t know who I am but—’

  ‘Jesus.’ Recognition of voice and name arrived simultaneously and exploded the lock that had held Brian’s panic secure. It helped not at all that he was currently sitting on his bed, just as he had for that other fateful occasion. Then came a long, empty pause.

  ‘Are you still there?’ The same voice, but different too. Impress her, Brian demanded of himself. For God’s sake, impress her.

  ‘Yeah, sorry, I was just…’ Then it hit him. Why was she calling? And how did she know who he was?

  ‘Um, how did you get my number? Oh shit, you have caller ID don’t you?’

  ‘What? No, I just looked it up in the book.’

  ‘Yeah, but how do you know my name’s Brian—’ And just in time Brian stopped himself. ‘Oh, wait a minute, why are you ringing again?’

  ‘Right, well I was going to ask you if you’d mind being in a documentary I’m making.’

  ‘Why me?’

  ‘Well, I’m working with Malcolm, and you’ve already spoken on camera for a part of it.’

  Malcolm again. Brian had disliked him the first time they’d met, and with every twist of fate’s knife he disliked him all the more. On the bright side though, it made it possible that this call was just coincidence, and she had no idea he was Kieren. And coincidences meant opportunities, and opportunities were made to be exploited.

  ‘Right. Well look, I’ll do it on one condition.’

  ‘What’s that?’

  ‘You go out to dinner with me.’

  ‘Well, funny you should say that,’ came the reply. ‘See, we could actually do both at the same time.’

  ‘Hi, Kevin here.’

  ‘Hi Kevin. Look, you don’t know me but I’m Juliet, a friend of Malcolm’s, who was making that video, at the party where you—’

  ‘Oh no, not this again.’ Kevin had had more than one or two comments since the statue thing. ‘You’re not from a newspaper are you?’

  ‘No, like I said, I’m helping Malcolm. The thing is, we were hoping to do a follow-up scene, at a restaurant. It’s a documentary.’

  ‘I’m not taking my clothes off again,’ Kevin told her. People had asked. One had even offered money, if he would attend her party and repeat the trick, but Kevin was very particular about the things he would and wouldn’t do. ‘I don’t want to become typecast.’

  ‘Fully clothed. Promise.’

  ‘No, I still don’t think so. It isn’t really my sort of thing you see. That was very much a one-off performance.’

  ‘Oh, that’s a shame,’ Juliet told him. ‘We’ve got some pretty interesting people on board already you know.’

  ‘Like who?’

  ‘Well, remember the girl who held the party?’

  ‘Charlotte?’ The one Brian had been so keen on, as he remembered. Kevin found it hard to like girls like her.

  ‘Yeah, she’ll be there.’

  ‘Who else?’

  ‘Oh, well me of course, and Malcolm, and I’m not sure if you know Brian, he’s your year maybe and—’

  ‘Brian?’ Why hadn’t she said so earlier? ‘Yeah I know Brian. Brian’s my best mate. Is Brian doing it?’

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘You sure?’

  ‘I was just speaking to him.’

  ‘Right, well count me in then. Definitely.’

  And so there were three. Juliet put down the receiver and wondered how it could possibly have been that easy. Somewhere, in the background, the sound of fate’s tapdancing feet could be heard, but Juliet chose to ignore it. No, she was beginning to feel quite optimistic again.

  Advice

  When Brian wanted reasons to feel optimistic he would think of his father, whose life had turned out so very well. Brian’s father had a good job in a bank, where he got to spend his days telling other people what to do. He had a fine son, of whom he was justifiably proud, a beautiful wife, some impressive friends and in his garage was parked a car that could reach 100 from standing in under six seconds. Even better, Brian’s father was a generous giver of advice, so really life for Brian was simple. All he had to do was listen carefully, and do what he was told.

  Life is a game, son, was one of Brian’s father’s favourite gems of wisdom. A game where you make your own rules and there’s only one catch. Once you’ve made them, you have to stick to them, you see. A man might break other people’s rules, but he never breaks his own. And he doesn’t go changing them halfway either. He always spat that last part out, as if even contemplating such weak creatures offended his senses. And Brian always nodded and smiled at the simple profundity of it.

  Until now. Because now Brian was faced with the possibility of breaking one of his own sacred rules. If you don’t have instant success with a girl, move on. It was a damned fine rule. He knew that. There was always more to be gained from pushing on. Try with fifty, succeed with five, that was his motto. You could build a fairly respectable score, counting in fives. But the fact of the matter remained, he was only going through with this documentary thing because of Juliet, and Juliet certainly didn’t qualify as an instant success. But Juliet was different. Surely his father would see that, if he knew her. Juliet was worth breaking the occasional rule for.

