‘I’m sure it isn’t.’ I headed for my bedroom to change out of my suit. It had been a hard day. For the first time since I had started working at Thanet, I felt as if I had achieved something. It was a good feeling.
I thought Spanky might put in an appearance, but he failed to show. I lay on my bed reading for a while, and fell asleep. When I awoke it was 1.00 a.m., and Zack had left a message for me on the hall telephone pad, something he never normally remembered to do.
Your mother says to call her. Very important!
After a brief flash of guilt I tore up the piece of paper, and went to bed.
The week passed in a blur of hard sell and sales slips. Business was booming, and I often managed the store single-handed while Max arranged his deal with Syms. I empathized with my cash-rich customers as I guided them towards top-of-the-line suites like the Princess Arthur of Connaught Lounge Ensemble, under the watchful eye and beaming smile of my superior, and even managed to flog a set of aubergine-coloured armchairs that had defeated the combined might of the sales staff.
Surely Max would feel uncomfortable about using his son to pull rank on me now. Even Lottie stopped by after a particularly tough sell and mumbled something about me doing a wonderful job. I was touched; praise for my work was a new concept.
By Friday I was beginning to wonder if I’d ever see Spanky again. I’d been too busy to think about him much. I was closing up for the evening when he reappeared on one of the stock cupboards and nearly gave me a heart attack. He was wearing psychedelic swimming trunks and carrying an enormous fluorescent blue surf-board. His hair was still wet.
‘Do you have something I can dry myself with?’ he asked, looking around.
‘Come with me.’
I took him to one of the bathroom displays and threw him a towel. He had left a trail of wet footprints across the store.
‘Where on earth have you been?’
‘Hawaii. The waves were really fierce today. You surf?’
‘There’s nowhere to surf around here.’ I seated myself on a stack of Empress candlewick pedestal covers and watched as he dried his hair. By this time, nothing Spanky did surprised me. He could have ridden into the store driving a coach and four and I wouldn’t have batted an eye. But it was good to see him again.
‘You’ve been on vacation?’
‘I had to take some time off. Your family are driving me insane.’
‘I keep getting messages to call my mother. What are you doing to them, for God’s sake?’
‘They’re undergoing radical catharsis, Martyn. I’m shaking them from the shell of their complacency. Don’t worry, it’s not as rough as it sounds. You’ll see the results soon enough. Contacting them now would only cause complications. So, how have you been?’
‘Great, Max has promoted me. I’m getting a salary raise. But I think he’s bringing his son in as a replacement for Darryl.’
‘Does the son have any prior experience?’
‘None at all, to my knowledge.’
‘That’s unfair. We’ll have to do something about that. Your career advancement is occurring too slowly.’
‘No more squash games, please.’ I told him about the outcome of Darryl’s operation.
‘I’m sorry, Martyn, but accidents happen. No one else has been hurt, have they?’
‘No,’ I was forced to agree. I could tell that my daemonic personal trainer had something up his sleeve. There was a glint in his eye I had seen before, and was learning to recognize as a sign of excitement.
‘We’re going somewhere tonight, aren’t we?’ I asked, unable to stand the suspense.
‘We most certainly are.’
He produced a gilt-edged card covered in scrolled lettering. He opened his eyes wide, playing the faux-naïf. ‘Martyn, would you like to come to a party with me?’
The black Versace evening suit was a perfect fit, the shoes less so. ‘I misjudged those by half a size,’ admitted Spanky. ‘You should have worn thicker socks.’
We arrived at Park Lane’s Grosvenor House and made our way through a cordon of onlookers, through a battery of shouting, strobing photographers to the steps of the grand ballroom. Our table was a gigantic white disc that seated ten guests. The floral centrepiece was so luxuriant that it obscured the people sitting opposite. Spanky was standing at my side, annoyed at not having a place to sit.
Quick, grab that spare chair by the wall. I tried to point surreptitiously. What on earth are we attending?
The place was full of theatre celebrities, black ties for the men, sequins for the ladies, much air-kissing and ass-kissing.
‘The British Theatre Awards. Congratulations, Martyn, you’re a famous playwright.’
I’m a what? Jesus, Spanky, I’ve only been to the theatre a handful of times in my life.
‘I trust they were illuminating experiences.’
Starlight Express and No Sex Please, We’re British aren’t exactly benchmarks in quality drama. I hate the theatre. It’s full of boring pseuds.
‘Don’t worry. A lot of people feel the same way. Look, there’s Andrew Lloyd Webber. Let’s kill him.’
Couldn’t we have gone to a football match instead? The season’s started.
‘Certainly not,’ said Spanky firmly. ‘Whether you like it or not, this is part of your education.’
Anyone who had ever appeared in an acclaimed Shakespearean production was here. Writers, producers and directors of every nationality had filled the room to its corners. The brightest stars in the theatrical firmament were being witheringly nice to one another, presumably on the one occasion of the year when they could be bothered to do so.
Over by the stage, Salman Rushdie was talking to some very nervous-looking young men. To the far right of me Kenneth Branagh and Emma Thompson were holding court. Beyond them I could see Vanessa Redgrave and Arthur Miller. I was the only person there I’d never heard of. I had never felt so out of place in my life.
‘This is a test, Martyn. I know you don’t like these people, but I want you to practice the art of socializing tonight. If you’re sharp-witted enough, you’ll be invited to the winners’ private party afterwards.’
How am I going to do that? I can’t even string a decent sentence together. I work in a furniture store. I can’t hold my own with these people.
‘Rubbish. Your vocabulary is excellent. You just need more confidence. Roll up your sleeve and give me your arm. It’ll look a little odd to the other guests, but they’re so wrapped up in themselves they won’t give it a thought.’
I did as I was bade, and he locked his hands around my wrist in a firm grip. Once again, a dizzying cold sensation ran through my bones.
‘There, now you have a little of my own chemical structure, enough to give you the confidence you need. Let’s see what you can do with it. Don’t worry, I’ll be around to bail you out if you get stuck.’
I’m stuck already.
‘Then I’ll jump-start you.’ Spanky slapped me hard on the back and promptly vanished.
Something flashed inside my head.
‘I think that instead of continuing to rely on texts considered definitive and sacred,’ I heard myself saying very loudly, ‘it’s essential to put an end to the subjugation of the theatre to the text.’
I looked around the table, which had filled with famous faces. Arthur Miller glanced up and scowled.
Everyone did.
I could feel beads of sweat breaking out on my forehead. I was going to kill Spanky the next time I saw him.
‘Isn’t that what Artaud said?’ asked a very attractive woman with cropped blonde hair. My remark had caught her in the act of ladling smoked salmon into her mouth.
‘I, uh—’ My muse had placed a single quote in my brain and deserted me. ‘That is—’
‘It’s not a question of suppressing the spoken language, but of giving words the importance they have in dreams, isn’t that right?’
I peered around the floral arrangement. Emma Thompson was talk
ing to me.
Oh God, she was talking to me.
I desperately racked my brain for something remotely intelligent to say. I mean, she had an Oscar.
I looked back at her blankly. She was waiting for a reply. She gave me a benign smile, but she was waiting.
‘Go on, then, I’ll give you one more,’ I heard Spanky whisper in my ear.
‘We can’t go on prostituting the idea of theatre whose only value is in its excruciating magical relation to reality and danger,’ I announced.
‘Now, I do know that’s a quote from Artaud,’ said Emma, wagging a finger at me. ‘Of course, he went mad, so he may have succumbed to that magical relation himself.’
‘I greatly admire the Theatre of Cruelty,’ said the glamorous blonde woman, finishing her salmon. ‘I assume you share the late Antonin’s interests, Mr . . . ?’
‘Ross, Martyn Ross.’
‘And what is your connection with the theatre?’
‘I’m—a playwright.’
‘Forgive me, I’m not familiar with your work.’ She was about to lower her eyes to her plate once more. I knew that Spanky was somewhere watching me, judging my response.