  There was something else about the big night that was worrying Brian. Kevin. Kev was a nice guy and all that but there was no denying he was a bit slow, especially when it came to girls. So there was the problem of association. Viewers would identify the two as friends, and that would be it. With the camera there, and all of them feeling nervous, a lot of hard work could so easily be destroyed. That’s why Brian called round at Kevin’s house that Thursday afternoon, to see if he couldn’t help him out a bit, offer some advice.

  ‘Jeez, what’s that?’ Brian asked, confronted by the large blocks of stone in Kevin’s backyard.

  ‘Sculpture.’

  ‘Well yeah, I can see that. But what’s it of?’

  ‘Not sure yet.’

  ‘Looks like an arse from this angle.’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘You’re a bit of a strange one sometimes you know Kev.’

  ‘Oh right. Sorry.’

  ‘Yeah. Not too bad, but sometimes you worry me a bit. Ah, can we sit down? Don’t suppose you’ve got a beer?’

  ‘I’ll just go and check.’

  Kevin hurried off, giving Brian a few moments to think things through. He wished he was more like his father, who could just come out and say whatever it was that needed saying. Kevin returned with two cans. The hiss of the escaping gas soothed Brian’s nerves and the first fermented mouthful gave him the confidence he needed.

  ‘Right, like I was saying…it’s, ah, about tomorrow night.’

  ‘This filming thing?’

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘Should be a laugh.’

  ‘Could be a lot more than that, Kev.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Well it could make us famous couldn’t it? There’s a lot of people who watch that sort of thing. We could become household names.’

  ‘Guess so.’

  ‘Yeah, so that’s what I’ve been thinking. I’ve been thinking it’s important the way we present ourselves.’

  ‘Like what we wear and that?’

  ‘Well no. More like how we behave. Or, more how you behave actually. That’s what’s worrying me mostly.’

  ‘Right. So how would you like me to behave then?’

  Kevin didn’t sound in the least bit offended, the way most people would. Brian had to give him that much. Kev knew how to take constructive criticism.

  ‘Well, to be honest, I think you need to be a bit more full on. With the girls I mean. I think you’re a bit too nice to them. They don’t really like that see? They say they do, they have to, don’t they? But, well, have you ever had sex with a girl Kev?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Y
eah, what I thought. Exactly. You’re too nice. Tomorrow, at the restaurant, I want you to make more of an effort okay? Be more assertive, more impressive, more—’

  ‘Like you.’

  ‘Well yes, basically.’

  ‘So I should try to impress this Juliet then?’

  ‘Nah, I’ve been thinking about that too. I think you should leave her to me. She seems a bit too difficult, for a first timer. You can have another crack at Charlotte.’

  ‘But you said she was beyond me,’ Kevin reminded him.

  ‘Yeah, but I think I might have made a mistake there. It’s why I’m not so interested myself. I’m beginning to think she might be a B.’

  ‘Oh, okay then,’ Kevin said. ‘Well, I’ll do my best.’

  Brian looked at Kevin with a new sort of admiration. Not everyone would be so happy to take that sort of advice. No, a man could do a lot worse than have a mate like Kevin.

  ‘Look, actually Kev boy, if you don’t mind, I’ve drawn up a bit of a list.’

  Brian produced from his pocket the list he had spent most of the previous evening working on.

  Ten things Kev can do to make himself more attractive.

  Kevin snatched it from him and read it hungrily. Hardly surprising really. What man wouldn’t appreciate a bit of quality advice from the master?

  ‘Preparation, Kev,’ Brian murmured, finishing with something pithy, the way his father had taught him. ‘Attitude and preparation.’

  Preparation

  Charlotte was determined she would be properly prepared. She shaved her legs, twice. First time just to the knee, same as always. Second time a full three centimetres above the line of the dress she had decided to wear. Or almost decided. In the wrong light it could make her look bigger than she really was, and they said television added the kilos, just as surely as it deducted IQ points.

  She applied her make-up, washed it off, applied it again. She sat in front of the mirror and practised expressions to enchant the camera, or more importantly the person behind it. She paced in the kitchen until her mother threatened her with menial tasks; she fidgeted with the TV remote until her father threatened her with bodily harm. She went to her room and watched Natural Born Killers with the sound off, speaking all the lines to herself, but even that couldn’t properly calm her.