‘Nor, unfortunately, am I with yours,’ I said plainly.
To my surprise, she raised her head and smiled. ‘Do you mean to say that I have finally found someone in this room who is unfamiliar with my Desdemona?’
‘Darling, I’m sure everyone here has seen your Desdemona,’ said Kenneth. Somebody tittered sycophantically.
‘Obviously this young man hasn’t,’ said the actress, holding out a languid hand for me to shake or kiss, I wasn’t sure which. ‘Amanda Gielgud. No relation.’
I opted for kissing. ‘How gallante,’ she sighed, carefully rearranging her décolletage.
‘Tell me, Mr Ross, is there a part in your new play for me?’
‘How do you know I’ve written a new play?’ I asked.
‘You wouldn’t be here if you hadn’t. You’d be at home in a sweat, trying to think of a second act. What do you write about?’
Time to wing it. I looked up at the ceiling, narrowing my eyes in what I hoped was a gesture of intense concentration. ‘I try to isolate the sense of betrayed angst that inhabits the soul of modern urban man,’ I said.
‘So no choreography there, then,’ said Kenneth.
‘Don’t be mean, Ken,’ chided Emma. ‘He’s just being playful, Mr Ross. I’m sure your plays are perfectly marvellous.’
She beamed at me charmingly.
‘You certainly made a hit with the Branaghs,’ Amanda hissed, clearly impressed. ‘Would your plays make me feel wretched?’
You don’t know how wretched, I thought.
‘I suppose it’s all modernist stuff, two stools and a stick to represent a fish-gutting shed, that sort of thing.’
‘Yes, that sort of thing.’
We downed several bottles of champagne during the interminable awards, following each round of polite applause with sips from fluted glasses. Afterwards, we climbed the great curving staircase arm in arm. We had both been invited to the winners’ party. I had done it. I had passed the test. I hoped Spanky was still watching.
Amanda stopped by the gilded balustrade and slid her fingers over the buttons of my shirt. ‘I don’t want to go to the other bash,’ she announced in a slight slur. ‘I’ve a better idea. Come with me.’
She took my hand and led me along an empty corridor toward the private suites, away from the other guests. When she pulled on the handle of a walk-in service cupboard which was clearly familiar to her, I began to suspect that I had made another conquest. I seemed to be attracting a definite type of woman. She had her hand inside my trousers before I had managed to pull the door shut behind me.
There in the warm darkness, surrounded by the clean smells of soap powder and air freshener, we disrobed, and she guided me inside her with a sharp gasp of pleasure.
‘Well, well, well,’ said Spanky, appearing on one of the broad tablecloth shelves above us. ‘So you’re managing your conquests without my help now, are you? Quite a little sex-monkey. I thought you wanted romance.’
She started it. Can you come back later? Your timing is terrible.
Amanda was making noisy gasping sounds beneath me, gripping herself around my erection.
‘I take it you’ve decided to skip the foreplay on this occasion. I thought you ought to know that she loves being tied up.’
No thanks. Sexual perversion isn’t my forte.
‘Give it a try. You’ll be amazed by the change in her, uh, enthusiasm.’ He passed me an unfolded napkin.
‘Go on—take it.’
Oh well.
I slipped the napkin around her wrists and knotted it to the pipe above her head. This was a lot harder than it sounds, as the cupboard was in semi-darkness and I had to stand on tiptoe. Amanda began squealing, and wrenching me forward into her. Her bared buttocks began hitting the rear wall so hard that towels, toilet rolls and tablecloths began showering down on us.
‘There, what did I tell you?’ I heard Spanky laughing softly in the dark. The shelves were rattling violently, and my balls were being crushed by the rotating forcefulness of her pelvis. I felt sure that Amanda’s prolonged, stentorian orgasm must be attracting attention to the cupboard.
When she finally released me from her, I ejaculated violently across her dress with a force that shocked both of us. For a few moments there was no sound but the ragged catching of our breath as I untied her.
‘Darling, you have no idea how hard it is getting semen off a sequin,’ she laughed, attempting to rearrange her clothes. I was unable to reply. I felt like I’d been in a car wreck. With trembling hands I attempted to rebutton my shirt. After three tries, she helped me.
When Amanda and I emerged from the cupboard, we caught sight of each other and started laughing helplessly. Her make-up had run and her hair was matted with sweat. My tie was over one half of my collar and my shirt-tail was sticking out of my flies.
‘You gave a very professional performance,’ she said, kissing me lightly on the ear. ‘Do I get the part?’
‘I’m not much of a playwright,’ I confessed.
‘That’s okay,’ she replied. ‘I’m not much of an actress.’
‘Well?’ asked Spanky as we walked home across the park. ‘What are you thinking about?’
‘I never realized how easy it was to have sex with beautiful women,’ I replied. ‘I never thought for a moment that someone like me could have an experience like—that. Christ, I’ve always been shy before.’
‘You didn’t know me before.’
‘I think I want a cigarette.’
‘I thought you didn’t like to smoke.’
‘I thought I didn’t like the theatre.’
Spanky rolled back on the wet grass and laughed. Moments later he jumped up and pointed back towards town. The branches scraped shadows across his eyes, making them glitter like emeralds.
‘Look over there, Martyn,’ he said, ‘the lights of the city. Anything is possible. Everything is within reach. The trouble with these times is, we’re all a little shook up, a little too wary of each other, too frightened to swim in dark pools.’ He stepped closer, twisting his body into the breeze.
‘Our lives are full of small frights, Martyn. Sudden violence, silent infections, secret horrors eat into our closed worlds and swarm around us. Our homes offer no protection from paranoia. Everything is too bunched up. We overdose on images. Wasting brown bodies on the TV news, babies with flies in their eyes, then slimmers baring tanned breasts on white sand. You let things bother you, or you shrug your shoulders and get on with your life. As a child you imagine a peaceful old age spent pruning roses and dandling grandchildren. As an adult you sleep with a knife under your pillow.’
He touched me lightly on the arm. ‘Don’t worry, you’ll make your money and settle down with your love, but first you must taste the night.’
‘What does this mean?’ I asked
<
br /> ‘It means we have to go dancing,’ he replied.
‘Now?’
‘Now.’
Half an hour later I was standing in my usual spot at the edge of a dance floor in a bar called Club Shame, still dressed in my tux. I hadn’t seen Spanky for the last few minutes, and was starting to wonder where he had gone. Two Midwestern American girls who looked like they were visiting the country from another decade kept telling me I had a cute accent and were trying to get me to dance with them.
‘I don’t like this kind of music,’ I bellowed above a reggaefied dance mix just as it ended suddenly, stranding my words without a background. People were starting to move to the front of the club. A spotlight glowed onstage.
‘Ladies and gentlemen,’ announced the compère, ‘please put your hands together for tonight’s live PA direct from New York City—MC Spanky!’
And there he was. Live on stage. With no shirt and some kind of complicated bondage waistcoat, hammering white rap into a microphone. Crowd-pleasing funky stuff. For the next twenty minutes he whipped the audience into a frenzy, dancing, hurling himself around, belting out one number after another, encouraging everyone to dance. He ended with a double-speed rap version of the old Philly hit, the O’Jays’ ‘Back Stabbers’.
It’s a good job he finally finished when he did, because I was sweating like a hog and ready to drop. The girls went to the toilet together, and Spanky reappeared at my side.
‘How’d I do? Not bad for an old man, eh?’ He wasn’t even out of breath.
‘You were amazing,’ I agreed. ‘But what could the audience see while you were up there?’
‘Oh, Martyn, always wanting to know what’s in the cabinet when you’re watching someone get sawn in half. Don’t worry, they didn’t see me, they saw someone quite different. Our secret is safe. Is that what you wanted to hear? Where did those sexiferous young ladies go? I thought we’d escort them back to their hotel for a nightcap.’
‘They won’t be able to see you.’
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